《Someone Vanquish Me!》 Chapter 1. Angsty and Proud ¡°Time to die.¡± [Daemon Autarch] Melpomene cinched tight the strap of her raven skull helmet and grinned into the room¡¯s looking glass. She lifted her darksteel flamberge, [Audacity], from its pedestal in her dressing room and casually spun it through a dazzling combination. An amateur might think the movements were deadly and graceful, but any expert would recognize her forms as nothing more than impractical showboating. Once she was done with her slashing and jump-kicking ¡ª accidentally cutting more than a few of her hanging garments in the process ¡ª she sheathed her blade and approached her firearms case. From within, she removed her pair of gold-plated handcannons, [Subtlety] and [Discretion]. She loaded, cocked, uncocked, twirled, holstered, unholstered, re-twirled, aimed, mock-fired, re-re-twirled, and finally re-holstered the dazzling and deadly works of art. She then re-unholstered them and did it all over again, this time making little ¡®Pew Pew!¡¯ sounds with her mouth. She tucked knives into the faux-leather boots beneath her greaves, strapped pouches of ammunition to her belt, and loaded poisoned needles into the spring-loaded compartments of her gauntlets. Her personal preparations for her final battle complete, she turned again to the looking glass. She took one final look at her immaculate ensemble of weapons and raven-stylized darksteel armor¡­ and frowned. A knock came banging from the door. ¡°Autarch Melpomene!¡± her right-hand Daemon called. ¡°They¡¯ve fallen for plan D! The bulk of the Solarian infantry has been lured through the gates and into the killbox. They are falling by the hundreds, but their [Hero] is still nowhere to be found!¡± ¡°Come in, Eurymedon,¡± the autarch replied. ¡°I require your counsel.¡± The door slid open to reveal a blue-skinned willowy figure, two meters tall, with six arms, four legs, and a dozen eyes ringing their cylindrical torso. The advisor spoke again with one of the thin, lipless mouths that crisscrossed their form. ¡°What counsel do you seek, my [Liege]? If it concerns the [Hero], I find it most likely he and his [Tactician] have fallen for contingency six and are currently sneaking through the fake sewers of the palace, en route to the ritual chamber.¡± Melpomene made a face beneath her beaked helmet. ¡°Really? They fell for that contingency? The one we planned as a joke?¡± She shook her head in exasperation. ¡°Daemons don¡¯t even shit! We had to import the sewage! A sewer system in a Daemonic palace screams, ¡®Hey, I¡¯m a trap! Enter, and meet your demise!¡¯ Are you sure that¡¯s where they are?¡± ¡°I too found it hard to believe, but they tripped one of my alarms. I also maintain perfect awareness of the entire palace except for the ritual chamber and a small pocket of space protected against scrying. The pocket is traveling through the sewers at a Human¡¯s walking pace, and it is also of sufficient size to cloak our missing duo. Shall I flood the tunnels with lava as per the plan?¡± The raven-armored [Liege] thought for a moment then shook her head. ¡°No. It¡¯s impossible for them to be stupid enough to fall for such a simple trap. It¡¯s more likely that the [Hero] isn¡¯t in the sewers, and that the anti-scrying field is nothing more than a red herring meant to fool us into believing we¡¯ve found him. If the real [Hero] were in the sewers, he and his party would use a different scrying shield that doesn¡¯t leave such an obvious footprint. The fact that whoever is traveling through the sewers fell for an obvious trap, tripped your alarm, and is practically broadcasting their location leads me to believe that they are just a decoy.¡± Eurymedon¡¯s form jiggled with enlightenment, literally vibrating as their metaphorical world was shaken. ¡°My [Liege]! You are a genius! How could I have been so thoroughly deceived? They wish us to believe them to be idiots so that they may strike from elsewhere, catching us unawares! Still, would it not be best to flood the tunnels? Even if whoever is down there is simply a distraction, wouldn¡¯t it be best to eliminate them?¡± ¡°The Tactics of Thanatos, Eurymedon! Chapter one, truth eight! How did we just lure the Solarians into a killbox? Have you learned nothing?¡± The advisor recoiled as if struck, but quickly collected themself. ¡°¡®War is deception,¡¯¡± they quoted. ¡°¡¯To control your enemy, you need only control their perception.¡¯¡± They hung their head in shame. ¡°I am a [Daemon of Eyes], yet I could not see such a simple truth! They want us to flood the sewer tunnels, but why?¡± Melpomene did naught but raise an eyebrow, as if curious why her advisor hadn¡¯t already figured out the answer. Sure, they couldn¡¯t see her raised eyebrow through her helmet, but that was besides the point. It took only a few seconds, but Eurymedon again widened all twelve of their eyes in realization. ¡°The caldera!¡± they exclaimed. ¡°If we flood the sewers with lava, the caldera will drain!¡± The advisor turned dramatically to point in the direction of the volcano, but due to their radial symmetry, the dramatic effect was diminished. The advisor¡¯s eyes all began shimmering violet as their six arms twisted in strange, tutting motions. With a flash of purple light, a holographic map of the area sprang into existence. It spun slowly between the two, displaying both the terrain and the battle in real time. Within the sewers, there was a moving ball of blinding light that did obscure whatever lay within¡­ but it was also a moving ball of blinding light. True to Eurymedon¡¯s report, the Solarian infantry were being slaughtered en masse, having been lured into a false inner bailey and separated from their ranged support. A few units of those overpowered [Tier IV] [Solar Cannons] were still bombarding the outer walls from afar while a pair of [Tier V] [Luminous Titans] were being kited by Melpomene¡¯s own [Tier IV] [Wyvern Riders]. There were also six units of [Tier III] [Solar Knights] sitting around doing nothing but guarding their army¡¯s [Tier V] [Omnimancer], but for some reason the [Omnimancer] was kept too far away from the action to actually cast any spells. Letting the [Solar Knights] do nothing was understandable since grounded melee cavalry were pretty trash in a siege, but Melpomene couldn¡¯t understand why they would waste an [Omnimancer] like that. At only a glance, Melpomene could discern that her troops were winning the siege battle, but that wasn¡¯t her main concern. The battle would be meaningless if she couldn¡¯t protect the ritual chamber. ¡°The palace was built into the side of the volcano, and the ritual chamber is tucked away deep within the palace¡¯s depths,¡± Eurymedon said, pointing to the chamber in question, a room surrounded by rock and lava near the heart of the volcano, connected to the palace only by a single hallway. ¡°Normally, that chamber is the hardest to reach, but if we flood the sewers by draining the caldera¡­¡± ¡°Then all that will stand between the [Hero] and the ritual chamber will be a single wall of enchanted stone,¡± Melpomene finished. ¡°They aren¡¯t skulking through the sewers. They¡¯re hiding in the volcano, waiting for us to fall for their counter-trap and drain the lava. If they have a way to bypass the soul barrier, they could breach the chamber wall and stop the ritual within minutes, too quick for us to react. They¡¯ll win without needing to fight.¡± Melpomene shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m no genius,¡± she muttered. ¡°I¡¯ve fallen for the [Hero]¡¯s ploys at every step. He brought useless cavalry to a siege to make me believe him an idiot. He sacrificed his infantry to increase my hubris and lower my guard. He sent a decoy into the sewers so that I would spring a trap not on him, but on myself.¡± Melpomene rested a hand on one of Eurymedon¡¯s many shoulders and looked her advisor in one of their eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve already lost, old friend. I lost before the battle even began. I thought we were fighting a war, but no, we were simply acting in a play. The [Hero] fed me my lines at every turn, and I gobbled them up every time. ¡°Chapter one, truth eight, Eurymedon. ¡®War is deception. To control your enemy, you need only control their perception,¡¯ and he¡¯s been controlling me from the beginning.¡± Tears welled up in the eyes of her Daemonic friend. ¡°But my [Liege]!¡± they protested. ¡°Since we know this is a trap, can¡¯t we avoid it? If this is a play, let us change the lines! If we don¡¯t flood the sewers, the [Hero]¡¯s ingenious trap will fail!¡± Melpomene laughed bitterly, tears forming in her own eyes. ¡°Doubtless the [Hero] has already anticipated our revelation. If we don¡¯t spring this trap, some other plan of his we can¡¯t fathom will come to fruition, and we¡¯ll die without knowing what killed us.¡± Eurymedon sank to all four of their knees and began crying in earnest, a ghostly chorus of lament escaping their myriad mouths. Only one of their mouths managed to form words as the rest wailed in remorse. ¡°Is it really so hopeless?¡± ¡°Hopeless, my friend?¡± Melpomene removed her raven skull helmet, revealing a defiant smirk beneath her tear-reddened eyes. She looked almost Human, because that was the form she¡¯d chosen ¡ª sharp jaw, blue-grey eyes, and short black hair. If not for her sapphire blue skin, it would be impossible to tell she was a Daemon. ¡°Chapter seven, final remark six!¡± she yelled, summoning the last of her bravado. ¡°¡¯Any wise coward can avoid an ambush, and any brave fool can fall to their opponent¡¯s schemes... But to walk knowingly into a trap only to emerge victorious? There¡¯s nothing more badass!¡¯¡± Eurymedon¡¯s cries slowly diminished into sniffles. ¡°You believe we can win?¡± ¡°I am Melpomene! I am the fifty-fourth [Daemon Autarch] of the [Despoiled Legion]! Every one of my predecessors have failed to revive our god, and I may very well join their ranks, but if I am fated to die, then I¡¯ll die defying fate to the bitter end!¡± Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! She again donned her helmet and looked at herself in the mirror. Staring at the grim, black-clad figure, she finally figured out what bothered her with the look. ¡°My [Liege], I have failed as your advisor. You called me in to disperse counsel, and yet I have only received! Forgive me, my [Liege].¡± ¡°Do not fret, Eurymedon. All these years, you have been invaluable to me. I could not be where I am today without you, and I¡¯ll need you for the rest of my life, no matter how brief that life may be. Even now, as I prepare for the end, I still require your guidance.¡± She pointed to her own figure in the mirror.¡°This new armor is too edgy! This next battle may be my last, and I refuse to die looking like an angsty octogenarian!¡± ¡°But aren¡¯t you an octogenarian?¡± ¡°I am, but not an angsty one!¡± Eurymedon nodded, which due to their anatomy consisted of them squishing their central column up and down. ¡°Then I know just what to do!¡± They extended one of their arms, stretching it like a glob of slime, and grabbed a light crystal from the wall. With three of their six arms, they began grinding the crystal into dust over Melpomene¡¯s head while the other three arms cast a modified version of the [Tier III] spell [Amalgamate]. Usually, the spell was used offensively to meld together an enemy¡¯s equipment, flesh, and organs into a uniform primordial soup, but with the modified version, Eurymedon was able to incorporate the crystal dust into Melpomene¡¯s armor. Within one minute, the [Daemon Autarch]¡¯s armor began to glitter with colored lights. Blue, purple, pink, and white all shimmered against a backdrop of the deepest black. The change was only aesthetic, but suddenly Melpomene was no longer a raven-skulled harbinger of death, but a herald of the night sky. ¡°Eurymedon, this might be even edgier than before¡­ but I love it.¡± She pumped both fists into the air. ¡°I¡¯m angsty and I¡¯m proud!¡± Eurymedon trembled at their [Liege]¡¯s praise. ¡°No matter how this final battle turns out, it has been an honor to serve you.¡± ¡°It has been an honor to lead. In two minutes, flood the sewers,¡± Melpomene commanded. ¡°I¡¯ll await their ambush alone in the ritual chamber, before the shards of our deathless god.¡± ¡°Please, allow me to join you!¡± ¡°No, Eurymedon. We may be winning the battle of troops for now, but if I fall, our people¡¯s souls will become untethered. They will need a new leader. They will need a [Liege].¡± She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. ¡°They will need you.¡± All of Eurymedon¡¯s myriad lips quivered, causing their torso to ripple like water. They obviously wanted to protest, but knew the autarch¡¯s words to be true. ¡°May you find victory, my [Liege].¡± Melpomene smirked. ¡°Failing that, a legendary end!¡±
Arthur Kingsblood III ¡ª [Tier V] [Champion of Sol], general of the the [Solarian Courts]¡¯ expeditionary defense force, lauded [Hero], and veteran of a hundred adventures ¡ª was wading through imported sewage. Every nook and cranny of his golden armor below the waist was filled with the pungent filth. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Arthur,¡± his companion said, a [Tier IV] [Tactician] named Brandon. ¡°I still say this smells of a trap.¡± ¡°No, this smells of shit. If you don¡¯t have anything useful to say, just be quiet.¡± ¡°But think about it, Arthur! Don¡¯t you think this is all a bit too convenient? We anonymously received a tip about an unguarded entrance to the sewers, and the sewers just so happen to lead straight to the ritual we need to disrupt?¡± ¡°I said shut up, Brandon!¡± Arthur shook his head and turned to face the worrywart. Brandon looked so similar to Arthur, they could have been brothers ¡ª same strong jaw, same blue eyes, same flowing blond hair, same impressive height ¡ª but in terms of demeanor, the two couldn¡¯t be further apart. ¡°I¡¯m the [Hero], and you¡¯re just my companion. What I say goes.¡± ¡°I know, I know, but have you considered that¡ª¡° ¡°Sol damnit! This is why I hate you [Tacticians]! Always ¡®consider this¡¯ or ¡®think of that.¡¯ If we didn¡¯t have to wade through shit, I would have left you to command the army and brought Morgan instead.¡± ¡°Wait, that¡¯s why?¡± Brandon asked. Arthur winced, knowing he shouldn¡¯t have let that slip. Brandon continued, letting more than a little anger seep into his words. ¡°You had Morgan, a [Tier V] [Omnimancer] with zero tactical experience lead your army while I, a [Tier IV] [Tactician], join you in the final battle, all because you didn¡¯t want Morgan to wade through shit?¡± ¡°Of course not!¡± Arthur lied. What Brandon said was completely true, but Arthur couldn¡¯t let him know that. Brandon wasn¡¯t as Nice? as Arthur, so he wouldn¡¯t understand. The [Tactician] always chose what was ¡®optimal¡¯ over what chivalry demanded. Sure, Morgan also leaned toward the optimal choices, but she didn¡¯t know what was best for her. As a Nice Guy?, Arthur needed to protect the lady at all costs! ¡°What I said earlier is true,¡± Arthur went on. ¡°Her offensive magics could be of great aid to the troops.¡± Brandon didn¡¯t have to know that Morgan was being kept safely away from the action, but what Arthur claimed was still technically true. ¡°Besides, you worry too much! We are on the side of Sol! These demons don¡¯t even have a god to back them, so how could they possibly win? Stop thinking so hard. This war was won before it began.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand how you can still be so confident, considering how many times that confidence has gotten you in trouble.¡± ¡°Thank you, Brandon,¡± Arthur said, purposefully misinterpreting his companion¡¯s exasperated words as a compliment. ¡°I¡¯m sure one day, when you¡¯re as brave, heroic, and handsome as I, then you can be confident too.¡± ¡°Ugh, never mind,¡± Brandon huffed. ¡°You¡¯re brain¡¯s as stagnant as this sewage.¡± Arthur walked on, graciously willing to let the insult pass ¡ª for now ¡ª but he noticed that Brandon had stopped moving. He turned to face the disobedient [Tactician]. ¡°If you¡¯re too tired to go on, just¡ª¡° ¡°Shut up!¡± Brandon yelled, and Arthur was so shocked by the meek man¡¯s direct outburst that he complied. Brandon pointed his hand at the sewage in fear. ¡°The sewage is stagnant!¡± ¡°Yeah? So?¡± ¡°The sewage is waist high and stagnant! It¡¯s not going anywhere! This isn¡¯t a real sewer¡­¡± He slowly looked up to his [Liege]. ¡°I don¡¯t think Daemons even shit¡­¡± ¡°Why would they build a fake sewer? You worry too¡­¡± Arthur let his words trail off as he heard a thunderous rumbling coming from behind him. He saw Brandon¡¯s face go pale as his eyes locked onto something behind Arthur, and the whole tunnel began to glow red. Arthur turned around just in time for a wall of lava to slam into his face.
Melpomene stood alone in the ritual chamber, ready to die. In the room¡¯s center was a raised dias atop which spun the seven slowly fusing [Shards of Aolyn the Deathless]. The azure shards glowed with power, casting the room in an ethereal blue light balanced out by the floor¡¯s pulsing runic veins of volcanic radiance. It was only a matter of time before her people¡¯s god was revived. Either that, or the [Hero] would kill her and stop the ritual, again leaving her people all alone to fend for themselves, a nation without a god. She didn¡¯t want to admit it, but if precedent was anything to go by, Melpomene already knew which option was more likely. Facing the very real possibility of death, she laughed ¡ª not because she thought she might win, but because she knew she would die. Something within her snapped. She drew [Audacity] from its sheathe and slashed the air above her, a futile strike against the heavens themselves. ¡°Gods are [Cringe]!¡± she screamed. ¡°You¡¯ve rigged the game from the beginning, you holy coward! ¡°Sol, the god of the sun, light, and justice? Ha! You know what we call assholes like you down here? You¡¯re nothing but a bully! You¡¯re the biggest kid on the playground, throwing tantrums to get everything you want!¡± BANG BANG! She fired two shots into the ceiling, cracking the stone. ¡°Will killing me make you feel like a man, light-for-brains? Will striking me down like you did every one of my predecessors get that ¡®holier-than-thou¡¯ cock of yours hard?¡± She reloaded [Discretion] and [Subtlety]. ¡°Autarch Thanatos I, first Autarch of the [Despoiled Legion], killed by a bolt of lightning a moment before decapitating Champion Gregory II. I call bullshit!¡± BANG BANG! ¡°Autarch Styx IV! Fifteenth Autarch of the [Despoiled Legion], drowned at sea by a freak typhoon, the night before she would have annihilated the Solarian forces with a masterful ambush. Bullshit!¡± BANG BANG! ¡°Autarch Erebus VII, thirty-first Autarch of the [Despoiled Legion], victory stolen from his hands because an entire fucking army of [Solar Dragons] and [Seraphim] appeared out of thin air! Bullshit!¡± BANG BANG! ¡°BULLSHIT!¡± BANG BANG! ¡°BULLSHITBULLSHITBULLSHITBULLSHIT! AHHHH¡ª!¡± BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG¡ª! Melpomene kept screaming and firing shots into the air until half her ammunition was gone. For all her rage, the only result was smoke and a cracked ceiling, but no response. Breathing heavily, the smell and taste of gunpowder everywhere, she unclipped and threw away her empty pouches of ammunition, replacing them with her pair of reserves. ¡°Ultimate power is [Cringe], too,¡± she chortled. ¡°Imagine being a big old godly piss-boy and spending all your time picking on mortals. Don¡¯t you have anything better to do? Doesn¡¯t it get boring, winning all the time without having to try? If you ask me, it¡¯s better to lose giving it your all!¡± Melpomene shook her head. ¡°I feel sorry for your champion. It must be miserable, having every victory guaranteed because of sky-daddy. Even if he wins without your intervention, would it even count? He knows you¡¯re always there, looming over his shoulder, ready to come in and make all his effort mean nothing. He can¡¯t even take a risk, because taking a chance and losing just means you¡¯ll come in and force him to win. What¡¯s victory without a chance of failure? Having no real achievements of his own, what does that do to a person? ¡°I don¡¯t know how he does it,¡± she went on, talking to the empty room. Whether or not Sol even heard her words, she didn¡¯t give a damn. ¡°A tactical genius like him is wasted on you. He¡¯s outsmarted me at every turn, faking incompetence so that I¡¯ll fall for his traps. Too bad all his plans are useless, since you decided from the beginning he¡¯d win no matter what. ¡°But I¡¯ll tell you this, Sol! Even though I can¡¯t win, I sure as hell ain¡¯t going out like a chump!¡± Melpomene had long ago realized that to go out swinging was the best a [Daemon Autarch] could hope for, but that was no excuse to give up. To make sure her end would be as epic as possible, she¡¯d spent the last few decades raising her Evil? army of Evil? and collecting the seven [Shards of Aolyn the Deathless]. More importantly, she also spent that time rehearsing her Evil? monologues and designing the five phases of her final battle. Phase four would have to be altered now that the caldera was drained of lava, but that was besides the point. She felt more than a little guilty knowing she was leaving Eurymedon behind to lead the [Despoiled Legion] without her, but she was confident they would be an admirable autarch. They would lead their faction to unprecedented glory, Melpomene was sure, but once a few decades passed and Eurymedon came to the same realization as Melpomene ¡ª that is, if they hadn¡¯t already realized the accursed truth ¡ª then they too would craft an epic finale. The two would reunite in the afterlife. No one knew what the afterlife was for their godless people, but whatever it was, Melpomene was sure she and Eurymedon would fuck shit up! It was in that moment ¡ª imagining herself and her best friend of decades conquering the wild unknowns of death ¡ª that something began to shift within Melpomene¡¯s heart. She¡¯d long known that victory was impossible, yet she desired it still. Now, however, faced with the end, she learned she didn¡¯t fear death ¡ª that she never had, in fact. She still desired the revival of her people¡¯s god above all else, but now there was a second desire she craved with near-equal passion. An epic death. One final all-out struggle. ¡°I¡¯m going to die the way I lived!¡± she shouted. ¡°Like a badass!¡± She prepared herself for phase one of her final battle, expecting the [Hero] to burst in through the wall, but instead, she heard footsteps approaching from the hall. She could only smile ruefully. ¡°I¡¯ve underestimated the [Hero] yet again,¡± she said to herself. ¡°Trying to predict him is like trying to grasp infinity. Even without Sol, I never had a chance to win, did I?¡± She chuckled at her own lack of foresight. She might have been fated to lose from the beginning, but she wouldn¡¯t go out quietly. Finally, it was her time. She would die in glory, or die trying. ¡­Or live trying, she supposed. Chapter 2. That was it? ¡°So we finally meet, Arthur Kingsbloo¡ªUgh! Cursed fuck! What happened to you?¡± ¡°Demon King! I¡¯ve come to¡­ come to¡­¡± The [Hero] of the [Solarian Courts] vomited all over the floor. He looked nothing like the images in her intelligence reports. The Human looked like he just swam through lava ¡ª which he probably had. His once golden armor was blackened with some panels missing entirely. His skin and hair were gone. Where there had once been flesh, all that remained beneath his armor was a craggy charred layer of burns. His eyes had survived, but the blue orbs were leaking blood and looking in slightly different directions. The only reason he was alive was probably his constitution as a [Tier V] [Liege]. He was slowly healing, his soul reasserting the shape of his corporeal form, but it looked like as if he might still die if he didn¡¯t receive medical attention soon. Her plan to flood the fake sewers had worked, it would seem. Or was that what he wanted her to think? Melpomene could have tried to kill him right then, but she was overly cautious of a counter-counter-counter-trap. Then an epiphany struck her like lightning. ¡°Of course,¡± she muttered. ¡°¡®Any wise coward can avoid an ambush, and any brave fool can fall to their opponent¡¯s schemes... But to walk knowingly into a trap only to emerge victorious¡­?¡¯ You didn¡¯t fall into my obvious trap, nor did you use it as a distraction! You walked in knowingly, and now you¡¯re going to enact some brilliant plan to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat! ¡°Genius! Truely genius! ¡° she went on. She looked at the [Hero] expectantly, waiting for him to reveal his stratagem. ¡°So? What is it? What¡¯s you¡¯re brilliant plan?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve come to¡­ come to vanquish¡­¡± The [Hero] was really dedicated to his act. He was definitely luring her into attacking him first, but she wouldn¡¯t fall for such an obvious ploy! Instead, she would¡ª He vomited again. Melpomene winced. ¡°You ate fruit pie before a climactic battle? In the future, you really should fuel your body better.¡± ¡°Prepare to meet your¡­¡± The husk of a [Hero] trailed off, and both his eyes suddenly focused on Melpomene. ¡°Wait, the Demon King is a woman?¡± Ah! So he was going to confuse her with inane questions? Better to play along rather than call out his impossible level of ignorance. ¡°[Daemon Autarch], actually. I wasn¡¯t going to say anything, but since you asked, we¡¯re Daemons, not demons. Demons are lawless beings of chaos. Daemons are unholy personifications of nature and Evil?.¡± ¡°Why did you say ¡®evil¡¯ like that?¡± ¡°Like what? Anyway, we also prefer the term ¡®autarch¡¯ since it¡¯s gender neutral. Not all Daemons necessarily have a gender, after all. But to answer your earlier question, yes, today I am a woman.¡± ¡°Today?¡± ¡°Yes, for today at least. I¡¯m usually a woman because a [Priest of Sol] once told me all women are inherently Evil?, but I do sometimes take the form of a man, and other times I prefer an agender form. It¡¯s never been my preference, but a few of my generals prefer being nonbinary. Not that gender is dependent on physical attributes or anything, but since all Daemons can shapeshift, why not take advantage?¡± Arthur blinked. ¡°Demons have more than two genders?¡± ¡°Daemons, and yes we do. Humans do too, you know?¡± ¡°What? But¡­ What?¡± He paused, steadying himself and gathering his thoughts, perhaps preparing to say something profound. ¡°What?¡± he asked. Melpomene scrunched her eyebrows, cautiously playing along while waiting for the trap to spring. ¡°Are you alright? You look like you¡¯re having an aneurysm.¡± The [Hero] nodded his head, sheets of blackened skin sloughing off as he did. ¡°I understand. Only beings of pure evil such as you could corrupt the sanctity of gender!¡± ¡°Thanks!¡± ¡°But if you¡¯re a woman and you¡¯re the Demon¡ª I mean Daemon King¡­¡± he began before trailing off. He was again feigning confusion so that Melpomene would lower her guard, but she wouldn¡¯t fall for it! ¡°Autarch, but go on.¡± ¡°¡­I have to kill you because you¡¯re a Daemon, but you¡¯re a woman¡­ So I have to kill a woman?¡± ¡°Um, yes? But what does me being a woman have to do with it?¡± ¡°I have to kill a woman?¡± he asked again, turning to the cracked ceiling and ignoring Melpomene entirely. ¡°But I¡¯m a Nice Guy?!¡± ¡°Why are you saying ¡®nice guy¡¯ like that?¡± ¡°Wait, if you¡¯re a woman, that means I can fix you!¡± Melpomene suddenly felt her skin crawl. Was this some sort of mental attack? ¡°Um, I don¡¯t know what sort of confusing stratagem you¡¯re using, but I¡¯d prefer if you stop. If it¡¯s alright with you, can we have our epic final battle now?¡± ¡°Of course! Only through besting you in battle will you feel my sincerity!¡± Out of thin air, he drew a gleaming blade of holy light. ¡°Prepare yourself!¡± ¡°Finally!¡± Melpomene dashed forward, drawing [Audacity] and slashing in one fluid, practiced motion. The strike was sudden and brutal, but undoubtedly the [Hero] would stop faking his injuries and parry the¡ª Both of Arthur Kingsblood III¡¯s arms flew into the air, removed from his body by Melpomene¡¯s strike. His blade of sunlight disappeared. Melpomene hastily retreated, wary of a counterattack. She tried to blink away whatever spell her opponent used to convince her her strike had landed. The [Hero] was a tactical genius with the backing of a god. It was impossible for her to win, especially in one strike, so there was no way she had actually just lopped off his arms. This had to be a trick! The [Hero] stared at the stumps that used to be his arms. He looked up at Melpomene, then back down to his stumps¡­ then back to Melpomene, then back to his stumps. The part of his face that used to be lips trembled. ¡°A woman beat me in a duel?¡± His eyes rolled into the back of his head. He fell to the ground and moved no more.
¡°I said let me out there! We¡¯re getting slaughtered!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lady Morgan, but the champion¡¯s orders were very clear. Under no circumstances are we to allow you to¡ª¡° ¡°To what? Do my fucking job?¡± ¡°Please, Lady Morgan, this battle is just a distraction. Once the champion disrupts the ritual and kills their king, our goal will have been met and none of this will matter.¡± ¡°If none of this matters, then step aside! I won¡¯t allow my fellow soldiers to die while I do nothing.¡± ¡°So long as the champion lives, none of us are actually dying. The infantry are merely¡­ awaiting revival.¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Is that so, captain?¡± Morgan Dragonsbane, sole [Tier V] [Omnimancer] contracted to the [Solarian Courts], began to channel the element of earth. Her thin frame swelled with muscle, and her already tall stature stretched until she was two and a half meters tall. Her six-colored enchanted robes and witch¡¯s hat grew with her. Her hands became covered in stone spikes as she stared down at the knight captain. ¡°Then you wouldn¡¯t mind if I sent you to ¡®await revival¡¯ beside them?¡± The captain trembled in fear, but before he could answer, an intangible wave passed over the entirety of the Solarian forces. The feeling itself wasn¡¯t altogether unpleasant. It felt like all their souls stepped out from under the sun and into the shade. It might have even been an enjoyable feeling, if not for the fact it meant the worst possible thing that could happen just happened. Their [Liege], the [Champion of Sol] Arthur Kingsblood III, was dead. Now, their souls were untethered. If they died, they were dead. The army fell into panic as everyone ran for their lives. Even the stoic [Luminous Titans] began to quit the field. ¡°Ahhhhhh¡ª!¡± ¡°Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck¡ª¡° ¡°Everyone for themselves!¡± ¡°Run! Run!¡± ¡°Everyone wait!¡± Morgan called. ¡°We still have to stop their god from¡ª Ack!¡± Her attempt to rally the troops was cut short as a panicking horse ran straight into her flank, its head getting crushed by the impact. The now-dead animal¡¯s knight was thrown from the saddle only to be trampled by the other scrambling knights. Her resilience may have been empowered by the element of stone, but FUCK! Getting hit by a charging horse hurt. Morgan took her form of air and flew a dozen feet above the mess. The Daemonic army weren¡¯t even pursuing yet, but the Solarian troops were still fleeing in every direction as if death were right on their heels. ¡°Cowards!¡± she yelled, altering the flow of air so that her voice would carry. ¡°We can still stop their god¡¯s resurrection! Rally! Let us face death together and¡­ and¡­¡± She trailed off, realizing no one was listening to her. She sighed and shook her head. She extended her senses into the flows of magic all around her. After but a moment, her eyes locked onto the volcano. The magical waves were dampened, but it was hard to hide the resurrection of the single most powerful god to ever exist. She took one last look at the useless army below her. ¡°Fuck it,¡± she said. She rocketed higher into the sky and flew towards the mouth of the volcano. When the Daemons saw her approaching, they fired arrows, boulders, cannonballs, and beams of magic at her, but she was too fast and too evasive to hit from so far away. Two units of [Wyvern Riders] pulled up to either side of her. They performed screening maneuvers, trying to tie her in an aerial melee. Morgan was forced to divert course as claws, thorn whips, and poisonous stingers came at her from every angle. Her advance was ultimately ground to a halt as she had to focus entirely on dodging. Her situation seemed grim, but there was a smirk on her face. ¡°You Daemons send wyverns against me? Morgan Dragonsbane?¡± One of the pod leaders flying high above the rest holstered their whip and unclipped the lance from their wyvern¡¯s side. In unison, as if coordinated by a voice only they could hear, the seven other [Wyvern Riders] flew into a particular formation and commanded their mounts to spew poison simultaneously, forcing Morgan to dodge upward and right into the path of the lance-wielding pod leader. The leader was already in a dive, coming full tilt at Morgan with their lance pointed right at her heart. ¡°Fools.¡± Morgan dropped her form of air, but rather than take one of her other elemental enhancements, she took them all. The lance dropped right at her heart, but she flowed like water, sliding past the blow by a hairsbreadth. The pod leader was surprised that their blow failed to connect, but they were even more surprised when Morgan grabbed onto the lance, fingers digging into its wood like roots. Anchoring herself there, she used the rider¡¯s momentum to swing her foot into their neck. The steel toe of her boot was suddenly as sharp as a razor, and the pod leader¡¯s head went flying. She drew a knife from her hip and plunged it into the base of the wyvern¡¯s neck, breaking through the scales as if they were dried leaves. ¡°Seven left,¡± she muttered. The cloud of poison breath still lingered, and she fell right into it, breathing in more of the noxious gas than she would have liked. She leapt from the wyvern¡¯s corpse, extending her jump by pushing against the air. She couldn¡¯t fly as she could when enhanced solely by air, but the boost to her mobility was more than enough. She landed a kick against another rider, stunning them long enough for her to steal the sword at their side and cut away their saddle¡¯s straps, sending them tumbling through the air and falling to their doom. She stole the wyvern¡¯s reins, and though the beast wouldn¡¯t listen to her, but she still managed to force it to fly into the flank of one of its companions. The two creatures flailed against each other in a wild tangle, but Morgan remained oriented enough to send a searing bolt of fire into the visor of the other confused rider. She leapt away as the two riderless beasts continued to lose altitude. ¡°Five.¡± She lashed out with a thorn whip ¡ª stolen from her briefly commandeered mount ¡ª and wrapped it around the clawed foot of the closest wyvern. She bobbed, spun, and whipped around wildly as the monster kicked, but that wasn¡¯t enough to break the concentration of a [Tier V] [Omnimancer]. Her skin went numb and tingly, and from her free hand, a thousand tongues of [Chain Lightning] snaked through the air and struck three of her remaining opponents. Against all laws of physics, the lightning continued to bounce and rebound amongst the three of them until they were nothing but burnt husks. A single [Tier IV] spell wouldn¡¯t normally wouldn¡¯t be enough to destroy three members of an elite unit of the same tier, but thanks to Morgan¡¯s [Dragonslayer] keyword, the damage was more than enough. ¡°Two.¡± She pulled hard against her stolen whip, sending herself upward to face one of the last riders, but in the chaos, the other remaining wyvern landed a blow, raking its claws against her back. She lost her grip on her whip, and was sent freefalling through the air. In pain but maintaining focus, she dropped her omniform and shifted back into her form of air to stay aloft. She sent out a few quick casts of the [Tier II] spell [Air Slash]. The remaining pair of [Wyvern Riders] dodged them easily, but in the process, they were drawn closer together, which was exactly what Morgan wanted. ¡°[Flesh to Stone]!¡± The [Tier IV] spell¡¯s area of effect struck both of her remaining enemies. One turned completely to stone, but the other ¡ª a pod leader ¡ª partially resisted and was only slowed by her spell, but that was more than enough. ¡°Zero.¡± Morgan rocketed away in the direction of the caldera. Not all of her pursuers were dead, but that didn¡¯t matter so long as they couldn¡¯t stop her. ¡°Play the objective,¡± she told herself, dodging a fresh salvo of projectiles coming at her from the ground forces below. Her back was still bleeding, and her eyes and lungs stung from the poison breath, so she couldn¡¯t waste more time and resources being distracted by the Daemons¡¯ fodder. Her mana reserves were lower than she¡¯d like thanks to her use of her omniform and several high-tier spells, but if she made it to the ritual chamber quickly, she should be able to defeat the [Daemon Autarch] in time to prevent the revival of their ancient god. And if the god did wake up, she¡¯d just have to kill it. She might not be a [Liege], but she was still a [Tier V] spellcaster. She should have enough strength left to get the job done, assuming of course that Arthur and Brandon managed to weaken their enemy before they died. Morgan made it to the mouth of the volcano. Now, all she had to do was fly down and break through a wall, and she would be in the ritual chamber. The ground forces were now too far away to even attempt a shot, and the remaining [Wyvern Rider] and riderless wyverns wouldn¡¯t make it in time. It was at that very moment, when Morgan let out a sigh of relief, that the world around her twisted. The air itself grew a myriad of eyes. Bone needles came from nowhere and everywhere to pierce her flesh and sew her limbs together. Lampreys made of purple sky bit into her eyes. She screamed, and her own tongue stretched from her mouth to wrap around her neck, constricting and choking the life out of¡ª ¡°[BREAK]!¡± she shouted, and the illusion was shattered, though every single millimeter of her body still stung with phantom pain. Before her, flying within the volcano¡¯s column of smoke, was a two-meter tall pillar of eyes, mouths, and limbs. Six wings of purple flesh jutted unnaturally from the figure¡¯s blue flesh. ¡°Eurymedon, the [Daemon of Eyes],¡± Morgan greeted. ¡°I wondered when you¡¯d show up.¡± ¡°Oh? Someone¡¯s done their homework,¡± came a chorus of voices. No, not a chorus, but just one voice layered over itself dozens and dozens of times. ¡°I¡¯m impressed you broke out of my spell so quickly, Morgan Dragonsbane, but I cannot allow you to pass any further.¡± Morgan sighed. She needed to end this fast, but it was too dangerous to take her flightless omniform while fighting over a volcano against a single, mobile opponent. She could attempt to just fly past her opponent to preserve her strength, but if her intel could be trusted, this Daemon was also too dangerous to simply ignore. Trying to balance the trade-offs of mana consumption, speed, and power, Morgan empowered herself with the elements of air and fire, taking on her inferno form. Her eyes turned red, her hair became a mane of fire, and around her legs formed a personal tornado of flames. ¡°You¡¯re a battlefield controller, and I¡¯m a beat-stick who¡¯s resistent to mental attacks,¡± Morgan said. ¡°We might both be [Tier V], but you know just as well as I do how this ends. Move aside, and live to fight another day.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t win against you, but I would rather die fulfilling my duty than live as a coward,¡± Eurymedon said, their eyes beginning to glow violet. Morgan nodded, wishing her own allies felt the same. ¡°Very well. Allow me to fulfill your wish.¡±
Meanwhile, within the ritual chamber, Melpomene finally worked up the courage to poke the [Hero]¡¯s corpse with her sword. Still wary of a trap, she jumped away again, but the mound of burnt flesh remained unmoving. For the first time, she wondered if Arthur Kingsblood III might not have been a tactical genius feigning incompetence. She should have been happy to emerge victorious in her final battle, but she could only frown at how anticlimactic it felt. ¡°That was it? I still have four phases left!¡± Chapter 3. Ive come to kill your god Morgan charged. As she said, the battle¡¯s result was a forgone conclusion. The only challenge that remained was to reach the ritual chamber while wasting as little time and mana as possible. The [Daemon of Eyes] couldn¡¯t hope to keep up with her attacks. A gout of flame blinded three of their eyes, a kick tore free a conjured wing, and a series of flaming punches seared the flesh of the Daemon¡¯s body. While flying, unanchored blows such as her punches wouldn¡¯t deal as much physical damage, but the flames seemed more than effective, turning swathes of the Daemon¡¯s flesh into charred husks. All the while, Morgan fended off mental attacks. The first mental assault had taken her by surprise, but so long as she was aware of the threat, she could resist the effects before they trapped her into a new nightmare prison. That wasn¡¯t to say the Daemon had no other tricks. About half the time, Morgan¡¯s blows would miss. Not because she failed to strike one of Eurymedon¡¯s limbs, but because the limb she struck turned out to be an illusion. It was annoying whenever it happened, but it didn¡¯t make too big a difference. After a few more exchanges, the duel continued to go as expected. Her opponent grew increasingly battered, only hanging on so far thanks to their unnatural constitution and Morgan¡¯s inability to land a devastating blow without expending too much mana. Nevertheless, the Daemon seemed to only be a strike or two away from being incapacitated. Morgan knew she held the advantage, but could the gap really be this wide? No, she realized. I¡¯m only beating them so easily becasuse they¡¯re not trying to win. They¡¯re stalling. After another of her flaming punches landed, Eurymedon¡¯s flesh again sizzled and the Daemon looked to be on the edge of collapse. They appeared only one or two more blows away from passing out, exactly as damaged as they¡¯d been for the past minute. They want me to believe them always on the verge of defeat so that I¡¯ll conserve my mana and waste my time, Morgan thought with a snarl, angry that she had fallen for the Daemon¡¯s tactic for so long. She closed the distance and grabbed her opponent¡¯s fleshy torso with one hand, anchoring the two together. She reeled back a fist, hoping to land a brutal strike that would rip straight through the Daemon and kill them instantly. Then she felt the magic shift, and recognized her mistake. She bailed on her strike at the last moment, but it was still too late. Eurymedon¡¯s eyes flashed violet, and a clawed tongue burst out of one of their mouths, mere handsbreadths from Morgan¡¯s face, and scored a shallow cut over one of her eyes before the [Omnimancer] could get away. It was a small wound, but it left her shaken. She recognized the magic imbued in the Daemon¡¯s attack. If Morgan had gone through with her strike, she would have killed Eurymedon, but Eurymedon would have killed her as well. No, Eurymedon wouldn¡¯t have just killed her. They¡¯d tried to do something much worse. Morgan raised a shaking hand and touched the new wound on her face. Just as she feared, when she pulled her hand away, there was no blood. ¡°[Soul Rend]?¡± she asked. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m unsurprised that you recognize it.¡± Morgan clutched her hands into firsts. ¡°If you can use soul magic, why are you wasting your time serving someone else? You could be unstoppable! You could be a [Liege]!¡± She knew she was wasting valuable time seeking answers, but she needed to know. Eurymedon bobbed her head in a queer nod. ¡°I could stall you with a complete answer, but I respect you too much as an opponent. Just know this, Morgan Dragonsbane¡­ Melpomene has given me more than I could hope to repay in even a thousand immortal lifetimes. ¡°And now, much to my shame, I must again rely on my [Liege]¡¯s foresight.¡± The Daemon gestured with all their arms around them. For the first time, Morgan noticed that during their battle, the pair of them had drifted downward and were now within the confines of the volcano¡¯s partially drained caldera. The cracked walls of the crater suddenly glowed in a ring around them, revealing the arcane runes hidden amongst the noise. Morgan recognized the runes as belonging to a certain elemental spell. She charged at Eurymedon, but she knew she was already too late. A wall of rock and magma jutted up between them, and before she could fly around, more walls formed all around her until she was trapped within a three-dimensional maze. ¡°I know this is a bit out of order,¡± Eurymedon said, their multitudinous voices coming from everywhere at once, ¡°but welcome to phase four of the final battle! The [Magma Labyrinth]!¡±
The ritual would be completed in a matter of minutes. Exactly how many, Melpomene couldn¡¯t tell, but she could already feel a touch of divinity suffused within the air. The seven [Shards of Aolyn the Deathless] spun faster and faster around each other atop the room¡¯s dais, and the azure light they emitted continued to grow in intensity, lighting the room like a blue sun. Just to make sure the [Hero] was dead, Melpomene shot his corpse twice in the head. Brain matter splattered across the floor, but little else happened. ¡°So much for an epic final battle¡­¡± she muttered. She still wasn¡¯t convinced she¡¯d won just yet. Sol could still pull some third-act bullshit, disrupt the ritual, and strike her dead with a holy bolt of sunlight. ¡°Hey, Sol!¡± she shouted at the ceiling. ¡°I knew from the beginning you wouldn¡¯t let me win, but did you have to rob me of a proper fight? All I want is to go out with a bang. Is that too much to ask?¡± Unsurprisingly, she received no answer. ¡°Ugh!¡± she groaned, throwing her hands in the air. Without anything better to do, she paced the room, awaiting her inevitable death. ¡°I barely even got to monologue!¡±
¡°This is ridiculous! I¡¯m telling you that I died in a harrowing battle against the Demon King! I deserve to be in heaven!¡± ¡°Sorry sir, but that¡¯s not the cause of death I have recorded here. Besides, the demons haven¡¯t had kings in quite a few millennia. Could you perhaps be misremembering some of the details?¡± ¡°I am Arthur Kingsblood III! I was a [Tier V] [Champion of Sol] and [Hero] of the [Solarian Courts]! There must be some mistake.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry but¡­¡± The angel standing before the gates of Sol¡¯s heavenly domain trailed off, as if remembering something. ¡°Wait,¡± he said, ¡°did you say [Hero] of the [Solarian Courts]?¡± Arthur puffed out his chest. ¡°I did! Now that you¡¯ve realized your blunder, open the gates and let me in!¡± This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. The angel scrunched his face in confusion. ¡°But the [Solarian Courts] only get a [Hero] when someone tries to resurrect Aolyn the Deathless. Is it already time to kill the [Daemon Autarch] again? Man each century just goes by faster than the last¡­¡± ¡°Yes! That¡¯s it! The [Daemon Autarch], that¡¯s who I died fighting!¡± ¡°Umm, alright, but the book is never wrong,¡± the angel said, tapping a finger against the golden book on his podium, ¡°but I think I could call my manager and get you an exception since you killed the [Daemon Autarch] and stopped a rival deity¡¯s resurrection.¡± ¡°I what?¡± ¡°Killed the [Daemon Autarch] and halted the second coming of all good-aligned deities¡¯ greatest nemesis, Aolyn the Deathless.¡± The angel narrowed his eyes. ¡°You did stop the resurrection, right?¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah. I mean, I¡¯m sure my lieutenant Brandon got it done.¡± Arthur didn¡¯t think disembodied souls could sweat, but in that moment, he got awfully close. The angel sighed. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡±
Brandon never had the chance to earn a surname. He had been Arthur¡¯s [Tactician] for years, but it was a thankless job. Every one of his successes were always chalked up to Arthur¡¯s presence on the field. After all, what could tactics provide when their side already held the overwhelming power of a [Champion of Sol]? Brandon was only allowed to join the [Hero]¡¯s party due to tradition, but no one ever took him seriously. All those hours, days, and weeks spent prepping for every battle and planning out all the contingencies for their campaign¡­ wasted! At least Morgan read his intelligence reports, but Arthur never even listened when he spoke! He still called their enemy the ¡®Demon King¡¯ for Sol¡¯s sake! Now that Arthur was dead though, Brandon knew he would be the one to take the blame. Morgan was just a mercenary, but she was still a [Tier V] [Omnimancer] and thus too valuable for the courts to throw under the bus. But Brandon? He was only a [Tier IV] non-combat classholder. Never mind that the entire campaign would have fallen apart without his work! Those chivalry nuts in charge would take one look at his stats, say ¡°low number bad,¡± and then execute him for letting their [Hero] die! Sure, their precious [Hero] refused to bring along an emergency teleport ring like Brandon did since ¡°running is for cowards!¡± but the courts would twist the truth and say that Brandon intentionally let the stubborn idiot die. ¡°My only chance is to get to Melpomene and end this business myself,¡± he muttered aloud as he skulked through the halls, rapier clutched tight in hand. His magical perception wasn¡¯t as good as Morgan¡¯s, but even a non-spellcaster like Brandon could sense the ungodly ¡ª or to be accurate, very godly ¡ª levels of magic flowing through the air. He followed the flows of magic in reverse, until he was led to an ornate set of double doors. From the intensity of the magic he sensed coming from the other side, he knew the ritual ¡ª and thus Melpomene, the [Tier V] [Daemon Autarch] ¡ª was waiting on the other side. Just as he was wondering how to enter, the doors flew open on their own. Standing there, backlit by the blue glow of a god, was Melpomene. She wore armor fashioned from metal shaped to resemble layers of sharp feathers, the helmet fashioned after a raven skull . Brandon at first thought the material might be darksteel, but then he noticed the black armor glittered with the light of galaxies ¡ª white, purple, blue, and pink. Could this be some new enchanted material? In her hand, she wielded a darksteel flamberge, one of its wavy edges still faintly stained with blood. Looking behind her, Brandon sucked in a breath as he saw the burnt and dismembered remnants of Arthur¡¯s corpse, its head completely blown apart. The slits in her helmet revealed only a sliver of her blue-grey eyes, but her gaze pierced right through him. He must have imagined it, but he thought he saw a smile in her eyes, as if she were happy to see him. ¡°You already know why I¡¯m here,¡± he realized, dumbstruck. She nodded. ¡°I do.¡± She flicked her blade, and a remnants of Arthur¡¯s blood splattered across Brandon¡¯s face. He felt his expression twist in fear, and the smile in her eyes turned cruel. ¡°But I want to hear you say it.¡±
Melpomene flicked out her sword, ready to duel the [Tactician] that came to kill her. Sure, Brandon¡¯s class wasn¡¯t combat focused, but that didn¡¯t mean she could relax. He surely had some brilliant tactic up his sleeve. Arthur may have been an idiot, but there was no way his [Tactician] would be¡ª ¡°I surrender!¡± Brandon yelled, falling to the floor in supplication. Melpomene blinked. ¡°What?¡± ¡°The [Solarian Courts] will kill me no matter what happens!¡± he shouted, offering up his rapier that lay flat in his palms the way a [Vassal] would for their [Liege]. ¡°I let their [Hero] die! More like I couldn¡¯t stop him from killing himself, but they won¡¯t see it that way. Please, I offer you my soul. Just let me live!¡± ¡°Are all Solarians such cowards?¡± Melpomene wondered aloud. ¡°Yes, I am a coward,¡± Brandon admitted immediately. ¡°Trust that I am frightened of falling to a Solarian hell. To avoid that fate, I will gladly die for you a thousand times.¡± Melpomene winced beneath her helmet, but then an idea struck her. ¡°I understand now. This is a trap! There must be some trigger on your soul, or you must have invented some new type of magical item. If I were to tether your soul to mine, you would immediately do something to destroy my soul from the inside!¡± Brandon recoiled at the accusation, rapier dropping to the floor as his eyes filled with fear. ¡°N-No! I would never!¡± ¡°Despair, mortal! For I, Melpomene, fifty-fourth [Daemon Autarch] of the [Despoiled Legion] have discovered your ingenious ploy! Your schemes have failed! Now, prepare to face me in¡­ in¡­ Why are you crying?¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to die!¡± the tall, blond haired, blue eyed, sharp jawed and muscular man wailed between sobs. ¡°I studied and planned and worked so hard just to die and go to hell, all because Arthur wouldn¡¯t listen to me!¡± Suddenly, rage replaced the despair on the man¡¯s face. He stood up and locked his eyes on the corpse of the [Hero] that he once served. He charged at the corpse, and Melpomene stepped out of his way. Brandon got to the corpse and started yelling, every one of his words punctuated with a stomp onto Arthur¡¯s burnt corpse.¡°This! Is! All! Your! Fault!¡± Melpomene watched in distaste. With each boot strike, the corpse made a nauseating sound that was somehow both wet and crunchy. ¡°Um¡­ Brandon?¡± Melpomene began. The [Tactician] landed one last stomp with a squelch before turning to listen. ¡°Tell you what. If you go down the hall, take a left, and then the second right, you¡¯ll come across some stairs. Take them all the way down until you¡¯re in the dungeon. You¡¯ll know you¡¯re there when you see a Daemon wearing nothing but whips and leather. Ask him to hold you there until Eurymedon can check your soul for traps. ¡°If you come up clean, then I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll accept you as a [Vassal]. We do have a rich history of accepting turncoats after all, even though we¡¯re usually the ones that have to go out and tempt them¡­ but that¡¯s besides the point. Does that sound like a plan to you?¡± Breathless from his exertion, Brandon leaned up against the opposite wall, but he looked up at her with hopeful eyes. ¡°You mean you won¡¯t kill me? I don¡¯t have to go to hell?¡± Melpomene took off her helmet and gave him her best placating smile. ¡°Of course not! Without a god, our side doesn''t even know what happens when we die. Besides, if there were a Daemonic hell, you''d need to do a lot of Evil? before you earn a place there! We wouldn''t hand out spots willy-nilly like that silly god of yours¡­ or rather, that former god of yours.¡± Brandon smiled, tears in eyes. One hand still supporting his weight against the wall, he drew himself up as tall as he could. ¡°Thank you, Melpomene! I swear, I¡¯ll be the best traitor you could have ever wished fo¡ª¡° BOOM! The wall behind him exploded, sending chunks of rock into the back of his head, bursting his skull like an overripe grape and killing him instantly. ¡°[DAEMON AUTARCH] MELPOMENE!¡± a woman¡¯s deep voice yelled in through the new crack in the wall. BOOM! The wall exploded further, expanding the crack so that it was large enough for the woman to walk through. She stepped into the room, charred six-colored robe billowing about her heroically, witch¡¯s hat sitting firmly on her head. Morgan Dragonsbane had muscles corded like iron and skin tough as stone. Her eyes were flames, but she moved with the grace of water. A sourceless wind whipped against her short black hair, and the ground pulled up behind her every step, as if attached to her by invisible roots. Blood flowed freely down her back from a trio of gouges inflicted by a wyvern¡¯s claws, but her personal wind blew it about behind her, making it appear as if she had wings of blood. Across one flaming eye, she bore a newer wound, a deep cut that glowed with the telltale violet of a certain Daemon¡¯s magic. Morgan waved her arms, and around her formed the armaments of the six elements, a sleek creation of runic elemental plates all joined by living chains of water and burning wood. In one hand formed a blade of stone, and in the other a blade of air. A wicked bramble crown swirled into existence and rested on the brim of her witch¡¯s hat, every thorn burning with one of the colors of the six classical elements. Her [Planar Avatar] spell complete, Morgan pointed her stone blade between Melpomene¡¯s eyes. With a voice that thrummed with the power of all creation, she spoke. ¡°I¡¯VE COME TO KILL YOUR GOD!¡± Chapter 4. Death by Misogyny ¡°Oh, Brandon¡¯s here! Hey, tell him that you stopped the resurrection so that we can get into heaven.¡± Brandon blinked his eyes, discombobulated. One moment, he was selling his soul to the enemy, and then there was a bit of pain¡­ and then what? ¡°Brandon!¡± the familiar voice demanded. ¡°Snap out of it! Sol damnit, you¡¯re just as braindead as you¡¯ve always been.¡± ¡°Hey, language,¡± reprimanded a new voice. Finally gaining some presence of mind, Brandon looked around. He was standing before the closed gates of a heaven, but much to his dismay, there was a large sun emblem at the gate¡¯s center. This was Sol¡¯s heaven. And Brandon had died a traitor. Beside him was an annoyed looking Arthur, which was to say Arthur looked the way he always looked whenever the two spoke. This time, however, the [Hero]¡¯s annoyance was directed at someone else. Between the two freshly disembodied souls and eternal paradise, there was a tired looking angel in the form of a bespectacled old man. The angel stood behind a sun-emblazoned podium that matched the emblem on the gates, but the angel¡¯s own robes had no such iconography. But wait, why was Brandon here with Arthur in the first place? Why put a traitor with a [Hero]? Did Sol not know about his betrayal? Gods couldn¡¯t keep up with everything their followers did, after all. Best to gather intelligence before making assumptions. ¡°Wait, why I am here?¡± Brandon probed. ¡°I thought these evaluations were supposed to be individual?¡± ¡°They are,¡± the angel replied, ¡°but policy states that [Vassals] get evaluated with their [Liege] if they die around the same time.¡± ¡°Then where are the troops?¡± ¡°Troops go to a separate gate.¡± ¡°And what of¡ª¡° ¡°Shut up, Brandon. Enough of your ¡®intelligence gathering,¡¯¡± Arthur mocked. Brandon clenched his jaw. His first instinct was to obey, but then he remembered that he didn¡¯t have to listen to Arthur anymore. ¡°We¡¯re dead because you never listened to me,¡± Brandon said. ¡°Stop talking, or we¡¯ll find out whether or not a soul can have broken teeth..¡± ¡°Whatever. Just tell him you stopped the resurrection so we can¡ª¡° Arthur¡¯s words were cut off by a fist to the face ¡ª Brandon¡¯s fist, to be precise. ¡°I¡¯ve taken enough of your abuse!¡± Brandon yelled, surprising himself with just how ferocious his bottled-up anger was. A few years campaigning under the command of an arrogant idiot had apparently affected him more than he thought. ¡°Y-You punched me!¡± ¡°And I¡¯ll do it again if you don¡¯t shut up.¡± ¡°Brandon, you¡¯ve never¡ª¡° SMACK! ¡°I said shut it!¡± Brandon yelled, and for the first time since Brandon met him all those years ago, Arthur was too stunned to speak. Brandon turned to the angel and found him looking at the pair with a mildly amused expression. ¡°Does this happen often?¡± Brandon asked. ¡°No, but more often than you¡¯d think.¡± ¡°Sorry, but I never caught your name.¡± The angel chuckled. ¡°This form has no name, but my main self is Hadraniel. However, I¡¯m just one of his aspects on loan to Sol, so it wouldn¡¯t be proper to call me that. If you saw my whole self, your soul might dissipate from the shock.¡± Brandon raised an eyebrow. ¡°On loan? From who?¡± ¡°I would tell you, but you know,¡± and then the angel puffed his lips and mimicked his head exploding, ¡°incomprehensible truths and all that. Just call me Gatekeeper.¡± Whether Gatekeeper meant that his mind would be metaphorically blown or that the truth would literally vaporize his consciousness, Brandon didn¡¯t know, and he didn¡¯t care to find out. The angel scanned his eyes down the book on his podium. ¡°Ah, here we are! ¡®Brandon: Death by dramatic entrance.¡¯ Is that correct?¡± ¡°I was killed by what?¡± ¡°A dramatic entrance. More common than you¡¯d think. Anyway, your karma looks good. You can go in first if you¡¯d like.¡± ¡°I can?¡± ¡°Yeah, sure. Sol keeps things pretty lax. Believers get a pretty big bonus, and then points go up and down from there. That little turnabout at the end cost you, but you still meet the minimum.¡± Souls had no traditional circulatory system, but the angel¡¯s words caused Brandon to pale nonetheless. ¡°Turnabout?¡± Arthur asked, sensing Brandon¡¯s trepidation. ¡°What does that mean?¡± ¡°You know about that?¡± Brandon asked the angel in a whisper. ¡°I-I was just getting her to lower her guard! I-If¡ª¡° ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. Funny thing, that little betrayal probably saved your skin. There¡¯s a clause that states all people executed by the courts go straight to Sol¡¯s hell, no matter their karma. If you somehow lived long enough to make it home, they would have damned your soul for eternity! Doing bad things to get into heaven¡­¡± The angel trailed off, a bittersweet expression on his face. ¡°It happens more often than you¡¯d think?¡± Brandon asked. ¡°Yeah. How¡¯d you know I¡¯d say that?¡± ¡°Lucky guess. Anyway, I¡¯d like to get into heaven now, please.¡± ¡°Wait!¡± Arthur yelled. ¡°Why does he get into heaven so easily? I¡¯m the [Hero]! You should be begging me to enter!¡± ¡°Well, to answer your first question, Brandon spent years trying to minimize Solarian deaths. Looks like most of his attempts to save lives and resources were foiled, but he still got points for trying.¡± ¡°And I did the same thing! I personally campaigned across the land, fulfilling my duties as a [Hero]!¡± ¡°That¡¯s the problem.¡± Gatekeeper tapped his book, and a two-column balance sheet projected into the air. He pointed at one column. ¡°The one who kept foiling Brandon¡¯s plans was you.¡± Brandon couldn¡¯t help but chuckle, but Arthur was incensed. ¡°What are you¡ª? Brandon, stop laughing!¡± Rather than die down, Brandon¡¯s chuckles grew into an uproarious cackle. ¡°Well, don¡¯t I at least get points for dying at the hands of the Demon King?¡± ¡°But that¡¯s not how you died.¡± ¡°But it is!¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what the book says.¡± ¡°Why won¡¯t you tell me what the book says? Or are you lying to deprive me of my right to enjoy a [Hero]¡¯s eternity? Tell me right now!¡± Gatekeeper winced. ¡°Are you sure you want to know? It¡¯s pretty embarrassing.¡± ¡°Embarrassing?¡± Brandon asked, his laughter subsiding as he sensed the chance to get more dirt on Arthur. ¡°Can you tell me?¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Yeah, if you¡¯re not lying, why don¡¯t you tell us what¡¯s written in that little book of yours?¡± Arthur demanded. ¡°I¡¯m sure there¡¯s been a mistake.¡± The angel looked back and forth between the two, and after a moment, seemed to reach a decision. ¡°Alright, if you say so.¡± The angel cleared his throat, which he probably didn¡¯t need to do since none of them were corporeal, but it added to the dramatic effect. ¡°The detailed account says you died of a heart attack due to the shock of being bested in combat by a woman. In brief, ¡®Arthur Kingsblood III: Death by misogyny.¡¯¡±
Before Melpomene had a chance to respond, the newcomer attacked her. Lightning flashed in Morgan¡¯s wake as she dashed forward, her wings of air and blood ionizing into red forks of plasma. A thunderclap boomed through the cramped ritual chamber, rebounding against the stone walls and filling the space entirely. On instinct, Melpomene dropped the helmet she was holding and used both hands to block Morgan¡¯s stone sword with the flat of [Audacity]¡¯s blade, but the maneuver left her vulnerable to a stab from the blade of air. The serrating winds in the [Dragonslayer]¡¯s hand pierced precisely through a gap in Melpomene¡¯s plate armor, easily cutting through the enchanted mail and leathers beneath. The wind blade shredded the flesh of Melpomene¡¯s right thigh, just below the hip, and then unleashed a sonic burst. Melpomene was sent flying through the air, a trail of blood arching behind her like the tail of a comet. Her back slammed into the wall, knocking the air out of her. Instead of following up her attack while Melpomene was dazed, Morgan rushed to the dais to disrupt the ritual. By now, the seven [Shards of Aolyn the Deathless] shone so brightly with azure light, the room could have been mistaken for a slice of the sky. With a double overhead chop, Morgan slammed both her blades into the merging shards, but an invisible barrier absorbed her blow¡¯s tremendous power. Understanding immediately, Morgan turned to face the [Demon Autarch] that was just now finding her feet. ¡°A [Soul Barrier],¡± the [Dragonslayer] said. ¡°Then I¡¯ll have to kill you first.¡± With another burst of lightning, Morgan charged, but this time Melpomene was ready. Holding [Audacity] with one hand, she locked her flamberge with Morgan¡¯s incoming stone blade. With her free hand, she grabbed [Subtlety]. Morgan again stabbed with her blade of air, this time aiming for Melpomene¡¯s helmetless head, but Melpomene anticipated the strike and jumped into the air. Leveraging their locked blades, Melpomene sent Morgan stumbling forward as Melpomene kicked off the wall, twisted in the air, and landed preternaturally fast behind her now off-balance opponent. Without hesitation, she placed [Subtlety]¡¯s muzzle against the nape of Morgan¡¯s neck and pulled the trigger. The explosion of gunpowder echoed throughout the room, loud as Morgan¡¯s earlier thunderclaps. Flesh rent and tore beneath the power of her handcannon ¡ª or at least it should have. Before the shot went off, Morgan¡¯s living armor had shifted over her neck, and the shot that should have killed her instead impacted a runic plate of metal. The force of the shot still must have caused serious damage, throwing the already off-balance [Omnimancer] to the floor, but Morgan had the wherewithal to twist and land on her back. Melpomene wasted no time in following up with a stab, but Morgan blocked by plunging a hand into the floor and throwing up a curtain of stone. She kicked the ground, and with another burst of lightning, both fighters again found themselves standing on opposite sides of the room with nothing but a resurrecting god between them. Both of them were injured and breathing heavily, but while Morgan wore the grim expression of a warrior, Melpomene had the brightest grin on her face. ¡°The rumors don¡¯t do you justice, Morgan Dragonsbane.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t bother stalling!¡± Morgan charged and the two clashed, but after a few exchanges, they pulled apart again, neither able to land a decisive blow. ¡°I mean it sincerely,¡± Melpomene said, and this time she was the first to approach. She feinted low, then struck high. Morgan didn¡¯t fall for the simple deception, blocking easily, but when the underside of Melpomene¡¯s gauntlet opened to fire out a barrage of poisoned needles, she barely twisted out of the way in time to avoid the surprise attack, missing her opportunity to counter. ¡°Traps within traps,¡± Morgan mused, blocking another strike. ¡°This is why none of you [Despoiled Legionnaires] will ever be able to beat me in a straight up fight.¡± ¡°Incorrect,¡± Melpomene said as she blocked a vicious forehand strike. ¡°We¡¯ll never beat you because your god is a whiny toddler who always pulls out some bullshit right before his toy soldiers lose.¡± She lunged and fired a shot, forcing her opponent to back off. ¡°We use tactics because we don¡¯t have a heavenly asshole ensuring we win.¡± Morgan snorted. ¡°Don¡¯t call that bastard Sol ¡®my god.¡¯ I¡¯m a mercenary. I¡¯m powerful in spite of that chauvinist pig, not because of him.¡± She charged back in and landed a shallow cut below Melpomene¡¯s eye. ¡°You think his courts full of bickering nobles could create a fighter like me?¡± Between exchanges, Melpomene stole a glance at the pair of dismembered corpses whose parts littered the room. ¡±Point taken.¡± ¡°Enough talking. Time to die.¡± ¡°Couldn¡¯t agree more.¡± The two continued their duel, picking up speed as they went. As they each experienced more of the other¡¯s fighting style, they became better able to anticipate and react to the other¡¯s moves. Morgan stomped the ground, shifting the ground beneath Melpomene¡¯s feet to break her guard, but Melpomene simply spun with the earth, twisting her lunge into a rising kick. A blade extended from the tip of her boot and dug into the [Dragonslayer]¡¯s side. Ignoring the pain, Morgan responded by dissipating her sword of air and grabbing her opponent¡¯s greave, channeling a lightning spell through her hand to electrocute the [Daemon Autarch] within her own armor. Unluckily for Morgan, Melpomene had designed her armor with lightning magic in mind. The lightning travelled through Melpomene¡¯s armor, scorching her as it went, but instead of cooking her into a husk, the charge concentrated itself into her gauntlet. She flexed her abs, curling toward her grappled foot, and punched Morgan in the face with an electrocuted fist. Back and forth they went, attack and counterattack, faster and faster and faster, until both of them lost themselves in the melody of violence. And what a beautiful melody it was. This was what what Melpomene wanted. She knew from the beginning that she would lose ¡ª she¡¯d known for decades ¡ª but in the heat of battle, she could forget. She could forget that the game was rigged. She could forget that all her effort was ultimately useless. She could forget that her destiny was already written by the gods, and that she was just their captive actor spilling out lines. When every moment was an imminent struggle between life and death, she could forget it all. There was only the battle, and nothing else. A pillar of stone launched from the ground and smashed into Melpomene¡¯s jaw, knocking her to the ground and dazing her for a split second, but that was more than enough time. Morgan¡¯s swords and armor disappeared as she diverted all her mana into one final spell. In one fluid motion, she formed a blade of six raw elemental energies and plunged it towards Melpomene¡¯s neck. ¡°[Planar Strike]!¡± Melpomene barely had time to raise her arms in a cross block, but the sword skewered through her gauntleted forearms with all the wrath of nature, halting bare centimeters from her unprotected throat. ¡°AAUGH!¡± she screamed. The swirling blade of energy continued to tear apart her arms from within as its tip inched closer and closer. In a straightforward contest of physical strength, Melpomene should¡¯ve been able to beat the spellcaster easily, but Melpomene was on the ground pushing upwards with poor leverage while Morgan was able to throw her full weight into her plunging strike. ¡°Die!¡± the [Dragonslayer] yelled as she pushed the blade down further, forcing Melpomene to bend her neck away, lest she receive an unwanted tracheotomy. It should have been terrifying ¡ª it was terrifying ¡ª but Melpomene couldn¡¯t help but grin like an idiot. If she was going to die, she would die giving it her all. She couldn¡¯t speak loudly for fear of moving her throat, so she looked up at Morgan and whispered with the breathy tone of a lover. ¡°Time for phase two.¡± Melpomene suddenly grew in size, the feathers of her armor fanning out to accommodate her new size as the gaps between plates widened. Her muscles bulged with power, and the texture of her sapphire skin became tough as hide. Her short black hair grew into a river of white as the lines in her face went from feminine to androgynous. Before the transformation was complete, Melpomene used her increased strength to kick Morgan away, dissipating the elemental blade in the process. As Morgan regained her balance, Melpomene calmly rose to her feet. Melpomene¡¯s transformation continued as she spotted her discarded helmet and walked toward it. Black spiny wings sprouted from her back. Her nails extended into claws. All her wounds remained, including the holes in her forearms and the gash in her thigh, but her exhaustion seemed to melt away. When it was over, the [Daemon Autarch] was over two meters tall, and her appearance was that of a godless champion. She bent down and retrieved her beaked helmet, undoing a hidden fastener. The helmet unfurled, splitting and flattening until it held the gentle curve of a mask. She turned to face Morgan, placing the jawless darksteel mask over her own face. The mask¡¯s design was odd, a symmetrical plate of sharp lines and texture that belonged in a nightmarish masquerade. It adhered magically to Melpomene¡¯s face, hiding all but her smile and the once blue-grey eyes that now glowed red. She extended her leathery wings and raised both clawed hands in a brawler¡¯s stance. ¡°Shall we get back to it, Morgan Dragonsbane?¡± she asked, voice low and earthy. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to use this,¡± Morgan grumbled, taking off her witch¡¯s hat and sticking in her hand, ¡°but it¡¯s now or never.¡± From within her hat, she pulled out a gold glimmering gem and crushed it in her fist. She stifled a shout of pain as the energy within the stone was released and invaded her body. Her eyes and wounds began shining the gold of primordial power. Renewed, she took a stance and readied a spell. They stared each other down a moment. Then, as if on cue, they both let out war cries and charged at the other, their eyes filled with naught but blood and glory. Melpomene reared back with a massive clawed fist while Morgan conjured a flurry of elemental spears, both going for the kill. This battle was going to be legendary. This¡­ Melpomene thought. In Melpomene¡¯s short life of eighty-something years, she experienced only a few moments of inarticulable revelation. That moment ¡ª the split second before they clashed, she and Morgan, enemies of equal and immense might, each utterly enthralled within their duet of sword and spell ¡ª was one such moment. Wordlessly and instantly, faster than words could ever hope to convey, Melpomene realized a truth decades in the making. This¡­ The shift in her heart that began during her tantrum against Sol finally completed. Her greatest desire was no longer to revive her god, nor to defy fate, nor even to win. All she wanted was the fight itself. She accepted that her fate was to lose and die, and only through that acceptance was she able to forget her fate altogether. There was the battle, and there was nothing else. She would die going all-out, and that was all that mattered. This is what I wanted all along. A smile on her face, Melpomene charged towards death. But then a pulse of divinity blasted throughout the room, throwing both combatants away from the other and ending the battle early. Apparently, a certain god just had to show up and ruin everything. ¡°Oh, come on!¡± Chapter 5. Old Rival The seven [Shards of Aolyn the Deathless] were gone, probably teleported away by the deity of sunburns. In their place stood an odd-looking figure, likely one of that same god¡¯s emissaries come to strike her down. Melpomene could have mistaken the person for a Human if not for the sheer amount of divinity and magic radiating off of them. It was bad enough Sol always deus-ex-machina¡¯d a win at the last second, but did he have to do it before she even finished her final battle? Melpomene ground her teeth at being denied not only a well-earned victory, but even a dramatic death! Fuck this Sol-sent bastard! ¡°That¡¯s not who I am,¡± the newcomer said. He ¡ª Melpomene didn¡¯t know how she knew the figure¡¯s preferred pronouns, but she somehow did ¡ª wore strange brown pants of a fabric she couldn¡¯t recognize. ¡°It¡¯s corduroy.¡± His collared shirt was a strange red and black plaid affair that buttoned in the front. The shirt was tucked into the pants to show off a corded belt with a black buckle, and the pants themselves were tucked into a pair of faux-rugged looking boots. ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re not really boots. They¡¯re just fashionable shoes styled to look like boots.¡± He wore a scarf as if he were cold, but his sleeves were rolled up, revealing ritualistic tattoos on his icy skin. The tattoos themselves were strange, depicting things that looked Human, but with weird hair and eyes. ¡°It¡¯s anime, but you should know I only got these ironically.¡± His wrists were adorned with braided cord. Over his eyes were thick black frames that could have held light-bending glass, but they were empty. His ears were pierced with silver rings and counterfeit gems. His hair was long on top, but completely shaved on the sides. ¡°It¡¯s called an undercut. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m going to stick with it, though.¡± Why was Sol¡¯s emissary speaking as if he could read her mind? Gods and other divine beings should only be able to¡ª ¡°¡ªread the minds of their followers? Yeah. Because, like I said, I¡¯m not Sol.¡± He casually stuck out a fist, and Melpomene somehow knew he wanted her to bump it with a fist of her own. She approached cautiously and complied with the mysterious deity¡¯s implied request. ¡°It¡¯s called a fistbump,¡± the deity explained, ¡°and please stop thinking of me as ¡®the deity.¡¯ Thought you¡¯d figure it out by now, but I now recognize how rude and narcissistic that assumption is. As an apology, allow me to introduce myself.¡± He took a step back and bowed ironically. She knew it was important she perceived the bow as ironic, but it was performed with such grace that¡ª ¡°Nope! I¡¯ll stop you there. Ironic is good enough,¡± he said, rising. ¡°I¡¯m Aolyn the Deathless. Nice to meet you Melpomene, and thanks for the resurrection.¡± ¡­ ¡­¡­ ¡­¡­¡­.? ¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± she declared when her brain finished restarting. ¡°Apparently not.¡± Before Melpomene knew how to respond, Aolyn turned his piercing blue gaze to the room¡¯s only other occupant. Morgan Dragonsbane was doing her best impression of wind, trying to slink out of the room unnoticed, but it didn¡¯t help that her eyes and wounds still glowed with gold primordial energy. The god¡¯s gaze must have triggered some fight or flight response, because no sooner had his gaze landed on the [Omnimancer] than she reconjured the armaments of the [Planar Avatar] spell and dashed toward her new enemy. She lashed out with a double thrust, both her blades of stone and air crackling with golden lightning as they aimed for his heart. Instead of stopping the blow, Aolyn just watched as both blades vaporized a hole in his shirt and rebounded off his skin. Morgan was thrown back by the recoil, cracking the enchanted stone wall as she slammed into it. Her armor shattered and her blades disappeared. She coughed out blood as all the air was forced out of her lungs, and the violet glow of the wound over her eye grew in intensity. She fell to the floor as her golden glow disappeared, its power exhausted to keep her alive. Aolyn the Deathless hadn¡¯t even raised a finger, but Morgan was already on death¡¯s door. Any other mortal would have despaired, begged for their life, tried to run, babbled like an idiot, shit their robe, or any combination of those very reasonable reactions, but what Morgan did next earned her Melpomene¡¯s eternal respect. Morgan spat out more blood. Her magic was gone, but there was a fire in her eyes as she raised her gaze to meet Aolyn¡¯s. ¡°It seems fate has ordained that here I shall die¡± she began, mustering the strength to find her feet, ¡°but fate can lick my ass!¡± Her yell was gravel and blood, the cry of a warrior. The spellcaster raised her fists. Her muscles, even unaugmented by magic, flexed impressively through her torn and charred robe. A mad gleam flashed through her fiery eyes. ¡°I came to kill a god, and I¡¯m not leaving until I take your head, or you take mine!¡± She charged, a mere mortal throwing fists at a god. ¡°AAAAAAUGH!¡± She punched at Aolyn¡¯s face, but the god dodged by simply taking a step back. Morgan¡¯s blow missed, and she fell forward, losing her balance. How she¡¯d even found the strength to stand in the first place, Melpomene didn¡¯t know. Aolyn stepped forward and reached out his arms, but rather than finish off the [Dragonslayer], he gently caught her by the shoulders and helped her back to her feet. She reeled after he released his grip, but precariously maintained her balance. After she steadied herself, she looked at Aolyn with a complicated expression, probably lightheaded and confused as to why she was still alive despite twice attacking a god. Before either she or Melpomene could ask a question, Aolyn spoke first. ¡°That might be the single most badass way anyone has ever threatened to kill me,¡± he said, sounding touched. ¡°If you¡¯re not doing anything after this, could we grab dinner? I haven¡¯t eaten the local cuisine in¡­¡± he trailed off and turned to Melpomene. ¡°How long has it been since I was shattered?¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Not sure exactly. Fifty-four generations of [Daemon Autarchs], so probably a bit under six thousand years.¡± ¡°If it¡¯s alright with you, Melpomene, could I read your soul¡¯s memories? I¡¯d like to see what I missed these past few millennia.¡± ¡°Um, go for it, your godliness.¡± ¡°Just call me Aolyn. This may tickle a bit.¡± His eyes flashed purple and Melpomene felt something like a thousand feathers wiggling against her soul. She stifled a laugh, but it was over in an instant. ¡°Ah. I see,¡± Aolyn said, his eyes returning to their blue hue. He turned back to Morgan, who now looked more confused than bloodthirsty. He snapped his fingers and her tattered robe knit itself back together. Her wounds all disappeared except for the violet glowing scar over her eye, and she seemed completely renewed. ¡°So Morgan¡­¡± he began, nervously scratching the back of his head. ¡°Dinner?¡± ¡°What sort of trickery is this?¡± she asked, narrowing her eyes. She didn¡¯t ready any spells, but her muscles were tensed and she was clearly on edge. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Melpomene interrupted, shrinking down into her previous form, her metal feathers sliding tighter together as she removed the mask from her face, ¡°but you¡¯re Aolyn the Deathless? No offense, but¡­¡± She trailed off, gesturing vaguely in Aolyn¡¯s direction. ¡°You don¡¯t exactly look the part.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve changed,¡± he said, a vacant, horrified look seeping into his gaze. ¡°What may have been a mere six millennia for you was for me an infinity. In the void of nonexistence, there is no space, and there is no time. There is only you and the nameless, faceless forever. ¡°I spent one eternity in despair. I spent another in shame for the poor Daemons I left behind. A third I spent in madness, though perhaps I¡¯d been mad all along. ¡°It wasn¡¯t until my fourth forever, in the midst of an existential crisis, that I realized an existential crisis was a silly thing to have for one who lacked existence. I laughed into the void, and the void laughed back.¡± Aolyn glanced in Melpomene¡¯s direction, but he wasn¡¯t looking at her. His eyes were elsewhere, regarding a horror only he could see. ¡°Only then did I realize the absurdity of it all. There was no reason for my suffering. There was no reason for my joy. There was no reason for anything, for why should there be? Reason and logic, those fickle lovers that they are, only exist because they tell us they do. They are a question begged, their answer in their premise. They are themselves what they hate ¡ª a fallacy ¡ª but worse still, they are a paradox. ¡°If they are true, they cannot prove themselves, but to cease existence because of that contradiction, wouldn¡¯t that be to follow their own flawed tenets?¡± Melpomene stepped away. She stole a glance at Morgan, and the other mortal looked just as frightened as her. ¡°S-Sorry, but I don¡¯t understand?¡± the autarch asked. ¡°And neither do I!¡± he laughed. ¡°For how can anyone understand anything in the face of forever? But that¡¯s besides the point. You asked why I look as I do, and here is my answer¡­¡± He took a deep, calming breath, and went on, less manically than before. ¡°When I realized the paradox of logic, I also touched onto the nature of duality. There can only be ¡®existence¡¯ because there is also ¡®void.¡¯ The two do not contradict each other, but are actually each the other¡¯s proof. As there can be no reason and logic without paradox and fallacy, there can be no ¡®everything¡¯ without a ¡®nothing.¡¯ Ends exist because of endlessness, shape because of shapelessness, form because of formlessness¡­ ¡°And suddenly, due to my revelation, I was the void. Because I was nowhere, I was everywhere. I was the empty pillar upon which rested each and every one of the myriad firmaments. But because I was now everywhere ¡ª that I even had a now and a where at all ¡ª I was no longer the void. I was Paradox. I was Fallacy. I was the deathless god who had been killed. ¡°And so the void did the only illogical thing it could, and isekai¡¯d me into a teenager¡¯s body in another world called ¡®Earth.¡¯ I got a liberal arts degree, and then I died again when a tru¡ª¡° He cut the word off, fear briefly flashing in his eyes. He cleared his throat and continued. ¡°A vehicle-that-must-not-be-named struck me down, and I reappeared here, resurrected by you.¡± He smiled, the madness and fear in his eyes gone. ¡°So thanks again for all that.¡± A million questions flashed through Melpomene¡¯s mind. She didn¡¯t know what to ask first, so she blurted one out at random. ¡°What¡¯s ¡®getting a liberal arts degree?¡¯¡± she asked lamely. ¡°It means I¡¯m better at identifying problems, but I feel less equipped to handle them.¡± ¡°This changes nothing,¡± Morgan said. ¡°I was contracted to make sure the Shattered God stayed shattered. Now that you¡¯ve been put back together, it¡¯s my job to break you apart, no matter how futile my attempt may be. When a witch of the [Wicked Coven] makes a pact, they don¡¯t break it.¡± Lightning began crackling all over her, and she assumed a fighting stance. ¡°I only ask that you make it quick, Aolyn the Deathless.¡± ¡°If you want a fight to the death, Melpomene is probably your best bet, but before you do that, I assume that your contract is with Sol?¡± Morgan scrunched her eyebrows. ¡°In a manner of speaking. It¡¯s with the [Solarian Courts].¡± Aolyn snorted. ¡°He¡¯s still calling it that? What a nerd. This is why gods shouldn¡¯t exist.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t¡­ you a god?¡± ¡°Yeah, but I¡¯m culturally atheist. Anyway, I¡¯ll get you out of that contract in a jiffy. Be right back.¡± As suddenly as he appeared, he was gone. He left with an azure flash of light, leaving behind the two warriors who just a few minutes earlier had been trying to kill each other. An awkward silence passed between the two of them. ¡°So¡­¡± Melpomene began, ¡°[Tier V] [Omnimancer] with the [Dragonslayer] keyword, huh?¡± ¡°Yes¡­?¡± Morgan raised an eyebrow, suspicious. ¡°Impressive. How¡¯d you get it?¡± ¡°What, my class?¡± ¡°Uh, no. I meant the keyword, but if you want to talk about your class, that¡¯s cool too.¡± Morgan scoffed. ¡°If I tell you about that, would you tell me how you became a [Liege]?¡± The way she said it sounded derisive, implying that both of their requests for information were absurd, but Melpomene couldn¡¯t figure out what was absurd about either of their questions. Maybe it was a cultural difference? Confused by the [Dragonslayer]¡¯s tone, Melpomene decided not to overthink it and just take her words at face value. ¡°Sure! I could even show you how to do it if you want.¡± Morgan blinked. ¡°You will?¡±
Sol hated council meetings, but at least the food was good. He teleported from his heavenly realm to the moon exactly thirty seconds after he received the emergency summons ¡ª late enough to communicate his disintrest, but not so late as to be rude ¡ª but rather than go straight to the meeting room, he apparated beside the ma?tre d¡¯h?tel of Luna¡¯s creatively named Lunar Pantheon. ¡°Send the braised pig, a charcuterie board, and a bottle of the house red to the council room. One of the desserts too, something I haven¡¯t had yet, if you would.¡± ¡°Of course, your divinity,¡± the [Tier S] [Harbinger of Madness] replied from behind their podium of imported terran marble, their tentacles rubbing against each other to mimic humanoid speech. Sol always detested his sister¡¯s pets, but at least they were diligent. Sol tipped the creature a [Minor Token of Sol] and was on his way. He walked at a casual pace, crossing the hundred yards between him and the council room in two steps. He burst through the double doors while speaking, certain that he already knew what the meeting was going to be about. ¡°The [Brackets] stay!¡± he shouted. ¡°If Treskur called this meeting to get rid of them, I¡¯ll motion we transition to [[Double Brackets]]!¡± ¡°This meeting isn¡¯t about that,¡± came a voice Sol thought he recognized but couldn¡¯t place. He didn¡¯t bother identifying the speaker. The hundred-or-so members of the council were always changing, so if he didn¡¯t immediately recognize who spoke, they probably weren¡¯t important. ¡°Then what could be so urgent that it couldn¡¯t wait until the next balance patch meeting? It¡¯s only twenty years away.¡± He walked past most of his fellow council members on the way to his seat across the room, failing to notice the stiff expressions on their faces. When he got to his seat ¡ª more of a throne, really ¡ª he frowned. ¡°You¡¯re in my chair, new guy.¡± ¡°¡®New guy?¡¯¡± the oddly dressed humanoid deity parroted, not shifting from his lounging position atop Sol¡¯s throne. His voice was the same one that Sol failed to place. ¡°That¡¯s no way to greet an old rival, is it?¡± Sol opened his mouth to tell the upstart godling to go do something anatomically impossible for a mortal, but then it clicked. For one long second, the deity-filled room was silent. A bead of sweat formed on Sol¡¯s brow, then immediately evaporated since his body was formed entirely of superheated plasma. ¡°A-Aolyn?¡± Chapter 6. Couldnt you two f**k anywhere else? Luna was late, but it wasn¡¯t her fault. ¡°What sort of inconsiderate buffoon calls an emergency meeting during the full moon?¡± she grumbled. She paused before the grand double doors of her own meeting chamber, rubbing the bleariness out of her eyes. With a flash of divinity, she cleared her system of hallucinogenics. ¡°And those mushrooms were soooo good too¡­¡± She burst into the room shouting, ¡°Treskur, if you called this meeting, I propose we adopt [[[Triple Bra¡ª?]]]¡± She cut herself off, stunned by what she saw. She sent another jolt of divinity through her system, thinking perhaps she was still hallucinating, but the scene she witnessed didn¡¯t change. ¡°What the fuck?¡± She was standing in the grand council chamber of the Lunar Pantheon, a building purpose-built to entertain the hundred-or-so gods of the [Century Council], Terra¡¯s divine regulatory body. The large, circular chamber had an inner ring of one hundred customizable chairs ¡ª one for each deity ¡ª and a standing-room-only outer ring for attendants. The room was built and furnished with entirely with imported terran marble. The material fit with Luna¡¯s moon aesthetic, but more importantly, it was expensive, allowing the goddess to flex her spending power. For the pi¨¨ce de r¨¦sistance, the room¡¯s meeting table wasn¡¯t just absurdly gigantic, but its base was also fully carved and customized to depict all the mortal races struggling to hold up the table¡¯s surface. Atop the table were two features of note. The first feature was the collection of food and drink ¡ª all exquisitely prepared and aromatic ¡ª sitting around the rim of the table. Included within the collection were an untouched braised pig, charcuterie board, slice of coconut bread, and bottle of wine before her brother¡¯s throne. The second feature of note were the naked forms of her brother and murdered ex-boyfriend wrestling each other. ¡°What the fuck?¡± she repeated, but no one acknowledged her. All the other deities were out of their seats, cheering, jeering , or making bets. Worst among them was of course Treskur, who was acting as a bookie despite the presence of other deities who were actual gods of gambling. She grabbed the knockoff-viking by her beard and shook her for answers. ¡°What the fuck is going on?¡± she asked the brutish god of knowledge. ¡°Well met, Luna! Aolyn the Deathless has returned to our realm of endless war!¡± ¡°I see that, but why are people cheering? Didn¡¯t we all murder him? Shouldn¡¯t you be a bit more freaked out now that he¡¯s back and probably out for revenge?¡± ¡°Worry not! He gave his troth ne¡¯er to sate the thirst of his blade on the¡ª¡° ¡°Damnit, Treskur! Just talk like a normal person! This is why no one likes you!¡± The other deity visibly deflated. ¡°Aolyn said he¡¯d forgive us so long as we let him beat the shit out of Sol,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s all you needed to say, asshole.¡± ¡°I really don¡¯t appreciate the way you¡ª¡° ¡°Lick my ass, Treskur!¡± ¡°That¡¯s not very¡ª Wait, what are you doing?¡± Ignoring the poser-of-a-deity, Luna hopped onto the table and physically separated the naked wrestlers, kicking Aolyn off of Sol¡¯s back. The newly reborn deity was sent flying at a speed that would have created a sonic boom if the moon had any atmosphere, but he managed to arrest his momentum before he impacted Luna¡¯s wall. It seems he hadn¡¯t lost all his manners, at least. ¡°Both of you stop fighting, sit down, and explain what¡¯s going on right now! Start with why you¡¯re both rolling around naked on my one-of-a-kind council table.¡± ¡°It¡¯s the way the Ancient Greeks wrestled,¡± Aolyn said, floating down to sit on his knees before her. ¡°The who?¡± ¡°Also, I¡¯m naked because my clothes were mundane and got vaporized while we were grappling,¡± he went on, ignoring her question. ¡°He started it,¡± Sol mumbled, not meeting his sister¡¯s gaze. ¡°And technically, I¡¯m always naked.¡± As he spoke, his flesh of pure plasma morphed into the shape of a suit of knightly armor. ¡°Then why did¡­?¡± Luna felt a headache coming and decided this wasn¡¯t a productive line of questioning. ¡°Never mind.¡± The room began whispering and chuckling, but Luna shot them all a glare that cowed them into silence. She might only be the world¡¯s second most powerful deity ¡ª third now that Aolyn was back ¡ª but this was her domain, and none could match her here. She turned back to the two idiots in front of her. ¡°Aolyn, you speak first. Start again from the beginning.¡± The deathless god cleared his throat to begin speaking, but Luna cut him off with a wave of her hand. ¡°Please put some clothes on first.¡±
Aolyn stared up at the literal goddess before him. He had loved her once. Her beauty was like her wit, and both reflected her nature. Moment by moment, Aolyn could see her. He could pick out every feature, every line and curve of her moonstone self, but as soon as he looked away, the memory disappeared. Where her brother was truth and light, she was secrets and reflection. She was unknowable. She was mystery. She was the splendor that forever lay just beyond reach. And she had once loved him because he was other. He once held a seat on her [Century Council], but she was of the [Heavenly Hosts] while he was of the [League of Evil?]. He was a Daemonic god of her enemy, but she loved him because he was handsome, capable, and dangerous¡­ More importantly, she loved him because he was forbidden. It wasn¡¯t until he got his liberal arts degree that he realized why they didn¡¯t work. Mystique and taboo were terrible foundations for a relationship. ¡°After you all killed me,¡± Aolyn began, smoothing out his borrowed robe with his hands, ¡°I drifted through nothingness, got reborn into another world, died, and got resurrected again here. Five out of ten experience. Would not recommend.¡± ¡°And I found you grappling atop my table during an emergency council meeting because¡­?¡± ¡°I called this meeting specifically to do that.¡± ¡°You called the meeting? How? I had your seat revoked once we shattered you.¡± ¡°I took an ¡®Intro to Cybersecurity¡¯ class. Please consider this a harmless white-hat operation and take this opportunity to review your security protocols.¡± Luna put on a strange expression. ¡°Do you care to elaborate on¡ª¡° The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°No. Anyway, as I said before, I forgive everyone here for the crime of attempted deicide. After all, is it really murder if the victim can¡¯t die? An affront I won¡¯t so easily forgive, however, is the [Curse of Heart¡¯s Desire] placed upon my followers!¡± He pointed a finger dramatically at the sun god beside him, but the effect was lost because they were both kneeling. ¡°Admit to your crimes, Sol! I have gazed upon the [Statblock] and the very soul of my [Daemon Autarch], and there was the proof of your transgressions! Confess!¡± He¡¯d expected the crowd to gasp at his accusation, but he had to settle for an awkward silence. The reaction was disappointing, but he could live with it. Luna turned to her brother. ¡°Is this true?¡± Sol opened his mouth to protest, then hung his head in shame. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s true.¡± The crowd gasped. Aolyn blinked. They gasped for that? He supposed there was no accounting for taste. ¡°After we shattered Aolyn,¡± Sol continued, ¡°I imbued the [Daemon Autarch] title with the [Curse of Heart¡¯s Desire] so that their greatest desires would always be thwarted at the last minute. Since every mortal desire can be fulfilled with power, and because mortals think there¡¯s no greater power than that of a god, I figured the curse would make it so that they could never revive you.¡± Aolyn couldn¡¯t help but marvel at the simplistic god¡¯s uncharacteristic shrewdness. ¡°It also allowed you to keep a neutered but ostensibly cataclysmic threat near your locus of worshipers, increasing their fear and thus their worship, while at the same time never subjecting them to any real danger. And since the curse continued to work without your direct intervention, it also worked as a source of passive income. Genius, Sol. Truly genius.¡± ¡°Huh? Oh yeah, I definitely planned it like that.¡± ¡°If what the two of you say is true,¡± Luna began, ¡°how did you get revived, Aolyn? If you saw the curse, then it must still be there. How did your followers subvert it? A legendary artifact or something?¡± Aolyn shook his head sagely. ¡°Only by accepting our fate may we change it.¡± A wave of silence passed over the assembled deities as they chewed on his words. Finally, one of them spoke. ¡°That makes no sense!¡± Treskur yelled. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t accepting your fate stop you from changing it?¡± Damn, nearly six millennia had gone by, and she was just as annoying as the day he died. It didn¡¯t help that she was right. Stuffing down his annoyance, Aolyn nodded his head. ¡°True, but the words sounded wise, and isn¡¯t that the most important part?¡± ¡°Whatever,¡± Luna said. ¡°What do you want, Aolyn? My brother¡¯s admitted he broke the [Inter-Council Accord] by using a divine curse. What do you want for compensation?¡± ¡°Three things!¡± Aolyn shouted, rising to his feet. He counted off his demands with his fingers as he spoke. ¡°One! Release the curse on Melpomene and all [Demon Autarchs] to come.¡± Sol snapped his fingers. ¡°Done.¡± ¡°Two! Release Morgan Dragonsbane from her mercenary contract with the [Solarian Courts].¡± Sol closed his eyes for a moment, probably communing with one of his followers. ¡°Done.¡± ¡°Thirdly and lastly, I want us all to have an inter-council meeting with¡­¡± He paused dramatically, ¡°TK.¡± This time, the crowd gasped. Sol stiffened, and Luna¡¯s eyes momentarily widened with fear. Aolyn rolled his eyes. ¡°Finally, some appreciation for dramatic flair.¡±
¡°Mop-up is going exceptionally well, captain. All of the high-tier units have been killed or captured except for a few units of the [Solar Knights]. Allow me to project their location into your mind.¡± Eurymedon raised an arm to the [Wyvern Rider]¡¯s helmet, and with a flash of violet light, the information was communicated more precisely than words ever could. ¡°Take some [Hex Rangers] and run them down. I¡¯ll modify the memories of some prisoners for tomorrow¡¯s ¡®escape.¡¯¡± The surviving [Wyvern Rider] pod leader ¡ª the one who also happened to be a captain ¡ª nodded. ¡°At once, lieutenant general,¡± the Daemon replied. He leapt off the palace wall and landed midair onto his flying mount. The wyvern let out a cry as it flew toward a mountain pass, and two scores of bow-and-blade-wielding riders atop six-legged wolves answered the cry by following beneath their aerial superior. Eurymedon had no need to physically survey the battlefield from their vantage atop a palace wall, but they did so anyway. Indeed, they¡¯d won the battle of troops handedly, suffering only minimal losses while the Solarian forces were almost entirely exterminated or captured... but Eurymedon''s stomachs still churned with hope and worry. Melpomene was still alive. Eurymedon and all the troops could know that because they still felt the tether of soul connecting them to their [Liege]. While that lone fact did much to ease Eurymedon¡¯s mind, there were still too many questions they couldn¡¯t answer from outside the scry-resistant ritual chamber. As a [Daemon of Eyes] whose entire existence revolved around answering questions for their [Liege], there was nothing more anxiety-inducing than questions whose answers were nearby yet entirely out of reach. The emanations of divinity had stopped, so was the ritual interrupted? Morgan had made it into the ritual chamber nearly an hour ago, so were she and Melpomene still fighting? If they¡¯d been fighting for so long, why hadn¡¯t Eurymedon sensed the activation of phase three of the final battle? If Melpomene had already won, why hadn¡¯t she come out to share the news of victory? Had Melpomene won? Could she win? After fifty-three generations of failure, could any [Daemon Autarch] win? Eurymedon shook the head-area of their fleshy torso. Asking such questions without the means to change their answers would serve only to highten the lieutenant general¡¯s anxiety. To clear their mind, they acknowledged each question with hope, and then moved on. Eurymedon hoped Melpomene would win. They hoped that Melpomene¡¯s decades of planning and preparation would bear fruit. They hoped she would succeed where her fifty-three predecessors had all fallen short. They were all hopes beyond hope, but Eurymedon dared to hope nonetheless. Their mind thus cleared, they took one final scan of the palace and the surroundings. Everything seemed to be in order. The [Solar Knights] were getting hunted down, the wounded were being treated, the prisoners were beng pacified, and all otherwise unoccupied troops were in place for the beginning of Melpomene¡¯s phase five. When Eurymedon had helped Melpomene plan phase five, they¡¯d both assumed the battle of troops would be a lot closer. The fact that they¡¯d won so handedly and had most of their forces available to focus down a single target meant that they could win, right? Before Eurymedon could notice the fact they was falling back down into a spiral of questions, something else caught their attention. There was a lone figure waiting outside the ritual chamber. How the figure got there, Eurymedon had no clue, but the figure released nary a trace of life, magic, nor even soul. If they didn¡¯t know the palace like the back of their hands, Eurymedon might have mistaken it for a statue. Their blood went cold with rage. Some sort of powerful stealth infiltrator was just outside the ritual chamber, and Eurymedon had to stop them.
Aolyn the Deathless, still wearing robes borrowed from the Lunar Pantheon, waited outside the ritual chamber as the leader of his mortal forces and the woman he hoped to date were doing¡­ something he shouldn¡¯t interrupt. ¡°Slow¡ªMMMPH! Slow¡­ Slow down, please,¡± came Morgan¡¯s breathy voice. ¡°Oh? How¡¯s thi¡ª¡± ¡°Ah!¡± ¡°¡ªs feel? Better?¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah. Just¡ªhmm!¡ªjust like that.¡± Of course Aolyn wasn¡¯t trying to eavesdrop, but he was a god standing within a domain thick with his worship. He sensed everything around him whether he wanted to or not, including the [Tier V] [Daemon of Eyes] flying down the halls toward him. He waved his hand and set up a quick silence ward so as to not disturb the two within the chamber, and then turned to wave at the approaching column of eyes, limbs, mouths, and wings that appeared around the corner. ¡°Hello Eurymedon,¡± he said. ¡°Nice to meet you. I¡¯m¡ª¡° ¡°DIE, LUNAR SCUM!¡± Aolyn glanced down at the stylized moons on his borrowed robes and realized that perhaps it would have been a good idea to change clothes before coming here. Before he could explain, his follower tackled him with all their might. He allowed himself to be carried by the blow, worried that he might otherwise kill the Daemon. ¡°Eurymedon, please. I¡¯m not¡ª¡° ¡°Liar!¡± A [Soul Rend] infused bone knife stabbed out from one of Eurymedon¡¯s mouths, aiming for his neck. If the blow landed, Eurymedon¡¯s soul would shatter from the recoil. He tried to send Eurymedon mental nudges to stop attacking, but he was no god of the mind, and Eurymedon was almost entirely immune to mental influence. With limbs wrapped up in Eurymedon¡¯s tackle, he had no choice but to catch the bony tongue-blade with his own mouth. Eurymedon tried to force the soul-destroying blade deeper into his mouth and through his skull, but he clamped down with his lips, holding the Daemon back from building momentum that could prove deadly to them. While he was thinking about how to deescalate the situation, the two of them crashed through the doors of the ritual chamber in a tangle of limbs, shattering the silence ward. They each struggled and wriggled against the other until¡ª ¡°What are you two doing?¡± The two of them froze at the sound of Melpomene¡¯s voice. Aolyn already knew what was happening within the room, but he turned to look out of habit. Melpomene was standing behind Morgan, one hand resting on the other woman¡¯s back. Her hand still thrummed with the energies of soul and life as she stimulated the [Dragonslayer]¡¯s soul in hopes of awakening the ability to become a [Liege]. For some reason, Morgan¡¯s face was red, and when she noticed he was looking at her, she turned away bashfully. He tried to open his mouth to ask what she was embarrassed about, but then remembered that he was holding Eurymedon¡¯s tongue with his lips. Then it hit him. Melpomene flicked her eyes between their two tangled forms and sighed. ¡°Eurymedon, I understand that sleeping with a god sounds fun¡­ and Aolyn, I understand that my second-in-command is unreasonably attractive... but couldn¡¯t you two fuck anywhere else?¡± Chapter 7. Best of luck, your deathlessness After about twenty minutes ¡ª half of that time taken up by Eurymedon apologizing profusely to Aolyn ¡ª the room¡¯s four inhabitants were more-or-less on the same page, but Morgan Dragonsbane still had some questions. ¡°Allow me to confirm a few things first,¡± she began, turning to Melpomene. ¡°If you were under a curse that would thwart your heart¡¯s greatest desire, how did you succeed?¡± ¡°Easy!¡± The happy-go-lucky Daemon replied. ¡°It makes sense that all my predecessors failed because most desires would be aided by the backing of a god. As for me, I realized I¡¯d never win, and so I simply desired an epic death.¡± ¡°And to prevent your death, the curse sped up Aolyn¡¯s resurrection?¡± Morgan shook her head. ¡°Sol should have made the curse more straightforward, or just guarded the shards himself. Roundabout plans bring nothing but trouble. I am impressed, though, that you know yourself well enough to figure out how the curse failed.¡± ¡°Pfft! It¡¯s written in The Tactics of Thanatos. Chapter two, advice one, ¡®Seek first to know theyself!¡¯ How could I call myself a [Liege] if I couldn¡¯t do something so basic?¡± Morgan glanced pointedly at the charred, armless, headless remnants of a corpse still laying on the floor. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. Anyway, here¡¯s my second question.¡± She turned to Aolyn who had an expectant smile on his face. ¡°My contract was torn up, but I¡¯m still getting paid, right?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Morgan nodded. ¡°Alright then. If there¡¯s nothing else, I¡¯ll be on my way. Thanks again for the stimulation, Melpomene. After I become a [Liege], I¡¯ll raise an army worthy of your expectations.¡± ¡°No problem! I¡¯m down for a spar or a skirmish whenever you are. I¡¯ve never faced a [Wicked Coven] army before, so I¡¯d love the chance.¡± Morgan smiled warmly. ¡°It¡¯s the least I could do.¡± ¡°Wait,¡± Aolyn interrupted, a confused look on his face. ¡°That¡¯s all you want to know? You don¡¯t want to ask why I¡¯ve scheduled an inter-council meeting? Or who TK is? Or anything about the alternate universe I spent a decade in? Or anything at all about the greater cosmology of the multiverse?¡± ¡°That all sounds like a load of ¡®not-my-business.¡¯ I¡¯ve read the stories, Aolyn. Nothing good ever happens to the curious mortals who involve themselves with gods.¡± The god winced. ¡°I¡¯m assuming that¡¯s a no for dinner then?¡± ¡°Correct.¡± She gave the admittedly handsome specimen before her a once-over, then shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t take it personally. I thank you for releasing me from my contractual obligation to perform suicide-by-deity, but I¡¯ll take my leave now.¡± She tipped the brim of her hat to the room in farewell and began flying out of the room through the hole in the wall. Morgan had quite the journey ahead of her, but long flights always gave her time to think. Even without delving into the ruinous curiosities of divinity, she still had many questions to answer about what she¡¯d just learned. First and formost, however, she needed to sort out the answers she already had. For lack of a better analogy, what Melpomene had done for Morgan was like stimulating a muscle she didn¡¯t know she had. It was as if she¡¯d lived her whole life with an invisible limb she¡¯d never even felt, but now that Melpomene had pointed it out, its presence was glaringly obvious. Being able to feel the limb, she could now exercise it until she was a [Tier V] [Liege] herself. Except, of course, that the ¡®extra limb¡¯ was her entire soul, and that ¡®exercising¡¯ her soul would entail raising a small soulbound warband ¡ª perhaps only a unit or two ¡ª and leading them into battle after battle after battle, nourishing her soul with victory until it grew strong enough to accommodate new forces. With her army thus enhanced, she¡¯d send them into battle anew, but this time to face greater foes to further strengthen her soul. Then she¡¯d once again gather new forces, and so on and so forth. Rinse and repeat until she reached the apex of mortal power. Simple. She wasn¡¯t a [Liege] quite yet, but at least she now knew how to start, and that was more than most could claim. She¡¯d always been led to believe that there was no secret to [Liegeship] ¡ª one either became a [Liege], or one didn¡¯t. After all, if there were a secret to it, the distribution of who awakened the ability wouldn¡¯t be so even. Sure, noble families and aristocrats from the [Solarian Courts] tended to produce [Lieges] at about twice the normal rate, but twice a near-zero number was still near-zero. The upper-crust used this disparity as evidence of their inherent superiority, but Morgan liked to point out that only ¡®twice the average rate¡¯ was actually rather lacking considering the gap in resources. While every noble brat received multiple opportunities to become a [Liege], far less than half of their common-born peers ever even got a chance. This fact had led Morgan to conclude that each newborn Solarian noble was actually less likely to be born capable of [Liegeship], probably due to all the ¡®pure bloodline¡¯ nonsense. Still, that was assuming that everyone was either born with the potential or not. Now, however, Morgan had a different theory. Anyone could become a [Liege], but almost no one knew how ¡ª not even the [Lieges] themselves. As things were, because [Lieges] relied on instinct rather than practice, their quality was scattershot. A few became [Tier V] [Lieges], but most capped out at an earlier tier, or, in some traumatic cases, lost the ability altogether. Only a lucky few were ever able to manipulate their souls well enough to perform soul magic, probably numbering no more than a hundred in the entirety of the world. This wide variability of ¡®potential¡¯ from [Liege] to [Liege] could be excused. After all, it was impossible to improve consistently without being able to sense what was going on. It would be like a spellcaster practicing spells without the ability to sense mana, or a runner running without feeling their legs. Sure, most people could vaguely sense a soul connection once it was already in place, but placing it there was another matter entirely. Without widespread soul-sense, it was impressive anyone became a [Liege] at all. But if what Melpomene had done for Morgan was replicable ¡ª which Morgan suspected it was, considering Eurymedon¡¯s abilities ¡ª then [Liegeship] would go from an instinctual ability to a teachable and trainable skill, no different from any other. Up until now, Morgan had never heard of anyone ¡®teaching¡¯ the ability, but there were always new rumors of esoteric trials, rituals, or drugs designed to awaken the ability. Now that she had a better hypothesis of how it all really worked, she was certain that the venn diagram of ¡®utter bullshit¡¯ and ¡®every rumor of how to awaken [Liegeship] she¡¯d ever heard¡¯ would be a perfect circle. ¡­Technically speaking the latter would be a subset contained entirely within the former, but that was besides the point. At this point in her musings, Morgan paused to reset her thoughts and double check her direction of flight. She was hovering over the craggy mountains at the heart of the [Despoiled Legion]¡¯s territory, a notoriously difficult area to navigate, but she could use the stars and her magical perception to get her bearings. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. She needed to stop by the [Solarian Courts] to pick up her payment before returning home, but the whole journey would only take just over a day at the speed of her air form. She could double invoke fire to take her lightning form, completing the journey in a fraction of the time, but she didn¡¯t have the mana to make the whole trip that way. Besides, she wanted more time to think. She floated there a moment longer, regarding the night sky and letting her thoughts wander before she resumed her journey. If everyone awoke their soul-sense¡­ If anyone could become a [Liege]¡­ ¡°Excuse me.¡± Morgan¡¯s adrenaline spiked. She wheeled around to face the source of the voice, a freshly conjured blade of flame already in hand. Then she recognized the speaker and aborted the second and third spells she¡¯d already begun casting. She let out a shuddering breath, dismissing her blade and forcibly calming her battle-ready heart. ¡°Aolyn the Deathless,¡± she greeted, more than a little annoyed that she¡¯d been caught unawares. ¡°In the future, please don¡¯t appear out of nowhere.¡± The god winced. ¡°Sorry about that. I¡¯ll be sure not to.¡± ¡°Why are you here?¡± ¡°I came to ask you another question, if you¡¯ll allow it,¡± he said. Morgan waited for him to go on, but it seemed he was actually waiting for her permission. ¡°What would you like to ask?¡± He gathered himself and looked her in the eyes with a complicated, perhaps even vulnerable gaze. ¡°If I weren¡¯t a god, would you¡ª¡° ¡°Let me stop you right there,¡± Morgan interrupted. ¡°Nothing good ever comes from changing yourself for another, especially for someone you just met. If you want to change, don¡¯t do it for anyone but yourself. Trust me.¡± Morgan prepared herself for a few different reactions. Perhaps a derisive snort at her unsolicited advice. Perhaps some face-saving excuse that¡¯d he¡¯d been joking the whole time about wanting to take her to dinner. Perhaps even a dull, logical acknowledgement of her wisdom. What she hadn¡¯t been expecting was a laugh. Not the cruel, snide chuckle of an aristocrat who thought themself above her, but a full-bodied, genuine laugh. A laugh that came from the stomach. The laugh of someone who enjoyed laughing at themself. ¡°No, no, sorry,¡± he wheezed out as he got a hold of himself. ¡°That¡¯s good advice, but trust me, I know. I only wanted to ask because¡­ well¡­ Actually, I¡¯m not entirely sure why. Too many reasons to narrow down.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t want to be a god?¡± ¡°Would you?¡± Morgan¡¯s knee-jerk reaction was to reply that of course she¡¯d prefer godhood over mortality, but then she stopped to consider if that were actually true. If she were a god, she could live for eons, but she would also have to live for eons. She would be without mortal peer, but she would also be without mortal peer. Obviously the immeasurable power would be a huge plus, but then she¡¯d have to deal with the other gods with equally ¡ª or even greater ¡ª immeasurable power. Every pro came with a con, but she still couldn¡¯t say definitively one way or the other whether or not she would accept godhood if presented with the choice. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she admitted. ¡°Why did you become a god?¡± Aolyn shrugged. ¡°I once feared death, but now I don¡¯t.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t fear death,¡± Morgan repeated. ¡°There are two very different ways I could interpret that.¡± ¡°That there are.¡± A beat of silence passed between the two. Even this high up within the Daemonic realm, the wind smelled of ash, though Morgan saw no fires in the mountains below. The air was abyss-cold, but the sky was beginning to brighten, heralding the dawn. ¡°If tomorrow you awoke as a mortal,¡± Morgan began, ¡°what would you do?¡± He smiled. ¡°Funnily enough, I did wake up as a mortal ¡ª in that other world, at least. First thing I did was look up at a skyscraper and feel small. Second thing I did was get drunk. Third, I got punched in the face by a priest¡¯s son.¡± Morgan chortled. ¡°¡®Cultural atheist¡¯ and all that?¡± ¡°That might be where it started, I suppose.¡± ¡°And what of this world?¡± ¡°Hm?¡± Morgan gestured around them. ¡°This world. If you became a mortal here, what would you do?¡± He opened his mouth as if the answer would come in no time at all, but said nothing. Morgan couldn¡¯t tell what thoughts ran through his head, but a few seconds later he shut his mouth ruefully. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said finally. ¡°If that happens, could I come find you?¡± ¡°We just met.¡± ¡°And out of every living mortal on Terra, you¡¯re one of the two I¡¯ve known the longest.¡± ¡°Then why not Melpomene?¡± ¡°Hypothetically, I would have once been her god. Same for every Daemon on the continent. It¡¯s hard to go back from that. I¡¯d prefer to go further afield, you know? Get a fresh start.¡± ¡°Melpomene just revived you. Wouldn¡¯t it be a bit ungrateful to leave so soon? She¡¯ll be at the mercy of foreign gods all over again.¡± ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t think she¡¯ll need to worry about that,¡± he replied with a mischievous grin. Morgan quirked an eyebrow. ¡°Hypothetically, of course?¡± ¡°Yes, of course,¡± he said, but Morgan couldn¡¯t tell if he was serious. She rolled her eyes, but took a moment to consider his request. If she were being honest, the god intrigued her. If there weren¡¯t such a great disparity of power between them, she might want to know him better. ¡°Fine then,¡± she said. ¡°If you one day find yourself mortal, seek me out at the Onyx Cauldron within the Ogre Swamp of the [Wicked Coven]¡¯s lands. If you aren¡¯t too incompetent, I might offer you a place in my army. No guarantees.¡± The god smiled a perfect look of relief, and it looked genuine, bare of the subtle sarcasm with which he usually emoted. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said. ¡°Next time I appear, I¡¯ll endeavor not to do so from nowhere.¡± ¡°I¡¯d appreciate that. Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me¡­¡± Morgan suddenly felt like letting loose. Changing her mind about the trade-offs between mana-efficiency and speed, she took her form of lightning. ¡°I wish you the best of luck, your deathlessness.¡± And with that, she bolted toward the horizon, into the dawn.
The next night, Aolyn found himself standing in the wide pit of an ancient, abandoned colosseum. Hundreds of gods filtered into the stands. Some flew in, others appeared in flashes of light or fire or gold or a dozen other ostentatious displays, and some even walked in using their feet. They came in all shapes, sizes, and species, hailing from more councils than Aolyn cared to remember. The [Century Council], the [Fae Courts], the [Primordial Abyss], the [Heavenly Hosts], the [Headless Hells], even the [League of Evil?] he was still technically the leader of¡­ all their members and more barely registered in his mind as they assembled. Instead, his awareness was on the city around them all, or more accurately, the lack thereof. They were all within the Daemonic realm of Terra, the same realm mostly ruled by the [Despoiled Legion], only a few weeks of mortal travel away from where Aolyn was born. Back then, long before he became a god, he¡¯d known there was a city here. He¡¯d even known the city¡¯s name. He¡¯d heard tales of this place, of its bustling streets and its titanic colosseum. He¡¯d never visited as a mortal ¡ª he¡¯d never had the chance ¡ª and once he became a god, a place like this fell beneath his immediate notice. He was the deathless god, after all. He¡¯d have infinite time to visit later¡­ but it seemed that time had run out. The city was gone now. Perhaps maliciously destroyed, perhaps just neglected in the six millennia since his shattering. Either way, he would now never get the chance to visit the place he once had all of eternity to appreciate. He was snapped out of his morose reminiscing when the mental tally he¡¯d been keeping in the back of his head hit the correct number. ¡°We¡¯re all here,¡± he said simply, and the hundreds of chattering gods slowly quieted as he blanketed the ruined structure with his divinity. There was a reason he was called ¡®the deathless¡¯ even among gods, and his recent ¡®stint abroad¡¯ had only strengthened him, oddly enough. He noted with some satisfaction that even Sol and Luna paused at the subtly deeper quality to his presence. ¡°Becoming one with the void changes you, I suppose,¡± he muttered under his breath, though he didn¡¯t doubt every other deity heard him. With a wave of his hand, a giant round mirror appeared on the ground, dominating the center of the colosseum¡¯s pit. Another wave summoned one hundred lit candles to ring the mirror, and the entire area became illuminated in the flames¡¯ flickering amber light. ¡°We all know why we¡¯re here, so without further ado, let us begin. We speak that one¡¯s name thrice, and don¡¯t dare to look away.¡± For what Aolyn hoped to accomplish, the authority of the [Century Council] wouldn¡¯t be enough. As powerful as it was, the [Century Council] was just a loose alliance of the various heavenly factions that represented a majority of Terra¡¯s divinity. It had the power to govern and tweak the world, but it couldn¡¯t fundamentally change it. To alter the very fabric of reality itself, however, Aolyn needed those who were now gathered around him ¡ª the [Inter-Council Assembly], a gathering of every single one of Terra¡¯s deities, all five hundred and fourty-seven of them. Together, they had half of the required authority to rewrite the [Inter-Council Accord], the divine document that gave order to the world. The being that held the other half of the required authority, they would now summon. Wearing a reproduction of his previously incinerated outfit, Aolyn raised his bare tattooed arms to the sky. With a burst of intention, he gave the signal to begin chanting the archdeity¡¯s invitation. The world¡¯s pantheon would emerge from this meeting changed, or not at all. ¡°¡°¡°¡°¡°Truck-kun!¡±¡±¡±¡±¡± ¡°¡°¡°¡°¡°Truck-kun!¡±¡±¡±¡±¡± ¡°¡°¡°¡°¡°TRUCK-KUN!!¡±¡±¡±¡±¡± Chapter 8. Too Mortal The mirror¡¯s surface rippled like water, and from it rose an enormous figure cloaked in a robe. Its shape wasn¡¯t humanoid, but boxy. It was formed of two rectangular prisms, one larger prism that formed its main body, and one smaller, more curved prism that lay not on top of the body, but in front of it, like the head of a shark. The robe billowed along the ground, obscuring what might lay beneath the archdeity¡¯s immense frame, but Aolyn knew there to be several sets of wheels below both the body and the head, powerful weapons of vulcanized rubber more than capable of crushing skulls. The robe¡¯s hood hid the entirety of the figure¡¯s head, but through the fabric blazed two blinding beams of white light, the archdeity¡¯s very eyes lighting the world wherever they rested. The figure deigned to speak, an alien rhythm of piston-pushing explosions that revved through the air like the growl of a predator, incomprehensible and frightening to the mere gods of Terra. Aolyn sensed more than a few of the newer deities mustering their divinity in reaction to the sound, perhaps in preparation to fight or flee, but they luckily had the sense to stay still. ¡°The great one asks why you have summoned it,¡± called an even-toned artificial voice. Aolyn looked, and for the first time noticed that a second figure had appeared with the archdeity, a simple green orb that glowed as it spoke. ¡°Venerable archdeity,¡± Aolyn began, speaking for all the assembled gods, ¡°we come offering a portion of our divinity so that we may beg your oversight and enforcement as we create an addendum to our [Inter-Council Accord].¡± Another revving filled the air, and the orb translated robotically. ¡°The great one accepts the responsibility. Further, the great one offers to waive the standard fee of divinity if you adopt the trans-universe migration protocol as part of your addendum.¡± Before anyone could respond, the archdeity revved a third time, but this time the sound wasn¡¯t mere communication. Reality thrummed harmonically with the vibrations, and every deity present suddenly felt a power wash over them. It wasn¡¯t the power of magic, nor life, nor soul, nor even divinity. It was the power of existence itself. No one had seen it move, but the archdeity was now outside the ruined colosseum, resting atop a high plinth of black stone that hadn¡¯t been there before. From the double-yellow line running down the plinth¡¯s center, Aolyn knew the stone to be of the same material upon which he¡¯d died in that other world, struck dead by one of TK¡¯s very own aspects. The green orb glowed once more. ¡°Begin your deliberations.¡±
Twelve hours earlier¡­ Ryshagen was a quiet coastal city. Elsewhere in the world, a settlement of its size would barely qualify as a town, but within the [Frigid North], the term ¡®city¡¯ was well warranted. Stone walls, a great library, and the largest temple to Treskur for many weeks¡¯ travel all qualified the city as a noteworthy site for the region¡¯s hardened denizens. The nights were long this time of year, and even during the scant few hours of daylight, one could never venture far from a hearth. It was said among the people of Ryshagen that not even the mightiest warriors could brave the midwinter winds for more than minutes at a time, lest their blood freeze within their still-beating hearts and they awaken as kin-devouring wights. Such being the case, it was all the more amazing that a lone, naked, elderly man danced through the streets. His skin sagged, loose from muscle lost with age. His tusks were long, dull, and sun-bleached, but he had not the long hair of an elder. That morning, he¡¯d been ritually shaved so that he¡¯d have no shield from the elements. Treskur ¡ª the region¡¯s god of knowledge, war, criminals, and honor ¡ª stroked her beard. She watched the old man dance, the stumps where her own tusks had once been pulsing with phantom pain as the man¡¯s steps reminded her of the ones she¡¯d performed all those millennia ago. She stood within the cold, fireless interior of her own temple. The room had no windows, but she missed not a detail beyond. She could sense all within a city of her worship. She watched as the man danced first along the city¡¯s outer streets. Families ¡ª bundled in furs even within their own homes ¡ª cracked open the shutters of their windows as the man passed, and shut them as soon as he was out of sight. They fulfilled their duty to bear witness, but none offered aid. Each of the old man¡¯s movements were firm, grounded. The snow melted in his wake, but sheets of ice formed over his skin with the end of each step, only to be broken by the beginning of the next. The shattered rime glittered in the light, trailing the man¡¯s every move like stardust. It took two hours for the man¡¯s slow marching dance to finish its circle of Ryshagen¡¯s outer streets, but the man continued without rest. He spiraled inward, completing his second circle just as the ever-low sun set over the horizon. Despite the shorter distance, his third circle ¡ª illuminated by naught but the light the stars and moon ¡ª took him nearly as long as the first. The fourth circle, he never completed. With one final stomp of his foot, the snow before him parted, but he remained still. After exactly seventy-seven seconds passed, four women emerged from the nearest houses, each bundled in furs and bearing torches. They examined what had once been a man, breaking off the outer, opaque layer of ice with picks. The shell removed, they held their torches up and examined what lay beneath. The light of their torches passed easily through where there had once been flesh, bone, and blood. Not a trace of living material remained. There was only ice. ¡°Honor!¡± The eldest of the women shouted. ¡°Honor!¡± chorused the second, third, and fourth. Soon, the nearest houses took up the call, and then the houses beyond them. Like a wave, the news spread through the entire city until all of Ryshagen was filled with shouts of ¡°Honor! Honor! Honor!¡± Treskur nodded to herself. ¡°Honor,¡± she whispered, and the word spread throughout the city, silencing the people¡¯s cries. The figure of ice that had once been a man stood straight at the god¡¯s word. A spear of ice formed in its hand, and it danced out of the city, stepping the same steps as the old man it had once been. It ventured into the night to face the monsters that lurk there, never to be seen by its once-countrymen ever again. ¡°What was his crime?¡± Aolyn asked. Treskur wasn¡¯t startled by the other god¡¯s sudden appearance beside her. She knew he¡¯d been nearby for hours. Without turning to face him, she spoke. ¡°I must give unto you some measure of gratitude for not earlier interrupting this most sacred of rites, but do you actually wish to know of my mortals¡¯ affairs? Or do you simply wish to appear polite?¡± she asked, tone stiff and regal. ¡°Both,¡± Aolyn replied, tone relaxed, perhaps even authentic. ¡°Hm? The storied Aolyn the Deathless, first among all our world¡¯s gods, has his interest piqued by mere mortals? And one of my mortals, at that?¡± ¡°Time away has given me a new perspective. For what it¡¯s worth, I¡¯m sorry for the way I treated you all those millenia ago.¡± Treskur kept her facial expression the same, continuing to stroke her beard. ¡°Your gift for deception has grown. Even here, at a seat of my worship, I can not sense the lie in your words.¡± ¡°That¡¯s because I¡¯m telling the truth.¡± ¡°Ah yes, because no one saying ¡®I¡¯m telling the truth¡¯ has ever lied before.¡± Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Got me there, Treskur!¡± ¡°What would you have of me, Aolyn?¡± ¡°I really am sorry.¡± ¡°Fine. What else?¡± ¡°You still don¡¯t believe me, do you?¡± ¡°Of course I don¡¯t believe you!¡± Treskur exploded, finally turning to spit her rage directly into his face. Somewhere along the way, she¡¯d lost her guarded, overly formal tone. ¡°I took your shit for ten-thousand-fucking-years, and you expect a half-hearted ¡®I¡¯m sorry¡¯ to make it all better? You and Luna treated me worse than dirt, like I was somehow both beneath your notice and disgusting! I can¡¯t believe an attitude like that can just go away, asshole. You could have stayed shattered until the end of time, for all I care.¡± Aolyn winced. ¡°I deserved that.¡± Satisfied, Treskur huffed out a violent puff of air. The words off her chest, she took in a deep, calming breath. Then she paled, realizing what she¡¯d just said to the world¡¯s single most powerful god. ¡°It¡¯s no excuse,¡± Aolyn went on, ¡°but I think I¡¯ve figured out why I was so horrible to you back then ¡ª why most of them still are. It¡¯s because you attend ceremonies like this,¡± he said, gesturing in the direction the ice creature had run into the night. ¡°The others and I, we used to say it was a bit too masturbatory, you attending these ceremonies in your honor, but I get it now.¡± ¡°A six-millennia dry spell makes you understand the need to jerk off?¡± Treskur asked. She supposed there was no damaging their rapport beyond what she¡¯d already said, so there was no point in holding back. She expected Aolyn to swear vengeance or spit at her or something, but much to her surprise, the other god smiled at her brusque words. ¡°That could be part of the truth, but I think it¡¯s more that we were lying to ourselves about why we hated you. Others still are, I guess. I used to hate you not because you were metaphorically stroking more than just your ego, but because you were too mortal. ¡°You were and still are a god of the [Century Council], yet you make time for your mortals and care about their lives, far more than any of the others or I ever did. You held onto who you were as a mere Terran, but it didn¡¯t weaken you. In fact, it made you stronger. ¡°That ability of yours, the reality that you could hold on to what the rest of us threw away¡­ It made us all ¡ª it made me ¡ª jealous.¡± Treskur gave Aolyn a funny look. ¡°You were jealous of me?¡± ¡°Well, I think the correct term is ¡®envious¡¯ now that I think about it, but yes. I was jealous of you. I was what the other gods wanted to be, but you were what your people needed. You were a constant reminder of what the rest of us lost in our pursuit of power. Seeing you made us hate ourselves, but rather than own up to it, we all decided to hate you. And again, for all that, I¡¯m sorry.¡± Aolyn¡¯s smile turned playful as he spoke his next words, tilting his head and scratching his chin as if pondering the mysteries of the multiverse. ¡°I will say though, it never helped that you talked all old-fashioned, like you were putting on godly airs. We could never figure out why you hate [Brackets] so much, either.¡± Treskur snorted. ¡°Because brackets are fucking stupid! And the whole ¡®godly airs¡¯ thing, it¡¯s just a force of habit from talking to my followers. They appreciate the flair. But is that all you came to say? I¡¯ve never known you to have only a single motive to do anything.¡± ¡°Got me again! I also came to give you these.¡± From his pocket, Aolyn took out a sealed letter and a ring. ¡°That dry spell must have affected you more than I thought if you¡¯re asking me to marry you. Sorry, but my oath forbids it.¡± Aolyn laughed. ¡°It¡¯s my plan for the meeting, and a magic item that might come in handy if all goes to plan. It will be up to you whether or not everything pans out the way I hope.¡± ¡°And what exactly do you hope to have happen?¡± Treskur squinted at him. ¡°And what would I need a ring like that for? It¡¯s barely powerful enough for mortal use.¡± Aolyn tapped the envelope in his hand. ¡°It¡¯s all written down in here. Just read it over, and decide if it¡¯s something you¡¯d like to have happen.¡± Treskur hesitated a moment longer, but sensing no magic nor divinity that could harm her within the proffered items, she accepted them and tucked them into the fur of her armor. ¡°And one more thing before I go,¡± Aolyn said, again pointing the direction in which the newly created creature of ice had fled into the wilds. ¡°I¡¯d still like to know what that man¡¯s crime was.¡± ¡°His only real crime was the misfortune of outliving his liege and shield brothers,¡± Treskur answered. ¡°You saw him. He was too old to seek an honorable death in combat, so he sought the honorable death of a criminal. He presented himself to the authorities, claiming he¡¯d stolen a single fishbone from his neighbors. Before they could offer him a slap on the wrist, he insisted on this punishment.¡± Aolyn smiled bitterly. ¡°An honorable death.¡± Treskur snorted. ¡°What would a Daemon like you know of honor?¡± Aolyn turned to the south, and Treskur knew him to be looking toward the colosseum where they would gather later that night, when the sun would set in that distant region. ¡°My people and I may have a penchant for chicanery,¡± he began, ¡°but if a criminal can find honor, why not a trickster?¡±
¡°None of this makes sense!¡± a fish-headed deity complained, angrily shaking a parchment upon which was written Aolyn¡¯s purposed addendums to the [Inter-Council Accord]. ¡°I concur,¡± began a wriggling mass of moss wearing glasses, though it had no eyes. ¡°And I mean it in the literal sense, not the pejorative. We literally can not understand what the document says.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t?¡± Aolyn asked. He stood in the center of the colosseum, coolly surveying the assembled deities. He still wore his ridiculous get-up of ¡®earth¡¯ clothing, sleeves rolled up to display his ironic tattoos. He made no effort to endear himself to the crowd with either his attitude nor his attire, but perhaps he could endear himself with words. From her perch in the stands, Treskur watched as Aolyn made a show of squinting at the parchment in his own hands. After a moment, he looked again to the moss deity. ¡°Can you not read?¡± he asked. ¡­It seemed he wouldn¡¯t be endearing himself with words, either. The crowd exploded into derogatory shouts and expletives, all of them aimed at the deathless god. Treskur took no action other than to memorize some of the more¡­ creative interjections. ¡°Please,¡± rang out Luna¡¯s soft voice, ¡°let us all be calm, as befitting of the gods we are.¡± The crowd quieted before she¡¯d even finished her sentence, and Treskur was envious ¡ª or was it ¡®jealous?¡¯ ¡ª of the deference the crowd showed the moon goddess. ¡°Aolyn,¡± the unknowable deity went on, ¡°all we ask is that you explain some of these otherworldly terms to us. You¡¯d like us to transition the world into a ¡®contemporary information age¡¯ level of technology over the next three hundred years? None of us knows exactly what that means. We¡¯re not as¡­ well travelled as you. Please just explain for our benefit.¡± Sol snorted derisively. ¡°I doubt he even knows what he¡¯s talking about. ¡®Contemporary¡¯ means ¡®now,¡¯ so how could the future be contemporary?¡± Aolyn nodded with a smile. ¡°Thank you for your comment, former-future-brother-in-law. I¡¯ll be happy to explain. Long story short, I miss the internet, and I think you all would like it too. ¡°Long story even shorter, please allow me to communicate with divinity. Everyone ready?¡± Before anyone could ask what he meant, a wave of his divinity spread through the colosseum, and with it came sudden understanding. All the assembled gods, Treskur included, were shown visions of a modern earthly society filled with bright lights, computers, and incomprehensible feats of mortal engineering. ¡°Like that trick?¡± Aolyn asked to no one in particular. ¡°I learned it when¡­ Well, the place I learned it didn¡¯t actually do the whole ¡®time¡¯ thing, nor was it technically a ¡®place¡¯ either.¡± For the briefest of moments, his smile turned dangerous. It was only an instant before his grin returned to a placid, self-satisfied smirk, but none of the gods missed the subtle threat. ¡°There¡¯s a lot you can learn in a not-place like that,¡± he said, as if half of the crowd weren¡¯t shifting nervously in their seats. ¡°You should all try it sometime.¡± ¡°Was¡­ Was that real?¡± asked a skeleton wearing a tricorn hat. ¡°Those bombs that irradiate death, were they real?¡± ¡°Reaching the moon with neither magic nor divinity, is it really possible?¡± asked a god with metallic limbs. Aolyn stood taller. ¡°If anything I showed you be a lie, let Truck-kun annihilate me where I stand!¡± he shouted. The world¡¯s pantheon froze, but the robed archdeity on its high plinth made no move. ¡°So,¡± Aolyn went on once it was clear there would be no imminent annihilation, ¡°to save us all some time, let¡¯s just define all the terms in the addendum by my common sense. Agreed?¡± Treskur clenched her jaw. Within her pocket, she fiddled with the ring Aolyn had given her. The letter was already destroyed, but she remembered every word of the plan Aolyn had written there, and she knew what part he wanted her to play. The entire meeting so far had gone exactly the way he¡¯d planned it, but how the remainder of the meeting progressed would be up to her. With her next decision, she could either bring his plan to fruition, or she could tear it apart. The other gods were all discussing among themselves, torn as to whether or not they should accept Aolyn¡¯s newest proposal. If Treskur was going to influence events, her best chance would be to do so while they were arguing among themselves. It was now or never. Treskur stood from her seat, but no eyes flew toward her. If it had been Sol or Luna who had stood up, the crowd would¡¯ve instantly quieted, but Treskur ¡ª the ¡®too-mortal¡¯ god of tusked savages ¡ª commanded no such respect. Despite a level of divinity worthy of her seat on the [Century Council], some deities even leveled contemptuous gazes her way, silently chastising her for her lack of decorum. ¡°I object!¡± she shouted. Within the din of the crowd, not everyone cared to notice her proclamation, so she flooded the colosseum with her divinity and shouted again. ¡°I object!¡± This time all eyes turned to her. Aolyn too looked to her, his features a mixture of surprise and annoyance. ¡°Treskur,¡± he said in a lightly mocking tone. ¡°Would you please¡ª¡° ¡°No, Aolyn,¡± Luna cut in. ¡°Let¡¯s hear what the wannabe wants to say.¡± Treskur took a deep breath. With her next words, she could maintain the world¡¯s order, or destroy it. She made her choice. Treskur ¡ª lone deity of the [Frigid North], a goddess of knowledge, war, criminals, and honor ¡ª squared her shoulders pointed an accusatory finger to the lone god standing in the center of the colosseum. ¡°I can no longer stay silent! Aolyn is setting a trap, and I object!¡± Chapter 9. De·i·ty Luna shifted her eyes between Treskur and Aolyn. ¡°A trap?¡± she echoed. ¡°Quite the claim, Treskur. What proof do you have?¡± She too suspected there were ulterior motives for Aolyn to ask for the addendum¡¯s terms to be divinely defined by his ¡®common sense,¡¯ but it would be best not to reveal her thoughts right away. For the first time in a few hundred years, she took a close look at Treskur, curious as to what emboldened the ever-meek goddess. The sole deity of the [Frigid North] retained the form she held at the time of her ascension. That wasn¡¯t in and of itself strange ¡ª plenty of deities resembled their followers ¡ª but what set Treskur apart was that she hadn¡¯t changed a single thing about her form. The process of ascension was meant to perfect a being as they transitioned into godhood. The changes could be drastic or minor. On one end of the scale were Luna and her brother. Luna had sculpted her deific form to fully embody her domain, becoming an unknowable entity of moonstone, and Sol had done the same, becoming a living sun. On the other end were the deities who became idealized versions of their mortal forms. Warrior gods sharpened their scars. Reptilian gods polished their scales. Agricultural gods appeared full of life. Even the gods of commoners modified their shape to become perfectly common. Every deity became beautiful in their own way, the pinnacle of their own ideals¡­ And then there was Treskur. Treskur looked mortal. Her beard was unkempt, but not the wild tangle of a hermit god. It was just regularly unkempt. Her scars weren¡¯t beautiful lines, but ugly splotches and cuts. Her eyes were green, but not the green of fields nor plague nor life. They were just¡­ green. A muddy, mundane green. Her hair was just red. Her clothes were just practical furs. Her nose was just pig-like, the same as her followers¡¯. Even the stumps where her tusks had been removed didn¡¯t look particularly noteworthy. Nothing about her was godly, nor even original. She and her worshipers were nothing but pale imitations of the savage Humans who had once been vikings. No, Treskur wasn¡¯t a god, Luna had long ago decided. She was just a mortal with divinity. ¡°Hark, and consider my words. What proof do I need?¡± Treskur demanded. ¡°Many of us here were present all those millennia ago, back when Aolyn the Deathless had yet to die. Do we not remember the trickery of this duplicitous deity? Best it would be to presume every action, every breath, every suggestion that leaves his¡ª¡° ¡°Get to the point!¡± Sol interrupted. ¡°By all that is good, evil, or other, please just talk like a normal person!¡± Murmurs of assent echoed through the crowd, and Treskur bit her tongue. ¡°Fine,¡± she said. ¡°My point is that none of us have ever dealt with this ¡®divine communication of intent¡¯ before. For all we know, something within his definition of ¡®common sense¡¯ could bite us all in the ass! It would be better for us to go through the proposed addendums point by point and explicitly define all the terms.¡± Before Luna and the other hundreds of gods had time to fully consider Treskur¡¯s words, Aolyn laughed. ¡°Explicit definitions? Written with words?¡± he asked, feigning a struggle to keep from further bursting into laughter. ¡°Oh, I would love that. As you said, Treskur, many of our fellow deities here tonight were also around during my heyday, and I¡¯m sure they all remember my skill with words. ¡°And for those of you who didn¡¯t know me back then,¡± he went on, sweeping his tattooed arms in a grand gesture to all the assembled deities, ¡°please consider what you know of this continent¡¯s Daemons, and then consider the fact that I. Am. Their. God.¡± He put extra emphasis on each of his last words, letting the ramifications sink in. ¡°Deceptions within deceptions, traps within traps. If my people have garnered such a reputation even in my absence, how much worse am I? I revealed this new ability of mine as a favor. You can read my intentions and judge for yourself how each term is defined. If you¡¯d all like to reject this gift and instead allow me the chance to hide pitfalls within the words of explicit definitions, then go ahead! I¡¯d love the opportunity to screw you all over.¡± Luna didn¡¯t interject just yet. She listened to the whispered discussions of the deities in the stands, forming an understanding of the general consensus. It was fairly split, but most of the deities seemed to be leaning toward Aolyn¡¯s arguments. Treskur must have sensed the same thing, because she started grinding her teeth. ¡°He said it himself! This is a new ability. None of us understand it. For all we know, he could be hiding something!¡± ¡°Fair enough,¡± Aolyn responded. With his finger, he began writing on the parchment in his hand, and all the parchments in every other deity¡¯s possession were altered identically as the deathless god wrote on his own. ¡°I suggest an alteration: ¡®If Aolyn the Deathless herein hides any deception, let him be stripped of his divinity and forced to live out the rest of his life as a mortal.¡¯ Satisfied?¡± The pantheon collectively gasped, hesitating at the sheer audacity of the suggested alteration, but Luna had no such qualms. ¡°I agree,¡± she snapped out before Aolyn could retract his statement. ¡°All others in agreement, say ¡®aye.¡¯¡± She shot a meaningful look to all the important members of the [Century Council], and they all got the hint. After they each shouted their own agreement, all of their subordinate gods voiced their approval as well. The ¡®aye¡¯s echoed throughout the colosseum as soon, everyone assented. Everyone besides Treskur, that is. ¡°It seems we are all in agreement,¡± Luna proclaimed. ¡°The alteration has been officially accepted into the proposed addendum.¡± ¡°There must still be some trap!¡± Treskur shouted. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m flattered that you think I¡¯m such a genius that I could hide a trap within such a simple, straightforward alteration,¡± Aolyn said. ¡°Either that, or you have another reason to believe my words to be misleading?¡± The deathless god turned up his nose, somehow looking down at Treskur despite her being above him in the stands. Luna recognized that look. It was a challenge, as if the two of them had a secret, and Aolyn dared Treskur to reveal it to the world. ¡°I do have another reason,¡± Treskur growled between clenched teeth. From a pocket, she pulled out a ring and held it up for the crowd to behold. ¡°Earlier this day, Aolyn approached me. He handed me a letter detailing his plans for this meeting, and the part I was to play within it.¡± ¡°He did?¡± Sol asked. ¡°Where is it?¡± ¡°It¡­ It burned itself to a crisp after I finished reading it, and I wasn¡¯t able to reconstitute it from the ashes.¡± ¡°So you have no proof?¡± Aolyn asked in an egging tone. ¡°I have this!¡± Treskur shouted, holding up the ring for the crowd to see. ¡°Arf?¡± barked a deity that looked like a small, wild dog, but the gathered deities understood him to mean, ¡°A [Ring of Emergency Teleport]?¡± ¡°If my next words be lies, may Truck-kun strike me dead! This ring is indeed an emergency teleportation ring, a token from the corpse of Brandon, the lieutenant of Sol¡¯s recently slain champion. Aolyn gave this to me with his letter, a letter that asked for my help in convincing you all to accept Aolyn¡¯s ¡®common sense¡¯ definitions of the addendum¡¯s words! I believe that if you agree, you¡¯ll all fall into a trap!¡± A hush fell over the crowd as for the second time that night, they waited to see if the archdeity would strike, but it made no move. Luna watched as Treskur let out a long, shuddering breath as the specter of annihilation passed over her and left her standing. ¡°So what the viking-wannabe says is true, Aolyn?¡± the moon goddess asked. He smiled, and Luna was taken aback at the sheer cruelty of the expression. It was the smile of a sadist sating his desires. ¡°If my next words be false, may Truck-kun wrest me from existence and consume my immortal form so completely that I will have never existed. I wanted you to publicly disagree with me, Treskur. I wanted an excuse to explain why this new application of divinity I introduced to the world is superior to using mere words to define other words. Most importantly, I wanted a way to do it dramatically.¡± He paused, then swept into a bow. ¡°You¡¯ve done exactly what I wanted, Treskur, and for that, I thank you.¡± Again, the archdeity¡¯s specter loomed over the crowd, but left them all untouched. Then a revving filled the air, and all the gathered deities flinched. Some looked to Aolyn, expecting him to be gone, but the deathless god was still whole. The green orb flashed, addressing the tense pantheon. ¡°The great one states that it is tired of proving the veracity of your words. The next being to trivially invoke the great one¡¯s name during this meeting shall be annihilated regardless of what they say.¡± Aolyn swept into another bow. ¡°I thank the great one for its beneficence.¡± ¡°So what you said is true?¡± Treskur asked, striken. ¡°You pretended to invite me into a plot, knowing I¡¯d betray you? All so that you could dole out exposition more dramatically and embarrass me in the process?¡± Aolyn shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re embarrassment was just a byproduct. I hope you can forgive me.¡± Treskur¡¯s face darkened. She turned to address the crowd. ¡°Am I really nothing more than a punching bag to you all? Am I nothing more than an object of ridicule? Am I so deserving of scorn? None of you will take my side over that of a known deceiver?¡± Again, Luna didn¡¯t say anything right away. She had to admit that when Aolyn had first revealed this new ability of his, she¡¯d been hesitant to accept it. Even after vicerally experiencing exactly what the technique would communicate¡­ Even though she could verify for herself how the document would be interpreted before she approved it¡­ Even after hearing all the verbal arguments¡­ She still had reservations. Ultimately, however, it came down to whether she would side with the one she¡¯d once loved and once killed, Aolyn the Deathless, the godliest god to ever god¡­ or with Treskur, the least godly god in the pantheon. Phrased that way, the decision was easy. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Luna remained silent. Following her lead, none of the other gods said a thing. No one refuted Treskur¡¯s words, for her words were true. To her fellow deities, Treskur was nothing. When it was clear no one would take the northern goddess¡¯ side, her face darkened further. ¡°Fuck all of you!¡± she screamed. ¡°I declare war!¡± Luna blinked, and murmurs of confusion spread throughout the colosseum. ¡°Aren¡¯t all of our mortals already at war?¡± asked a deity that resembled a tornado made of hands. ¡°Not my mortals,¡± Treskur explained. She jammed a thumb into her chest. ¡°Me.¡± Word for word, Luna could parse what the other goddess meant, but even for Treskur, it was such an outlandish proclamation that she couldn¡¯t believe it until the bearded deity reiterated her statement. ¡°I declare war,¡± Treskur went on. ¡°I secede from the century council, from the inter-council assembly, and from every bastard here! I am no longer one of you.¡± For the umpteenth time that night, all the gods went silent. Of all the outlandish declarations that night, this was by far the most insane. ¡°There-There hasn¡¯t been a deific war in¡­ in I don¡¯t know how long.¡± Luna stuttered, losing her perpetual, unknowable calm. ¡°It¡¯ll be you against all of us. You¡¯ll be destroyed. All that will remain of the [Frigid North] will be a smoking crater! Retract your declaration this instant, and we won¡¯t hold you to it, I swear. I¡¯ve always hated you, but not enough to watch you kill yourself!¡± Treskur shot a glare her way, and much to her shame, Luna flinched. ¡°I won¡¯t retract my words. As per custom, you have three days to prepare yourselves. Unless any of you have something useful to say, I¡¯ll see myself out.¡± The pantheon exploded into chaos. There were shouts of derision, confused outbursts, taunts, guffaws, barking, rattling, and noise-making of every sort, but Luna noticed that one god in particular remained silent. Aolyn gawked, open mouthed, at the rebel goddess. Luna could see the wheels turning in his head. He stared, and for the first time in millennia, she saw genuine surprise play across his face. Not a calculated rise of the eyebrows or some feigned interest, but a real, genuine expression of surprise. The corners of his mouth slowly turned up, and the deathless god laughed. Not a snort, not a derisive chuckle, but a laugh. The authenticity of the outburst was disconcerting enough, but what set Luna further on edge was the fact that she couldn¡¯t discern why he was so shocked and delighted. ¡°So long, Treskur,¡± Aolyn said, his voice drowned out by the surrounding din, but any deity paying attention could have picked out the words. Treskur nodded once, then disappeared in a flurry of ice.
¡°Shall we go over the terms one more time?¡± ¡°It¡¯s only an hour ¡®till dawn, Aolyn! I have¡­ sun things¡­ to do.¡± ¡°So I have your approval to finalize the wording without you?¡± ¡°No!¡± ¡°Then as I suggested, let¡¯s go over the terms one more time.¡± After hours upon hours of debate, compromise, and extolling the value of the internet, the addendum was finished. Together, the pantheon reviewed the drafted addendum, the definition and intent of each term divinely beamed into their minds as they read so that nothing could be misinterpreted.
Article I: All terms in this addendum shall be defined by the divinely communicated ¡®common sense¡¯ of Aolyn the Deathless, as communicated at the time of this addendum¡¯s approval. Post-approval changes to Aolyn the Deathless¡¯ definition of terms will have no impact on this addendum¡¯s interpretation. Article II: If Aolyn the Deathless herein hides any deception, let him be drained of his divinity and forced to live out the rest of his life as a mortal. Should this occur, his divinity shall be allocated equally among every other current member of the [Inter-Council Assembly]. To prevent portfolio dilution, the allocated divinity shall not be used for any purpose other than to directly empower each recipient as a deity. The use of the allocated divinity to expand one¡¯s portfolio is expressly forbidden. Article III: Over the next three hundred years (3,900 months), Terra¡¯s level of technology shall organically transition from ¡®magitech late-renaissance¡¯ to ¡®near-future magitech contemporary information age.¡¯ Article IV: A minimum of seventy five of every hundred (75%) of all currently viable methods of combat shall remain viable alongside newer technologies, because swords are cool. Article V: All exotic elements necessary to mass produce scientific [Weapons of Mass Destruction] (WMD¡¯s) shall be expelled from this reality, but other potentially apocalyptic threats within the [Inter-Council Assembly]¡¯s jurisdiction may remain. Article VI: Terra shall remain a ¡®points of light¡¯ setting with wide swathes of untamed wilderness perfect for adventuring or mass combat. Article VII: The [Adjective Noun] naming standard for factions shall be abolished, and the [League of Evil?] shall be pardoned for their prior violation of the standard. Article VIII: Details of implementation shall be the responsibility of the [Laws of Causality], so as to present plausible explanations for arbitrary decisions without creating paradoxes. Article IX: Terra shall officially adopt the Trans-Universe Migration Protocol with the additional stipulation that no transmigrated individuals shall have the potential to influence Terra in ways that contradict either this addendum nor any other provisions contained within the [Inter-Council Accord].
¡°I don¡¯t appreciate the fact that we¡¯re being pardoned,¡± complained the tornado of hands, a fellow [League of Evil?] member. ¡°What¡¯s the point of breaking rules if we¡¯ll just be forgiven?¡± Aolyn listened as his other league members muttered their agreement, but he waved away their concerns. ¡°But what could be more Evil? than changing the rules to get away with a crime?¡± ¡°I still have no idea why you all insist on saying ¡®evil¡¯ like that,¡± Luna groaned. ¡°¡±¡±Like what?¡±¡±¡± the [League of Evil?] members all asked at once. ¡°Ugh. Never mind.¡± After only a few more minutes of discussion, it seemed everyone assembled was satisfied. Dawn was fast approaching, and it seemed the assembled deities were more than ready to be done. In theory, the deities should¡¯ve had the stamina to discuss the addendum indefinitely. In practice, the addendum largely affected only their mortals, not the gods themselves, so they were glad the tedious business of fundamentally altering the fabric of reality was coming to a close. ¡°Wonderful!¡± cheered Aolyn. ¡°But I¡¯d still like to include just one more thing.¡± A collective groan echoed throughout the ruined colosseum. ¡°Oh, come on! It¡¯ll be quick.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± Luna asked. ¡°I¡¯ve read the soul of my fifty-fourth [Daemon Autarch], Melpomene. Her greatest desire is to die in an epic battle, but as things are, she¡¯s already killed Sol¡¯s [Hero]. There¡¯s no mortal left in the world with both the means and motivation to fulfill her desire.¡± Aolyn clasped his hands together and put on an exaggerated pleading expression. ¡°All I ask is that we put a bounty on her head. One wish to be fulfilled by the [Laws of Causality] for whoever kills her in an epic final battle. We can even require the wish be approved by every deity of this council, just to be safe. Oh, and maybe add a provision that no one who¡¯s ever had a seat on this council can kill her and claim the prize, just to be sure Treskur doesn¡¯t do it.¡± Aolyn watched as the assembled deities all gave each other funny looks, as if wondering why he would ask them to paint a target on his most powerful follower¡¯s back. Ultimately, no one could find a reason to reject the proposal, especially after they divinely double-checked Aolyn¡¯s intentions. Before the end of the hour, the tenth and final article was ready, and the addendum was ready to be ratified by the power of TK. Then the world would change forever.
Just as dawn began to break, Aolyn, Luna, and Sol ¡ª the three most powerful deities of all Terra ¡ª strode forward to the foot of the archdeity¡¯s asphalt plinth. In Aolyn¡¯s hand, he clutched the master copy of the addendum, complete with the tenth and final article.
Article X: Melpomene, fifty-fourth [Daemon Autarch] of the [Despoiled Legion], shall have a prize placed on her head. Whoever slays her in an epic final battle shall be granted one wish to be fulfilled by the [Laws of Causality]. Before being fulfilled, the wish must be approved by all members of the [Inter-Council Assembly] via divinity-weighted majority. Any current or former member of the [Inter-Council Assembly] is expressly prohibited from claiming the wish.
Aolyn felt Luna, Sol, and every other deity in the colosseum double, triple, and quadruple check every word and shred of intent contained within the addendum. They paid special attention to the tenth and most recent article simply because Aolyn had suggested it last minute, yet stood to gain nothing from it. They searched for any sign of a trick, but could find none. Aolyn found it amusing that they were so paranoid even after they all voted to have TK approve the document, but he couldn¡¯t blame them. They were walking straight into a trap, after all. ¡°Great one, we come bearing a finalized addendum to this world¡¯s [Inter-Council Accord],¡± Aolyn called out, holding up the master copy. ¡°We humbly ask the archdeity to approve and enforce the words written herein.¡± The archdeity revved briefly, and the document disappeared from Aolyn¡¯s hands. ¡°The great one recognizes the request of this reality¡¯s fifth and current pantheon of majority,¡± flashed the green orb, the document floating before it. ¡°Prepare for approval and enforcement.¡± Some of the newer gods ¡ª whose names Aolyn hadn¡¯t bothered to learn ¡ª visibly tensed. Were they nervous because this would be their first exposure to the true power of an archdeity? Or was it because they were just now learning that the [Inter-Council Assembly] had extinct predecessors? Whatever their reasons, Aolyn knew they were right to be nervous. What happened next, all happened in an instant. Aolyn destroyed his mind, and with it, the pantheon. Just as the archdeity began to rev, altering the foundations of reality, Aolyn changed his worldview, altering his own ¡®common sense¡¯ understanding of a single word. It was nothing as simple as changing his mind or making a conscious decision. Such a trivial action wouldn¡¯t be able to affect the addendum. No, what the deathless deity did was far more drastic. Using nothing but his strength of illogical will forged through eternities spent in the void, Aolyn shattered his own subconscious understanding of reality, all to change the definition of a single word, a word that appeared only once in the addendum¡­ Deity.
Article II: If Aolyn the Deathless herein hides any deception, let him be drained of his divinity and forced to live out the rest of his life as a mortal. Should this occur, his divinity shall be allocated equally among every other current member of the [Inter-Council Assembly]. To prevent portfolio dilution, the allocated divinity shall not be used for any purpose other than to directly empower each recipient as a deity. The use of the allocated divinity to expand one¡¯s portfolio is expressly forbidden.
Deity: de¡¤i¡¤ty /?d¨¥?d¨¥,?d¨¡?d¨¥/ (noun) Definition: A fictional and/or mythological being of immense power who governs one or more aspects of reality. A collective lie used by a group to ascribe meaning to their inherently meaningless existence. It is commonly believed that deities are also the entities responsible for granting divine powers to mortals, but this is impossible because deities do not exist.
Because the trick he pulled certainly counted as deception, Aolyn felt his divinity leave him. The power spread to every member of the assembled pantheon, empowering each as a ¡®deity,¡¯ as a fictional being that did not exist. Like poison, Aolyn¡¯s divinity surged into each deity and drained them, dispersing their power and releasing it into the world unbound. With the loss of their divinity, each individual underwent incarnation, the return from divinity to flesh. On instinct, many deities resisted their anti-apotheosis, attempting to hold onto their deific power. Some of the weaker ones even succeeded because there was so little to hold onto. That success, however, meant that they remained beings that ¡®do not exist,¡¯ and so disappeared from reality altogether. The thrum of the archdeity¡¯s engine washed over them, and they left behind not even a scream. On either side of Aolyn, Luna and Sol transitioned from gods into mere [Tier S] [Lieges], though it was strange to use the word ¡®mere¡¯ to describe beings still capable of each single-handedly battling entire armies. The instant was over, and in that fraction of a second, the world was forever changed. Save for a certain rebel goddess, Aolyn the Mad had just rid the world of its gods. Before any of the others could react, Aolyn slipped a ring onto his finger and teleported away¡­ Or at least he would have, if one former deity in particular hadn¡¯t stopped time. Aolyn looked down, and a moonstone hand held onto his wrist. He looked around him, and the world was in stasis. Even the ripples of teleportation magic that enveloped his form were frozen, caught in the middle of its casting. Nothing could move save for him, the archdeity, the archdeity¡¯s green orb, and the woman who held him still. ¡°[Time Stop]?¡± Aolyn asked, continuing to gawk at the frozen world. ¡°I¡¯m impressed. I figured you would have forgotten how to use mundane magic by now, but damn! [Tier S] magic, and so quick too.¡± A revving filled the still air, and the green orb translated. ¡°The great one¡¯s obligation has been fulfilled. It is pleased this reality has accepted the Trans-Universe Migration Protocol, but the great one¡¯s beneficence is not infinite. Before one thousand of this world¡¯s years have passed, do not again summon the great one.¡± The green orb disappeared into a fold of TK¡¯s robe, and with one last rev of its engine, the archdeity drove through the air at a speed beyond the bounds of reality. It disappeared into the fading stars on the west horizon of the early dawn sky. It would have been an amazing sight to savor, if not for the knife pressed to his throat. Chapter 10. Divine Apocalypse ¡°That bastard Treskur was in on this, wasn¡¯t she?¡± Luna accused, holding her knife against her former lover¡¯s throat, her other hand gripping his wrist so that he couldn¡¯t run so easily. ¡°That¡¯s why she denounced the assembly and declared war, isn¡¯t it? So she wouldn¡¯t be affected while the rest of us suffered as mortals? What sort of sick, twisted revenge is this?¡± Aolyn finally turned to look at her. He opened his mouth, probably to quip, but the words disappeared as he laid his eyes on her. He stared at her, dazed, until words wandered out from his lips unbidden. ¡°Luna¡­¡± he said, ¡°I can see you.¡± Luna grit her teeth. The moonstone form she¡¯d gained from her ascension remained, but it seemed her unknowability had vanished. ¡°Answer the question.¡± It took the former deathless god a moment to remember what she¡¯d asked, but it came to him soon enough. ¡°Yes, Treskur was in on it, but she didn¡¯t know everything. In that burned note I gave her, I wrote that I¡¯d get rid of the gods forever. All she had to do was disagree with me when I did ¡®a thing,¡¯ and that she¡¯d know what ¡®that thing¡¯ was when she saw it.¡± ¡°You trusted that the rest of us despised Treskur so much, that we¡¯d be predisposed to side with you just to disagree with her,¡± Luna stated, rather than asked. ¡°That last minute addition of the tenth article, that was just to distract us from the real trap, wasn¡¯t it? I feel like such an idiot.¡± ¡°Everyone is an idiot. Some just happen to be more clever within certain topics.¡± ¡°How?¡± Luna demanded, pressing her knife harder against the smug bastard¡¯s throat. ¡°Why?¡± She resisted the urge to stab him right then. If she drew blood, her [Time Stop] would end, and Aolyn would teleport away. With only one shot to cause him harm, she could certainly hurt him, maybe even kill him if she were lucky, but first she had to know. ¡°I¡¯ll have to ask you to be a tad more specific.¡± ¡°You know damn well what I¡¯m asking!¡± she yelled. ¡°How did you instantaneously alter your beliefs on such a fundamental level? And why betray your fellow gods so thoroughly? Why curse us all, yourself included, to mortality while that bearded freak keeps her godhood? We murdered you once, Aolyn, but you damned well deserved it! I¡¯ve never known you to be so vindictive. Did your time away change you so much?¡± ¡°How and why?¡± Aolyn mused, as if Luna weren¡¯t threatening his life. ¡°I suppose the answer to both would be the same. You see, Luna, I¡¯ve become a cultural atheist.¡± Luna just stared, dumbstruck. She tried to figure out how to respond to such a blas¨¦ statement, but couldn¡¯t. Her mouth worked in the vague shape of words, but no sound came out. She was completely gobsmacked. After those few moments of bafflement passed, she realized she could only find the sense to respond after she stopped trying to make sense of his words. ¡°Goodbye, Aolyn. I¡¯ll do my best to kill you now.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t say I blame you, but it is my sincere hope that you fail.¡± ¡°[Eldritch Annihilation]!¡± Time resumed the instant her spell took shape. The tip of her dagger cut through the neck of the betrayer Daemon even as he disappeared, slicing a void into space itself. It was a void not of emptiness, but infinitely filled with the unknowable mysteries beyond existence. Shapes, geometries, ideas, colors, and horrors beyond the comprehension of even the former gods invaded the world through the cut of Luna¡¯s dagger. Even Luna¡¯s own mind couldn¡¯t comprehend what lay there, beyond the thin shell of Terra¡¯s reality. Aolyn disappeared in a flash of light, but not before Luna¡¯s dagger split him from neck to navel. His blood splashed all over her. She¡¯d left a nasty wound, she was sure, but she couldn¡¯t guarantee he would die from it. Though no longer a god, he would now be a [Tier S] [Liege] just as she was, after all. Chaos erupted as the world returned to motion. Former gods of all shapes and sizes went mad as the power they¡¯d become so accustomed to fled them. Many lost control of their now purely physical forms. Luna¡¯s own brother fell through the ground, melting everything below him due to the fact he was made of pure plasma. Luna let out a heavy sigh and wiped some blood off her face. The otherworldly screams created by her spell faded away, but disconcertingly, she hadn¡¯t noticed they were there until they¡¯d gone. She took a look around herself, at the panicking herd of former deities. ¡°I¡¯m the one who has to fix this, aren¡¯t I?¡±
On the winter morning of the day that would later be called the [Divine Apocalypse], Brother Percival was feeling good. Unaware that today would retroactively be designated as day one, year zero of a new age, he treated the day like any other. As always, he¡¯d awoken before dawn to cook for the Abbey¡¯s orphans. He was no [Chef], but the food he prepared was more than edible. He put together some simple grains and salt for a porridge, making sure to remove different amounts from the big pot at different times so that every child could have their preferred texture. He cut up the dry, tough, preserved meat into thin strips that were easier to chew. The day-old bread donated from the bakery two doors down, he wrapped in lightly damp cloth and put by the fire to warm and soften. His use of cloth would mean more laundry for him to do later, but it was worth it for the children to better enjoy their meal. He cut and juiced a few of the precious citrus fruits and diluted the liquid with boiled water so that every child could have some protection from the gum rot. The nutritious but less delectable rinds, he set aside to later dry and grind into powder. Altogether, the meal was nothing fancy, but it was the best fare he could provide with what he was given. By the time the he¡¯d finished, Brother Percival reckoned that dawn couldn¡¯t be more than a dozen minutes away. It would soon be time to rouse the children, but not quite yet. He grabbed the firmest heel of bread and the toughest ends of meat for his own breakfast, and stepped toward the kitchen¡¯s exterior door. Right on time, there came a knock at the door, and Brother Percival opened it to be greeted by the sight of a decrepit old man dressed in layers of soiled rags. He ignored the old man¡¯s smell and flashed him a smile. The monk was missing more than a few teeth ¡ª a vestige of his own bout with the gum rot when he¡¯d been a child at the very abbey where he now labored ¡ª but smiled brightly nonetheless. ¡°Old man! It is a blessing every time I see you.¡± ¡°For the last time, no need to give someone like me so much respect, young man. I¡¯ve come to beg again, and deserve no such kindness.¡± ¡°Please, sit with me, and have a meal as we watch the day begin. I insist.¡± ¡°Very well, so long as we do so outside.¡± Percival brought out a pair of stools, and the two sat out in the predawn chill of the alley. ¡°I believe I already know your answer, but I must ask you regardless. Will you not come in and join me as a Brother? It is a meager life, but you¡¯ll have clothing, food, and a roof. Best of all, you might find a greater purpose here.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t fault you for asking, but as I¡¯ve said, I swore to never again enter a place of his worship, and I won¡¯t break that oath now. If I lose my pride, I¡¯ll have nothing left.¡± As the two began to eat, they spoke the words of a conversation they¡¯d had a thousand times, strolling through the words like the woods of a familiar forest trail. Though the words themselves were old, the sincerity with which each man spoke was evergreen. The minutes passed as the two ate and enjoyed each other¡¯s company. They shared a meager breakfast barely fit for a single man, but neither attempted to eat more than their share. In fact, the older man more than once reprimanded the younger for not eating enough, and an equal number of times the young man insisted that the older have his fill. Dawn was just beginning to break when the old man rose to take his leave, but he hissed with the effort. ¡°Are you alright, old man? If you come inside, I can ask a priest to take a look at your hip.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s nothing.¡± ¡°I can forgive much, but I won¡¯t forgive a lie.¡± ¡°Fine.¡± The old man hissed again as he fully straightened himself into a standing position. ¡°It does hurt, but I won¡¯t have one of his priests look at it. Besides, I¡¯m old. It¡¯s my lot in life to feel pain.¡± Percival frowned. ¡°No one deserves pain for what they can¡¯t control. If you won¡¯t come inside, at least allow me to bring a priest out here.¡± ¡°Ha! Allow this old man to save you some time. Their answer will be ¡®no,¡¯ and there¡¯s no need to pretend otherwise. You likely know that better than I, don¡¯t you?¡± This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Percival¡¯s frowned deepened, but rather than give into his negative emotions, he took a deep breath. ¡°Bleak odds are no excuse not to try.¡± Rather than force a smile onto his face, he searched for a reason he might genuinely grin. When he found it, the hopeful expression came naturally. ¡°There¡¯s always the chance one of the Fathers will have a change of heart. Perhaps a humble request on behalf of an old man is all the push they need.¡± The monk stood from his stool. ¡°Even if they reject me again, that¡¯s one less rejection before they one day agree. Please wait here, old man.¡± ¡°Hold a moment, if you will,¡± the old man requested, holding up a hand. ¡°Rather than beseech them, I¡¯d rather you try your hand at a spell.¡± Percival chortled. ¡°Very funny.¡± ¡°I¡¯m being serious.¡± To that, Percival could only raise an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m called Brother Percival, not Father. I¡¯m no priest. And even if I became a priest of Sol, I wouldn¡¯t become a [Priest of Sol], if you understand what I¡¯m trying to say. I¡¯ve never had the gift.¡± ¡°But there are stories of the gift coming late, are there not?¡± ¡°Perhaps one in a million, if that. Who knows if any of those stories are even real?¡± ¡°As a kind hearted but occasionally pretentious young man once told me, bleak odds are no excuse not to try. You wouldn¡¯t ignore such wise words, would you?¡± Percival smiled ruefully, snared by his own sentiments. Looking at the sky, dawn would soon break, and it would be time for him to rouse the children. Hopefully the porridge would be cool enough for them by then. ¡°Very well, old man. I¡¯ll give it a try if you agree to let me plead your case to the Fathers.¡± The old man wrinkled his nose, but agreed. ¡°Alright then. Give it your best shot.¡± ¡°Okay, here goes nothing¡­¡± Brother Percival, a lowly monk at the Fourth Abbey of Sol, closed his eyes, held out his hands, and prayed for a miracle. He did as he¡¯d been taught to do. He reached out, trying to imagine the warmth of Sol¡¯s light upon his skin. He silently begged for but a single cast of the meager [Tier I] spell [Ease Pain]. He concentrated harder and harder, doing his best to reach out and touch the barest corner of his god¡¯s divinity¡­. But nothing happened. ¡°Sorry, old man,¡± Percival apologized, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. ¡°It seems I¡¯m still not worthy.¡± Just then, dawn broke over the horizon. The day¡¯s first rays of sun embraced the pair standing outside the abbey¡¯s kitchen door, and Percival sighed. ¡°Time flew by faster than expected. Please wait just a little longer, old man. I need to rouse the children, but after that I¡¯ll¡­?¡° The old man stopped his words with a raise of his hand, but said nothing himself. Instead, he sniffed the air, a puzzled expression on his face. ¡°What is it, old man? Is everything¡ª?¡± ¡°Percival,¡± the old man interrupted, and that shut the monk right up. The old man never used Percival¡¯s name, just as he¡¯d asked Percival never to ask him his. Before Percival could process his shock, the old man continued speaking. ¡°If you¡¯d indulge this old man, please try again. This time, however, I ask that you focus not on your god, but on the goodness within your own heart.¡± ¡°That¡¯s blasphemy. It¡¯s ridiculous. Impossible,¡± Percival spluttered. ¡°There¡¯s no way I could¡ª¡° ¡°Percival, if you have ever felt an iota of warmth, care, or even pity for this old man, all I ask is that you try.¡± With a groan of effort, the old man lowered himself to his knees. ¡°Old man, please don¡¯t¡ª¡° ¡°Listen to me! I said I came here to beg, and beg I shall! Please, for all that is holy and good, try one more time. Seek the gift not from without, but from within! Just once! I beg you. Please, Percival. Please!¡± Percival was lost for words, flabbergasted by the old man¡¯s behaviour. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll try, but you must get off the floor and wait for me to fetch one of the others after I fail. I fear something has come over you, old man.¡± The old man nodded enthusiastically, and Percival raised his hands, hoping to finish this newest attempt quickly so that he could go inside and find some real help. ¡°Here goes¡­¡± Out of habit, he tried to cast [Ease Pain] the same way he always tried. He reached out to Sol, but then he remembered the old man¡¯s request. Percival reached not outward, but inward, and felt something¡­ different. There, in his heart, he felt a connection to¡­ he didn¡¯t know what. The world? Life? The very idea of goodness itself? Whatever it was, it just felt right, and he soon realized it was the same feeling he felt whenever he prepared food for others, or read to the children, or visited the sick, or any of the other thousand things he¡¯d done for no reason other than that it was the right thing to do. Whatever it was that gave off that feeling, he realized it was all around him, suffusing the air itself. He wondered what it was, and the name came to his mind unbidden, eager to reveal itself to him. Divinity. What he did next, he did on instinct. Easy as breathing, he moved the divinity in his heart and spoke the words of his truest desire. Percival looked to the feeble form of the pained old man still kneeling on the floor before him. ¡°Make this man well,¡± he humbly asked, and the divinity in the air answered his call. Vines of golden light grew from Percival¡¯s hands and wrapped around the old man, lifting him into the air like the embrace of a mother. Within seconds, he became whole. The grey clouds over his eyes disappeared, revealing brilliant orbs of sky blue. Color returned to his pallid flesh as blood flowed heartily through his veins. His yellowed teeth brightened. His grey tangle of twisted, split, and greasy hair was smoothed into a silver mane. His skin was cleared of grime, his faded scars disappearing completely. The vines of light began to fade and Percival knew his spell was about to end, but he sensed that his work was not yet done. It was nothing physical, but he had an inkling that there was something there that shouldn¡¯t be, something alien clinging to the man¡¯s soul, holding him down like a weight. ¡°Make this man well,¡± Percival commanded, putting more of himself behind the words. ¡°Free his soul!¡± Again, the divinity answered. A spear of light shot from Percival¡¯s palm, impaling the old man through the heart. For an instant, Percival wondered if he¡¯d made a grave mistake, but then he noticed that the spear drew no blood. Rather than pained, the old man appeared invigorated by the spear in his chest. The weight on the man¡¯s soul shattered beneath the power of the spear, and the man was free. The old man landed lightly on the floor, set down gently by the fading golden light. Percival hadn¡¯t noticed when it happened, but the old man¡¯s rags were rags no more. Their stains removed, their tears mended, the grey-brown rags had transformed into an archaic set of a warrior¡¯s cloth armor. Such armor hadn¡¯t been widely used for millennia, but Brother Percival recognized the garb immediately. It was the same armor commonly worn by warriors of the church, but only in those innumerable pieces of religious art that depicted the early centuries of the Solarian¡¯s eternal struggle against the Daemons. ¡­So why was the old man wearing them? ¡°AAAAAAH!¡± Before Percival could ponder further, his concentration was broken by a chorus of old men¡¯s screams coming from within the abbey. He tried to throw open the door and rush in to see what was the matter, but the renewed old man held him back with a hand on the shoulder. ¡°What are you doing? I need to see what¡¯s wrong. Someone could be hurt!¡± ¡°There¡¯s nothing you can do. Extend your senses, as I have done, and you¡¯ll see the truth of my words for yourself.¡± The screaming continued, and Percival tried to pull free of the old man¡¯s grasp, but his grip was iron. ¡°Please let go! I need to go inside and¡ª¡° ¡°SEE!¡± The old man commanded, and the word reverberated within the monk¡¯s very soul. Percival¡¯s eyes went wide, and for an instant, he could see everything around him for miles. It wasn¡¯t a bird¡¯s eye view, but an omniscient flood of information. Bakers, fishers, husbands, wives, children, stray animals, rats, clouds, grains of dust¡­ He was everywhere, a thousand times a thousand points of view revealing every single detail of¡ª ¡°SEE!¡± The old man commanded once more, and Percival¡¯s vision narrowed to include only himself and the abbey. He saw the children rising blearily from bed, frightened by the screams. He saw his fellow Brothers trying to calm the children down. He saw himself, and realized he¡¯d forgotten to breathe. Most notably, he saw the Abbey¡¯s priests ¡ª consisting of the Fathers and even the Abbess himself ¡ª all clawing at their eyes and letting loose bloodcurdling screams of torment. Worst of all, he saw why they were pained. Divinity bled from their hearts, exploding out from them like animals freed from their cages. Some of the newer [Priests of Sol] were unconscious, their meager divinity already bled dry. The voids left behind in their hearts made Percival¡¯s face twist in disgust, for he knew intuitively from the shape of those voids that the divinity they once held had been forced there. Whatever monster had stuffed the divinity into the Fathers¡¯ hearts had done so carelessly, shoving the untamable power where it did not belong, and now, the Fathers were paying the price. There was nothing Percival could do to help the Fathers short of forcing the divinity back in, but even the thought of doing so disgusted him beyond all reason. The divinity felt alive. To coerce it into obeying one to whom it did not love was anathema. It would be slavery. Then Percival paled, for he knew exactly what monster had done this. He knew which slaver was responsible for the Fathers¡¯ current pain. He knew who the villain was, and the knowledge pained him, for the villain was his god. ¡°Sol did this¡­¡± Percival whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. ¡°My whole life has been a lie.¡± ¡°It has not,¡± the old man said. ¡°Only your god was a lie. The rest of your kindness, it was all true. If you seek proof for my words, simply ask the freed divinity that has found its home in your heart.¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± Percival demanded, throwing the old man¡¯s hand off his shoulder. He turned to face him dead in the eye. ¡°Did you do this?¡± ¡°Percival, I think the more relevant question to ask would be, ¡®Who are you?¡¯ You are no longer a simple monk.¡± ¡°Answer me first, old man!¡± In response to Percival¡¯s fiery words, the old man smiled. ¡°Very well then. Allow me to answer.¡±He squared his shoulders, as if preparing to recite a well rehearsed speech. ¡°I am an old man. I was cursed by Sol to forever walk the earth, immortal and suffering, incapable of sharing the horrible truth of the sun god¡¯s hypocrisy¡­ But the fact that I now speak of my curse proves to me that by your hand, I am cursed no longer. ¡°I am a traitor. I was once a sworn brother to a Daemon, and no less than a [Daemon Autarch] at that! When presented with the choice of following the blinding radiance of my god or following the ideals with which that god claimed to rule, I chose the ideals, and was labeled a heretic. ¡°I am a lie. Though I was excommunicated ¡ª cursed as a traitor, incapable of even speaking my own name ¡ª I was called a paragon of the church. I was forced to stay silent as my own name ¡ª that very name which I could not speak ¡ª was used to praise the god I hated. Though I was apostate, I was called apostle. ¡°I am a legend. Of the four fundamental trees of power available to us mortals, I was master of two and initiate to a third. A wielder of life and soul, I was a [Liege] that led from the front, charging bravely into any fray, the souls of my men weighing heavily on my own. A novice of divinity, I was a paladin that imbued the light of the sun into my blade. ¡°And once again, I tell you that I am an old man. Fifty-eight hundred years I have roamed Terra, and I am tired. I¡¯d like to visit my oldest friend, Thanatos the First, wherever in the afterlife he lies. First, however, I need to make sure the world doesn¡¯t go to shit now that I have the power to do something about it.¡± Here, the old man paused in his words, shooting the dumbstruck Percival a meaningful look. ¡°Better yet, I could train a young man of pure heart to guide the world while I retire. ¡°Who am I, young Percival? I am nothing but a pompous old fogey who¡¯s rehearsed this speech in his head for thousands of years, dreaming of the day he could finally speak the words! As for my name¡­¡± The old man swept into a bow, his ancient robes billowing out behind him heroically. He raised himself, standing straight, and met Percival¡¯s eyes with his own. He seemed taller now, somehow. ¡°I am Gregory Kingsblood II, first and former [Champion of Sol]¡­ But to you, young Percival, I am [Kingmaker], for I shall make you [King]!¡± Chapter 11. Is this pornogra—? While Brother Percival was discovering the lies of his god, Morgan Dragonsbane was just arriving home. Flying over the grey, putrid swamps populated with ogres, ravens, black cats, frogs and lizards of every size and shape ¡ª and more than a few corpses of each ¡ª Morgan heard a mad cackle in the distance and knew she was where she belonged. Dawn broke, its light dyed green by the ambient miasma, and Morgan landed before an oddly normal looking tavern. The sign hanging over the door proclaimed it to be ¡®Ye Onyx Cauldron¡¯ in bold, gothic letters beneath an image of an overflowing black cauldron. Morgan walked up the ¡®wood¡¯ steps ¡ª she knew them to be made of the petrified skin of her enemies, but who else needed to know? ¡ª and opened the salt-stone door by its copper and coldiron knob. She stepped over the ¡®Not Welcome¡¯ mat and passed through the ¡®oak¡¯ threshold that certainly wasn¡¯t made from ground dragon bone. ¡°Cassandra, I¡¯m¡ª¡° A portal ripped open in the middle of the taproom ¡ª something which should have been impossible given the sheets of lead and gold in the walls ¡ª and out popped Aolyn, an immaterial gash of unknowable esoterica wriggling his form apart from his neck to his waist. ¡°¡ªhome? Damnit all! Cassandra, get the tentacle containment kit!¡± Rather than take the time to be shocked, Morgan sprang into action. She cast a quick spell, and bands of iron sprung from the floor to hold Aolyn still. Morgan cut open her finger with the dagger at her side and began scrawling runes all around the wounded god. Wait¡­ ¡°You¡¯re not a god.¡± Morgan said without pausing her work. ¡°Thanks for noticing,¡± Aolyn said, gritting his teeth as the fleshy things writhing around within him continued to undo his material form. ¡°I got rid of all of them, in fact. All except one, but we won¡¯t have to worry about her. She¡¯s a friend.¡± An old black cat with intelligent green eyes and bags strapped to her sides hopped down from the stairs, landing beside Morgan. ¡°Thank you, Cassandra, and sorry for having you work so early. And you, Aolyn, explain later. For now, empty your mind. Think of nothing, and don¡¯t look at what I¡¯m about to do.¡± Obediently, Aolyn closed his eyes as Morgan removed her tools and reagents from the pouches strapped to Cassandra. Disobediently, Aolyn spoke. ¡°I broke my promise,¡± he said. ¡°What?¡± Morgan asked, distracted from her work for only an instant. In that brief moment of distraction, a thick worm with teeth for eyes and eyes for teeth lunged at her hands. Thinking quickly, she stabbed it with a willow stake, and the eldritch thing withered. ¡°I said that next time, I wouldn¡¯t appear from ¡ª Fuck that hurts! ¡ª that I wouldn¡¯t appear from nowhere.¡± Despite his pain, he managed a smile and cracked open his eyes. Morgan was about to yell at him for not clearing his mind, but the eldritch tear in his body was actually starting to mend. With but a few more ministrations, Morgan closed the wound completely. Puzzled, Morgan turned to Cassandra, but Cassandra was looking at her with an equally puzzled look. ¡°That was¡­ easier than I was expecting. It was as if¡­¡± ¡°Everything alright, Morgan? Can I start thinking again?¡± Morgan frowned. ¡°You¡¯re speaking to me. You¡¯re already thinking.¡± ¡°I suppose I am, but I also am not. As a man, talking without thinking is my specialty. It also helps that my time in the void turned my mind into a paradox, but if it¡¯s alright with you, could I resume normal thought now?¡± Morgan took a moment to stare into Aolyn¡¯s eyes and found them to be glassy, as if he wasn¡¯t all there. ¡°Sure,¡± she said. ¡°The tentacles are as starved and dead as they can be, so it should be safe.¡± ¡°Phew!¡± Aolyn sighed in relief and sat up, intelligence returning to his gaze. ¡°Being partially torn from reality really hurts.¡± ¡°Care to explain what you¡¯re doing here?¡± ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll explain everything, but first¡­¡± he pulled open a part of his already torn shirt, and Morgan couldn¡¯t help but notice the fine musculature of his chest. Before she could ask what he was doing, he pulled out a partially shredded and bloodied piece of paper from a hidden breast pocket. Morgan took it into her hands, and she and Cassandra glanced over it. ¡°Meow?¡± Cassandra asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know what a ¡®resume¡¯ is either. Care to explain?¡± The man nodded cheerily despite having been one day ago a god, and one minute ago upon the precipice of death by unreality. ¡°If you¡¯re starting an army,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯d like to be a lieutenant. You¡¯ll find that I have plenty of relevant work experience. If anything, I might be over-qualified, but this field is my passion! ¡°As a new startup, you could gain a lot from my first-hand experience. I¡¯ll help your company avoid many common pitfalls while you discover and excel within your own unique direction. I¡¯m a team player, and though I¡¯m used to leading, I have no problem being subordinate to another¡¯s vision. ¡°You¡¯ll also find that I can be insightful without being overbearing. We both know how annoying those know-it-all-because-I¡¯m-the-god-of-the-sun types can be, and I can assure you that I¡¯ll be nothing like them! ¡°I thank you in advance for the consideration. Do you have any more questions for me before we move onto other topics?¡± Morgan blinked, momentarily confused, but then she remembered the promise she¡¯d given him the other day. Having a former god as a her first recruit? So long as he kept his promise not to act like a dick¡­ ¡°Are you sure about this, Aolyn?¡± Morgan asked. ¡°Absolutely.¡± ¡°Not even a little hesitation? How can you be so certain? This is a huge decision.¡± ¡°Morgan,¡± Aolyn began, his voice suddenly low and calm, the voice of a man who¡¯d seen it all, ¡°rarely have I ever been so certain of anything as I am about this. ¡°I¡¯ve spent thousands of years chasing my own wildest dreams only to succeed and remain hollow. I¡¯ve learned that happiness isn¡¯t some goal on the horizon, but a habit. Happiness is to struggle every day toward a cause greater than myself. ¡°Morgan Dragonsbane, I have witnessed who you are when it counts. Bound by nothing but your word and the honor of your coven, you threw yourself against certain death simply because you thought it was the right thing to do. I have barely known you a day, but not even a century could help me see you more clearly than I do right now. ¡°I¡¯ve already had my chance to guide the world into something better, and I failed miserably. Now, there is no greater desire in my heart than to help you succeed where I could not. ¡°Please. If I am to die, let it be while bringing about the world of which you dream. Nothing could make me happier.¡± Morgan took another appraising look over the man before her. She¡¯d seen many a deception in her time, but as far as she could tell, he was being absolutely genuine. ¡°Alright, Aolyn,¡± she said finally. ¡°If you¡¯ll have me as a [Liege], I¡¯ll gladly accept you as a [Vassal].¡± She held out her hand for him to shake. He brightened, reaching out to accept her grasp, but then he paused, sneaking a look at Cassandra. ¡°In front of your familiar?¡± he asked. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Well, okay then. If you¡¯re fine with it¡­¡± He took her hand, and with her soul, Morgan tentatively reached out. She¡¯d never done it before, but thanks to Melpomene¡¯s guidance, she knew how it was supposed to be done. She sent a tendril of her soul to prod Aolyn¡¯s and felt something incomprehensibly vast return her touch. Morgan felt her breath catch, but otherwise made no reaction. Aolyn was similarly placid, but there was a knowing look in his eyes. With her tendril of soul, she could feel him, and he could feel her. By the very nature of the ritual, Morgan was the one in control. Though his soul was more powerful than hers, Aolyn could do nothing to harm her. Beyond the ability to reject her advance, he was as powerless to steer this situation as a leaf in the wind. Nevertheless, Morgan was the one who felt vulnerable. As a mercenary, she¡¯d signed onto a number of different armies, each led by a different [Liege]. She¡¯d been through this ritual multiple times, but always from the other end, and never while being so aware. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Before, the sensations of [Vassalage] were abstract and hard to define, so faint it was difficult to tell if they were even real. Now, however, she¡¯d awoken her perception of the soul. She could feel everything, and she knew intuitively that Aolyn could too. To the other, they were each more than laid bare. They were beyond naked. They were beyond defenseless. They couldn¡¯t have been more exposed if they tried. Though she¡¯d sent naught but a tendril of soul his way, it was as if Morgan were the sea and Aolyn were the sky, and in the throes of the ritual, they¡¯d fused into a hurricane. ¡°Should we stop?¡± Aolyn asked, drawing Morgan out of her thoughts. Much to her shame, Morgan realized that she¡¯d lost sight of herself somewhere within the ritual. If Aolyn hadn¡¯t pulled her out with his words, she didn¡¯t know if she would have ever found her way out. Morgan wondered if this was why mortals naturally never developed soul sense. ¡°Meow?¡± asked Cassandra, batting at the sleeve of Morgan¡¯s five-colored robe. ¡°No, it¡¯s alright,¡± Morgan replied, her voice breathless. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, but tried to play it off for her familiar¡¯s sake. ¡°We¡¯re not done yet, but I can do this.¡± ¡°Meow¡­¡± Cassandra said, but she was obviously unconvinced. Aolyn put on a complicated expression. ¡°There¡¯s no shame in stopping. We could try again later, or forget about¡ª¡° ¡°Do you want to stop, Aolyn the no-longer-deathless?¡± He smiled. ¡°Of course not.¡± ¡°Then let¡¯s go.¡± Her breathing went heavier, and she leaned in, grasping his hand tighter. ¡°I said I can do this, so I can.¡± Morgan turned her eyes back to Aolyn¡¯s, but her gaze was already elsewhere, turned inward to behold the frothing storm of their souls. She did as Melpomene had shown her, or at least she tried to. Before she could lose herself again, Aolyn tightened his grip to match hers. He drew her closer and placed her fingers on the bruised flesh of his chest. ¡°Right there,¡± he guided her, voice low, intimate. ¡°Take just a wisp, and make it yours.¡± Focusing on his words, Morgan knew what she had to do. She embraced the vulnerability of the act. With but a bare tendril of soul, she leapt from the sea and into the hurricane. In her mind¡¯s eye, she reached out and snatched a sliver of sky. She held it tight, and it buzzed in her hand like a bolt of lightning. With it, she dove back into the waves below, and the ritual was complete. Back in the taproom, within her corporeal body, Morgan let out a loud, ragged cry of relief. She released Aolyn¡¯s hand and fell backwards, a feeling of deep satisfaction passing through her entire body. Cassandra leapt into her lap, a concerned look in her eyes, but Morgan just smiled back. She was no longer ¡®just¡¯ a [Tier V] [Omnimancer] with the [Dragonslayer] keyword. Feeling the soul now tethered to her own, she was so much more. ¡°Don¡¯t be so glum,¡± she told Cassandra. ¡°You¡¯re partner¡¯s a [Liege] now! How¡¯s it feel to be the familiar of a big shot? I mean, I was already a pretty big shot, but now I¡¯m an even bigger shot!¡± ¡°Meow.¡± ¡°Haha, I suppose that¡¯s true.¡± ¡°Lieutenant Aolyn reporting for duty!¡± the not-god interjected, sitting up straight and chopping one hand against his forehead in some strange form of military salute. ¡°Forgive me for interrupting, my [Liege], but I believe I should begin my report on what has transpired these past few hours.¡± Morgan and Cassandra shared a glance, then both turned to look at the [Vassal]. ¡°Alright. Start from whatever¡¯s most important.¡± ¡°Yes sir! Shall I start with the fall of the gods?¡± ¡°¡­You were serious about that?¡±
¡°Hey Brandon! Isn¡¯t Sol the best?¡± Brandon looked up from his book, trying to hide his annoyance. Apparently, asking for the ability to read quietly in a public quiet-reading lounge was asking for too much, and Brandon had yet to discover any place that was private. ¡°Um, yeah. Sol sure is amazing, dude,¡± Brandon lied unconvincingly, but the man¡¯s soul ¡ª whose name Brandon forgot ¡ª didn¡¯t seem to notice. ¡°Sweet! Me and the other guys were about to go sing his praises in the [Sunbeam Gardens] if you¡¯d like to come join.¡± ¡°Uh, yeah. I¡¯d love to, but I¡¯m at a really interesting part of my book,¡± Brandon said, holding up his hardcover novel covered with a book jacket. ¡°Maybe next time, man.¡± He sat back down in his chaise-lounge, signalling the end of the conversation, but the other soul ignored the social cue and continued to prattle on. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re reading Of Sunny Days: The Greatness of Sol? I love that book!¡± ¡°Haha. I¡¯m liking it too, but don¡¯t spoil it for me! Now, my guy, if you¡¯d leave me alone to¡ª¡° ¡°Don¡¯t you love the part when Sol strikes down the evil Demon King with a bolt of sunlight?¡±The soul looked into the middle distance, his eyes literally twinkling with stars. ¡°Ooooh, gives me the chills every time.¡± ¡°Um, yeah, sure¡­ good part, pal. Sorry but it¡¯s really hard to read while¡ª¡° ¡°Oh no! That¡¯s at the end of the book!¡± The stars in the soul¡¯s eyes disappeared, and the man turned back to Brandon, looking striken. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry! I¡¯ve done something terrible! This is just as bad as when the [Hero] Arthur Kingsblood the First committed the sin of momentarily questioning why Sol sent him to kill the Daemonic children! I shouldn¡¯t have spoiled that for you, just as Arthur never should have questioned¡­ Oh my! I did it again, didn¡¯t I? Please forgive me, Brother Brandon!¡± Brandon¡¯s fake smile weakened. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s alright, buddy. Now run along and¡ª¡° ¡°No, it¡¯s not alright!¡± the soul shouted, tears in his eyes. ¡°Please, accompany me to the [Hall of Atonement] so that I may¡ª¡° ¡°My Brother in Sol, shut the fuck up!¡± Brandon threw up his hands and got up from his chaise-lounge. ¡°I¡¯ve been here barely a day, but it¡¯s felt like an eternity!¡± ¡°Um¡­ I too feel that the joy here seems to stretch on, every moment filled with a lifetime¡¯s worth of¡ª¡° ¡°I said shut up!¡± Brandon screamed. He spiked his book onto the floor in anger. ¡°I can¡¯t get away from you lot! Just give me a single hour of peace! I beg you!¡± For one blessed moment, the other soul was silent, gobsmacked and unsure how to respond. Then the blessed moment ended, and the soul spoke. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry, Brother Brandon. I¡¯ll go to the [Hall of Atonement] myself¡­¡± ¡°Thank you. Sounds great.¡± ¡°Oh, but it looks like the book jacket fell off of your book when they hit the floor. Let me pick them both up for you.¡± ¡°What? No! It¡¯s fine! Just run along and¡ª¡° ¡°No, it¡¯s the least I could do. I¡¯m the reason you threw¡­ them¡­ in the first place?¡± As the soul bent over, retrieving the book and its jacket, he noticed that their two titles didn¡¯t match. Brandon tried to swipe both away, but the other soul reacted too quickly, pulling the pair out of Brandon¡¯s reach. Both Brandon and the other soul paled, but for very different reasons. ¡°Brother Brandon, is this pornogra¡ª?¡± Luckily for Brandon, that was the exact moment the [Divine Apocalypse] happened, and the two souls disappeared.
Brandon¡¯s soul reappeared within a giant orb of swirling ice, surrounded by what could have been millions or even billions of other souls. There was no up or down. Every soul was standing atop the inside shell of the gargantuan icy sphere, their gazes drawn centerward toward a closed-eyed figure with a long red beard, crossed arms, and thick slabs of muscle. Based off of what he knew, Brandon guessed that the figure was Treskur, the sole god of the [Frigid North], but he couldn¡¯t be certain. Swathes of new souls continued appearing all over the interior of the sphere, and Brandon was struck by the sheer multitude of the dead. Had all these people really existed? Could there really have been so many living, breathing, thinking minds? Realizing just how many other souls there were ¡ª with more still appearing with every passing breath ¡ª made Brandon feel suddenly small. ¡°Brandon¡­¡± said a voice beside him. If Brandon weren¡¯t already dead, he would have died of shock. He knew that voice. He slowly turned to meet the gaze of the one who called his name, and nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. The once full, heroic cheeks were sallow. The shining blond hair was dull, paler than straw. The blue eyes were murky pools. The strong frame was thinned. The confident posture was hunched, defeated. The bravado was dead, and with it, the man. ¡°Ar-Arthur?¡± Brandon asked, though he already knew the answer. ¡°Arthur, is that you?¡± ¡°Brandon,¡± the [Hero] said, a glimmer of intelligence returning to his hollow fish-stare. ¡°Brandon, it¡¯s so good to see you.¡± Tears welled within his former [Liege]¡¯s eyes. If it unnerved Brandon to see the diminished Arthur Kingsblood III ¡ª the once proud [Tier V] [Champion of Sol] and [Hero] of the [Solarian Courts] ¡ª then hearing him say ¡®good to see you¡¯ was downright terrifying. Brandon tried to run, but found himself frozen in place, his ethereal feet literally encased in the ice of the sphere. ¡°Who-Who are you? Where is Arthur? What happened to him?¡± ¡°Brandon¡­ I am Arthur.¡± ¡°Liar!¡± ¡°No, Brandon. I¡¯ve changed.¡± ¡°I asked who you are! Tell me, fiend!¡± ¡°And I¡¯ve told you who I am. Do you know what hell is, Brandon?¡± Brandon tried again to pull himself free of the ice, but to no avail. ¡°If you¡¯re Arthur, then prove it! Tell me something only he would¡ª¡° ¡°Much to my shame, we never knew each other well enough to share a secret that could prove my identity. I was cruel to you, Brandon. I was so, so cruel. I brushed you off. I ignored you. I-I didn¡¯t appreciate you. I¡¯m so sorry, but I know words can never make up for the way I treated you.¡± Brandon stopped struggling against the ice. He took a long, hard look at the soul beside him. It was faint, fainter than a decades-old scar, but when Brandon reached out, he could still feel the faded connection between him and the soul beside him, a connection between a former [Vassal] and his [Liege]. ¡°What changed you?¡± Brandon asked. ¡°Hell.¡± Arthur got a far-off look in his eyes. ¡°Hell, Brandon. Hell changed me. I don¡¯t know what any of the other hells might look like, but Sol¡¯s hell¡­¡± A shiver passed through the man. ¡°In Sol¡¯s hell, you live your life over and over again, reliving every single one of your failures, but that¡¯s not the worst part. You see your failures through the eyes of others, Brandon. Can you imagine that? Inhabiting the senses of another? Watching your own actions, and feeling how they affect those around you?¡± ¡°Empathy?¡± ¡°Exactly! It was horrible. Many of what I thought of as my ¡®greatest successes,¡¯ I relieved them, but I saw it through the eyes of the locals whose land I destroyed, the troops whose lives I callously sacrificed, the enemies who I mercilessly slew¡­¡± He trailed off and shot Brandon a meaningful look. ¡°¡­The [Tactician] whose plans I foiled with my own incompetence. I¡¯m sorry, Brandon.¡± Brandon had no idea how to respond. He just stared, opened mouthed, at the repentant soul, lost for words. ¡°How many years has it been?¡± Arthur asked. ¡°I lived through each moment a thousand times, but the cuts never dulled with repetition. How much time has passed on Terra? Has it been a decade, a century?¡± Finally snapping out of his shock, Brandon found the ability to speak. ¡°Um, actually Arthur¡­¡± ¡°It hasn¡¯t been a millennium, has it? My, how the time flies when¡ª¡° ¡°A day and a half,¡± Brandon blurted out. Arthur blinked. ¡°What?¡± ¡°It¡¯s been a day and a half, Arthur. You¡¯ve been in hell for a day and a half.¡± Arthur blinked again. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Well, closer to a day and a third, really. Or is it a day and a quarter?¡± Brandon started doing the math in his head, but was interrupted by a sudden outburst from his old boss. ¡°What the fuck?¡± Arthur asked, his sallow face going red with rage. ¡°That solar bastard trapped me in a time-distorted hell? After all I did for him? I don¡¯t care if he¡¯s a god! I¡¯m going to shove my foot so far up his ass that I¡¯ll kick his teeth!¡± ¡°Wait! What happened to empathy and all that?¡± Brandon didn¡¯t expect the plea to work, but Arthur¡¯s time in Sol¡¯s hell must have actually changed him, because he actually took a deep breath and considered the dead [Tactician]¡¯s words. ¡°You¡¯re right, Brandon. Anger and direct confrontation isn¡¯t the way to go about this.¡± Brandon let out a breath he hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d been holding. ¡°Wonderful. Now let¡¯s figure out what¡ª¡° ¡°To kill a god, we¡¯ll need to use tactics!¡± Arthur proclaimed, interrupting Brandon. Old habits died hard, apparently. Brandon let out a sigh. Again, he had to be the voice of reason. ¡°Listen, Arthur. We don¡¯t even know if it¡¯s possible for gods to¡ª¡° Brandon was cut off as the deity in the center of the sphere of ice spoke, her voice thundering throughout the entire sphere. ¡°Now that everyone¡¯s here, allow me to get the most shocking news out of the way first,¡± she said. ¡°Other than myself, the gods are no more!¡± Chapter 12. Option Five Treskur gave the assembled souls a moment to absorb the news. Many got loud, and many got quiet. Beyond that, she didn¡¯t care to observe the souls closer. She just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Mentally reminding herself that there was no point in ¡®elevating¡¯ her speech since these weren¡¯t her followers, she took a breath and continued speaking. ¡°Most of you likely don¡¯t believe me,¡± Treskur said, her words cutting through to be heard despite the cacophony of a billion souls, ¡°but that¡¯s fine. For direct proof, I offer only the fact that I was able to whisk away every soul in the Great Beyond without breaking a sweat. If your deities were still around, they wouldn¡¯t let that happen. ¡°If, however, you believe that this is all a hallucination or some test of faith that your deity has placed upon you¡­ First of all, you had a pretty manipulative god if they¡¯re the type who would gaslight you like that. ¡°Secondly, if you believe none of this is real, there¡¯s nothing I can do or say to change your mind, so just be quiet and let me talk to the rest of the souls.¡± There was more grumbling and shouting, but Treskur ignored it. ¡°Anyway, now that you¡¯re all godless, unbound souls, I present you each with four options!¡± Treskur held up a corresponding amount of fingers and counted off each of the options as she presented them. ¡°First, I offer annihilation! Many of you have existed for quite a while now. If you want eternal, permanent rest, then this is the option for you.¡± A portal of inky blackness formed in front of Treskur, and after a moment, it began orbiting around her. ¡°Second, I offer the unknown! Though I am technically no longer a member of the Inter-Council Assembly, I find it best to comply with the newly adopted Trans-Universe Migration Protocol. In accordance with the protocol, I offer you all a chance to be reborn in a world far beyond your homeland, and beyond Terra itself! I can¡¯t offer you more information than that ¡ª otherwise it wouldn¡¯t really be the ¡®unknown¡¯ ¡ª but if you¡¯re looking for an adventure somewhere else within the Greater Beyond, this is the option for you.¡± A second portal opened up in front of Treskur, a swirling myriad of vibrant colors. After the gathered souls all got a moment to appreciate it, it joined the first in orbit around the northern goddess. ¡°Third, reincarnation! This is usually the default for godless souls, and it is the one I recommend. Your personality and memory will be scrubbed clean, though some intangible qualities may remain. You¡¯ll be thrown back into the cycle of souls, fresh and new yet enriched from having previously lived. Upon your next death, you may join a heaven or hell depending on your allegiance, or you might just continue reincarnating until the end of time. Who knows?¡± A third portal opened, this one showing a rippling image of what resembled a river, and soon it too began to orbit the goddess. ¡°Fourth and finally, I present a one-time offer! To the best of my knowledge, this has never been offered before, and it might never be offered again. In fact, if it weren¡¯t suggested by a work associate, I wouldn¡¯t offer this at all. ¡°I offer you reincarnation, but with a twist! You can be reborn on Terra with your memories sealed until the day you reach either thirty-five years of age, or the age you were when you died, whichever comes first. ¡°Though your gods are no longer gods, they still walk the world as powerful mortals. It is highly unlikely that any of them will ever become gods again, but if you wish to aid them in gaining power anew ¡ª or perhaps take advantage of the tumult to gain some power of your own ¡ª this option could be¡­ interesting. I personally don¡¯t see the merit in it, but I¡¯ve been told I won¡¯t regret giving you the option.¡± A fourth portal opened up, holding a watery image of Terra within it. ¡°I must warn you, however, that those souls who pick this fourth option will be at the back of the line. Those who pick traditional reincarnation will have priority, so holding onto your memories may cost you a few extra centuries of waiting.¡± The other three portals stopped orbiting around her and joined the fourth in hovering before her. ¡°Annihilation, the Greater Beyond, reincarnation, or reincarnation with a twist. The choice is yours.¡± The ice freezing the souls¡¯ feet in place melted, freeing them, but only a few of them moved toward any of the portals. Even the souls brave enough to drift toward a decision faltered when they saw their fellow souls hesitate. Murmurs of uncertainty passed through them all, but Treskur elevated one man¡¯s voice over the rest in order to guide the discussion in the way she desired. ¡°How do we know this isn¡¯t a trick?¡± the man shouted. ¡°What if there¡¯s some other option you¡¯re hiding from us?¡± The rest of the souls quieted down at his question, and with some shock, the man realized that everyone was paying attention to him. ¡°Good question!¡± Treskur said. ¡°There is a fifth option, but I don¡¯t think any of you want to pick it. In fact, option five is the reason you¡¯re all within this sphere of ice. This sphere isn¡¯t here to keep you in. It¡¯s to keep them out.¡± ¡°¡¯Them?¡¯¡± the man asked. ¡°Who are¡­?¡± The soul trailed off as Treskur waved a hand, and the sphere of ice went transparent. Once every soul got a look at what lay beyond, she waved her hand again, making the ice turn opaque once more. Each soul only got a brief glance, but it was more than enough. Eyes, flesh, energy, madness, sanity, incomprehensibility, emptiness, infinity¡­ all that and more lay within the eldritch other that filled in the gaps between heavens. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that the heavens and reality itself were strange bubbles of logic and causality floating within the dark waters of what was better left alone. ¡°Any of you ever have the pleasure of experiencing eldritch magic?¡± Treskur asked. ¡°Option five is like that, but more. You all have four hours to decide. After that, the portals will disappear and the sphere will dissolve. Now if you¡¯ll excuse me, I have my own heaven to oversee.¡± She summoned a flurry of ice and disappeared, teleporting away. She hadn¡¯t lied about needing to return to her own heaven ¡ª technically the only heaven now, at least in this reality ¡ª but she couldn¡¯t help but leave behind an aspect of her awareness to observe what the souls would do. It began with a trickle, but after an hour of scattered debates, a deluge of souls floated toward and through the four gates. Many of the most ancient souls picked annihilation, more than satisfied with their run at existence. Those souls that tended toward intrepidness picked the second option, prepared to embark upon a multitude of adventures unknown. Much to Treskur¡¯s pleasant surprise, the majority of souls picked the third option, joining the queue of souls awaiting standard reincarnation. Perhaps it was simply because Treskur had described it as the ¡®default¡¯ option, but whatever the reason, the third option was popular. And then there was option four. Some flew into its portal with obvious fervor, determined to be reborn and help their god again achieve ascension, no matter how improbable Treskur had described the task to be. Others flew in with an equal amount of ambition, but of a more selfish variety. Many of the formerly damned floated through as well, their grim expressions set on revenge against the gods who had judged them to be unworthy. ¡°Hello, Treskur,¡± came a voice, ¡°though I suppose calling you that isn¡¯t entirely correct, since you¡¯re just an aspect of her awareness.¡± ¡°Hello, Gatekeeper,¡± replied the aspect of Treskur¡¯s awareness. Of course, as aspects of divine beings who did not wish to be seen, none of the souls could sense them, and though they spoke aloud, none could hear them except the other. ¡°I¡¯m all for being pretentious,¡± Treskur¡¯s aspect went on, ¡°but would it be alright with you if I just called you Hadraniel? You could just call me Treskur too, if you want. We may be able to communicate at incredible speeds, but ¡®aspect of blah blah blah¡¯ is still a mouthful.¡± The angel smiled. ¡°Sure thing, Treskur. I came around to give you my thanks. Without your help, instantaneously saving all these souls from the void between realities might have actually taken some effort. Yesterday, when Aolyn told me to be ready just in case every deity in the world simultaneously disappeared, I didn¡¯t take him seriously. Oh, and thanks again for including that fourth option.¡± ¡°No problem, but why are you still here, Hadraniel? Your only obligations were as a contractor. Without anyone left to pay you, shouldn¡¯t you have merged with your main self in your own reality by now?¡± ¡°You should know by now that I never accept a job for the payment.¡± Treskur rolled her eyes. ¡°Some of us have to work for a living. We can¡¯t all be disgustingly powerful multiplaner beings.¡± ¡°Haha! I¡¯m well aware, but since I¡¯m already ¡®disgustingly powerful,¡¯ why shouldn¡¯t I enjoy it? You see those two souls over there?¡± the angel asked, pointing to a pair among the few million that had yet to decide which portal to traverse. ¡°The ones bickering like an old married couple? They look like brothers. Were they Sol¡¯s?¡± Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. ¡°Right on the nose! The angry one is Arthur Kingsblood III and the exasperated one is Brandon. They were the [Champion of Sol] and [Tactician] that failed to kill Aolyn¡¯s latest [Daemon Autarch]. In a way, you could say this whole [Divine Apocalypse] is their doing.¡± Treskur snorted. ¡°We both know this was Aolyn¡¯s doing. As much as I¡¯d like to credit a pair of dead mortals with the downfall of this world¡¯s pantheon, that¡¯s simply not the case.¡± ¡°True enough, true enough¡­ but I can¡¯t shake the feeling that those two can do great things if we give them another chance.¡± ¡°And what do you think I¡¯m offering them right now?¡± ¡°Point taken, but hear me out. I¡¯d like to offer them something special.¡± Even though the pair¡¯s conversation was already private, Hadraniel leaned in to whisper his next words into Treskur¡¯s ear. When she heard what he had to say, she paled. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± she said. ¡°Oh, but I am.¡± ¡°It will destroy them.¡± ¡°Only if they let it.¡± ¡°You¡¯re crazy.¡± ¡°Or perhaps I¡¯m just foolishly optimistic¡­ which I suppose is the foolishly optimistic way of describing ¡®crazy.¡¯¡±
¡°Arthur, I¡¯m telling you, seeking revenge against a god, even a former god, is suicide. Either give up this vendetta, or let¡¯s just go through the regular reincarnation. Hell, I¡¯d rather take my chances in the [Greater Beyond] than try to kill Sol. ¡°We¡¯ll just be another pair of mortals, Arthur, and we won¡¯t even know to prepare for the first thirty-five years of our lives! Depending on how long the reincarnation line takes, Sol might already be a dead or a god again by the time we can do anything. Seeking revenge is irrational!¡± Brandon watched as his former [Liege] glowered at him. He had no idea why he was even arguing with the idiot. For all intents and purposes, Arthur wasn¡¯t his problem anymore. He should¡¯ve just let the hothead run off to meet his doom¡­ but for some damned reason, he still felt a shred of responsibility for the nitwit. Perhaps it was just a habit born from their years campaigning together, but Brandon couldn¡¯t help but try to knock some sense into the former [Hero]. ¡°Face it, Arthur. It¡¯s impossible.¡± ¡°And what¡¯s the point of being a brilliant strategist if you can¡¯t do the impossible?¡± Arthur countered. ¡°Remember, I¡¯ve seen the world through your eyes! I know better than anyone else the levels of genius you never got to show the world. If anyone can help me kill our former god, it¡¯s you, Brandon.¡± ¡°And why would I want revenge in the first place? He put you in hell, not me.¡± ¡°I saw the way you lived, Brandon,¡± Arthur said. ¡°I saw the humiliation I and every other member of the courts put you through. I¡¯ll never be able to make up for how terrible I was to you, but that whole system ¡ª the system that dragged your name through the mud and denied you the recognition you deserved ¡ª that system was built by Sol. ¡°If you won¡¯t do it for yourself, do it for the next Brandon. Do it for the next kid who could have been great if only they¡¯d been born somewhere else. ¡°Destroy the system that made your life a living hell! Burn it down, and in the ashes build something new! Create something better! You¡¯ve always wanted to change the world, Brandon, and now is your chance! ¡°We both know the world will never change so long as parasites like Sol are running around. Sol doesn¡¯t want what¡¯s best for his followers, Brandon. He never did, and I¡¯m beginning to doubt if any god ever did. To change the world, we need to destroy that which keeps it the same! ¡°I won¡¯t try to further convince you that fighting is the right choice. I won¡¯t try, because I don¡¯t need to. You already know it¡¯s the right thing to do. You¡¯re just too scared to admit it. ¡°You¡¯re a genius, Brandon, but you¡¯re also a coward, and you know that to be true. Stop hiding behind logic and face your greatest fear: that you might actually be capable of changing the world, if only you¡¯d be brave! ¡°There is a time for reason, and there is a time to be bold. So tell me Brandon, what will it be? Do you want to be rational? Or do you want to be remembered?¡± Brandon was struck dumb by Arthur¡¯s sudden eloquence. There were a million things he wanted to say, but before he could say any of them, he heard clapping. He and Arthur turned to face a new pair of beings beside them, both of whom Brandon recognized. One was the rugged-looking woman who¡¯d addressed them an hour earlier, the goddess Treskur. The other one ¡ª the one who was clapping enthusiastically ¡ª was a face Brandon had never expected to see again. ¡°Gatekeeper?¡± he asked. ¡°The one and the same!¡± the angel cheered before turning to address the other soul. ¡°Arthur! My word! Your time in hell did wonders!¡± Arthur tried to lunge at the angel, but Brandon held him back. Some of the surrounding souls gave them strange looks, and when he traced their gazes, none of them were staring at the pair of divine beings. ¡°They can¡¯t see us,¡± the goddess Treskur explained. ¡°We¡¯re only here for the two of you.¡± ¡°Please calm down Arthur,¡± Gatekeeper said. ¡°We¡¯re here to offer the you both a chance at a source of power, and if you can attain that power, it will be yours to do with as you wish. Speaking plainly, it would be your best chance at revenge, or changing the world, or whatever you wish to use it for. Power is just power, after all.¡± Arthur threw off Brandon¡¯s grasp and glared, heedless of the fact that the angel could probably wipe him from existence. ¡°And why would you do that?¡± he asked. ¡°You¡¯re the one who damned me in the first place. Why help us take down your boss?¡± ¡°Oh, he was never really my boss. As I said when we met, this aspect of mine was just on loan for some contract work. Now that the contract has been rendered useless, I¡¯m free to do as I please.¡± Brandon piped up, hoping to preemptively diffuse the situation before Arthur could further provoke the divine entities. ¡°Forgive us for being suspicious of your motivations¡­but we¡¯re just¡­¡± Brandon suddenly realized he had no idea how to end his sentence. ¡°We¡¯re just¡­suspicious of your¡­ motivations?¡± ¡°No need to be so nervous,¡± Gatekeeper said, smiling a grandfatherly smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. ¡°My motivations are simple. I am but one aspect of a much greater being. That being has existed far longer than this world, and will likely continue to exist long after this world¡¯s eventual demise. I have seen every manner of event take place, every possible permutation of every reality. ¡°The conscious mind ¡ª even the conscious minds of divine beings ¡ª can only store, retrieve, and correlate so much. My main self has likely forgotten more information than will ever exist in this ¡®Terra.¡¯ ¡°The subconscious mind, however, can never forget. ¡°Every so often, I get a feeling, and over the eons, I¡¯ve learned to listen to those feelings. Through some transcendental subroutine of ever-shifting algorithms, something within my unthinking mind has told me that the two of you might achieve greatness in your next lives¡­ but only if you stick together, and make a choice that is, by my own admission, incredibly foolish.¡± Arthur narrowed his eyes. ¡°Why should we do whatever it is you suggest if even you think it¡¯s incredibly foolish?¡± The angel shrugged. ¡°Like I said, it¡¯s just a feeling. You can still ignore me and pick one of the four other options. If you pick either of the reincarnations, I¡¯d put your chances of getting revenge against Sol at about one percent.¡± Brandon shot Arthur an ¡®I told you so¡¯ look, happy to be proven correct in thinking that reincarnating for revenge was doomed to fail, but Arthur continued to glare defiantly. Hoping to drive home the point that avoidance was better than confrontation, Brandon asked a follow up question. ¡°And what are our chances of avoiding him entirely and living a relatively peaceful life if we give up on our vendetta?¡± he asked. ¡°About one in a million.¡± Brandon¡¯s ¡®I told you so¡¯ look froze. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Sol will undoubtedly search for as many of his former [Heroes] and their lieutenants as he can. If you reincarnate back onto Terra, he¡¯ll find you both eventually.¡± Now, it was Arthur¡¯s turn to smirk at Brandon, but Brandon did his best to ignore him. The former [Hero] turned to the pair of divine beings. ¡°And what¡¯s our chances if we do this ¡®incredibly foolish¡¯ thing of yours?¡± he asked. ¡°I have no evidence of this beyond my gut feeling,¡± Gatekeeper began, ¡°but if you face it together? About one in ten.¡± ¡°And separately?¡± Brandon asked. ¡°Zero,¡± Treskur said plainly. ¡°In fact, I believe your chances are zero no matter what. If you ask me, you both should just flee to the Greater Beyond and be done with it. I will admit, however, that my friend here is more knowledgable than me in things of this nature. If he says there¡¯s a chance, then there¡¯s a chance.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± Arthur said, turning to Brandon. ¡°Even if these divine beings didn¡¯t insist on us sticking together, I would have begged you to accompany me regardless. So, what will it be, Brandon? Will you steep in your reservations, or will you join me in revolution?¡± Arthur held out his hand, and Brandon eyed it, considering. He had to admit, he¡¯d already lived his first life playing it safe, and it hadn¡¯t exactly worked out. Perhaps it was time to try something bold. But first¡­ ¡°Do you promise that this time you¡¯ll always consider what I have to say seriously? That you¡¯ll treat me as an equal, and not as a flea?¡± ¡°I swear upon my very soul,¡± Arthur said without hesitation. ¡°I would swear on my heart, but I don¡¯t exactly have any organs at the moment,¡± he went on with a grin. Brandon let out a heavy sigh, but smiled back. He grasped the other¡¯s hand. ¡°Alright, Arthur. Let¡¯s do this.¡± The two turned back to Treskur and Gatekeeper, who had been patiently waiting for them to come to a decision. ¡°Alright, Gatekeeper. What¡¯s this ¡®incredibly foolish¡¯ thing you¡¯d have us do?¡± Brandon asked. Gatekeeper smiled, but Treskur winced. Treskur waved her hand, and in front of the pair of souls opened a fifth portal. Brandon tried to look within, but his mind couldn¡¯t comprehend what lay there. His gaze was thrown around the contents of the portal, trying to make sense of what he saw. Lines, shapes, colors, and textures¡­ it was as if he were always on the verge of recognizing something that lay on the other side, but it was always just beyond his capacity for comprehension. It was mad. It was maddening. It was madness. Worst of all, Brandon got the feeling that there was something looking back. He pulled his eyes away before he could lose himself entirely. When his vision cleared, he saw Arthur was similarly shaken, looking away from the portal. ¡°Gentlemen,¡± Gatekeeper¡¯s voice began, though neither the former [Hero] nor [Tactician] had the strength of will left to turn toward him, ¡°I¡¯d like you to pick option five.¡±
For Melpomene, the day of the [Divine Apocalypse] was back day. She was performing weighted pull-ups when suddenly, she felt heavier. Not physically heavier, but ethereally, as if the weight of a bounty had just been placed on her head. She finished her set, making sure to to use a full range of motion, before lowering herself to the ground and taking off her belt to which was strapped enough iron to outfit a battalion. ¡°Is something wrong, my [Liege]?¡± asked Eurymedon, pausing their own set of alternating pendulum rows. ¡°You took a long pause in the middle of your set. Is something bothering you? Shall I fetch a healer?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s alright. But Eurymedon¡­¡± ¡°Yes, my [Liege]?¡± ¡°Do you ever get the feeling that an extraplaner deity has placed a bounty on your head? And that whoever slays you in an epic battle will be granted a wish? And that the wish was supposed to be limited in scope, but through a loophole, there¡¯s no longer anyone left to place restrictions upon that wish, turning what was supposed to be a neat little reward into a boon of potentially world-shattering proportions?¡± ¡°Um¡­ no, my [Liege]?¡± ¡°Oh. Alright. Never mind then. Let¡¯s finish the workout, then we can finish planning the logistics for our invasion of the [Solarian Courts].¡± Chapter 13. Motherfu— ¡°The [Solarian Courts] are in chaos,¡± Eurymedon reported as Melpomene listened. ¡°As predicted, it appears their internal turmoil has boiled over into outright civil war. The Royalists hold the capital for now, but the various revolutionary forces gain ground by the day.¡± Eurymedon gestured to a large, detailed map of the [Solarian Courts] and [Despoiled Legion] spread out on a table between the two of them. As they spoke, the [Daemon of Eyes] shifted wooden figures atop the map to represent their updated intelligence. ¡°In the confusion, the keep at Gregory¡¯s Pass has been left without supply or reinforcement for three weeks, whereas Heart¡¯s Pass remains a hotbed of guerilla warfare. I propose we change course and adopt the third route alternative, marching and running supply lines through Gregory¡¯s Pass. The route will be longer, but more defensible.¡± Melpomene nodded, studying the map. ¡°Chapter two, advice six, ¡®Appear strong where you are weak, and weak where you are strong, but be wary that your enemy does the same,¡¯¡± she quoted. ¡°Please detail your sources for this report, specifically how they gathered their intelligence.¡± ¡°Yes, my [Liege].¡± As Eurymedon launched into the requested report, Melpomene listened intently, but allowed her eyes to wander. Situated within a high tower of her palace, she turned to look out the window. She surveyed the staging ground below, where her troops were making their final preparations for the Solarian campaign . It¡¯d been one month since Aolyn the Deathless ¡ª the god Melpomene had spent the last few decades reviving ¡ª had returned and promptly abandoned his people all over again. He¡¯d left without even saying goodbye. Not bothering to show up in person, he¡¯d sent a letter to explain his newest absence as well as the circumstances surrounding it. For others, the revelations contained within the letter might have frightened them into inaction, but Melpomene was never one to let an opportunity pass by. Far beneath her high vantage point, her army assembled, ready for war. Six centuriae of [Tier I] [Daemon Shield Legionnaires] for screening maneuvers and holding objectives, each with the coveted [Hardened Veteran] keyword. Six centuriae of [Tier I] [Daemon Longbows] for ranged support, each outfitted to gain the [Magical Ammunition] keyword for the anti-armor and anti-resistance benefits. Four scores of [Tier II] [Hex Rangers] for scouting, tracking, and field tactics. Five [Tier III] [Darksteel Golems] for siege battles. Five teams of [Tier III] [Darksteel Ballistae] for artillery support. Three centuriae of [Tier IV] [Daemon Ancients] to serve as the elite core of the ground forces, each equipped to be capable of anti-infantry, anti-cavalry, and anti-large melee. With their bows, they were even capable of ranged support, though it wasn¡¯t their specialty. Two four-Daemon pods of [Tier IV] [Wyvern Riders] for aerial special operations, now with their newly earned [Mage Hater] keyword to replace one of their old three. And finally, a single score of [Tier V] [Drake Berserkers], just to fuck shit up. They were technically melee cavalry, and melee cavalry were generally trash when it came to sieges, but the [Drake Berserkers] were the exception that proved the rule. If the Solarian campaign went as expected, there would be plenty of sieges for them to prove their worth. Along with her best friend and advisor, the [Tier V] [Daemon of Eyes] Eurymedon, the troops mustering below her in the early light of dawn represented the limit of Melpomene¡¯s direct personal power ¡ª the maximum number of troops she could tether to her soul. Though her personal fighting style was rather boisterous, her army was practical and balanced ¡ª capable of complex maneuvers, but ultimately optimized for the fundamentals of war. She and her army wouldn¡¯t be embarking on the Solarian campaign alone, but they would be doing the dragon¡¯s share of the fighting. Other minor [Lieges] would be coming along to guard supply lines and hold strategic locations, but Melpomene¡¯s army would be the one to carve a path toward Soleil, the capital of the [Solarian Courts]. It wasn¡¯t an optimal plan in terms of speed, but it more than made up for its relaxed pace with reliability. After all, what was the point of taking land if it couldn¡¯t be held? And besides, Melpomene preferred not to risk troops she couldn¡¯t revive herself. ¡°¡­and that was the last of my sources,¡± Eurymedon said, completing their report. ¡°Wonderful,¡± Melpomene concluded, satisfied that their intelligence were reliable. ¡°Any updates on the fallen deities?¡± ¡°Of those who ventured north, none have returned. As our deadbeat former god predicted, they have all given up on indirectly claiming the bounty on your head, as it seems none of them are willing to trust their followers with the temptation of a near-limitless wish. Something Aolyn couldn¡¯t predict, however, is how unified the newly mortal gods have thus far acted under the leadership of Luna, the former goddess of mystery, madness, the moon, and recreational drugs. ¡°According to our most recent intelligence, all but one of the potentially hostile former deities are currently harassing the [Frigid North]. They are attempting to coerce the goddess Treskur into declaring victory over the [Inter-Council Assembly], thus rendering impotent the divine document that is allegedly preventing the ascension of new gods in addition to denying the fallen deities their godhood. To conclude this summary, I should note that we do not yet have reliable reports on whether or not this harassment campaign is succeeding.¡± ¡°Alright, and what of the other former deity?¡± ¡°Whereabouts still unknown. We¡¯re compiling data on alleged sightings, but no pattern nor hard evidence have yet to emerge.¡± Melpomene pursed her lips in thought. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t postpone the campaign due to a single unknown, but we should take extra precautions against his potential interference. We march for Gregory¡¯s Pass in an hour.¡± ¡°Yes, my [Liege]!¡± Eurymedon left the room to relay the order, leaving Melpomene alone. Still looking out the window, the [Daemon Autarch] raised her gaze to the horizon. Light streamed over the mountaintops, but the sun was nowhere to be seen, hidden somewhere within the brewing clouds of a storm. Melpomene whispered a single question beneath her breath. ¡°Where are you, Sol?¡±
¡°Oh fuck! Hot hot hot!¡± Sol was being eaten, already swallowed up to the waist by some creature composed of living molten metal that he couldn¡¯t identify. It was vaguely worm-like, but it was as wide as a carriage and so long he couldn¡¯t see its other end. It had teeth and spikes everywhere, so much so that it was difficult to tell where its mouth ended and its thorny exterior began. Or perhaps there was no difference between the interior teeth and the exterior spikes, Sol realized, because after the creature bit down on his legs, its mouth rolled inward, its whole body furling in on itself to draw Sol further in like a pointy conveyer-tube of molten death. ¡°Shit! Fuck! Ow ow o¡ª¡° His screams were cut off as his head was swallowed along with the rest of his body. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. The worm began swimming away, satisfied with its kill. It spiraled its way through the thick, ubiquitous substrate that made up this layer of Terra¡¯s interior. Then it paused, experiencing some indigestion. Then it exploded. ¡°Ugh! Ew ew ew! Disgusting!¡± Sol, relatively unharmed, erupted like a solar flare from within the unidentified worm creature, severing it in two. The shorter half floated lifelessly within the molten environment, but the longer half quickly knit itself shut and began spiralling at a breakneck pace away from Sol, whom it apparently no longer considered to be food. ¡°Oh, you aren¡¯t getting away that easily!¡± In one fluid motion, he transformed his hand into a barbed javelin of plasma, reared back, and launched it with superhuman force. The javelin cut through the environment as if it were air, and trailing it was a rope of plasma formed of Sol¡¯s rapidly stretching arm. The weapon sunk deep into the metal flesh of the worm and embedded itself there. Now firmly anchored to the beast, Sol yanked on his rope-arm and flew toward it. Once he reached the creature¡¯s main body, he transformed his arm back into an arm and kept ahold of the worm by grabbing one of its exterior toothy spikes. He plunged his other fist into the thing¡¯s metal flesh, channelling another solar flare into it, but this time with more finesse. Rather than have it explode immediately, he directed his power to travel along the length of the beast, ripping the worm apart as it went. Bands and swirls of solar energy flowed through the creature like a waterfall of destruction, Sol guiding the carnage every step of the way. Sol would have killed the worm if he could, but it was simply too big. Even after having his power travel a few hundred yards through the thing¡¯s body, there was still no end in sight. Since his power became exponentially more difficult to control at a distance, he allowed his attack to dissipate, deciding he¡¯d dealt enough to teach the creature not to bother him again. Now surrounded by nothing but bits of rapidly dissolving worm-corpse, Sol just had to find a way back to the world¡¯s surface. For the umpteenth time since he¡¯d fallen toward the center of the world, Sol attempted to just swim up¡­ but he didn¡¯t know how to swim. As a god, he¡¯d never had a reason to learn, and regardless, it¡¯d been difficult to practice when water always boiled away at his touch. Then he tried to fly, but he didn¡¯t know how to fly without the aid of divinity. Before he became a god, he¡¯d had no talent for any sort of flight skill, and even after his apotheosis into a solar deity, there¡¯d been no need to learn mortal spells whose effects could be replicated with divinity. Presently floating within the superheated, immensely pressurized, suffocating threshold between the ¡®liquid outer core¡¯ and the ¡®solid inner core¡¯ of the world ¡ª not that Sol knew either of those terms ¡ª he wished he¡¯d taken his sister¡¯s advice all those millennia ago and learned some arcane magic just to ¡®exercise his brain.¡¯ Now that he thought about it, however, he realized he didn¡¯t technically have a brain anymore, being a sentient mass of plasma and all that. Next, Sol remembered the vision of ¡®rocket ships¡¯ Aolyn had shared, and so he tried launching streams of plasma below him, hoping that attacking downward would send him upward. The rocket strategy worked for a time, but it took a tremendous amount of energy to push through the dense matter around him. After only a few minutes, Sol was exhausted and in need of a rest, but he noted with some hope that he was indeed further away from Terra¡¯s core than when he¡¯d began, but only barely. Once he finished taking the time to recuperate his strength, however, he could tell from the ambient pressure that he was actually deeper than when he¡¯d started. Sol let out a scream of rage. ¡°Aolyn! We¡¯re going to¡­ going to have a stern conversation whenever I get back!¡± The rage was there, but for some reason he couldn¡¯t find the proper words to express it. When Sol tried focusing all his negative emotions on Aolyn ¡ª the one who was definitely the sole cause of all his current problems ¡ª he just couldn¡¯t do it. He wouldn¡¯t admit it ¡ª not even to himself ¡ª but he knew the reason why. Sol wasn¡¯t angry at Aolyn, but at himself. More specifically, he was angry that he¡¯d allowed himself to remain ignorant of so much for so long. All his life, Luna had been the smart sibling while Sol was ¡ª ironically enough ¡ª the dim one. He wasn¡¯t really an idiot, but after being called one so many times, he¡¯d adapted by wearing the title like armor. Incapable of ever learning enough to outshine his sister, Sol had embraced his role as the ¡®powerful idiot,¡¯ the perfect foil for his sister¡¯s genius. As a mortal, he rose to power not through cunning nor tactics nor trickery, but sheer, insurmountable power. Rather than leverage power to increase its impact, he just increased his power. Why flank when he could charge? Why feint when he could stab? Why negotiate when he could conquer? He¡¯d spent his entire pre-ascension life ignoring his intellectual shortcomings, which in turn only made them more egregious. It began as a conscious decision of pride, but after many years, it became a habit, and that habit had eventually morphed into a core pillar of his identity. His willful ignorance became a part of him, something he¡¯d never been able to let go of. And now, after millennia of life stubbornly clinging to his shortcomings, the result was that he was stuck in the center of the world with no idea how to escape. There was just too much he didn¡¯t know. Without a way to track time, he didn¡¯t know how long he¡¯d been trapped down there. With no way to communicate, he didn¡¯t know if anyone was coming to his rescue. Without any confidence in the strength of his interpersonal relationships, he didn¡¯t know if anyone cared he was gone. He didn¡¯t even know why his previous attempt to rocket away had failed. He didn¡¯t know that because so much of Terra¡¯s mass was now above him, gravity didn¡¯t pull on him with the same strength. He didn¡¯t know that this hindered his sense of spatial orientation, making it difficult to feel which way was ¡®up¡¯ from within the flows of liquid metal. He didn¡¯t know about convection currents, nor that he was currently stuck in a downward flow. He also didn¡¯t know about evolutionary pressures, and that external spikes on a creature usually meant that there was a greater predator lurking about. He didn¡¯t know what kind of creature could possibly prey upon a metal worm longer than a league, so he didn¡¯t even consider that it might exist. He also didn¡¯t know that such a creature happened to be attracted by his recent expulsions of power. Sol felt a wave of pressure pulse through him, shaking the very foundations of the world. ¡°Huh? What was¡ª?¡± Sol looked down just in time to see a clawed hand the size of building shoot out from the center of the world. He had no time to react as the claws wrapped around him and pulled him down, down, down into the deepest depths of the world. BOOM! With another explosion of solar destruction, Sol destroyed the hand and freed himself from the mysterious creature¡¯s grasp. ¡°Ugh. Just leave me alone!¡° From the fathomless abyss below, twelve more clawed hands shot out at Sol. ¡°Motherfu¡ª¡°
It was night again, and Treskur watched from above as the band of fallen deities tore through her lands. They could not see her, but she could see them, and it took all her restraint not to smite them where they stood. As for why she held back despite being so openly provoked, it simply wouldn¡¯t be honorable for a goddess to strike at mortals, no matter how divine those mortals had once been. Besides, it was likely that none of them even knew she had the power necessary to strike them all dead. When they¡¯d all been peers, Treskur never had the chance to awe them with her power, after all. The knowledge aspect of her portfolio urged her to let the fallen deities know her power so that they might make better informed decisions. Her war aspect kept wanting her to strike them all dead regardless of what honor demanded. Meanwhile, her criminal aspect said to hell with everything else, and told her to do whatever the fuck she wanted. ¡°One more day,¡± she growled, unheard be the fallen deities below her. ¡°I give them one last day to see the folly of their ways and turn back. If they persist, I destroy them all.¡± It was a weak compromise between the four aspects of her divinity, but it would have to do. She watched as the fallen deities destroyed another empty village, the residents already having been teleported away to safety by Treskur herself. The next closest settlement would take some time for even the fallen gods to reach, so Treskur allowed herself to shift her focus away from the selfish bandits below her. She decided to check up on those mortals she¡¯d already evacuated. She was there instantly, an impromptu camp she¡¯d set up along the southern border of her faction¡¯s territory. It lay within a hidden valley among the mountains, a serendipitous shelter from the winter winds. Rows upon rows of tents and fires were arrayed in ordered ranks all throughout the valley, but there was still room for more refugees should the need arise ¡ª a possibility Treskur sadly found more likely to happen than not. Sensing nothing wrong, Treskur was about to teleport away once more, but then a single conversation among thousands caught her attention. ¡°Mormor,¡± called a child to his grandmother, ¡°tell me a story.¡± The other children ¡ª the boy¡¯s brothers, sisters, and cousins ¡ª were all asleep, and within the tent, it seemed only he and his grandmother were awake. ¡°You can not sleep, barnbarn?¡± asked the grandmother, her voice like a crackling fire. ¡°Very well then. Would you like an old tale, or something new?¡± ¡°Old, please,¡± whispered the child. ¡°The older the better.¡± ¡°Haha! Very well, barnbarn. Here is the oldest story your mormor has to tell¡­¡± Treskur should have left right then. She knew what story the grandmother was going to tell, and she knew it was a story she didn¡¯t want to hear. Still, she stayed. Perhaps her mental exhaustion was catching up to her. Perhaps it was masochistic curiosity. Perhaps there was no reason at all. Whatever the cause, Treskur continued to listen in as the grandmother spun her tale, a frown already forming on the northern goddess¡¯ face. Chapter 14. Would you like to dance forever? Ages ago, in a time long past¡­ The world was young, for the gods were few and far between. The world was old, for no one knew of its beginning. The world was kind, for sunlight and water abounded to support all forms of life. The world was cruel, for death lurked behind every corner. In this young, old, kind, cruel world, there were a people who lived far in the north. Their corner of the world was unforgiving, and so the people themselves became without mercy, hardened and cold as the land upon which they lived. Among these people, there was a woman, and she was the best of them. Her might could best any beast of the wilds. Her beard was lustrous, the red of fire. Her tusks were fine and deadly, beautiful beyond compare. Most importantly, her mind was sharp, the most lethal of weapons. In that time, there was also a monster who took the shape of a man. It towered twenty feet tall, and half again as wide. Its skin it covered with impenetrable scales stolen from the rulers of the sea. Its weapon was a wicked sword, forged from the bone of its own father. Its army was ten thousand strong, and hungry for blood. It called itself the Leviathan King, and one day, it visited the village the woman called home. It could have destroyed the village immediately, but its hunger for conquest was surpassed only by its hunger for cruelty. It allowed the village an opportunity to be spared from destruction, if only to watch them squirm. ¡°Bring to me your greatest warrior and your lowliest criminal!¡± it demanded. ¡°Strip and shave them bare, and remove from them their prized tusks! They shall fight for my entertainment while the rest of you flee for your lives! You may run until one kills the other, or they both succumb to the cold. When the entertainment is finished, all that remain within my sight shall be destroyed!¡± The people despaired, for they knew that without the aid of furs and fire, none could brave the cold for long. They recognized the monster¡¯s cruelty, and knew it wished only to see them be humiliated before it killed them all. The only villager to resist despair was the woman, for she was the best of them, and braver than them all combined. To give her village any hope of escape, she knew what she must do. From her neighbor¡¯s home, she stole a single fishbone and presented it to the monster. From her shoulders, she removed her cloak sewn from the pelt of a dire bear, proof of her martial prowess. ¡°I am both the lowliest criminal and the greatest warrior,¡± she declared, ¡°so I shall fight myself!¡± The Leviathan King laughed, as did its army of ten thousand, thinking the woman¡¯s words to be a joke. Still, the monster was intrigued, and so it allowed the woman her demand. ¡°Dance for me,¡± the monster commanded, ¡°and when you falter, your village dies.¡± And so her village stripped and shaved her bare, and removed from her her prized tusks. Any lesser warrior would have died immediately from the cold, but the woman was the best of them, and so she danced as her village fled. The monster and its army watched as the woman danced first for a minute, then for an hour. She danced a day longer, and then a day beyond that, but still her dance did not end. When the third day passed, the monster knew the villagers had fled too far to catch. It considered slaying the woman right then for the crime of letting its prey escape, but for once in its life, its cruelty was overcome by curiosity. Once a week had passed, the monster spoke. ¡°Why do you still dance?¡± it asked the woman, but the woman did not answer. ¡°Your village is far away. I can not see them. You may now rest, for you have saved their lives. Dancing further shall only further your suffering, so tell me, why do you still dance?¡± ¡°I dance for those I can not see,¡± replied the woman. ¡°So long as you are here, you are no where else. So long as I suffer, others do not.¡± And so the Leviathan King quieted, and the woman continued her dance. She danced a week longer, and then a week beyond that, but still her dance did not end. All this time, the monster watched, patiently waiting for the moment the woman would inevitably fail, but its army was not so content to remain still. They had long depleted the local lands and sea of its bounty, and so they grew hungry. ¡°Let us kill the woman so that we may be finished here,¡± requested a soldier of its king. ¡°You may go, but I shall stay,¡± the monster declared. ¡°Travel far, and ravage the land. I shall stay here, awaiting the day this woman ends her dance. When that day comes, I shall gather you all again, and we shall continue my conquest.¡± Dismissed, the monster¡¯s army travelled in every direction, and they became the ten thousand beasts that plague the wilds to this very day. As for the woman, her dance continued. Her weeks became a month, but still she danced. She danced a month longer, and then a month beyond that, but still her dance did not end. ¡°How do you still dance?¡± asked the monster. ¡°I have watched you all this time. You neither eat nor drink, yet your flesh remains full, and your eyes focused. How?¡± ¡°The mountains do not eat, and the rivers do not drink,¡± replied the woman, ¡°and yet tall they stand and fast they flow. I dance with nature, so though I suffer, I remain strong.¡± Soon, her months became a year, but still she danced. She danced a year longer, and then a year beyond that, but still her dance did not end. She danced, and danced, and danced, and danced¡­
¡°Mormor, how does the story end?¡± prompted the child as his grandmother went quiet. The grandmother looked left and right, as if checking for eavesdroppers. When she found none, she leaned forward and whispered into the boy¡¯s ear conspiratorially. ¡°If I tell you the ending, little barnbarn, you must promise me that you keep it a secret. You can never tell anyone else except for your own children, should you have them one day.¡± The grandchild looked to his grandmother with stars in his eyes. ¡°Is it really such a big secret?¡± he asked. ¡°The biggest secret in the whole world,¡± the grandmother replied, nodding sagely. ¡°I promise!¡± he said. ¡°Very well then, barnbarn. Listen close. This story actually has two endings. The first is the ending the world knows. If anyone ever asks you for this story, that is the ending you tell. The second, you save only for your closest of kin. Do you understand?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± The grandmother nodded once more, and resumed the tale¡­
She danced, and danced, and danced, and danced¡­ and on she dances to this very day. She dances somewhere out on the sea, for the land beneath her feet was long ago eaten by the waves. She does not sink, for her heart is pure, and she steps upon the waters as light as air. She spins and spins, and with her spins the world. Such is her grace that the sea swirls around her, attempting to match her steps. Such is her dignity that the sky descends to meet her, that its winds might learn her bearing. She dances up a storm, a storm mightier than any the world has ever known. Somewhere out there, in a sea beyond our horizon, in the heart of a storm that never ends, she dances still, but she misses her home. When the days are short, she grows sad, and she dances closer to the shore. Often, she ventures too close, and upon her homeland unleashes her storm. When the days are long, she grows warm, and she dances further away. She stays at sea so that she might spare her people the curse of her presence. This is from where the seasons come, the seasons of storm and the seasons of calm, and on the seasons will go until the end of time. As for the monster, it watches her still, but it has not forgotten its cruelty. Every year, the woman tires, and one day, her dance will finally end. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. When that time comes, the monster will kill her, and with its hunger born from uncountable years spent enthralled by her dance, it will consume the world, and all shall end. When for seven years and seven days no storm visits the shores of our home, we will know her dance is done¡­ so in the winter months when the tempest rages at your door and all seems bleak, rejoice, for you know the world will not soon end. And so goes the tale of the woman and the monster, the oldest tale our people know¡­ but I tell you, child¡­ This tale is a lie. Listen close, and never repeat what I am to say where strangers may hear. The villagers who fled while the woman danced, we are their descendants, and so we know the truth: The Leviathan King is dead. She danced and danced and danced and danced¡­ and after seven years and seven days, the monster spoke once more. ¡°Marry me,¡± it commanded the woman. ¡°For seven years and seven days I have seen you dance. I grow enamored of your grace and covetous of your strength. Become mine, and stand beside me as I bring the world to its knees.¡± ¡°I will not,¡± replied the woman. ¡°I am sworn to maidenhood, but even if I were not, I could never love a creature as vile as you.¡± Now, the monster was a prideful thing and could not accept the woman¡¯s rejection. It bared its teeth and raised its sword of bone. ¡°If you will not be mine, then here you shall die!¡± The monster attacked the woman, and by all rights, the woman should have died, but die she did not, for the world would not allow it. The young, old, kind, cruel world stirred from its slumber. It had no eyes, but even in its sleep, it had watched her from the very beginning. It saw her dance, and knew her beauty. It saw her heart, and knew her resolve. It saw her strength, and knew her limits¡­ On that day, seven years and seven days from the moment she began ¡ª the very moment the woman was fated to die ¡ª Terra herself took pity on the woman, and so she whispered into the woman¡¯s ear and asked her a question: Would you like to dance forever? The words resonated with the woman¡¯s heart, and the steps of her dance became perfect. The woman was no longer a person dancing with the world, but an aspect of the world dancing within itself. She learned the steps to the dance eternal, and with its power, she commanded nature. Into a thousand spears of ice, she froze the sea. Into a cyclone of swords, she spun the air. Into a storm of bolts, she darkened the sky. With all the power of Terra herself, the woman slew the monster, and with its soul forged herself a name worthy of a god, for a god she became. Honor, for she never fled when she could stand. Knowledge, for she learned the secrets of the world. Criminal, for the mantle she bore to save her people. War, for she led nature itself in the slaying of its greatest beast. The name she forged is a name you know, for hers is the same as your god, for the woman and the god are one and the same. But enough talk of the past, my child. For now, let us return to today. Today, our world is young. Today, our world is old. Today, our world is kind. Today, our world is cruel. And one day, our world will end. In our young, old, kind, cruel world, we shall thrive, and we shall struggle, and we shall sing, and we shall cry, but through it all, we shall dance. Just as the woman danced for seven years and seven days, we shall dance every day for the rest of our lives. We may dance as the fisher, who casts their nets in time with the dawn. We may dance as the warrior, who steps to the pulse of blood. We may dance as the farmer, who spins with the spinning of the year. As for you, dance, my child! Dance to the steps of the world, and know that on that day when your dance is done ¡ª just as the end of mine draws nearer by the day ¡ª we shall all meet again, somewhere in the land beyond.
Teeth clenched in frustration, Treskur teleported away. She didn¡¯t care where she went. She just had to get out of there. Idiot, she silently chastised herself. You knew you wouldn¡¯t like what you¡¯d hear, but still you listened. What else did you expect to happen? The grandmother¡¯s ¡®true¡¯ recounting had been more-or-less factually accurate ¡ª as a goddess of knowledge, Treskur could allow nothing less ¡ª but it fell short in terms of tone. The whole ¡®life is a dance¡¯ metaphor was a pleasant enough variation, one that had been growing in popularity these past few millennia, but that was precisely the problem ¡ª it was pleasant. Remembering what the actual dance had felt like ¡ª dancing alone in the cold for so long that her beard had regrown, her feet bloodied from years without rest, her every extremity somehow both insufferably numb and in excruciating pain ¡ª it was anything but pleasant¡­ But who was she to complain? She was a goddess now. Who was she to correct her people for being ¡®tonally inaccurate?¡¯ Who was she to say they were wrong to spin her tale as a tale of hope? How petty would she have to be to take that away from them? Before she¡¯d realized where she¡¯d gone, Treskur found herself hovering over a featureless stretch of ocean a half-mile away from the nearest shore. The place was unremarkable, but Treskur knew exactly where she was. It had been here, all those years ago, where her dance had begun. As the story said, the sea had long ago eaten the ground beneath her mortal home, but she knew this to be the place all the same. She lowered herself to the surface of the water, and there, she knelt. She dipped a hand into the icy water and felt the chill of the current pass over her fingertips, cold as the blood of death¡­ or at least that¡¯s how she guessed her people¡¯s poets might describe it. As for Treskur, she no longer feared the cold. Her fingers simply registered that the water was indeed colder than normal ¡ª cold enough to doom a mortal within seconds ¡ª but to Treskur herself, goddess of the [Frigid North]? It would have made no difference if the water were boiling. It would be unfair of her to expect her mortals to understand her. The only ones who could possibly relate to her now would be one of her fellow¡­ one of her fellow¡­ Suddenly, it hit her. She was alone. And she might remain alone forever. She let out an involuntary jolt of divinity, and the ocean froze at her touch. A glacier nearly large enough to touch the shore formed where her hand met the waves and a flood of brine exploded into the air as the freezing ice expelled its salt. The enormous glacier shot from the sea as buoyant forces rocketed it almost entirely into the air. For long minutes, it bobbed up and down upon the shuddering sea, throwing wave after wave of turbulence in every direction. Treskur stilled, horrified. She¡¯d lost control of her emotions for but a moment, and this was the result. ¡°Too much divinity in the air,¡± she thought aloud. ¡°I need to adapt. I need to control myself.¡± First of all, she needed to accept the fact that she would be without equal for the rest of her life, and to be without equal meant to be alone. She had her mortals, and though she loved them as deeply as they loved her, she could never be their friend. Worship precluded friendship, and as her people¡¯s goddess, her status as their supreme being meant that there would always be that distance between them, an irreconcilable gap in status that could never be bridged. It was the same reason she and Hadraniel could never become true friends. While dealing with one of his aspects might be pleasant enough, the real Hadraniel becoming her friend would be like her becoming friends with an ant. It just couldn¡¯t be done. Still¡­ perhaps it was worth a shot? ¡°Hadraniel?¡± she called. She waited a minute, but received no answer. The angel had certainly heard her, but he was probably too far away to respond. They hadn¡¯t spoken in a month, so his aspect must have moved on to some other reality by now, and there was no telling when he would return. Treskur shook her head. Hoping someone like Hadraniel would answer the call of a mere god? It¡¯d been folly to even consider the possibility. As for finding peers among fellow gods? There were none left, and there might never be any ever again. Many millennia ago, back when Treskur herself had become a deity, there¡¯d been no pantheon of majority, and that meant there was no one setting rules to dictate who could and could not become a deity. Sadly, that was no longer the case. As things stood, the world was still technically ruled by the [Inter-Council Assembly], and that meant that the only path to ascension was through the procedures laid out within the [Inter-Council Accord]. Since none of the now-fallen deities had wanted competition back in the day, those procedures included the requirement that all new deities join the [Inter-Council Assembly]. Thanks to Aolyn¡¯s newest addendums, however, that also meant every new deity would immediately lose all their godly powers and become a mortal. That, or they ceased to exist altogether. Unless Treskur was overlooking some critical loophole hidden amidst all the complexity, it was a paradox that meant no Terran could ascend to godhood ever again. Perhaps someone could change that fact if they claimed the bounty on Melpomene¡¯s head, but there was no telling what a mortal might wish for if given the chance. Besides, it was entirely possible a fallen deity killed Melpomene out of sheer spite for Aolyn, and then no one could claim the wish. There was of course the option to just give into Luna¡¯s demands. Treskur could declare victory over the [Inter-Council Assembly], thus invalidating the [Inter-Council Accords] and returning her former peers to power. She could probably even wring out some brutal concessions in the terms of surrender¡­ but then what? As soon as the fallen deities regained their powers, they could just immediately declare war once again and be freed of any restriction Treskur placed upon them. They would then undoubtedly seek revenge, and there was no way Treskur could fend off half a thousand pissed-off deities all by herself. If she declared victory, she would lose¡­ but if she never declared victory, she might be by herself for the rest of time. Treskur would be alone at the top forever. Letting out a heavy sigh, Treskur turned to leave¡­ But then she heard it. It came to her, fainter than the ghost of a dream. Far to the north, buried somewhere deep within the permafrost beyond even the lands of her people, a voice reached out to her, and it wrapped around her mind like the first rime of winter. Treskur knew this voice, for it was the voice she¡¯d heard all those millennia ago. The voice whispered into her ear but a single question, and for the first time in ages, Treskur felt cold. Would you like it all to¡ª? ¡°Hey Treskur!¡± ¡°Gah!¡± Treskur snapped out of her trance and whirled around to find a familiar entity had appeared beside her. Hadraniel raised a confused eyebrow, and his wizened face looked to her with some measure of worry. ¡°I¡­ surprised you?¡± Indeed, the angel¡¯s aspect had surprised her, but that shouldn¡¯t have been possible. Not here. ¡°No, no, I just¡­ wasn¡¯t paying attention, I suppose.¡± She looked back toward the north but found she could no longer sense the something that¡¯d been there only a moment before. ¡°I was distracted.¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­ understandable,¡± Hadraniel agreed, but he was obviously unconvinced. ¡°Sorry that I took a while to get here, but Treskur, are you alright?¡± The northern goddess winced. ¡°Just getting used to the new way of things, I suppose. I know that I¡¯m the one who called for you, but is it alright if we talk tomorrow instead? I have too much on my mind at the moment.¡± The angel looked hesitant, but eventually, he nodded. ¡°Okay, old friend. If that¡¯s what you need. I¡¯ll be sticking around for a while, so just call out, and I¡¯ll be there.¡± Hadraniel gave Treskur one last meaningful look, but ultimately said no more. He stepped away, and was gone. ¡°¡®Old friend,¡¯ huh?¡± Treskur asked the air. If only that were true¡­ Treskur too turned to leave, but then she turned once more to the north. The voice was no longer there, but she knew what it had wanted to say, and the words echoed throughout her mind like the rumble of a storm. Would you like it all to end? Chapter 15. Goddess No More ¡°Empty again,¡± complained a man with four metallic arms. He casually punched one of the modest buildings beside him. With but a touch of his strength, he destroyed a wall and collapsed the roof, demolishing what must have once been a family¡¯s home. Snow and splinters were kicked up into the air, but the man just waved the airborne debris out of his face, annoyed. ¡°Fourth village today, and not a soul around to fight me.¡± Luna turned to regard the man, and he in turn regarded her. It took all her willpower not to wrinkle her nose in disgust ¡ª not at the way he looked at her, but at the way he saw her. Even bundled in furs, she felt exposed. After millennia spent as an unknowable enigma, to be comprehended by mere eyes was beyond unnerving. Aolyn had torn down the wall between her and the world, and now she was vulnerable. To be seen felt like sin. Luna felt no cold, but she instinctually pulled her layers of fur tighter around herself to ward off the unwanted gaze. Inwardly, she cursed herself for the action, viewing it as a subconscious admission of weakness. Outwardly, she stared down the other fallen deity, icy and unshaken. ¡°Believe it or not, Treskur calls this village a city. Rhyshagen, she¡¯s named it,¡± Luna said. She addressed only the lone man before her, but made sure her words carried to reach the other five hundred former deities prowling the streets, searching for prey. ¡°Regardless, I ask that you keep your patience, Brelumn. My plan is working. ¡°Minutes before we arrived, this place was teeming with those barbaric northerners. For it to be deserted now means that Treskur expended some level of divinity to whisk all her followers away, just as she did with the other towns. She can¡¯t keep this up forever. Sooner rather than later, she will tire and be forced to capitulate. ¡°Once we force her to declare victory over the [Inter-Council Assembly], that accursed addendum will be nullified and we¡¯ll regain our divinity. Believe me, things will return to normal soon, so long as you continue to follow my lead.¡± Luna¡¯s words had a placative effect on her audience, but she could tell many still wanted to grumble. They¡¯d only been campaigning for a little over a month, yet many were already frustrated with their lack of total victory ¡ª or rather total defeat, in this case. For a group of once-timeless beings, they sure were impatient. Having spent time as deities must have accustomed them to instant gratification, Luna supposed. Sensing the need for further assurances, Luna spoke again, this time addressing the entire group directly. ¡°We number five hundred!¡± she yelled. ¡°Each and every one of us has tasted what lies beyond the apex of mortal power, and we shall taste it again! Naught but a single goddess stands between us and our rightful place above all creation, and who is she to stop us? ¡°Before us, she shall fall!¡± A cheer passed through the crowd, loudest among them being the more¡­ instinctually driven minds. Luna¡¯s passionate but ultimately meaningless words had achieved their desired effect, and now she just needed to¡ª ¡°Bold words for a mortal.¡± Every eye and ocular equivalent locked onto the one that had just spoken. She appeared from nowhere, or perhaps she¡¯d been there the whole time, and only now deigned to become visible. Standing upon the air above the temple at the city¡¯s center, shrouded in the violent whirls of her personal rimestorm, she glowered down at them all. Her muddy-green eyes were filled with disgust. Treskur, sole god of the [Frigid North], now sole god of the world. Many of the fallen deities flinched, but Luna was steady as stone. ¡°Hello, Treskur. Have you come to accept our conditional surrender?¡± ¡°Shameless,¡± Treskur growled. ¡°Were not half of you at one time called gods of honor? Gods of compassion? Gods of wisdom? Why do you now¡ª¡° ¡°Treskur, that¡¯s enough of your¡ª¡° ¡°YOU WILL BE SILENT WHILE I AM SPEAKING!¡± thundered the goddess. Divinity laced her words, and Luna was struck dumb. The moonstone spellcaster touched a hand to her lips, and found them sealed shut. ¡°If it were not so foolish, I would find your arrogance impressive,¡± Treskur went on. ¡°To spit at a goddess within her own domain? Such an act ventures past hubris and into the realm of madness. Before I destroy you all, I offer you one last opportunity to reflect on your actions and turn back.¡± Once Treskur finished speaking, Luna felt the divinity sealing her lips disappear, but she wasn¡¯t the first among her group to speak. ¡°If I may be so bold,¡± interjected a sentient mass of moss wearing glasses, ¡°allow me to say that we are the wronged party, not you. We were deceived and had our divinity stolen away by none other than you and Aolyn the Mad. It was you, Treskur, who colluded with an explicitly evil god to bring about what many are now calling the [Divine Apocalypse]. The world is in chaos because of your actions.¡± ¡°Well said, Musgo, but I don¡¯t care,¡± Treskur said. All around her, Luna heard the scandalized cries of her fellow fallen reacting to the brusque statement, but once again she herself remained silent, awaiting the perfect opportunity to strike with her words. ¡°I am a goddess of honor, not of law,¡± Treskur went on. ¡°I care not what you deem right or wrong. My only regret is that I did not betray this pantheon earlier, when I first recognized its corrupted roots.¡± ¡°With one breath you claim honor, but with another you praise betrayal?¡± accused the glasses-wearing moss. ¡°Are you a goddess of hypocrisy?¡± ¡°I owe none of you an explanation, but I¡¯ll provide it nonetheless. Law concerns itself neither with what is right, nor what is good, nor even what ought to be. Law is nothing more than the codified will of the powerful. ¡°Honor, however, resists definition. It is known, or it is not. The words and wills of lawyers and lords may neither bestow nor besmirch the honor of another. Even I, a god, have only the power to recognize what is already there, but even that perception is not unique to me, nor is my sense infallible. ¡°Riddle me this, Musgo. Was it honorable of me to sit by all those millennia as mortals all around the world suffered under the negligence of their gods? Was it honorable of me to attempt to fix a broken system from within? Was it honorable of me to trade away expedience for the mere potential of nonviolent resolution? ¡°And though I never lied, was it honorable of me to deceive? You all who never treated me half as well as the dirt beneath your feet, was it honorable of me to betray you with naught but the truth? Was it honorable of me to venture down the shortest route to a better world, no matter how fetid the path had proven to be? ¡°For all these questions, I have not the answers. Perhaps in a few days¡¯ or decades¡¯ time, I¡¯ll come to recognize the nature of my actions, but even then, at least I¡¯ll know I acted as best I could in the moment. ¡°But enough vague philosophizing. This is your last chance. Turn back, or die.¡± Luna sensed many of her fellow fallen wavering at the pronouncement, and now was her time to strike. She needed to reassure them quickly, or else her hopes or reattaining godhood would be dashed forever. In order to pressure a goddess ¡ª even a godess like Treskur ¡ª into complying with their demands, they would need to stand united. ¡°The fact that she is giving us the option to flee is proof that she can not handle us all!¡± Luna declared. ¡°If she could kill us all, she would have done so from the start! For her to show up now means she¡¯s desperate! Stick to the plan, and we¡¯ll succeed!¡± Bolstered by her words, those who were wavering managed to stand their ground, but with differing levels of fervor. Luna took note of the most cowardly among them ¡ª when this was all over, she¡¯d make an example of them ¡ª but ultimately, they all held firm. ¡°Very well then,¡± Treskur said when it was clear no one was buying her bluff. ¡°Prepare to die.¡± She raised her arms and her eyes glowed icy-blue. A pillar of light shot out from beneath her, slamming into the earth and destroying the temple below. Before Luna nor any of the other fallen could question what the barbarian was doing, lines of destruction spread across the ground, emanating from the shattered temple. The goddess¡¯ power froze and sundered the earth wherever it spread, jagged cracks propagating outward at the speed of sound. Before the attack could reach them, Luna and every other fallen with the ability to fly launched themselves into the air. From her heightened vantage point, Luna observed that the ostensibly wanton destruction had actually been deliberately guided. When viewed from above, the seemingly random lines broken into the ground actually formed the immaculate lattice of a snowflake. The lattice was massive, four times the diameter of Rhyshagen in length, spreading both inland and into the now-frozen ocean of ice. More notable was the fact that the attack hadn¡¯t harmed a single member or Luna¡¯s impromptu warband. Even those fallen deities incapable of escaping into the air or otherwise too surprised to dodge were also left untouched. It was as if Treskur had intentionally sculpted her attack to avoid striking them, which made no sense. Why would Treskur destroy her own city with such an inefficient, bloodless attack? It was almost as if¡­ Luna wasted no time in finishing the thought. She snapped her head around to more closely analyze the lattice of broken earth, its shape and distribution of lines, the arrangement and densities of fallen deities within those lines¡­ For the first time in untold millennia, the moonstone sorcerer¡¯s heart was filled was fear. Treskur hadn¡¯t been bluffing. ¡°RUN!¡± Luna screamed, voice tearing from the strain. ¡°EVERYONE RUN A¡ª!¡± Too puzzled to react immediately, none of her fellow fallen got away in time. Even Luna herself ¡ª the first to react and already flying away at top speed ¡ª was too slow. Light erupted from every crack in the ocean and earth, and with it rose crystalline walls of ice. They grew with violent speed, shooting up from the ground with all the might of a thousand volcanic eruptions. Luna did her best to maneuver around the rapidly growing walls, but they were too fast. New walls splintered off from those that had already formed, jutting out in front of her no matter where she flew. Within moments, she was trapped in a divinely reinforced labyrinth of sheer cold. Even her enhanced perception couldn¡¯t penetrate the walls. She¡¯d failed. She was trapped. She was alone. Her only company were the thousand reflections coming off of every facet of the crystalline walls, each showing her an image of herself. She locked eyes with with one such reflection in the wall before her, and the sight was disgusting. Just weeks ago, no mere light would dare contain her image, but now¡­ Luna took in a breath through clenched teeth, forcing herself to look into the image before her. She saw a coward, bundled in furs to hide from the world. She saw a fool, a leader who¡¯d led her entire pantheon first into mortality, and now into a trap. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. She saw a failure, a goddess of the unknowable whose form was now utterly comprehendible. CRACK! Luna smashed the reflection before her. Cracks spread through the ice as if it were glass, but it did not fall apart. The single facet became dozens, and within each new shard of ice was born a fresh image of the fallen goddess. ¡°AAAAAAAAAH!¡± She smashed the wall again and again, pummeling it with a flurry of blows until each facet was barely as large as a fingernail, but still, the wall held firm. With one last strike, she planted her fist against the wall and kept it there. She stared into her reflections, each showing naught but one of her opalescent grey eyes staring back. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have been able to do this. You were never this strong, Treskur.¡± ¡°Not exactly a question, but I suppose I could still enlighten you.¡± Luna swiveled her gaze and locked onto the source of the voice, a reflection of an eye shining muddy-green. She smashed it, but the voice came again, this time from behind her. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you so overtaken by passion, Luna. Perhaps a month of mortality has done you well.¡± Upon a facet of the wall behind her was an image of that traitorous bastard. Luna kicked out, and the single image became sixteen. ¡°How?¡± Luna demanded. ¡°The Treskur I knew couldn¡¯t pull off a miracle this large, this fast. You couldn¡¯t have refined this much divinity in a single month. Unless¡­¡± ¡°Unless I¡¯d always been this powerful, and just never revealed it?¡± the sixteen reflections asked, finishing the fallen goddess¡¯ unspoken thought. Luna grit her teeth. ¡°Why not just kill us all then? You had us. You spent all that time hiding your strength. Why waste the effort to trap us when you could¡¯ve had our heads?¡± ¡°There seems to be a fundamental misunderstanding between us,¡± Treskur said, stepping out of the wall and into the labyrinth. Luna clenched her fists, but otherwise didn¡¯t react to the goddess appearing before her. ¡°First of all, I never hid my strength. I just never revealed it.¡± Treskur went on. ¡°Once I gained a seat on the [Century Council], there was no reason beyond vanity to do so. None of you listened to me anyway. What would going from the fiftieth to the fortieth strongest god have done for me?¡± Luna wanted to rebuke the goddess, but knew she was right. Though the difference between Treskur¡¯s expected level of power and the power she now displayed was large, it wasn¡¯t so large that it would¡¯ve caused a splash had they all still been gods. ¡°As to why I didn¡¯t just kill you all, there are few things more dishonorable than for a god to strike down a gaggle of mortals, no matter how ill-behaved those mortals may be. You all had so many opportunities to turn back, but none of you did. I could¡¯ve commended your unity and resolution, if only those admirable qualities hadn¡¯t been turned to such ignoble ends.¡± ¡°Enough of your damned preaching!¡± Luna yelled. ¡°The only way you can get people to listen to your insufferable babbling is to trap them in a labyrinth! You¡¯ve never been anything but a pretentious, unoriginal asshole. Having power doesn¡¯t change that. With every ounce of sincerity that I can possibly muster, believe me when I say fuck you, Treskur. I would tell you to go take your honor and shove it up your ass, but it seems there¡¯s already a giant stick in the way.¡± Luna had no illusions that¡¯d she¡¯d get out of this alive. The only way she could see herself potentially surviving against a goddess would be to submit, but there was no way she was submitting to Treskur. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right,¡± Treskur replied, her tone suddenly casual. Luna blinked. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never much enjoyed being a deity, you know?¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Figures that you wouldn¡¯t understand. For the rest of you, godhood was one big vacation. Most of the time, it felt like I was the only one who took it seriously. The rest of the time, I knew I was.¡± ¡°I thought we agreed you would stop with the moral superiority complex?¡± ¡°Fair enough. We¡¯ll never agree about what the point of being a deity even is, so what¡¯s the point of arguing about it? Besides, there¡¯s something else I want to show you.¡± Treskur rapped her knuckles against an unbroken wall beside her, and each of its hundreds of facets transformed to reflect a different scene. Every scene contained a different fallen deity, showing them as they wandered about the icy labyrinth, aimless and lost. ¡°Why show me this?¡± Luna demanded. ¡°How do I know this is real?¡± ¡°Finally, some questions I can answer.¡± Treskur snapped her fingers, and the chaos was immediate. The reflected images exploded into violence. Spears and limbs of ice struck out at each of the fallen, catching many of the [Tier S] entities by surprise. Each strike originated from the point-of-view Luna observed through the reflections, and much to her horror, she realized that the reflections weren¡¯t gleaned from some arbitrarily placed scrying spells. If what she saw could be believed, each of the hundreds of facets of crystalline ice actually allowed her to gaze through the eyes of a creature capable of singlehandedly attacking a fallen deity. ¡°This is impossible,¡± Luna whispered. Due to the nature of peering through their eyes, Luna couldn¡¯t tell what the creatures themselves looked like, and neither did they leave reflections in the ice around them. From her brief glimpses of striking limbs, her best guess was that they were humanoids weilding spears of ice, but such a simple description wouldn¡¯t do them justice. Whatever they were, they were ruthless. Luna could only watch as her fellow fallen were slaughtered. Taken by surprise, each member of the former pantheon mounted a futile resistance. Their blood stained the air and the walls around them, turning the crystal halls into a malefic kaleidoscope of scarlet. Their screams and howls echoed throughout the labyrinth, and from the sound, Luna knew what she saw to be real. Then came the first death. Brelumn ¡ª the four-metal-armed idiot with a skull thicker than his muscles ¡ª grappled his assailant mid-strike, halting the spear¡¯s momentum and lifting his opponent into the air. His lips started moving, and though Luna couldn¡¯t hear what he said, she knew from the curve of his smirk that he was taunting his helpless attacker. He never saw the second one coming. It came from the wall behind him, invisible until the moment it emerged, spear already extended in a strike. The weapon pierced through the base of Brelumn¡¯s skull, then exploded out his eye. Brelumn¡¯s form crumpled to the ground, but his hold upon the first creature remained. The second released its implanted spear to aid the first in prying itself free of the metallic vice, and as their gazes each landed on the other, Luna got her first real look at one of the creatures. They looked exactly like Treskur¡¯s mortals ¡ª tusked humanoids with wide frames and hard, impassive eyes ¡ª except they were naked, shaved, and made completely from ice. As the second aided the first in pulling apart the fallen god¡¯s fingers, the fallen god¡¯s body sprung back to life. He screamed silently through the reflection, a cry of war Luna could not hear, but nevertheless understood. You think that was enough to kill ME? A spear still protruding from either end of his head, Brelumn tightened his grip on the first creature, shattering it into a thousand shards that exploded in every direction. Some of the shards struck Brelumn directly, but none did much damage. Even as its ally died, the remaining creature did not hesitate. In one fluid movement, it fell into the floor to dodge a punch while grabbing its shattered companion¡¯s spear. Before the half-blind Brelumn could collect himself, the creature again erupted from the ice, this time emerging from above and to the side of the fallen god¡¯s punctured eye. Unfortunately for the creature, Brelumn did not need his eyes to see. Having twice now been taken by surprise, Brelumn was ready. He swung around, meeting the plunging strike with a double-backhand that shattered both the creature¡¯s arm and its borrowed spear, leaving it with nothing but a jagged stump beneath one shoulder. With his other two arms, he carried the momentum of his half-spin into a pair of brutal haymakers. The blows connected, and everything below the creature¡¯s chest disappeared in another explosion of ineffective icy shrapnel. Having recently learned a lesson about not taunting his foes, Brelumn took no chances. He threw another pair of punches in an attempt to destroy the creature entirely¡­ but somehow, he was too slow. The creature slapped an incoming fist. The slap did nothing to alter the fist¡¯s trajectory, but instead allowed the airborne creature to throw itself to the ground, out of harm¡¯s way. Luna and Brelumn were both dumbfounded. Brelumn was indeed injured, but there was no way a creature reduced to nothing but a head, chest, and one and a half arms should be able to outspeed a [Tier S] [Pugilist]. Still watching through the ice creature¡¯ eyes, Luna realized what was happening. The innocuous shards of ice that had exploded out with every one of the creatures¡¯ injuries weren¡¯t so harmless. Many had embedded themselves all over Brelumn¡¯s skin, and they were growing. Worse yet, there was still a spear of ice embedded in his skull, and the frost was spreading from his eye. There was no telling how deep within him the chill had already reached. Probably realizing the same thing as Luna, Brelumn yanked the spear from his eye, and from his lips let loose another silent scream. He threw the spear away, but the ice continued to spread. Brelumn then tried ripping the shards of ice off of his flesh, but there were simply too many, and they were spreading their chill too fast. Besides, the ice was already within him, inside his skull, freezing him from the inside-out. What was left of the creature had already taken the opportunity to hobble away and sink back into the floor, leaving Brelumn alone to his futile efforts. From within the walls, it watched as the fallen deity slowly succumbed¡­ slowing¡­ slowing as his first the joints of his legs became bound by the cold¡­ and then his arms¡­ and then his remaining eye. Unable to maintain his balance, Brelumn fell onto his back. Struggling until the very end, he screamed in defiance of the inevitable, and in the shape of one final howl, his face was frozen forever. Only once its quarry had stilled completely did the creature emerge from the wall. It dragged itself to the frozen face of the once-great god and reared back with the jagged stump that had once been an arm. Without flourish, without ceremony, without grace, it stabbed. It stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, plunging its sharpened limb through the eyes of the fallen god over and over again until at last he was dead. A pulse of soul spread throughout the labyrinth, heralding the death of the powerful [Liege]. Despite the crystalline wall¡¯s perception dampening attributes, Luna could feel it from where she stood, and judging from the shocked faces she observed through the eyes of every other creature of ice, so could the rest of her fellow fallen. Treskur again tapped the wall, and the conjured reflections disappeared, only to be replaced by the image of Luna¡¯s own stunned visage reflected from hundreds of different angles. ¡°You know, Luna,¡± Treskur began, her tone lighthearted but weary, ¡°up until this moment, I never took seriously the possibility that I might kill you all. I told myself over and over again that today is the day, the day that you all die if you don¡¯t turn back, but still, I never thought it would come to this.¡± A second pulse of soul spread throughout the halls, heralding a second death. Then came a third and a fourth. The screams came from every direction. ¡°Last night, I spent hours agonizing over¡­ over nothing, I suppose,¡± Treskur went on, heedless of the death echoing around her. ¡°All my problems could have been solved just by murdering all of you, but I never actually considered doing it. How stupid is that? How stupid am I?¡± A fifth, sixth, and seventh pulse washed over Luna. Then came the tenth, the fifteenth, and the twentieth. ¡°I¡¯m a goddess of war who swore that I might kill you all, but the thought never crossed my mind that I¡¯d really do it. How much of an idiot does that make me? How much of a fool can I be?¡± Soon, the pulses of death came so quickly that they overlapped into waves, and it became difficult to determine just how many of her comrades were dying by the second. Luna¡¯s face twisted in rage. ¡°You call this honor?!?¡± ¡°I call it war.¡± ¡°Stop with the fucking riddles! For once in your miserable life, just say what you mean! Speak plainly, you ice-brained wad of hypocrisy!¡± Luna stepped toward the goddess, heedless of the danger. ¡°You think you¡¯re better than the rest of us just because you hang around your mortals? I¡¯ll let you in on a little secret. Only hanging around people vastly less powerful than you doesn¡¯t make you a benevolent overseer. It makes you a fucking creep. You¡¯re fucking creepy, Treskur. You¡¯re a goddess with a mortal fetish, and nothing more. ¡°You don¡¯teven deserve to be a god! You don¡¯t even want it! Declare your victory this instant, and I promise I¡¯ll wipe all your angsty bullshit from the face of existence! That¡¯s what you want, isn¡¯t it? If being a deity is so hard, just be a fucking mortal and let the rest of us deal with it! Get over yourself and fucking give up.¡± ¡°You want me to speak plainly?¡± Treskur asked, the quiet gravel of anger seeping into her voice. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll speak plainly. ¡°I helped Aolyn get rid of all the gods because I do think I¡¯m better than you. I hated the way of the world, and I wanted to change it. I declared war so that I could stay in power while the rest of you fell, but only so that I could help save the souls of your followers from annihilation when all your heavens and hells simultaneously disappeared ¡ª not that any of you were worried enough about your followers¡¯ souls to even ask about them in the first place. ¡°And were my actions honorable? I don¡¯t fucking know! But as a goddess of honor, my honor should be impeccable. The fact we can even be arguing about it proves my shame, but what else was I supposed to do? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to simultaneously be a goddess of honor and war? ¡°Honor is tearing me apart from within because I used my godly powers to imprison you. War is chastising me for not smiting you where you stand. War demanded that my soldiers of ice ambush you all one by one, bringing their full force to bear on each of you individually for a complete defeat in detail. Honor demanded that I not ambush you at all! ¡°I compromised, and now neither aspect is happy, and the pain is unimaginable. ¡°You say I don¡¯t want to be a goddess? You say I don¡¯t deserve it? Maybe you¡¯re right! Fuck it! I never asked for this in the first place, so why don¡¯t I just give it up?¡± Treskur closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and when she next spoke, her voice thrummed with divinity. ¡°I hereby relinquish my divine authority over both honor and war.¡± Luna felt Treskur¡¯s words take hold over reality, and knew the deed to be done. As a goddess, Treskur was forever diminished. ¡°So we¡¯re agreed, then. Now, declare your victory so that the rest of us may regain our rightful powers.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not finished yet,¡± Treskur said. ¡°I am still a goddess of knowledge and criminals, but what sort of buffoon willingly gives up power? Perhaps I''m not so fit to claim knowledge after all. In fact, I relinquish it.¡± Luna felt the words again take hold of reality, and once more, Treskur was diminished. Luna¡¯s heart stopped in her chest as she realized what the northern goddess was doing. In spite of both the cold and her stone anatomy, sweat formed on her brow. ¡°Treskur, stop. Declare your victory right now. If you become mortal, we¡¯re all stuck like this forever! There might never be another deity in all of Terra ever again!¡± ¡°Hadraniel, I know you¡¯re watching,¡± Treskur said, ignoring Luna¡¯s pleas. ¡°Take care of all the souls, won¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Treskur, no. Don¡¯t do it.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve already given up three-quarters of my portfolio because I felt like I didn¡¯t deserve them. I claim to be a criminal, but what sort of criminal returns what they don¡¯t deserve?¡± ¡°No, Treskur, don¡¯t! Please! Please don¡¯t do it! I¡¯m begging you!¡± ¡°Did I ever tell you how I became a goddess, Luna?¡± ¡°Stop!¡± Luna commanded. ¡°Stop right now!¡± Treskur didn¡¯t stop. Wordlessly, she raised a hand. Three of her fingers were pinched together, the way one would hold a grain of salt. She looked straight into Luna¡¯s eyes, and released her grip. One last pulse of divinity escaped Treskur¡¯s form, and she was a goddess no more. There were no more gods on Terra, and there might never be another ever again. A spear of ice formed in Treskur¡¯s hand. ¡°Time to finish my dance.¡± Chapter 16. This wasnt a fair fight ¡°You¡­ You callous bastard!¡± Luna screamed. She fired off a bolt of writhing flesh, but it was easily deflected. ¡°You¡¯ve doomed us all to die, and for what? Because we made fun of you?¡± She threw out another bolt, more out of frustration than any expectation the attack would actually land. Treskur batted it away with a flick of her spear as easily as she had the first, and the bolt dissolved into the air, returning to the unreality from whence it came. ¡°Luna, I¡¯ve had enough of words,¡± Treskur declared with an eerie level of calm. She gave her spear a single spinning flourish, and then assumed a ready stance. ¡°Time to fight.¡± The northern barbarian charged at her, and Luna¡­ Luna flew away. She was prideful, but she wasn¡¯t an idiot. In a fair fight, Luna was certain she could win eleven out of every ten battles against the brute. As an [Eldritch Sorcerer], she could keep Treskur at a distance while pelting the barbarian with spells. Sooner or later, the upstart would falter, and then Luna could close the distance to finish the job. That, or she could even just rain down spells at a distance until the traitor was naught but ash and memory. So long as it was a fair fight, that is¡­ And this wasn¡¯t a fair fight. Treskur ¡ª whatever her [Class] was ¡ª was obviously a close-quarters fighter with some sort of ice attribute, and this environment was perfect for her. In terms of engagement range, the sharp, narrow halls of the labyrinth put ranged-attackers such as Luna at a severe disadvantage. In addition, the walls reflected only the images of Luna and her fellow fallen, meaning any potential adversaries would see her coming from around corners while she needed to remain ever-vigilant of an ambush. That wasn¡¯t even the worst of it. In all likelihood, the divinity-strengthened ice probably empowered those of similar attributes, meaning Treskur would likely be boosted to nearly Luna¡¯s own level of raw power. Coupled with the fact that the northern bastard could meld into and out of the walls seemingly at will, Luna¡¯s chances to win a battle against Treskur in this environment was nearly hopeless. Nearly. Luna flew down the halls with all the speed of a meteor, tightly rounding every corner to put as much distance between herself and Treskur as she could. She listened for the other former goddess¡¯ pursuit, but heard nothing. The rushing air screeched in her ears, but she still should¡¯ve been able to hear the barbarian¡¯s footfalls. The fact she heard nothing meant that Treskur had either given up or¡ª A spear shot from the ground before her, and Luna nearly impaled herself upon its icy tip. At the last possible instant, the moonstone sorcerer twisted in flight to dodge around the attack. Righting herself midair, she watched as Treskur emerged from the floor, already preparing a follow up strike. ¡°No escape,¡± said the tuskless northerner. She launched a barrage of strikes, but Luna again flew out of range. This time, however, Treskur wouldn¡¯t let her get away so easily. Two of the humanoid ice creatures sprung from the walls, blocking Luna¡¯s only path of escape. Caught between three enemies within the tight confines of a narrow hall, it would seen she would have to stand and fight. It would seem. Treskur and her two subordinates charged in unison, coordinating their attacks to offer no chance of dodge. Outnumbered, flanked, and trapped by her three coordinated attackers, it was impossible for Luna to escape. So it was a good thing that Luna specialized in the impossible. ¡°[Abyssal Anchor]!¡± she shouted. Just as her stony flesh was about to be pierced by the closest of the ice creatures, Luna disappeared. Calling upon the eldritch magics that suffused her very essence, Luna fell away from reality and into the unreality between existences. Normally, falling into unreality was a death sentence ¡ª or at least whatever the closest equivalent to ¡®death¡¯ there was within the timeless, spaceless, alogical not-place that was eldritch unreality ¡ª but for Luna, traversing the plane was merely excruciating. She reappeared the same instant she disappeared, but now found herself within the hall where she¡¯d first been trapped. Beside her was the wall where Treskur had shown her the images of her fellow fallen being hunted down, of Brelumn being murdered. On her other side was the shattered but all-too-sturdy surface of the wall she¡¯d pummeled with her fists, and from it gazed her thousands of reflections. She was standing exactly where her earlier ¡®useless¡¯ attack had dissipated into the air, setting the anchor for her present escape. Time was of the essence, but Luna took a moment to vomit. Her eyes and tongue attempted to gain sentience and unravel themselves even as the bile was leaving her mouth, but she stamped out their rebellion with pure force of will. Moving purely on instinct, she tried to take a step forward before she was entirely ready, and found herself nearly falling back into the void. She grit her teeth and stilled both her body and mind to ward off the pull of inexistence. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Thankfully, no enemies were in her immediate vicinity to take advantage of her void-sickness. If a single ice creature had been nearby, Luna would be dead. It¡¯d been a risky maneuver, but it¡¯d paid off. It likely wouldn¡¯t work a second time, however, because Treskur would undoubtedly now be on the lookout for any new anchors Luna would place from here on out. It took precious seconds, but Luna took the time to complete her transition back into reality so thoroughly that even the memories of her time in the other were rapidly dissipating. Soon, the only immediate unpleasantnesses she had to deal with were the phantom pains and the army of potentially hundreds hiding within the walls. ¡°No big deal,¡± Luna lied to herself. ¡°I¡¯ve been through worse. I¡¯ll make it out of this.¡± Even as she recited the unconvincing platitudes, she set to work. She applied every form of non-detection spell she could quickly cast on herself in order to avoid further unwanted encounters, and then she got the fuck out of there before Treskur could return. Invisible, Luna began flying in a different direction than she¡¯d fled in before. Unsure exactly how perceptive her pursuers could be within their labyrinth, she flew at a more sedate pace, careful to disturb even the air as little as possible. All this time, the pulses of soul heralding her comrades¡¯ deaths did not cease, but they did slow. Now, instead of overlapping so closely that they were indistinguishable, Luna could feel each and every one of them dying individually. Whether the death slowed because her fellow fallen were actually mounting some level of effective resistance, or because most of them had already died, Luna couldn¡¯t be sure. She pushed the thoughts from her mind and refocused to the task at hand. She needed to escape. Reattaining her rightful place as a goddess via forcing Treskur to nullify the [Inter-Council Accords] was no longer an option, but there had to be another way. Before she could worry about that, however, she needed to get out of this place. She flew for an hour, navigating the halls of the labyrinth as stealthily as she could, all the while attempting to form a plan. Any plan that got her out would do, but she would prefer one that included killing Treskur. As she skulked through the halls, Luna formed a mental map of her surroundings and slowly came to suspect that the interior of the labyrinth mimicked the lattice of a snowflake, but extrapolated into a three-dimensional crystal. After only a second hour of careful observations, she confirmed her suspicion and knew that the labyrinth was indeed shaped such that any plane intersecting its center displayed hexagonal radial symmetry. Furthermore, she discovered that the entire labyrinth was roughly the shape of a dome but with an outer layer of crystalline spires and spikes. In practical terms, all that meant was that Luna only needed to mentally map out one-sixth of the dome, and from that she could know the entirety of its layout. Better yet, she now knew how to escape the labyrinth. Thanks to her expertise in arcane magic, she knew that all she needed to do was disrupt the nucleation point of the crystal structure, and the whole thing would fall apart. More technically, the labyrinth wouldn¡¯t completely shatter, but it would crack enough that escape routes would almost certainly open up through the currently-impenetrable outer layer of the dome. Over the course of her covert reconnaissance, Luna had passed by many of her fellow fallen deities, but none had been alive. Blood covered the walls around their still forms. Scattered shards of ice ¡ª some still resembling pieces of humanoid forms ¡ª littered the floors around them. They had gone down fighting, but ultimately, none that she found had survived. Now that two hours had passed, the pulses of soul that signaled death had all but ceased. There were still some pulses every dozen minutes or so, but they were growing fewer and farther between. Whether this was because the remaining fallen deities were harder to kill, or if it was because there were simply less of them to kill, Luna didn¡¯t know, and she didn¡¯t want to think about it. All the same, if she hoped to retain any formerly divine allies when this was all over, she¡¯d need to act quickly, or else they would all be dead. Now, all she needed to do was destroy the core of the labyrinth. She hadn¡¯t travelled there quite yet, but she knew what lay there¡­ The Temple to Treskur, and presumably, Treskur herself. The barbarian was an idiot, but she wasn¡¯t stupid. After two hours of a fruitless chase, Treskur must have realized by now that there was no finding the former goddess of mystery if she didn¡¯t want to be found. Instead of chasing her scent through the halls ¡ª not that Luna had even left a scent to begin with ¡ª Treskur would be guarding the labyrinth¡¯s greatest vulnerability, knowing that it was only a matter of time before Luna came to face her herself. Treskur would be waiting for her there, amidst the rubble of the very temple she¡¯d destroyed. Luna knew where she had to go, but she didn¡¯t go there quite yet. If she charged in without a plan against an enemy that expected her, she would lose, her greater level of raw power be damned. Treskur currently held the advantage due to the environment and her additional forces. In order to defeat her, Luna would need to deal with both of those factors, but she couldn¡¯t figure out how to subvert the environmental advantage just yet. As for Treskur¡¯s advantage in numbers, Luna had been there when Treskur had descended into mortality, meaning that the ice creatures couldn¡¯t have been soulbound to Treskur during the initial ambush due to the fact that deities could not tether mortal souls in the same way mortal [Lieges] were able to. Those ice creatures who had died immediately would stay dead, but there was no telling how many were left. As for the possibility of Treskur tethering the souls of those that remained so that she could revive them indefinitely, so long as Luna never gave Treskur the days required to revive her troops, that possibility didn¡¯t matter. Ultimately, Luna reasoned that the best way to deal with Treskur¡¯s numerical advantage would be to ignore it completely. So long as she struck swiftly and brutally, Luna could kill the traitor, destroy the core of the labyrinth, and be done with this whole affair before the majority of Treskur¡¯s troops could even get involved. But once again, a ¡®swift and brutal strike¡¯ would require some way of removing Treskur¡¯s environmental advantage¡­ Pondering over exactly how she was going to go about it, Luna continued to fly slowly through the halls. The residual divinity in the walls gave no hint at diminishing, so simply waiting for the walls to weaken on their own wasn¡¯t an option. As for ritual spells that could get the job done, they would all require preparation and possibly even materials that Luna just didn¡¯t have with her. As all these thoughts were going through her head, Luna happened upon the hall where laid the corpse of Brelumn, the first to die. She paused to regard him, and a horrible idea entered her mind. She took a closer look the dead man¡¯s metallic limbs, and a sinister smile crossed her invisible face. This could work, she thought. Time to play by MY rules, Treskur. Chapter 17. Brother, Im cold Treskur stood, eyes closed, waiting amidst the rubble of what had been one of her greatest temples. She borrowed the senses of her four dozen remaining Ice Guard, looking through their eyes. They swam through the frozen walls like sharks through water, on the hunt for prey. Their numbers had been reduced significantly in the initial assault, and many of those that did remain were wounded or missing limbs entirely. Still, they proved sufficient to extend Treskur¡¯s perception over a significant portion of the crystalline labyrinth. Despite the casualties, the initial assault had been more successful than expected, especially considering the suboptimal tactics employed. Of the hundreds of fallen deities who had entered, all but seven were dead. The only problem was that Treskur had no idea where they were. She doubted any had escaped, nor was it likely that they were coordinating with each other since going undetected by Treskur necessitated going undetected by each other as well. There was also the possibility that her quarry had preemptively set up some methods of communication before entering Rhyshagen, but if such a contingency existed, they would have used it earlier. Besides, the fallen gods had been much too individualistic and arrogant to employ such a measure. All things considered, this all meant that Treskur didn¡¯t need to worry about any united counterassaults, but only the resistance of individuals. So long as nothing unexpected happened, it was only a matter of time before all her enemies were dead. A whisper of magic flitted by the edge of Treskur¡¯s extended perception. It was nearly undetectable, but she managed to just barely catch it. ¡°Go,¡± she commanded. Four of her closest Ice Guard were there at the site of the magic within only a few moments, but it seemed ¡®only a few moments¡¯ were a few moments too late. When they arrived, Treskur focused through their eyes and beheld sacrilege. Before her Ice Guard laid the remains of Brelumn, the first of the fallen to die. When they¡¯d killed him, they¡¯d done so brutally, but efficiently. They¡¯d destroyed his head and frozen him solid, but had otherwise left his corpse undesecrated. Now, it was no longer correct to refer to him as a corpse. Bits of him were everywhere. Viscera was splashed across the walls. The floor was slick with a thick, icy slush of red mutilation. Notably absent from the carnage, however, was any trace of the pugilist¡¯s metallic limbs. The Ice Guard sniffed the air, and they caught the rapidly fading but unmistakable scent of arcane magic tinged by the ineffable. There could only be one culprit ¡°Luna,¡± Treskur growled, opening her eyes. Another flash of magic flared up and died just as quickly, too far away from the first for the same Ice Guard to pursue. Treskur again commanded those that were nearby to investigate, but this time they found nothing but an empty hall. No sooner had the Ice Guard arrived at the unremarkable scene than a third flash of magic appeared. This time, by pure chance, a single Ice Guard happened to be close enough for Treskur to catch a fresher whiff of the magic. ¡°Transmutation? What are you preparing, Luna?¡± A fourth and then a fifth flash of magic tickled Treskur¡¯s perception, but they provided no more clues than the first three. Whatever Luna was up to, she was doing it in small bursts in semi-random locations so that Treskur¡¯s Ice Guard couldn¡¯t catch her. Treskur considered her possible courses of action and saw three main paths forward. First, she could concentrate her forces in a loose net around each new magical flash in hopes of catching the moonstone sorcerer before she could complete whatever it was she was doing. This option was high-risk, high-reward. It increased Treskur¡¯s chances of having an Ice Guard close enough to catch Luna in the act, but it would also shrink the area of Treskur¡¯s effective perception, increasing the likelihood that Luna escaped her pursuit altogether. Second, Treskur could concentrate her forces around herself, within the heart of the labyrinth. Undoubtedly, Luna had already discerned the labyrinth¡¯s greatest weakness ¡ª the vulnerable core that commanded the divinity within the walls. Rather than chase her around, Treskur could fortify her position and simply wait for Luna¡¯s inevitable assault. This plan had the drawback of allowing the seven remaining fallen gods free reign of the outer labyrinth, which in turn meant that they could potentially run into each other and combine their powers for a greater assault than Treskur could handle. The chances of that happening was small, but Treskur preferred not to risk it. Third, Treskur could continue with her current strategy. By spreading her forces and thus her perception throughout the entire labyrinth, she kept every fallen deity in hiding. So long as her Ice Guard travelled in small groups, she didn¡¯t need to fear them being whittled away by individual assaults either. This plan left the labyrinth¡¯s core relatively undefended compared to the second plan, but also decreased the maximum potential power of any direct assault. Ultimately, Treskur went with the third option. Intuitively, it felt wrong not to alter her strategy in the face of her enemy¡¯s unexpected actions, but Treskur knew better than to react quickly out of fear. Besides, even if Luna did manage to destroy the labyrinth¡¯s core, Treskur could still win. An hour passed. The flashes of magic continued as Luna went about her preparations, but Treskur wasn¡¯t lucky enough to catch her by chance. Nevertheless, it was only a matter of time before¡ª ¡°There you are,¡± Treskur said, her eyes darting to a patch of empty space down a nearby hall. ¡°Here I am,¡± chimed Luna, suddenly appearing there, thirteen runic plates of metal in her hands. Her lips crooked up into a cruel smile. ¡°I hope you enjoyed your mortality while it lasted, because it¡¯s time for you to die.¡±
Even as she spoke, Luna took stock of the room. Just as she¡¯d expected, Treskur was waiting for her there, at the center of the labyrinth. Strewn with rubble, the room itself looked exactly how she¡¯d predicted it would based off of the rest of the labyrinth¡¯s layout. It was hexagonal with twelve corridors splitting off from it, two on each wall. At the room¡¯s center was a pillar thick as an ancient tree, and in the center of that pillar was a heart-sized, pulsating crystal of opaque blue ice in the shape of a snowflake ¡ª the core of the labyrinth. All Luna needed to do was destroy that snowflake, and she¡¯d be free¡­ but after what Treskur had put her through, mere freedom wouldn¡¯t be enough. Luna wanted revenge. Without wasting another second, she shot into the room. Five of those damned ice creatures emerged from the wall immediately, but that didn¡¯t matter. ¡°[Time Stop]!¡± The icy creatures froze mid-strike, as did Treskur, holding her spear of ice in a ready position. Only the divinely-infused core of the labyrinth continued its motion, beating to maintain the structure of its home. It was tempting to pause and catch her breath as the world around her stilled ¡ª maintaining so many up-casted non-detection spells for hours on end had been exhausting ¡ª but the [Tier S] [Time Stop] spell was draining her magical reserves with every passing breath. Luna set to work right away. Since she couldn¡¯t fly while her spell was in effect, she ran like a damned plebeian to the nearest interior wall of the inner chamber. After making some precise measurements, she aligned one of her thirteen runic plates against the wall and hammered it in with her fist, affixing it using the trio of small spikes on the back of the plate. Once the first plate was in place, she placed a second one upon the same wall, again hammering it in with her fist in a precise position. She repeated this process ten more times until each of the room¡¯s six walls held two of the equidistantly-spaced runic plates. Before she placed the thirteenth and final runic plate ¡ª the only non-identical plate in the set, slightly smaller and only having a single, long spike on its backside ¡ª Luna took one last look around the room, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. She still had enough magic left for a single cast of [Eldritch Annihilation], but she wouldn¡¯t waste this opportunity on the spell. If she used it to attack Treskur directly, she had a fifty-fifty chance of killing the labyrinth-empowered barbarian, but then Luna herself would most certainly be slain by the remaining ice creatures. If she instead used a weaker spell to attack the core of the labyrinth, she could destroy it and be left with enough mana to mount an escape. This was by far the safest and most logical course of action¡­ but she just couldn¡¯t do it. Her pride demanded nothing less than total victory. Luna tightened her grip on the thirteenth runic plate. She walked over to stand behind Treskur, directly between the traitor and the pillar of ice she guarded. Luna then removed her fur coat and tossed it aside. With one hand, she pulled down the neckline of her robe to reveal the cold, stone flesh of her bare chest. Luna took in one last breath, and aimed the spike of the final runic plate directly at her own heart. ¡°This will work,¡± she declared, if only for her own benefit. ¡°It has to.¡± She slammed the plate against her chest, and the spike drove home.
Treskur watched as Luna disappeared. An instant later, something wet splashed across her back. Treskur whipped around, already stabbing toward toward the unseen foe, but she was too slow. In fact, everything was too slow, yet moving exactly as fast as it should be. It were as if she were moving through a dream¡­ As if she were listening to a story about herself as it happened, simultaneously living through the action in real time while observing herself from outside of time. The narrator of her dream spoke, communicating at the speed of thought. ¡°Are you curious how I brought about all this?¡± Luna asked, the timbre of her voice like an echo heard a thousand times. Treskur continued to stab at the moonstone sorcerer, spear inching forward at the speed of a bullet, but Luna continued speaking without a hint of worry. ¡°It¡¯s because I know what it means to be a god.¡± Treskur had yet to see Luna¡¯s altered form with her own eyes, but half of her already knew what had become of the sorceress. Like tears, silver slivers of argent blood trickled down her opalescent grey eyes. From a wound in her heart gushed more of that same shining ichor, its flow only partially stoppered by a runic plate of metal there embedded. ¡°Like the idiot that you are,¡± the former goddess of madness went on, her moonstone lips moving like a puppet¡¯s, ¡°you spent millennia hiding from your power. You hated the privilege any other mortal would¡¯ve killed to attain, and so you never learned how to properly use it. ¡°I, on the other hand, embraced my power from the beginning. I recognized divinity for the tool that it is, and for that, you had the gall to look down on me!¡± By now, Treskur¡¯s blindingly-fast spear had nearly completed its journey to Luna¡¯s ravaged chest. Rather than let herself become stabbed, however, Luna simply stepped out of the way. She walked over to Treskur¡¯s side and brushed a hand across her cheek. The texture of stone fingers pulled painfully against the hairs of her beard, but Treskur couldn¡¯t react. Despite the protests of her sleeping mind, her conscious mind could not listen. It was too busy lunging at a foe who¡¯d already dodged. ¡°Do you know how easy it was for me to hijack your design?¡± Luna asked. ¡°Once I¡­ borrowed some divinity-steeped material from Brelumn¡¯s corpse, it was child¡¯s play to create the necessary runes. I didn¡¯t even need to overwrite anything. The patterns of stagnant divinity were so crude that all I needed to do was amplify a single one of its function, and the whole thing fell apart. ¡°You wanted this place to reflect my image while hiding your own? Congratulations, because its working. My essence is being reflected so strongly that I suffuse the air.¡± She leaned in closer to whisper directly into Treskur¡¯s ear. ¡°You may have stolen my divinity, Treskur, but I will always be a goddess.¡± Luna¡¯s hand continued to idly toy with Treskur¡¯s beard. ¡°I want you to know that I¡¯m going to enjoy destroying you,¡± she said. ¡°I heard you like dancing, so why don¡¯t we dance?¡± Suddenly, violently, Luna grabbed onto Treskur¡¯s beard and yanked her through the floor. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. The ground beneath their feet shattered like glass, and Treskur was cast into an endless, inky void. She didn¡¯t know for how long she fell, but eventually, she landed with a crash, slamming into a floor invisible within the darkness. Treskur felt some of her bones snap, but it would take more than a nasty fall to keep her down. She leapt to her feet, still holding onto her spear, and took a ready stance. She cast her gaze about, but could see nothing within the lightless space around her. ¡°I am the moon.¡± Treskur spun to find a spotlight had appeared from nowhere, and within its light stood the fully illuminated figure of Luna in resplendent fencer¡¯s attire. In her hands were a rapier and a dagger both forged from the finest moonlight. ¡°I am mystery.¡± Treskur spun again, this time to find a second version of Luna shrouded completely in a black so deep that it blended into the surrounding darkness. In this Luna¡¯s hand was a long, barbed whip of shadow. ¡°I am madness.¡± A third Luna appeared. Her left half was completely lit while her right was dark as night, and she wielded a silver longsword and onyx shield. ¡°I am euphoria.¡± ¡°I am the haze.¡± ¡°I am ineffable.¡± ¡°I am the unknown.¡± ¡°I am forever.¡± One by one, they appeared, eight versions of Luna, each dressed, armed, and lit to represent a different phase of the moon. As one, they spoke. ¡°¡°¡°Time to dance.¡±¡±¡± They attacked in unison. Surrounded and outnumbered, Treskur could only defend the worst of the blows. She batted away a rapier aimed at her heart, but an arrow found her shoulder as a barbed whip ripped away the flesh of her back. She deflected a broadsword slash that would have cleaved her brain in two, only to allow a spear to pierce her hamstring as a bullet destroyed her knee. She attempted to block a halberd¡¯s downward strike aimed at the crook of her neck, but a trident stabbed her spear arm, and the halberd struck true. ¡°AAAAAUGH!¡± The halberd rent halfway through Treskur¡¯s chest, cutting from where her shoulder met her neck to the base of her breastbone. The halberd wrenched itself free of her, and she began to drown in her own blood. She smelled naught but iron as a red, bubbling froth sprayed from her newest wound. She found herself on her hands and knees, but through all the pain, Treskur had never let go of her spear. She began to stand, but a bright white boot stomped on her spear hand, pinning it to the blood-stained blackness of the ground. She tried to scream, but all she managed was a pathetic wheeze. ¡°Oh shut up, won¡¯t you?¡± A different Luna yanked on Treskur¡¯s hair, forcing her to look up at the fully-illuminated Luna whose boot kept her hand on the ground. ¡°None¡­ None of this is real¡­¡± Treskur managed to say, voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Who¡¯s to say what is real and what isn¡¯t?¡± the full-moon Luna asked, casually twirling her moonlight dagger through her fingers. ¡°Oh right. I am.¡± From nowhere, a stab wound appeared right through Treskur¡¯s heart, and she let loose another breathless wail. ¡°This¡­ This isn¡¯t real¡­¡± ¡°I hereby declare that there exists no sound more grating than the sound of your voice. Let it be silent.¡± SPLATCH! Treskur¡¯s neck was torn open by nothing, and she couldn¡¯t make a sound. ¡°No matter what you do, I¡¯ll always be a goddess. Once I¡¯m done with you, I¡¯ll find a way to take back that power which is rightfully mine. I¡¯m going to win, Treskur, and I¡¯m always going to win, because that¡¯s just who I am.¡± BLURSCSH! Treskur¡¯s right eye exploded, but again, she didn¡¯t make a sound. ¡°Enjoy dying, you filthy mortal.¡± The full-moon Luna stabbed with her dagger toward Treskur¡¯s lone remaining eye. At the last possible moment, Treskur found her voice. ¡°BREAK!¡± SQUELCH! Despite Treskur¡¯s concerted effort of will to break free of the spell, she couldn¡¯t manage it, and Luna stabbed her right in the¡­ arm? And her spear arm at that? Wasn¡¯t that arm supposed to be pinned beneath the full-moon Luna¡¯s boot? Despite her torn hamstring and destroyed knee, Treskur rose to her feet, all the while locking Luna¡¯s dagger in place by flexing her forearm. All her injuries remained and she was still trapped within the dark illusion beneath reality, but she was no longer surrounded by eight versions of Luna. Only one stood before her, a single Luna who bled tears of silver blood, her dagger buried within Treskur¡¯s raised arm. ¡°Impossible,¡± said Luna in her thousand echoing voices, and upon the moonstone sorcerer¡¯s breath, Treskur spied the faintest wisps of condensation. ¡°We¡¯re still within the core chamber,¡± Treskur realized. ¡°[DREAM]!¡± Luna commanded, and there were once again eight Lunas surrounding Treskur, and the air¡¯s chill disappeared. ¡°I REFUSE!¡± The air shook, and the illusionary world stilled for only the briefest of moments, but that was all the time Treskur needed. With the last dregs of her strength, she took a single step, shifted her hips, and launched her spear forward with such force that the air BOOMED! She threw her weapon not at any particular version of Luna, but at a nondescript patch of empty space. ¡°¡°¡°No!¡±¡±¡± the Lunas screamed. ¡°¡°¡°Don¡¯t¡ª!¡±¡±¡± CRACK! Treskur¡¯s spear of ice embedded itself into¡­ something within the void, and from that ostensibly arbitrary point in space, a crack appeared. Slowly, slowly¡­ ever so slowly¡­ the crack spread. First by a hairsbreadth, and then another, and then a handsbreadth, and then another, and then a yard, and then another. Slowly, slowly¡­ ever so slowly¡­ it Crack-Crack-Cracked! along its way, radiating out until the entirety of the void was fractured into a million pieces. For a moment, it seemed like it would all hold together. Then the moment ended, and the dark world shattered. The dream broke apart into a billion motes of glittering dust, and then disappeared altogether. Treskur was once more standing within the central chamber of her icy labyrinth, grievously wounded, but alive. Her spear was planted firmly into the room¡¯s central pillar, pierced straight through the still heart of the labyrinth¡¯s snowflake core. Treskur vaguely sensed the six other remaining fallen deities brute force their way out of the labyrinth now that its divinity was gone, but she didn¡¯t pay them too much mind. She kept her attention on the pathetic creature lying helpless on the floor before her. ¡°[E-Eldritch Anch¡ª]!¡± An Ice Guard slammed the butt of its spear into Luna¡¯s head, breaking her concentration and fizzling the spell. ¡°Don¡¯t try it. As you are, we both know it would kill you,¡± Treskur rasped, not that far from death herself. ¡°And you want¡ª¡° Luna¡¯s words were cut short by a hacking cough. After some time had passed, she caught her breath and continued, but with a definite weakness in her voice. ¡°You¡­ You want the satisfaction of doing it yourself, don¡¯t you?¡± Before she answered, Treskur took the time to freeze shut the worst of her own injuries in hopes that her flesh would mend itself back together correctly. As for her eye, there wasn¡¯t a healer in all the North who could regenerate such a complicated organ for someone as powerful as Treskur. She simply filled her hollow eye-socket with ice, for that was all she could do for now. Overall, Treskur would likely remained scarred from this battle for the remainder of her life, but she would live. Luna, on the other hand¡­ ¡°In all honesty, it seems Time will finish the job for me,¡± Treskur observed. Luna was a husk of her previous self. It were as if she¡¯d been burned alive from the inside-out ¡ª which might have been exactly what happened. The moonstone sorcerer turned her soot-blackened eyes up at Treskur, a cragged crater where her heart had once been. ¡°I¡¯ve already t-told you, Treskur. I¡¯m-m a goddess, and there¡¯s n-nothing you can do t-to change that.¡± ¡°I could kill you.¡± Luna chortled, briefly revealing a row of broken stone teeth. Treskur could tell the reaction was supposed to be perceived as confident, but the effect was lost due to the sorceress¡¯ poorly concealed shivering. ¡°You¡¯re no longer a goddess,¡± Treskur went on. ¡°You¡¯re not even immortal. You¡¯re S-Tier, Luna. Your flesh and your soul are one and the same. When you die, you¡¯re dead forever.¡± ¡°THEN FUCKING D-DO IT ALREADY!¡± she screamed. After her explosion, she took in a deep, shuddering breath, then deflated. She released all the tension in her muscles and sagged onto the floor completely, the fight in her all but gone. ¡°Just f-fucking do it already,¡± she repeated through trembling lips. Treskur smiled bitterly. ¡°Do you remember what I asked you before we started this fight?¡± When Luna didn¡¯t answer, she kept talking. ¡°I asked if you¡¯d ever heard the story of my ascension. You probably have, but I doubt you bothered to remember.¡± ¡°I know the tale,¡± Luna muttered, her eyes looking elsewhere. ¡°Of c-course I remember. Don¡¯t insult my intelligence.¡± ¡°Then you know that I once slew an invader, and with their soul, I forged my deific name, the name of Treskur, Goddess of the Frigid North.¡± ¡°And t-that¡¯s what you¡¯ll do to me? Ha! You can¡¯t ascend. N-no one can.¡± ¡°My point exactly, but please, do not call me by that name any longer. ¡®Treskur¡¯ is a name fit for a goddess after all, and I¡­ I am a goddess no more.¡± She turned to her closest Ice Guard. With her middle finger, she wicked from its shoulder a dusting of ice. She then bent down and smeared the ice dust onto Luna¡¯s shin. The moonstone sorcerer recoiled at the touch, but was powerless to avoid it. ¡°W-What are you doing?¡± she asked. ¡°I don¡¯t want you dead, Luna. I want you to die. I want you to remain dying for the rest of eternity. I want you to taste what it means to be mortal forever, and from that everlasting death, I¡¯ll forge myself a new name, a name fit for a mortal.¡±
Luna felt the shards of biting chill spread up her leg, slowly immobilizing her while draining what meager vitality she had left, just as she¡¯d seen them do to Brelumn. Despite both the supernatural cold and the pain of her injuries, however, she kept up a face of defiance. ¡°You¡¯re a madwoman,¡± she spat through clenched teeth, but the barbarian looming over her didn¡¯t seem to mind the insult. ¡°From you, I¡¯ll take that as a compliment.¡± ¡°What does forging a mortal name even mean? Just k-kill me and be done with this whole mess.¡± Again, Luna¡¯s body betrayed her, a shiver stuttering her words. ¡°You¡¯ve asked me to kill you a few times now. Have you changed you¡¯re mind about still being a goddess?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be the first to admit I¡¯m bad at losing. Never had any practice. I won¡¯t give you the s-satisfaction of hearing me beg.¡± ¡°Proud as ever, I see. A fallen goddess, stubbornly clinging to her past glory. The perfect soul from which I¡¯ll forge my name.¡± The barbarian broke off a chunk of the ice that¡¯d been growing up Luna¡¯s thigh. She held the chunk high over Luna¡¯s chest and pulverized it with a single squeeze, sending a shower of the creeping icy dust all over Luna¡¯s destroyed body. ¡°When I became a god, I took a life,¡± the barbarian said. ¡°As a mortal, I shall steal a death.¡± Luna tried to respond, but all she could manage was a strained, wheezing cough as the cold invaded the hole in her chest. She could do nothing but listen as the barbarian prattled on about pseudo-poetic bullshit. ¡°I shall be a mortal of the lost, for in this labyrinth I was reborn¡­ A mortal of ice, for the ice that I wield... A mortal of the blind, for half-blind I am¡­ A mortal of death, for it is the fate of all mortals to die¡­¡± Luna¡¯s body from the neck down was now entirely covered in the creeping ice, but she managed to once again finding the strength to speak. ¡°I am going to kill you, Treskur. I swear it.¡± The words themselves were firm, but the way her voice sounded when she said them¡­ Fragile, unsteady, unbecoming, ungodly¡­ Luna¡¯s words were naught but the empty words of the mortal she had become. ¡°Again, you are wrong,¡± the barbarian said. ¡°You cannot kill Treskur, for Treskur is already dead. That name died the moment I descended, or perhaps even earlier than that. ¡°No, do not swear your vengeance against Treskur¡­¡± The barbarian took a pregnant pause. The ice had now spread to cover Luna up to her cheeks, her mind slowing as the chill threatened to snuff her out entirely. ¡°Swear your vengeance against Hjel.¡± Her christening complete, the barbarian gazed deeply into Luna¡¯s eyes, and then sighed. She made some sign with her hands, and the creatures of ice left Luna¡¯s peripheral vision. Where they went, Luna could not know, for the creeping ice had now spread to her eyes, and she could no longer shift her gaze. The mortal who had once been Treskur began to walk out of the chamber. Right before she disappeared from Luna¡¯s sight, she turned and gave the moonstone sorcerer one last glance. ¡°Until we meet again, my one-time friend,¡± she said. Then with but a few more steps, Hjel was gone. One-time friend? Luna mused blearily. What is she¡­ talking¡­ about¡­ Luna¡¯s mind continued to slow, but her perception remained clear. She could feel the biting chill eating at her flesh, the pulsing agony of every one of her grievous wounds, the shame squirming within her destroyed heart¡­ but with each passing moment, she became less and less able to understand what those sensations meant. There was pain, but there was no reason. She suffered, but she knew not why. Who¡­ am I? mused the frozen woman, at the very edge of losing herself entirely. Right before the woman¡¯s mind went still forever¡­ Just as she was on the verge of eternal condemnation to a meaningless eternity at the precipice of death¡­ A memory came to her, but she knew not what it meant. It was¡­ a face? Of another person? Someone she knew? Someone who always brought her¡­ warmth? Not that the woman could remember what ¡®warmth¡¯ even was¡­ Slowly, slowly¡­ ever so slowly¡­ the last vestiges of Luna¡¯s thinking mind were made inanimate, and all that was left was her capacity to suffer. Her last thought was but three words, and she didn¡¯t even know what they meant. Brother¡­ I¡¯m cold.
Hjel spared one last glance at the pitiful frozen frozen form of the moonstone sorcerer. ¡°Until we meet again, my one-time friend.¡± She left, hobbling past a few of the remaining Ice Guard as she made her way to one of the labyrinth¡¯s newly created exits. Because divinity no longer flowed within the walls, Hjel could no longer sense exactly how many of them were left alive to guard the halls, but their number would have to suffice. As she slowly made her way out, Hjel considered the odds of Luna eventually being set free. So long as the rites of a criminal¡¯s honor were remembered among her people, more Ice Guard would always be made. One or two might make their way here every other decade as they wandered throughout the wilds, so it was unlikely this place would ever be completely undefended. That coupled with the fact that few errant adventurers ever braved the elements to venture this far north, it could be hundreds or even thousands of years before Hjel had to worry about someone freeing Luna, and even then, there was every possibility the sorceress died immediately upon being unfrozen due to the severity of her wounds. All in all, Hjel could expect at least a few hundred years before she had to worry about this particular threat to her life. When she¡¯d been a goddess, a few hundred years could pass in the blink of an eye, and so an existential danger that could manifest within that time would need to be dealt with immediately. This older, more ¡®deific¡¯ instinct screamed at Hjel that she needed kill Luna at once¡­ but that just wouldn¡¯t be right. For a mortal, a few hundred years of living was more than most ever received. If Hjel had that much time left to live a full, meaningful life, who was she to complain? She¡¯d chosen to become mortal, and to be mortal meant to die. When her appointed time inevitably came, she would depart with grace. She would not claw cloyingly to those last dim rays of dusk, but venture bravely into the long, dark night, for when else could one see the stars? Lost in thought, Hjel found herself emerging from the labyrinth through a hole blasted out of its side. She took in a deep breath and looked up to the night sky that shone with a million bands of brilliant starlight. How many opportunities did she have left to gaze upon such a wondrous sky? She did not wish to die, but simply accepted the fact that she would, and somehow, even through her inferior mortal senses, the world seemed more vibrant than it ever had before. ¡°One-time friend, huh?¡± she mused aloud. Why had she said those words? Had she and Luna ever been friends? She took in another deep breath of cold, salty air, and pondered the question, trying to recall if there¡¯d ever been a time she and Luna had been anything other than diametrically opposed. The answer came easily ¡ª so easily, in fact, that Hjel wondered why she hadn¡¯t remembered it sooner. Six millennia ago, the decade they¡¯d decided to murder Aolyn. Hjel dusted off the memories like a shelf of long-neglected keepsakes, and she reminisced. They¡¯d hated each other even back then, but something about the shared work of uniting the other gods for an ambush ¡ª the stolen moments spent conspiring, the mutual respect of intellect, the commiseration over every other god¡¯s lacking initiative ¡ª had transformed the rivals first into comrades, and then into something almost like friends. Friends¡­ Being friends with Luna¡­ How had she forgotten so easily? No, it wasn¡¯t as if she¡¯d forgotten. It was more like the memories had simply been lost in the background ¡ª there, but unacknowledged. Her life had thus far stretched on for nearly twenty thousand years, so it wasn¡¯t that strange that a mere decade¡¯s worth of memories had been left by the wayside. But still, she¡¯d had superior mental faculties as a goddess, so why was she only remembering now that she was a mortal? It made no sense. ¡°A mystery of millennia, and only centuries left to solve it,¡± Hjel mused. She let out a sigh, unsure if she¡¯d ever find an answer to that question within her now-finite lifespan. Then she remembered her borrowed visions of another world, a world bereft of both magic and corporeal gods, where mere mortals had uncovered secrets smaller than atoms and greater than galaxies. She also remembered that Terra was now inexorably set on a path to recreate and even exceed that world¡¯s technology. Hjel smiled. Ignoring the pain of her thousand different injuries, she picked a random point on the horizon, and began walking. ¡°Let us see what the future holds.¡± Chapter 18. An Unbiased, Factual, and Unexaggerated Account of Historical Events
The first obstacle of the campaign presented itself when the army arrived at Gregory¡¯s Pass. The keep there was a testament to the ingenuity of ages past, an impregnable bastion that had never before fallen to foreign assault! Such was the profundity of the ancient construction that even after millennia of service, it continued to stand proudly, a stalwart sentinel of defense. Truly, if the CEO could overcome this invincible bulwark, it would be a feat worthy of a thousand songs!
¡°Damn. Are we in the right place?¡± ¡°We are, my [Liege].¡± ¡°And that¡¯s the keep at Gregory¡¯s Pass?¡± ¡°It is, my [Liege].¡± ¡°The unconquerable keep that¡¯s never once fallen?¡± ¡°The one and the same, my [Liege].¡± ¡°Wow. I mean, I read all of your reports, but damn. Seeing it in person is something else. I¡¯ve seen sturdier tents.¡± ¡°Our camp auxiliaries are indeed experts in the creation of temporary lodgings, my [Liege].¡± Melpomene took one last appraising look at the distant keep. Too small to even be considered a castle, the unnamed keep was nothing but a few small towers connected by crumbling walls. If it weren¡¯t for the fact none of her predecessors had ever had the opportunity to launch a counteroffensive, this place would have been destroyed long ago. Melpomene cracked her neck and began stretching her shoulders. ¡°Alright, Eurymedon. The [Solarian Courts] once claimed that this place could withstand the combined might of every Daemon on the continent. Let¡¯s see how they fare against us.¡±
The battle for the keep was a true showcase of the CEO¡¯s tactical acumen! Despite the enemy¡¯s fortified position, the CEO was able to secure victory without losing a single one of her soldiers!
¡°You¡¯re¡­ surrendering? But we haven¡¯t even started fighting!¡± complained Melpomene, feeling a sudden sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu. ¡°Yes, we are,¡± rasped the greying soldier, falling to his knees in supplication. ¡°Please! My men haven¡¯t eaten a proper meal in weeks! Steal our swords, shave our heads, and throw us in chains, but please! Please give us something to eat!¡± Behind their leader, the keep¡¯s entire garrison of a few hundred low-tier troops were similarly on their hands and knees, too far away from their crumbling walls to dream of fleeing. None of them were even armed, save for a few brooms and mops to which they¡¯d tied grimy white bedsheets. Melpomene frowned. It was good news she¡¯d won without her troops suffering a single injury, but she couldn¡¯t help but feel a little disappointed that there wouldn¡¯t be a fight. Apparently taking her frown as a bad sign, the garrison¡¯s leader fell completely prostrate. ¡°Please spare us!¡± he screamed, face in the dirt. A few of the men behind him passed out from a combination of exhaustion, hunger, and fear, and Melpomene smelled fresh piss. Her frown turned into a wince. She stole a quick glance behind herself, at the columns of nearly seventeen thousand Daemons fresh and ready for a fight, armor shining black in the light of the setting sun. The closest unit was the score of [Drake Berserkers], their magma-skinned draconic mounts drooling and staring at the humans like food. Can¡¯t blame them for being intimidated, I suppose. She let out a sigh. ¡°We won¡¯t kill you. Prisoners are more useful than corpses, after all. Eurymedon, please see to it that these soldiers are searched, chained, interrogated, and fed, but not necessarily in that order. Oh, and give them the whole ¡®join the dark side¡¯ talk. I hear Terpsichore was looking to add some [Apostate Phalanx] to her army.¡± ¡°At once, my [Liege]. They shall soon become enlightened of the fact that there is no greater good than being Evil?!¡± ¡°Thanks, old friend,¡± Melpomene said, putting a hand on one of Eurymedon¡¯s six shoulders. ¡°I can always count on you.¡± Eurymedon turned to address the new prisoners, and as they began going over the intake procedure, Melpomene went to survey the ruined keep. She¡¯d at first hoped it would prove sturdy enough to become a key logistics center for supply lines, but that clearly wasn¡¯t the case. The question to answer now wasn¡¯t if the keep needed repairs, nor even how many repairs it needed. The real question was whether or not this place was worth repairing in the first place. Melpomene walked up to the keep¡¯s sturdiest looking tower and offhandedly knocked on the stone with her knuckles. She only did it out of a sense of bored whimsy, not expecting the knock to provide any useful information ¡ª architectural stability could only be gauged with a full structural assessment, after all ¡ª but something in the knock¡¯s resulting sound gave her pause. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. She knocked again, this time in a slightly different spot, and pressed her ear up against the tower. Again, something just sounded off, and so she changed spots and knocked again. She kept knocking and listening, shifting her position between each knock in accordance with her intuition in order to track down the source of that wrong feeling. After a few minutes of this, she thought she found the source of her unease, and one of the engineer auxiliaries made their way over to her. ¡°Is everything alright, Autarch Melpomene?¡± asked the three-armed, three-eyed Daemon holding a clipboard. ¡°Yeah, I suppose. I just have a bad feeling about this particular stone¡­¡± Melpomene placed a hand on the tower and gave the offending stone an idle kick, and then the tower began leaning away from her. CRASH! The whole tower fell down. ¡°¡­¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°¡­Autarch Melpomene?¡± ¡°¡­Yes, Theo?¡± ¡°I take it we¡¯re tearing down and rebuilding the whole thing?¡± Melpomene opened her mouth to respond, but then the other towers all started leaning over as well. A moment later, they all collapsed in on themselves, and the walls fell soon after. Luckily, all the structures had collapsed away from where she and the engineer were standing. When the dust settled, Melpomene and Theo were completely unharmed. The Solarian Humans were screaming and freaking out even though none of them were within the affected area. The Daemons, on the other hand, knew that Melpomene was nearby, and so trusted that there was nothing to worry about. Theo hadn¡¯t even flinched. ¡°¡­¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°¡­Theo?¡± ¡°¡­Yes, Autarch Melpomene?¡± ¡°When you redesign this place, add a sewage system. They¡¯re good luck.¡±
And then the CEO destroyed the fortress in a single kick, and it was really really cool! ¡ªSelected excerpts from The Founder¡¯s Glory Vol. III: An Unbiased, Factual, and Unexaggerated Account of Historical Events during the Dusk War, written by Eurymedon, COO of [Despoiled Legions Incorporated]. First edition, published 296 PD by [Evil? Press].
The ¡°Founder¡¯s Glory¡± series is complete horseshit! This reviewer has never before had the displeasure of reading such drivel! I used to believe that every voice deserved to be heard, that every one had a story worth sharing. Reading this series of works has destroyed my naivet¨¦, and I now realize the cruel truth of the world: Some stories are hell-spawn. Some stories are thought-parasites that consume a reader¡¯s intelligence and rot the mind like a corpse in stagnant water. Some stories are so putrid, so maddening, so horrid that they expose the folly of having sentience and make one crave the ignorant bliss of being a rock. Truly, I say that given the choice between rereading this series and shitting spikes, I¡¯d reach for the closest box of nails and get to chomping. From a literary perspective, this series is nothing but thinly veiled propaganda, and it even fails at that! Instead of writing and printing this many-thousands-of-pages-long testament to idolatry, it would have been more effective to take that wasted paper and print flyers saying ¡°evil is cool.¡± It also would have required the same level of talent. From a historical perspective, Eurymedon¡¯s work is less valuable than a counterfeit wooden penny that¡¯s been eaten by a donkey, shat out, and then eaten again by a rabid mutt. This hypothetical penny would¡¯ve at least provided some amount of fiber for both the jackass and the cur, but this piece of ¡°literature¡± remains indigestible to even the simplest of dullards! Take for example an anecdote contained within Volume III of this accursed nine-part series. The anecdote in question takes place in 1 PD, during the Dusk War when the [Despoiled Legion] had just begun their invasion of the [Solarian Courts]. The author claims that near the beginning of this campaign, Melpomene was able to defeat a [Tier V] [Calamity Dragon] in single combat! The fuck? Eurymedon, if you¡¯re reading this (and I¡¯m beginning to doubt if you can even read, because no one with even the simplest grasp of language could write as poorly as you do) then I suggest you learn how to lie a little better. If you want people to believe what you say, say something that isn¡¯t LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE! ¡ªSelected excerpt from the online review ¡°Nine-Volumes of Cancer,¡± written by xX_RabidReadingRabbit_Xx on https://BadReads.?evil. Published 22/07/298.
Melpomene stood over the unmoving body of the unidentified dragon. Her armor was smoking, and the once-icy mountaintop she¡¯d been standing on was now about a dozen feet shorter, blackened, and had cratered in on itself, but she was undoubtedly alive and relatively uninjured. The dragon, on the other hand, was completely inert save for its breathing and the scattered arcs of electricity that danced across its blue and white scales. ¡°My [Liege]! Are you alright?¡± Eurymedon asked, flying in. ¡°No need to worry, Eurymedon. That trick Morgan taught me was more effective than I was expecting.¡± From the dragon¡¯s neck right below its jaw, Melpomene removed her golden flamberge, revealing that she had stabbed the creature through where one of its scales were reversed, pointing in the wrong direction and creating a gap in the dragon¡¯s otherwise impenetrable armor. ¡°And thanks again for trusting me enough to let me try this out on my own.¡± ¡°It was foolish of me to harbor even a modicum of doubt! I am once again awed by your expertise, my [Liege]. To think that the nigh-invincible dragons had such an easily exploitable weakness¡­¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s a bit more complicated than just stabbing it in the right spot. The reverse scale gives you a way in, but you have to feel around and hit a nerve within the neck so that the paralytic poison on your weapon can make it directly into their nervous system. Doesn¡¯t work any other way, apparently,¡± Melpomene said, pointing out a few other scrapes she¡¯d inflicted on the dragon during their brief battle. Eurymedon tilted their central column in confusion. ¡°You have a paralytic poison that works on dragons?¡± ¡°Yeah, and it only works on dragons. Doesn¡¯t even work on wyverns or drakes ¡ª I tried, with their permission of course. Oh, and sorry but Morgan asked me not to share the recipe, by the way. It¡¯s her original creation, and she wants to keep it a secret.¡± ¡°My [Liege], you will never need to apologize to me for anything! And besides, if anyone is worthy of keeping a secret, it is you! ¡°Now, have you decided what to do with your prize, my [Liege]? You could kill it and gain the [Dragonslayer] keyword, or you could have the troops kill it to nourish your soul, or perhaps you could even have an individual kill it in hopes they gain a class! And no matter who you decide shall end its life, its corpse will provide a horde of valuable reagents! You have created a truly wondrous boon!¡± Melpomene smiled at her friend¡¯s adulation, but didn¡¯t speak just yet. She turned to the dragon and took a long, considering look into the its eyes of pure white. She pondered a minute over the question of who should have the privilege of killing it¡­ but then she questioned if the creature even needed to be killed in the first place. She asked her friend a question. ¡°How hard do you think it would be to make it a mount?¡± Chapter 19. I own you
Why destroy your enemy when they can destroy themselves? ¡ªThe Tactics of Thanatos, Chapter 3, Question 4. Year of publication unknown.
Ewan Hart knew he would make the perfect duke. He had the cunning, the ruthlessness, the ambition... All he lacked was the blood. Despite his numerous achievements both martial and courtly, he¡¯d been trapped as a mere castellan for years. At minimum, anyone else would have been given a barony for all he¡¯d done, but since he was the bastard child of a second son, all he received was governance of a single castle. And you should be happy you get even that, the duke had said. Your very existence sullies the family name, the duke had said. You¡¯re nothing but an upstart fool, the duke had said. Be glad I suffer you to live. ¡°Who¡¯s the fool now, uncle?¡± Ewan demanded, pressing the tip of his blade against the kneeling man¡¯s neck. ¡°WHO¡¯S THE FOOL NOW?!?¡± ¡°Please, please Ewan. Don¡¯t do it,¡± his uncle begged, a rivulet of blood flowing down from where Ewan¡¯s blade pierced his flesh. ¡°You were always like a son to¡ª¡° ¡°LIAR!¡± ¡°It was the marquises and the barons!¡± the old man screamed. ¡°They recognized your talent and feared you! They demanded I suppress you, or else they¡¯d revolt! I had no choice! I swear it¡¯s true!¡± Ewan hesitated. Every muscle in his body was tense as a bow at full-draw. Sweat trickled down his forehead as the heat from the burning throne room assaulted him from every direction. His uncle¡¯s pitiful green eyes looked up at him, the color of those verdant irises the same as Ewan¡¯s own. Ewan swallowed. He couldn¡¯t do it. He took a step away and lowered his blade. He suddenly became aware of his heart pounding in his chest, the fire crackling in his ears, the acrid smoke burning his lungs and stinging his eyes. He looked around at the flames engulfing his family¡¯s ancestral home, and knew this was all his fault. ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry,¡± he blubbered, closing his eyes as a tear flowed down his cheek. ¡°I never should have listened to¡ª¡° CLANG! Ewan snapped to awareness and fell backward in shock, dropping his sword and landing on his ass. Above him stood his uncle the duke, a stiletto in hand, its blade an inch away from where Ewan¡¯s face had been but a moment earlier. All that held the blade in place was the gauntleted hand of a raven-armored figure who¡¯d appeared from nowhere. Ewan hadn¡¯t seen any of it happen, but it didn¡¯t take a genius to put it together. His uncle had tried to kill him, and a Daemon had saved his life. ¡°E-Ewan! This isn¡¯t what it looks like! I didn¡¯t¡ª¡° SMACK! The Daemon¡¯s fist smashed into his uncles face, knocking his uncle out cold. ¡°I¡¯m disappointed, little one,¡± the Daemon growled. ¡°A-Autarch Melpomene!¡± Ewan shouted, jumping to his feet. He picked up his blade, but kept it lowered at his side. ¡°I was doing just as you said! I-I swear!¡± ¡°Then why is this one still alive?¡± ¡°I-I, I was¡ª¡° ¡°Was I wrong about you?¡± ¡°No! I have what it takes to be the duke!¡± ¡°Then prove it. Earn you place.¡± The Daemon casually kicked Ewan¡¯s uncle a few feet into the air, the way one would kick up a ball. She caught him by the collar of his doublet and held him up like a toy. Ewan locked gazes with the Daemon through the slits of her helm, and her eyes were the blue-grey of a lifeless sea. With her free hand, she reached up and tapped his uncle¡¯s chest directly over the heart. ¡°Do it.¡± His uncle began to stir. Ewan grit his teeth. He was done with hesitation. His uncle had tried to kill him the first chance he had, and it would only be right for Ewan to do the same. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°Wha?¡± his uncle mumbled, rousing from stupor. ¡°What¡¯s going¡ªucgh!¡± His words were cut short by a sword through the heart. Ewan twisted his blade, and his uncle let out another breathless scream. Ewan removed his blade and the Daemon released her grip, allowing his uncle to fall to the ground in a heap. His silent screams slowly morphed into a bloody gurgle as he drowned in his own blood. He looked up at Ewan, his eyes full of shock and betrayal. ¡°Worry not, uncle,¡± Ewan spat. ¡°You leave the duchy in capable hands. I have found an ally who values me, one who won¡¯t throw me away as quickly as you did.¡± His uncle¡¯s shock turned to confusion. The man turned to the Daemon and saw her picking up the stiletto he¡¯d dropped. He reached for her, eyes locked on his stolen weapon. He tried to say something, but all that escaped his mouth was another splatter of blood. He shook once more, then stilled forever. ¡°You killed your own to take his place,¡± the Daemon observed matter-of-factly. She walked toward an exit as if to brush past him, heavy metal boots ringing against the stone floor with every step, but then she stopped at his side and placed a gauntlet on his arm. The metal of it was sharp and angular, and he felt some pain as it pressed into his skin, but he made not a sound. ¡°I own you,¡± she said, whispering into his ear. Her voice was soft and lilting, but the words sent a chill down his spine. ¡°Calm your breathing and leave this place. The smoke is bad for your lungs, and I don¡¯t like it when my things get broken.¡± The Daemon removed her hand and again began walking from the room, but Ewan didn¡¯t dare follow her with his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll keep in touch, Dux Heartless.¡± ¡°Autarch Melpomene, I¡ª!¡± Mustering his courage, Ewan whipped around, but the Daemon was already gone. Unsure what else to do, he slowed his breathing as the Daemon asked him to do, then began making his way to the door. Then he stopped. He turned around and walked back to the corpse of his uncle, the deceased Duke Reginald Hart. He knelt down, and took from his uncle¡¯s finger a signent ring. He knew it was unwise, but he took a moment to hold the ring against his chest and take in a deep breath. Again, the smoke in the air irritated his lungs and he felt the urge to cough, but he resisted. ¡°Dux Ewan Heartless¡­¡± he mused, tasting the Daemon¡¯s words on his lips. ¡°I suppose the name fits.¡± Without further delay, he rose and stole away into the night.
Once the new Dux Heartless left the room, Melpomene slunk out from the pile of flaming rubble she¡¯d been hiding behind. She removed her helmet and began casually strolling out using a different exit. ¡°Whew! Glad Eurymedon came up with that,¡± she muttered to herself, sheathing her stiletto back into its hidden sheathe. ¡°Pretty convenient that he closed his eyes. Would¡¯ve been annoying to find another puppet¡­¡± When Melpomene made it far enough from from the epicenter of the flames, she began hearing the worried cries of people trying to put out the fire. Changing her posture, she silenced her steps and skulked away, unheard and unseen. The late Duke Reginald Hart hadn¡¯t attempted to kill his illegitimate nephew. In reality, Melpomene had sensed Ewan¡¯s hesitation, and had taken the chance to frame Reginald for attempted murder in order to spur Ewan into action. ¡®When rapidity is desired in conquest, consume local power structures instead of destroying them whenever possible,¡¯ she quoted mentally. ¡®Create native figureheads loyal only to you, preferably ones already familiar to the public. Stain the successor¡¯s hands with the blood of the predecessor, but keep secret this truth. A knife at the throat holds greater leverage than a knife in the gut.¡¯ When she made it to the tree line, well out of sight from any possible onlookers from the burning palace, she straightened her posture and again began strolling casually in the general direction of her army¡¯s camp. She and they would officially arrive tomorrow, and she fully expected to be welcomed with open arms. She would of course have to assign a powerful [Liege] to ¡®advise¡¯ the new dux, but that could be arranged later. For now, she allowed her thoughts to wander. Conquering half of the [Solarian Courts] had been surprisingly easy. As the name implied, the faction¡¯s lands were split up and governed by a series of noble courts, each led by a duke or duchess. There was of course a single monarch who in theory ruled the entirety of the faction, but in practice, the duchies held more power than the crown would like to admit. Melpomene had spent the last year conquering and solidifying her hold over twelve of the faction¡¯s twenty-six duchies, and tomorrow would make it an even thirteen, exactly half. There¡¯d of course been hiccups and obstacles along the way, but nothing too difficult. There hadn¡¯t even been that many permanent deaths within her faction. Not that she was complaining, but it was almost disappointing how easily the invasion was proceeding. When she¡¯d first set out, she¡¯d expected more excitement than this. ¡°This will all be over soon¡­ and then what?¡± she wondered. ¡°Let¡¯s hope their [King] proves more of a challenge.¡± Winter was once again in the air, and the acquisition of new lands would be put on a temporary hold until at least the middle of spring. The next target would be Soleil, the heart of the [Solarian Courts] itself. Once that city fell, the remaining duchies wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. Until then, winter would be an important break ¡ª a time to breathe, to reformulate plans, and to solidify existing gains. Besides, invading the rest of the [Solarian Courts] during winter wouldn¡¯t be feasible. Geographically, the [Solarian Courts] were originally bordered to the west by the [Despoiled Legion], to the north by a number of smaller factions including the [Wicked Coven] to the northeast, and to the south by loosely-defined monstrous factions. To the east, they had access to the [Shining Sea]. Right down the faction¡¯s middle stretched the the [Titan¡¯s Fingers], a gargantuan mountain range that were treacherous at the best of times, and impassable at the worst. Up until now, Melpomene¡¯s conquests had been exclusively in the west, and tomorrow¡¯s conquest of Hart Duchy ¡ª soon to be Heartless Duchy ¡ª would mark the complete occupation of all Solarian lands this side of the [Titan¡¯s Fingers]. Once that was done, she would need to wait for warmer weather before continuing. ¡°Maybe I can take the time to train that dragon?¡± she wondered aloud, but she quickly dismissed the thought. Melpomene always craved a challenge, but taming the [Calamity Dragon] she¡¯d captured was plain impossible. She had auxiliaries specialized in bestial recruitment currently dealing with the creature, but they were no closer to reasoning with it than the day they¡¯d began. It had already eaten six of them. Who could have guessed that dealing with an apex predator famed for its greed and arrogance would be so difficult? ¡°I could always kill it, but that seems like such a waste.¡± Melpomene shrugged, her army¡¯s hidden camp coming into view. As she nodded to the sentries and began walking toward Eurymedon¡¯s tent, a new thought popped into her head. She looked to the northeast, scratching her chin. ¡°Would a dragon make a good present?¡± Chapter 20. Surrender or Die?
¡°Do not Fear the [Hollow King]¡± Author Unknown. Exact wording varies by region. Traditionally sung during meal preparation on the night of the winter solstice. {Verse 1} Chop the wood, Fan the flames, And keep the pot aright! See no face? Then speak no names! We¡¯ll make it through the night! {Refrain} Do not fear the [Hollow King]! Do not run away! Man has set the crown aflame, And Death demands his pay! ¡ªExcerpt from the Solarian nursery rhyme ¡°Do not fear the [Hollow King]¡± as it appears within Feris¡¯ Fables and Assorted Sing-Songs: An Anthology of the Darklight Continent¡¯s Folk Tales and Children¡¯s Rhymes, edited by Feris Fuller. Second edition, published 245 PD by [Reinholdt Press].
One and a half months later, the night of the winter solstice¡­ The Final Battle. The Night of Reckoning. Soleil, the capital city of the [Solarian Courts]. Every street and every square rang out with the sounds of battle. Clashing steel, rending flesh, cries of agony, screams for blood, the crackle of flames, the cacophony of war. Nowhere was safe. Flames painted the world red. In every alley hid an ambush, in every avenue a skirmish, in every plaza a senseless melee. Luckily, no bystanders were endangered by the conflict. Unluckily, this was because they were all already dead. Four forces made up the entirety of the battle, and the largest force by far were the reanimated corpses of Soleil¡¯s common citizens. Tens of thousands of them rushed through the streets like a tide of ravenous beasts. They had no objective other than to kill the enemies of their reanimator, and just like the one they served, they knew nothing but hunger. The second force was the standing army of Soleil. United beneath the banner of their [Hollow King], they technically fought beside the undead, but it would be more accurate to say that the army made use of their mindless allies. Wherever and whenever it suited them, the army sacrificed droves of Soleil¡¯s undead citizens ¡ª the very same citizens the army had once sworn to protect. [Solar Guards], [Sunlit Archers], [Squires of Dawn],[Solar Knights], and [Luminous Titans] alike all stayed back as hordes of the peasants-turned-fodder threw themselves against the city¡¯s invaders, only intervening once their foes were exhausted and posed little threat. Said foes were the other two forces involved in the battle. From one perspective, they were the city¡¯s invaders. From another, they were the liberators. The first and more eye-catching of the two remaining forces were the [Aurorae Sylvas], more commonly known by the local Solarians simply as ¡¯The Fae¡¯ for the same reason that the Aurorans referred to the [Solarian Courts] as ¡®The Humans.¡¯ Every Auroran warrior was at least seven feet tall, wild, and wiry, and their skin varied as widely in color as the auroras for which they were named. They bore no weapons nor armor of metal, but their rammoth leather armor and ironwood bows and staves proved to be more than adequately effective in battle. They were organized into smaller groups than any other force, and though they avoided fighting in the more open areas, they moved like ghosts and struck like lightning throughout Soleil¡¯s dense alleys and byways. The only exception to this rule were the Auroran¡¯s [Rammoth Riders], a score of whom had used their enormous mounts to pulverize a large section of the city¡¯s walls, and even now they charged through the city¡¯s squares and boulevards with abandon, trampling the defenders¡¯ undead chaff by the hundreds. The Auroran¡¯s main weaknesses were their lacking numbers and their general incompatibility with large pitched battles, but these deficiencies were at least somewhat covered for by their allies, the battle¡¯s fourth and final force: The [Nameless Revolt]. Similar to the defending forces, the [Nameless Revolt] was entirely composed of Solarians, but rather than consisting of undead hordes or elite nobility, it consisted of little more than common peasants and country bumpkins wielding spears and shields or hunting bows. The only notable regiment in the entire army were a few units of [Tier III] [Nameless Vanguards]. These warriors had thrown away their names so that they might better resist the [Hollow King]¡¯s foul onomancy, and though their devotion gave them power, their fighting prowess was still only middling when compared to the elites of either their allies or their enemies. What set this final army apart was neither their training nor their numbers. No, what truly made the [Nameless Revolt] a force to be reckoned with was its leadership, for they were led by not one, but two [Tier V] classholders. ¡°[Final Respite]!¡± shouted a man, his eyes shining with the light of the Sun. From his outstretched arms flew a wave of golden light that spread hundreds of feet forward through the entire boulevard in front of him, blanketing thousands of hostile zombies with an aura of calm and peace. Since the zombies were simple minded creatures, the man¡¯s spell proved to be especially effective. In short order, the once ravenous horde became a docile herd of confused sheep. Taking advantage of the opening, a pair of [Rammoth Riders] charged past the man and ran down the street, flattening zombies with abandon without fear of getting mired in the ravening horde. Soon enough, the way forward became clear. The man who casted the spell was named Percival. A [Tier V] [Paragon of Charity] and a [Tier III] [Liege], he had spent the past year gathering forces to take down the monster that¡¯d been created in the aftermath of the [Divine Apocalypse], the [Hollow King] itself. He had with him a small escort of twelve [Nameless Vanguards] and a single greatsword wielding warrior who looked older than dirt yet more solid than a mountain, and together they ran down the street in the wake of their allies¡¯ gargantuan mounts. With every step, Percival felt the crunch and squelch of pulverized flesh parting beneath his boots. Coupled with the city¡¯s ubiquitous scent of death, the sensation was sickening, and only the adrenaline pumping through his veins allowed him to continue running without stopping to vomit. At the end of the street waited a small contingent of the city¡¯s standing army. They were made up of a single [Luminous Titan] and several dozen [Solar Guards] and [Sunlit Archers], all bracing themselves to meet the [Rammoth Riders]¡¯ charge. ¡°Stick to the plan! Stay closer!¡± screamed the greatsword wielding man running at Percival¡¯s side, but whether the [Rammoth Riders] intentionally disobeyed or simply hadn¡¯t heard the man¡¯s orders, they continued charging at full tilt. Before Percival and his entourage could get within range to help, the two [Rammoth Riders] made contact with the enemy Solarians. The first rammoth had its rider killed by an archer¡¯s lucky shot before it even reached the [Solar Guard]. Without a more intelligent mind to guide it, the creature charged straight into the throng of infantry, killing many, but in the process impaling itself upon their spears. The [Luminous Titan] received the other rammoth¡¯s charge head on, grabbing the creature by the horns. The golem¡¯s feet dug deep gouges into the cobble street as the charge pushed it back, but it managed to halt the beast¡¯s momentum while only receiving minimal damage in return. With its opponent grappled and off-balance, the [Luminous Titan] managed to wrestle the rammoth onto its side, throwing its rider from her saddle and into the awaiting mob of guardsmen ready to strike. A hidden squad of [Solar Knights] charged out from a nearby alley, and the rammoth ¡ª pinned onto its side with its weak underbelly exposed ¡ª could do nothing as the knights¡¯ lanced gored into its guts. The entire interaction between the [Rammoth Riders] and the city¡¯s army had only taken less than ten seconds, but that was all the time it took for Percival to lose two of his [Tier V] allied units. ¡°I told them not to charge too far ahead!¡± growled the man at Percival¡¯s side. ¡°Mop them up before they regroup! Swift arrow assault!¡± At the man¡¯s command, the entire group acted, Percival included. The man who¡¯d shouted the order took the lead as the [Nameless Vanguards] fanned out to either side of him to form an arrowhead formation, and just before the group reached the contingent of the city¡¯s army, Percival casted an overcharged [Hyperlight Burst] spell upon them, a buff that nearly doubled their speed for an extremely brief period of time. The spell¡¯s effect was often jarring to those who¡¯d never experienced it before, but the charging man and the [Nameless Vanguard] handled the sudden boon with an ease that could only come from months of training, and they were fully capable of leveraging Percival¡¯s magic to its fullest extent. The silver-maned man in the lead indeed looked more like a grandpa than a gladiator, but his age belied his strength, and he hefted his oversized greatsword with such grace that the blade might as well have been a needle-thin rapier. Streamers of golden light moving in his wake, he leapt over the gored rammoth¡¯s twitching corpse and faced the injured [Luminous Titan] on his own.In two swings, he relieved the twenty-foot tall golem of its knees, and with a single leap and three more great arching slashes, the construct¡¯s head and arms were similarly detached. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. He kicked off of the titan¡¯s back before it even fell, launching himself into the melee between the [Nameless Vanguards] and the enemy infantry. In but a few breaths of time, half a dozen more soldiers fell to his blade. As the man¡¯s sixth victim fell to the ground, bisected from shoulder to hip, the golden streamers of light trailing each of his and the vanguards¡¯ movements faded and disappeared, and they all slowed down to their normal speed. The spell had ended, but it had more than served its purpose. All the enemy infantrymen were either dead or running away, and the [Solar Knights] had already disappeared down another alley, likely to regroup and ambush them elsewhere. As for why Percival had so easily obeyed the ancient-looking titan killer¡¯s commands, it was because the man was none other than Gregory Kingsblood II, former [Champion of Sol] and current co-[Liege] of the [Nameless Revolt]. Having cleared the obstacle immediately in front of them, Percival¡¯s group ventured onward toward the center of the city. Now without their [Rammoth Rider] escorts, they had to stick to the smaller side streets to avoid being tied up in combat. This slowed their pace compared to when they could sprint down the city¡¯s main avenues, but thanks to Percival and Gregory¡¯s familiarity with Soleil¡¯s layout, the group still made good time. The two [Lieges]¡¯ troops and allies were working to disrupt the ritual nodes spread throughout the city, but it was up to Percival¡¯s small group to make their way toward the heart of the city and destroy the ritual at its core. Visible even from the alleyways, Percival could see it, the ever-looming tower that served as the focal point for the [Hollow King]¡¯s ritual, the Torr Royale. The tower stretched over a thousand feet into the air, dwarfing all other buildings in the city by a wide margin. Tens of thousands of cables and wires were attached to the building at irregular intervals, spreading outwards and downwards in every direction and shimmering with golden light as they funneled mana and divinity into the tower itself. What exactly the [Hollow King] was going to use all that power for, Percival had no way of knowing, and he didn¡¯t plan on finding out. Percival and his group continued running through alleys as they headed for their objective. They came across a few more groups of enemies as they went, but it wasn¡¯t anything they couldn¡¯t handle quickly. Oddly enough, the closer they made it to the Torr Royale, the less resistance they encountered, and those that they did encounter seemed to put up only token efforts to bar their way before breaking ranks to run away. ¡°This smells of a trap,¡± Gregory said as the group ducked down another alley, having just ran past a unit of [Sunlit Archers] who¡¯d only fired off a single volley of arrows before fleeing. ¡°It does, milord,¡± replied a woman, the leader of the [Nameless Vanguard], ¡°but what choice do we have? The others are buying us time with their lives, and we need to stop the ritual as quickly as we can.¡± ¡°I¡¯m well aware, but that doesn¡¯t mean I have to like it.¡± ¡°Do you all remember that stranger I talked about? The one I may or may not have hallucinated meeting in the mountains?¡± Percival asked, cutting in with a chipper tone. ¡°He said there¡¯s a difference between falling for a trap and walking into it knowingly. I forget exactly what the difference was, but so long as we stay strong and trust one another to have our backs, then I¡¯m certain we can win!¡± The group ran on in relative silence for a few seconds. ¡°Percival¡­¡± Gregory began. ¡°Please don¡¯t take my words too harshly, but I don¡¯t think pinning our hopes of victory to the half-remembered words of a man who might not even exist is the vote of confidence you think it is.¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not?¡± Percival replied, lightheartedly feigning surprise. ¡°Well, if you won¡¯t trust the words of a hallucination, then trust in me, the man who does!¡± Percival knew his words were silly, but they were purposefully so. He knew the men and women around him well, and what they needed from him now wasn¡¯t some heroic speech about the stakes of their mission. They already knew the stakes, and a reminder would do more harm than good. What they needed from Percival now wasn¡¯t more pressure, but less. If Percival made out their current situation to be something exceptional that required special effort, then his troops might subconsciously doubt the instincts they¡¯d worked so hard to form over the past year, believing that such instincts just weren¡¯t enough given the dire circumstances. If such doubt were allowed to fester, it could manifest as an instant of hesitation at some key moment, and an instant of hesitation was all it took to turn victory into defeat, or survival into death. No, what the troops needed wasn¡¯t pressure, but release. Percival and Gregory had done all they could to make training feel like battle, and now in it was time to make the battle feel like training. Thankfully, one of the [Nameless Vanguards] chuckled at Percival¡¯s bold declaration, and the monk-turned-revolutionary felt the tension in the air lessen greatly. Make no mistake, everyone was still rightfully on edge, but the relief in pressure did wonders to help them all think more clearly. As the group got within a few blocks of the Torr Royale, the enemy gave up all pretense of resistance. The members of the standing army they encountered stood aside to let them pass or ran away at the sight of them. As for the undead, there were no zombies this close to the city center. This might have been in part because the [Hollow King] viewed them as nothing more than fodder and would thus concentrate them toward the frontlines at the outskirts of the city, but Percival suspected that a greater reason was that the [Hollow King] simply didn¡¯t want the stench of commoners¡¯ corpses marring the spectacle of the grand tower. Percival¡¯s group slowed their pace as they turned one last corner and finally caught sight of Kingsblood Square, the plaza where stood the gargantuan Torr Royale. Standing only a few dozen feet away from one of the plaza, Percival immediately noticed three things. The first was the tower itself. Every square inch of the tower¡¯s surface was carved in relief to depict grandiose scenes from the [Solarian Courts]¡¯ history such as battles, coronations, and festivals. The building itself had no windows, but wherever a window would have been, there was instead an alcove, and in each alcove stood a statue of either a [Hero], a [Priest], or a horrible beast peering down at the square below. Every one of these myriad details popped in three-dimensions thanks to the contrasting lights of the cool blue full moon from above and the warm gold glows of magic pulsing through the cables anchored to the tower from below and all around. In addition to funneling magic to the tower, the cables also served as hanging points for decorations. Ostentatious ornaments were hung everywhere along their lengths. Cornucopias full of food, statuettes cast in gold and silver, rainbow-spectrum lights, strings of coins, and banners of silk and lace all dangled overhead, dazzling yet out of reach to all on the ground below. Richly adorned as it was, Percival had a passing thought that the tower and its surrounding cables resembled a giant version of a decorated winter solstice pine tree, but without any of the festive spirit. The tower and its decorations were nothing but a parody built of metal, stone, and avarice. The fires that were ever-present throughout the rest of the city had yet to reach the square, and even the distant sounds of battle were dampened to the point of disappearing entirely. So lavish, so bright, so calm were Kingsblood Square and the Torr Royale that Percival could almost forget that there was a war going on. Almost. The second thing that caught his attention were the forces arrayed against him. There were no civilians frolicking through the square as Percival had witnessed during prior winter solstices. Instead, there was a small army. With but a cursory glance, it became obvious to Percival the forces standing against him were too much for him and his small escort to deal with. A whole score of [Solar Knights], two [Luminous Titans], and more [Solar Guards] than he could count filled the square, and poised to strike from behind every window of the surrounding buildings was either a [Sunlit Archer] or a [Solar Cannon]. There was even a crimson-armored man mounted atop a griffin. In one hand he held a spiked mace, and in the other he held a lance, and at his hip was a whip. Percival had never seen the man before, but he knew him by reputation as Viktor, a [Tier IV] [Steward of Pain]. He came from some minor faction in the North, but had come to the [Solarian Courts] as a teenager and worked his way up to becoming the Chief Inquisitor and a [Vassal] of the former [King] Richard Kingsblood V. As for what had happened to that [King] in the aftermath of the [Divine Apocalypse]¡­ The third and final thing that caught Percival¡¯s attention was the foul creature at the center of it all, the faceless form of the [Hollow King]. More than a beast but less than a man, the [Hollow King] stood eight feet tall. It wore plain robes of pure white and a crown of dark wood, not because it placed any value in the virtue of austerity, but because its curse wouldn¡¯t allow it any greater adornments. Its skin was a ghastly sallow grey, no different from a corpse. Where its eyes, mouth, and nose should have been, there was only more skin, and the creature labored with every breath to force air through the epidermal membrane sealing its airways. When it spoke, it didn¡¯t do so by breathing out, but by wheezing air into its lungs. ¡°All your struggles are useless!¡± growled the [Hollow King] by way of greeting. ¡°Give up and give in, little Percival! Your effort serves only to prolong your men¡¯s pain. How cruel, how hypocritical of you to have others suffer for no reason other than to satisfy your own ambition. If your heart truly bleeds for your lessers, then you have but one choice! Surrender to me your name, and all can be well!¡± Percival tightened his grip on his own mace, but no other sign of anger spread across his features at the thinly veiled provocation. All his life, Percival had never before hated another living being, and even now, standing there before the inhuman monster that¡¯d caused so much needless death and destruction over the past year, all he could feel for the creature was pity. ¡°Well hello to you too, Mr. [Hollow King],¡± Percival said, affecting a blas¨¦ attitude. ¡°I offer you the same. Surrender, and I promise you mercy. A quick death, if you want it. A life spent righting your wrongs if you prefer to live. I make no guarantees, but given enough time, I might even be able to fix your curse. Think about it. You don¡¯t have to be a monster. You could become Richard again if we¡ª¡± ¡°DO NOT UTTER THAT NAME IN MY PRESENCE!¡± screeched the [Hollow King]. ¡°I already know what I want! I know what I need! I know what can make me whole once more, and it certainly isn¡¯t some peasant¡¯s mercy! Give to me your name and return to me the divinity you stole when the gods disappeared, or I shall take what is rightfully mine!¡± ¡°I never stole¡ª¡± ¡°LIES!¡± Percival frowned. ¡°I see now that words are getting the two of us nowhere.¡± He swept his gaze across the square once more. Few of the enemy dared to meet his gaze, and those who did more often than not quickly darted their eyes away in shame. They knew they were fighting for the wrong side, but considering the fact that their [Liege] could swipe their souls away at a moment¡¯s notice, Percival found it difficult to condemn their cowardice. Still, regardless of their motivations, an enemy was still an enemy. With well over a hundred enemies laid out before him, Percival knew he and his entourage would stand no chance in a direct fight to the death. At Percival¡¯s side stood Gregory, the man who was his co-[Liege], mentor, and dearest friend all at once. With both hands, the ancient warrior held [Redemption], his impractically large greatsword that somehow looked natural for the man to wield. One on one, he could match anything the [Hollow King] could throw at him, but outnumbered and having to constantly deal with the threat of ranged attacks, he would fall eventually. At Percival¡¯s back stood twelve [Nameless Vanguards]. Other than the fact they wore leather armor, they appeared no different from [Peasant Spearmen]. They were the [Unbreakable] elites of his army, but they were still only a single unit of [Tier III] infantry. Without buffs and against the odds they now faced, it would be a miracle if they could each down a single enemy before they succame to the odds. As for Percival himself, he could barely fight in the first place. He had a mace in one hand and was free to cast spells with the other, but it¡¯d been less than a month since he¡¯d been taught by a probable hallucination how to even wield a weapon. Even if he casted the [Tier V] spell [Divine Avatar] upon himself, he wouldn¡¯t stand a chance against the [Hollow King] in a duel. The [Hollow King] had once been [King] Richard Kingsblood V, retired [Tier IV] [Champion of Sol] and father to the late [Hero] Arthur Kingsblood III, and even if the monster¡¯s identity hadn¡¯t survived whatever metamorphosis it¡¯d gone through, Percival sensed that its martial prowess was anything but diminished. If anything, the [Hollow King] was a greater threat than Richard Kingsblood V could¡¯ve ever been. With little more than a name, it could wrest away an unwary soul. What other foul powers it held, Percival could only guess. Even now, it held itself in the eight-foot-tall shape of the slain Auroran Prince whose soul it had stolen, and it would likely be able display that legendary warrior¡¯s prowess in battle. ¡°Enough stalling, little Percival!¡± croaked the monster. ¡°This is your last chance! Surrender, or die!¡± At their [Hollow King]¡¯s declaration, every Solarian in the square readied their weapons. If any other person had over hundred weapons leveled at them, they¡¯d likely leave the encounter with some rather pungent undergarments ¡ª if they even left at all, that is. Percival, however, only gave a smile and an understanding nod. He turned back to give his entourage one last look, and from the steel in their eyes, he knew they were all ready. ¡°Surrender or die?¡± Percival mused aloud, turning once more to face the [Hollow King]. ¡°We hadn¡¯t planned on surviving in the first place.¡± [Arms of the Seraphic Host] [Multicast]: [Dying Breath] Then all Hells broke loose. Chapter 21.1 Death Weeks earlier¡­ Somewhere hundreds of miles away from Percival and the [Hollow King], a certain [Daemon Autarch] was standing alone at the snowy foot of a mountain. She narrowed her eyes at the monolith of stone, staring at it as if through sheer force of will her gaze might be able to pierce through miles of earth and grant her vision of what lay beyond. ¡°My [Liege], is that you?¡± The familiar voice came from above. Eurymedon, the many-limbed [Daemon of Eyes], flew down to stand beside their [Liege]. ¡°May I ask what you¡¯re doing here alone at this time of night? Is something bothering you? Something I can help with?¡± Melpomene turned and gave her most trusted advisor a smile. ¡°Hello, Eurymedon. No need to worry. I¡¯m just out here because¡­¡± She spun her hands, trying to come up with an excuse that wouldn¡¯t make her sound immature. She couldn¡¯t think of one, so she decided to change the subject. ¡°Well, it¡¯s a silly reason. One that neither of us should bother ourselves with, not when there¡¯s so much to do before spring! Come on, let¡¯s get back to camp.¡± Melpomene cast one last half-frustrated, half-forlorn look at the impassable mountain range behind her, and then she started off back to camp. A hand stopped her. ¡°My [Liege], if something is troubling you, it is important. Whatever is on your mind, I wish listen.¡± Eurymedon looked away shyly, but the effect was diminished by their radial symmetry that made it look like they just rotated in place. ¡°But I will, of course, understand if you don¡¯t wish to trust me with¡ª¡± ¡°I would trust you with anything, Eurymedon!¡± Melpomene interjected. ¡°I would trust you everything! It¡¯s just that... It¡¯s just¡­¡± Melpomene floundered, searching for the right words. ¡°It¡¯s just a little embarrassing, is all.¡± Eurymedon took some time to seriously consider Melpomene¡¯s worry before responding. ¡°My [Liege],¡± they said, ¡°I have been your most steadfast believer for decades. I believed in you from the very beginning, and I will believe in you until the very end. I always knew you had the potential to change Terra for the worse, and you¡¯ve already succeeded beyond all I could have ever dreamed. Please, my [Liege], believe me when I say that nothing you could ever say would make me think any less of you. To me, you shall always be the most dastardly, deceitful, and domineering [Villain] to ever walk the land, and nothing will ever change my mind.¡± ¡°¡­You mean it?¡± ¡°Of course, my [Liege].¡± ¡°Like, you really mean it?¡± ¡°Of course, my [Liege].¡± Melpomene pursed her lips. ¡°And you promise not to laugh?¡± Eurymedon smiled reassuringly, their myriad mouths all gleaming with rows of sharp predatory teeth in that horrible way that always put Melpomene at ease. ¡°Of course, my [Liege].¡± Melpomene let out a breath. Despite Eurymedon¡¯s repeated assurances, Melpomene had to steel her nerves before she spoke. The childishness of her concern was simply too embarrassing to speak aloud, but eventually, she mustered her courage and forced the words out her mouth. As dramatically as she could, she leveled an accusatory finger straight at the mountains, pointing through the [Titan¡¯s Fingers] to gesture at what lay beyond. She spoke, but her words came out more whiney than she would have liked. ¡°It feels like something really Evil? is going on over there, but no one invited me!¡± A moment of silence passed. And then another. And then another. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m glad that you felt comfortable enough to share that with me,¡± Eurymedon said with a suspiciously even tone. Melpomene narrowed her eyes. ¡°You promised you wouldn¡¯t laugh.¡± Every one of Eurymedon¡¯s many mouths were sealed shut, but their central column was vibrating uncontrollably. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not¡­ laughing,¡± they squeezed out between undulations. ¡°But you want to!¡± ¡°But¡­ I¡¯m not!¡± Eurymedon¡¯s silent shaking redoubled. A tear actually came to one of their eyes, but they wiped it away so quickly Melpomene almost missed the motion. ¡°Ugh! I never should have told you!¡± Out of frustration, Melpomene turned around and kicked a rock. It thunked off her metal boot and slammed into the side of the mountain with all the force of a bullet fired from one of her handcannons. The rock was pulverized by the impact, and it smashed a spiderwebbing crack half a dozen meters wide into the mountain¡¯s side. Melpomene wasn¡¯t looking at Eurymedon anymore, but she could feel the ground beneath her start to vibrate. Her lieutenant¡¯s stifled laughter must have grown to the point where they were literally shaking the ground! ¡°Uh, my [Liege]?¡± ¡°No, go ahead and laugh. It¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°No, my [Liege], that¡¯s not what¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, Eurymedon,¡± Melpomene interrupted. Her second-in-command¡¯s voice was surprisingly stable now, but from the shaking Melpomene could feel through her feet, she knew Eurymedon¡¯s silent laughter was growing by the moment. ¡°It¡¯s my fault, anyway. If I hadn¡¯t asked you not to laugh, you wouldn¡¯t have even wanted to laugh in the first place. Kinda funny how that works, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°My [Liege], I think you should¡ª¡± ¡°I know what you¡¯re going to say, and yes, you¡¯re right. In all honesty, now that I¡¯ve said it out loud, my worry doesn¡¯t seem like that big a deal. So what if someone is doing Evil? without me? That doesn¡¯t change the fact that¡ª¡± ¡°My [Liege], look up!¡± ¡°Huh?¡± The shaking had grown the point that even Melpomene¡¯s custom-fitted armor was starting to clatter. She looked up, and there was an avalanche headed straight for them. ¡°Shit!¡± Without wasting another second, Melpomene sprouted wings from her back and took to the air, Eurymedon not far behind. The two of them avoided the avalanche with room to spare, but the rushing wall of snow and stone passed them by at such speed that it still felt too close for comfort. It was like watching the white wrath of Terra herself sweep across the land with all the weight of the ocean. Melpomene and Eurymedon hovered in place and watched it all unfold, silent and utterly transfixed. The thunderous roar of the charging snow was so loud that Melpomene couldn¡¯t even hear her own thoughts. Wheresoever the tide passed, the land was simply undone. Not a tree remained standing, and not a boulder lay undisturbed. In a matter of minutes, an area the size of the Daemonic Capital was simply¡­ swept clean. Forever transformed by a stray thought of Nature. Gone. Luckily ¡ª or perhaps it would be more accurate to describe it as a result of procedure ¡ª Melpomene¡¯s army were encamped atop a hill far enough away and high enough up that they were unaffected by the avalanche, but the proximity of the disaster was still enough to give Melpomene pause. Such power, she thought. That¡¯ll be mine one day. Where the thought came from, Melpomene didn¡¯t know, and replaying the words in her head, it sounded absolutely ridiculous. She was already a [Tier V] classholder and [Liege]. She was at the apex of mortal power! How could she become stronger than she already was? Well, I suppose there is [Tier S] and godhood and all that, but is it even possible to become a god anymore? Do I even want to become one? Melpomene brushed the thoughts aside. She had more important things to do right now. Her camp looked unharmed, but it would still behoove her to go and check in on her troops personally. She was just about to fly down and do just that when Eurymedon stopped her. ¡°Wait, my [Liege]. The troops are unharmed, but I believe I see something. Is that¡­ an arch?¡± Eurymedon gestured toward the mountains, and Melpomene followed with her eyes. About five hundred meters up from where they¡¯d been standing earlier, there was indeed an oddly smooth shape carved into the uncovered side of the mountain. ¡°I¡¯m not sure, but I feel like we should investigate. Why don¡¯t you go check it out while I check in with the troops?¡± ¡°Hm¡­ I will do so if that¡¯s what you prefer, my [Liege], but might I suggest we reverse our roles? If you go personally to check in with the troops, it may signal to them that what just transpired was a near disaster. If instead I, your Lieutenant General, am the one who does so, it will communicate that you still care for their well being, but also that the avalanche was never a serious threat.¡± ¡°Ah, you¡¯re right, Eurymedon. The Tactics of Thanatos, chapter one, truth twelve, ¡®To the soldier, nothing is more frightening than their leader¡¯s uncertainty.¡¯ How could I forget?¡± Melpomene shook her head. It was a minor oversight, but not one she would usually make. ¡°You go to the troops, I¡¯ll go investigate the arch. Oh, and by the way, remind me to stop kicking random rocks. That¡¯s what, twice now this year that I¡¯ve kicked a stone and accidentally caused a major collapse?¡± Eurymedon chuckled. ¡°Twice indeed, my [Liege].¡± With that, the [Tier V] [Daemon of Eyes] flew back to camp while Melpomene flew toward the anomaly in the stone. As it turned out, the shape Eurymedon had spotted was only a portion of an arch. She had no idea how large the arch was since part of it was still buried in the snow, but the portion that was visible to her was already about as tall as she was. She began digging out the arch, using her wings to blow away the lighter snow and using her boot to carefully break apart the ice and stone debris underneath. She didn¡¯t know how long the excavation would take when she began, but forty minutes later, she was done. It was about as wide as twenty [Daemon Shield Legionnaires] standing side-by-side and half as tall in the center. More surprising, however, was the fact that beneath the arch there was a carved mural. The center of the carving depicted half a moon and half a sun spit right down the middle. The left half ¡ª the side with the moon ¡ª was sprinkled with stars arranged in familiar constellations, stylized piles of bones strewn around the edges. The right half, meanwhile, was covered in stylized sunbeams shining onto dozens of plants and animals that Melpomene knew Humans liked to eat. At the bottom of the mural, spanning the line between day and night, was a heraldic ribbon. Having seen quite a few ancient murals and coats of arms in her time, Melpomene expected the ribbon to be inscribed with some sort of motto, but instead, it was blank. ¡°Odd,¡± she muttered aloud. She spent more time carefully poring over every single detail of the arch and the carving, searching for any hint about the thing¡¯s purpose. ¡°How old are you? How were you preserved so well? Why are you here in the first place?¡± she muttered. As she went back to studying the ribbon, she noticed that it wasn¡¯t just blank, it was positively smooth. Polished even. The entire carving¡¯s lack of damage was already suspicious, but for something to be left in absolutely perfect condition was beyond strange. Out of curiosity, Melpomene removed her gauntlet so that she could feel the stone¡¯s texture with her own fingers. She gently brushed her index finger against the ribbon¡¯s surface, and then¡ª PWHOUKH! ¡ªshe got hit in the face by a bolt of lightning Melpomene was quite literally blown away. She was sent flying a dozen meters backwards, and if not for her wings, she would have suffered a half-kilometer fall down the mountainside. She righted herself mid-air and looked up. She searched for any sign of an attacker, but found none. There wasn¡¯t even a cloud in the sky. All she could see was the infinite expanse of night ¡ª bands of stars a million-millions strong shimmering among the cosmic dust. She looked back down. Her army¡¯s camp was on alert but undamaged by whatever just happened, so it seemed she was the only one who¡¯d been struck. Only after ensuring both that her surroundings were safe and that her troops were unharmed did Melpomene take stock of herself, and she was surprised to find that she was completely fine. ¡°My [Liege]! My [Liege]!¡± ¡°No need to be alarmed, Eurymedon. It seems like I¡¯m fine.¡± Melpomene called out to her approaching friend. She flexed the fingers of her unarmored hand, shrugged, and put back on her gauntlet. ¡°A tad pins-and-needles on my hand, but otherwise not even a scratch. Strange.¡± ¡°Where did the lightning come from?¡± Melpomene closed her eyes and replayed the moment she¡¯d been struck in slow-motion, trying to remember each detail as crisply as possible. She¡¯d initially assumed the lightning came from above, but now that she took the time to peruse her memory¡­ ¡°The mural attacked me? No, ¡®attacked¡¯ isn¡¯t the right word¡­¡± ¡°The mural?¡± ¡°Beneath the arch you spotted. I excavated it and found a mural carved there. I touched it to feel it¡¯s texture, and then pwhoukh! Lightning.¡± ¡°¡®Pwhoukh?¡¯¡± Eurymedon repeated, carefully enunciating every consonant. ¡°That¡¯s an odd onomatopoeia for lightning.¡± ¡°But it feels right.¡± Eurymedon shifted a few dozen of their eyes toward the arch in question, and together the two of them approached to investigate. ¡°Wait, those words weren¡¯t there before.¡± As they got closer, Melpomene gestured to the formerly blank ribbon at the bottom of the mural now filled with ancient-looking words Melpomene didn¡¯t recognize. ¡°Do you know what that says? The script is Old Daemonic, but the words are nonsense.¡± Eurymedon squinted their eyes. One of their arms started scratching their head. ¡°Perhaps you can try sounding it out phonetically? The script might be Old Daemonic, but the words themselves might be in another language. It was common enough in antedeum times for languages without writing systems to borrow neighboring scripts, after all.¡± ¡°Antedeum?¡± Melpomene asked, surprised. ¡°You think this carving is older than the gods?¡± ¡°No¡­ This style is too modern for that. At a glance, I¡¯d place this mural somewhere between five- and¡­ ten-thousand years old? Old Daemonic was ancient even back then, but people have been using pseudo-archaic pastiche to lend their works an air of timelessness since forever.¡± ¡°Huh. Hadn¡¯t thought of that. Now, let me see¡­¡± Following Eurymedon¡¯s advice, Melpomene tried mentally sounding out the words, and once she did, she couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. ¡°Ha! Old Solarian! The words are in Old Solarian! They didn¡¯t need to, but some bastard actually wrote down Old Solarian words using Old Daemonic script!¡± ¡°Truly?¡± Eurymedon asked through a giggle of their own. ¡°What does it say?¡± Melpomene slicked back her hair and puffed out her upper lip. ¡°Mors Vincit Omnia,¡± she mock-declared, affecting a grandiose and nasally accent. ¡°Death conquers all.¡± The two of them were just about to break into more laughter, but then the earth rumbled. All traces of humor left their faces as their training kicked in. They readied themselves for battle, but luckily, their preparation soon proved to be unnecessary. Right in front of them, as if in response to Melpomene¡¯s words, the mural split right down the middle. The half representing the night split away from the half representing the day, and they both swung outward to reveal a tunnel carved straight through the mountain. The arch wasn¡¯t just a border for a mural. It was a frame. And the mural wasn¡¯t just a piece of art. It was a gateway. Melpomene looked through the gateway and down the tunnel beyond. It was dark, but the light of the moon provided enough illumination for her Daemonic eyes to see for over a mile. The tunnel was perfectly straight and stretched so far into the mountain that she couldn¡¯t see the end of it. Melpomene felt hope and excitement stir within her heart. If this tunnel led all the way through to the other side of the [Titan¡¯s Fingers], she and her army would be able to launch an attack before spring ¡ª months earlier than anyone in the [Solarian Courts] would be expecting her. Melpomene and Eurymedon each turned to the other and smiled. They pumped all eight of their collective arms into the air and screamed with joy. ¡°¡±SECRET TUNNEL!¡±¡±
The Present. Soleil, Capital of the [Solarian Courts]. All Hells broke loose. As Percival cast his spells, every [Sunlit Archer] and [Solar Cannon] with a clear shot fired. A torrent of arrows and radiant cannonballs closed in on Percival¡¯s position from every angle. BOOM! Centuries-old masonry was annihilated in an instant. Buildings collapsed into sprays of debris, and the cobbled street was reduced to a smoking crater. When the smoke cleared, Percival was nowhere to be found. ¡°Up here!¡± Percival and his companions had scattered into the air, borne upon wings of magic. Six seraphic wings bloomed from each of their backs, and weightless plates of alabaster steel trimmed in gold covered their forms. No matter what angle they were viewed from, they were each outlined in the aurum glow of Percival¡¯s magic, giving them an odd two-dimensionality that them apart from the world. Most subtly but perhaps most striking of all, every member of Percival¡¯s entourage now had eyes veined with gold, and every one of their exhalations shimmered with specks of that same otherworldly radiance. ¡°WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!?!?!¡± screeched the [Hollow King]. High above, landing lightly upon a pulsating cable strewn with expensive-looking glass cherubs, Percival smiled. ¡°Only what I believe to be right.¡± He slammed his flanged mace down into the cable beneath his feet, bludgeoning the steel apart and severing it with a single blow. Divinity and mana burst into the air like a shower of sparks. Another salvo of projectiles passed through the area a moment later, but Percival had already flown away once more. Missing their target, the cannonballs exploded against other cables, weakening them or tearing them apart outright. ¡°IDIOTS!¡± screamed the [Hollow King], wheeling around to address its troops. Heavy ornaments fell from the destroyed cables and crushed a few soldiers who couldn¡¯t get out of the way in time, but the [Hollow King] seemed less concerned with its troops¡¯ lives than what they¡¯d inadvertently destroyed. ¡°Cannons, do not fire near the cables unless you¡¯re certain to kill a rebel. Archers, fire at will. The rest of you guard the entrance to the tower. Viktor, keep close and make sure that apostate [Champion] doesn¡¯t interrupt me.¡± Two spines of branching bone erupted from the [Hollow King]¡¯s back, bloody and raw. Tendons, muscles, and thin, membranous skin followed a moment later, squirming up to cover the osseous protrusions. Borne upon giant, sickly wings ripped straight from a night terror, the [Hollow King] launched itself into the air, and its griffin-riding [Steward of Pain] followed close behind. Overhead, Percival and his entourage were wreaking havoc. They still had no idea what the [Hollow King] was doing with all the power it was harvesting for its ritual, but it couldn¡¯t be anything good. They flew through the air, slingshotting themselves erratically from cable to cable to avoid predictable flight paths, slashing and bashing at the wires wherever they went. With every severed cable, the ritual became less stable. Out of the corner of his eye, Percival watched as Gregory cut through half a dozen cables with a single slash, and the [Solar Guards] below were forced to dive out the way as the metal statues and bundles of coins that¡¯d been attached to the cables rained down upon them. Such a feat of strength should have been challenging for even Gregory, but he seemed to manage it effortlessly. He slashed through cable after cable after cable, all the while ricocheting gracefully through the air to avoid every projectile sent his way. So too were Percival and every member of the [Nameless Vanguard] displaying power beyond their usual limits. They zipped through the air like the winds of a storm. They sliced through steel cables thicker than their arms as if the metal were wet paper. They were nigh invincible! ¡­And by dawn, they¡¯d all be dead forever. Percival happened to pass nearby Gregory as they both went about wreaking havoc, and in that brief glance of the other man¡¯s eyes, he saw evidence of the price paid for all their newfound power. Gregory¡¯s irises were now frayed at the edges, and the veins of gold once contained within were now spreading across the bridge of his nose. Percival knew his own face must look similar, but he tried not to let the thought distract him. [Dying Breath]. Unlike most other spells, it wasn¡¯t fueled by the caster¡¯s power but by the recipient¡¯s very own life. No one knew how the spell¡¯s mechanisms worked, but its effects were final. Come tomorrow, Percival, Gregory, and every member of the [Nameless Vanguard] would be statues of solid gold, and they would never breathe again. With each shimmering exhalation, Percival could he could feel the gold spiderwebbing down his cheeks, but it worried him not. He was to die, and though the time and place ¡ª here and soon ¡ª were beyond his control, it gave him solace to know that he was to die for a purpose of his own choosing. Severing his umpteenth cable and leaping out the way of a volley of arrows, Percival turned his head to notice the approach of the [Hollow King] and its lackey, the griffin-mounted [Steward of Pain]. He alighted onto a cable and readied himself to accept their advance. Even augmented by [Arms of the Seraphic Host] and [Dying Breath], he had no hope of holding his ground against the both of them at once, but then again, he didn¡¯t need to. ¡°Play the objective,¡± he whispered under his breath. So long as the enemy classholders were focused on him, his allies could destroy cables with impunity. In total, barely a hundred of the ten thousand cables had thus far been destroyed, but rituals were generally fickle things. All Percival and his forces needed to do was destroy as many cables as they could, and the ritual would become unsalvageable. ¡°RETURN WHAT YOU¡¯VE STOLEN!¡± shrieked the [Hollow King]. It flew at Percival from below, but en route it grasped onto a cable and flung itself in a different direction. It repeated this several times, flinging itself erratically from wire to wire until Percival, wrong-footed and dizzy, found himself defending against a plummeting strike from above. Claw met steel as Percival blocked with his mace, but the force of the blow made his knees buckle. The weight of the attack stretched the wire beneath his feet and threatened to pin him in place, but just as the [Hollow King] swiped with its other claw to gore into Percival¡¯s side, Percival slid his feet out from under himself and fell backwards, dodging the attack and allowing the taut wire to thwack straight into the [Hollow King]¡¯s torso with all the force of its own strike. During that brief exchange, Percival had lost track of the crimson-armored [Steward of Pain]. He swiveled his head in search of the other man, but his efforts proved too little too late as an unseen morningstar crashed through his neck. The blow shattered part of his armor and nearly decapitated him in a spray of torn flesh, but Percival managed to concentrate divinity into his feet and [Hyperlight Step] away. Already he had a hand against the gouge in his neck and was casting a spell to accelerate the healing, but his pursuers didn¡¯t let up. Between healing and fleeing, he could only choose to do one effectively, and was forced to choose the latter. He felt himself go lightheaded from blood loss within seconds, but he knew [Dying Breath] would keep him in the fight as long as he could avoid another devastating blow for the next few minutes. ¡°Coward! Hypocrite! Weakling!¡± cried the [Hollow King] as it and its [Vassal] gave chase. ¡°You call yourself a [Paragon of Charity]? You are naught but a thief doling out ill-gotten gains to satisfy his own vanity!¡± From over a hundred meters away, the [Hollow King] wrapped one of its claws around a cable, and before Percival¡¯s fuzzy mind could realize what it was doing, it moved. It latched onto the currents of power flowing through the wire and used them as a catapult to launch itself forward faster than a cannon shot. Percival tried to dodge, but the [Hollow King] predicted his movements perfectly and intercepted. It was on top of him in an instant, crashing into the former monk¡¯s chest claw-first with enough force to level a building. ¡°Kuh!¡± Percival felt claws rip through his chest. His ethereal armor shattered, his face got covered in his own viscera, and the air got knocked out of his lungs ¡ª assuming, of course, that his lungs were still there in the first place. The two of them slammed into the side of the Torr Royale, and Percival felt his head whip back and crack against the magically reinforced stone, a crater forming at his back as chunks of limestone and granite showered down onto the square below. Blood trickled down from his eyes and his mouth, and the back of his head felt wet. ¡°SURRENDER!¡± The [Hollow King] reared back for another strike, and Percival blacked out.
Percival is reliving a memory. The bottom of a hidden ravine, somewhere deep within the mountain range known as the [Titan¡¯s Fingers]. Above, a blizzard rages, but the ravine is a shelter from the storm. Naked, alone, and poisoned, Percival is a shattered mess of flesh and bone. He lays helpless on the cold stone floor of the ravine. He has taken a great fall, and he will soon perish. Everything has gone wrong, and though it is all the [Hollow King]¡¯s doing¡­ Percival can¡¯t help but feel that his own ineptitude is ultimately to blame. If only he had been more cunning, perhaps the [Hollow King] wouldn¡¯t have been able to burn away a majority of his army¡¯s rations in the dead of night and frame him for the murder of the Fae Prince. If only he had been more charismatic, perhaps the Fae would have allied with him against the [Hollow King] without needing him to prove his sincerity by going to them ¡®naked, alone, and with bloody tears of regret running down his face.¡¯ If only he had been more knowledgable, perhaps the blizzard wouldn¡¯t have caught him unawares, that many-faced monster wouldn¡¯t have bitten him, and he wouldn¡¯t have fallen down the ravine. If only, if only, if only! But in reality, Percival knows that he is neither cunning, nor charismatic, nor cunning. In reality, the [Hollow King] is winning, and it is all Percival¡¯s fault. Gregory and the [Nameless Revolt] will need to stop the [Hollow King] without him, because he¡¯ll be too busy being dead. Bleeding and broken at the bottom of a ravine, Percival can do nothing. Even his ability to heal ¡ª his only skill of value ¡ª now evades him. His hands can not move and the poison in his heart disturbs his divinity, and so he is left with no option but to die. A new monster, different from the first, approaches to finish him off and consume his flesh. It is a giant scorpion-like creature with six needle-point legs, four great pincers, and a barbed tail dripping with venom corrosive enough to make the stone earth sizzle. The monster rears back to end its prey. And then, like an unexpected breeze on a blistering day, a stranger intercedes. What happens next happens in an instant. The stranger alights onto the ground from somewhere high above. The sleeves of his simple night-black robes billow out from him like the wings of a raven, or perhaps an angel of death. He wields an ordinary farming scythe that looks older than time. He strikes. Percival¡¯s bloodshot eyes have no right to catch anything but a blur, but like the first bands of night breaking through the longest summer day, the stranger¡¯s strike demands to be seen, and so seen it becomes. It is as if the world slows in his wake, and Terra herself holds her breath to savor every ripple of his body flowing through her space. The stranger takes two twirling steps forward, spinning one full turn to gather momentum. His back foot plants firmly beneath him, anchoring him to the ground. His lead foot lands perfectly to align his him with his target. His hips snap taught, exploding with force. His core, solid as steel, is the perfect scaffold upon which his muscles do their work. The end of an immaculate chain, his arms and hands bring his weapon to bear. With a single reaping slash, the scythe moves, and the monster is cut down like a stalk of wheat. The stranger turns to Percival¡¯s broken form and smiles. His skin is bone-white. His eyes are solid orbs of blue-grey devoid of both iris and pupil. His hair is short, full, and argentine. His wrinkles speak of age, but his bearing speaks of youth. He is so beautiful that he cannot be real. He is so terrible that he must be. His smile falters, and a curious look forms on the stranger¡¯s face. ¡°You have healing magic. I can smell it. Why don¡¯t you use it? If you haven¡¯t noticed, you¡¯re dying.¡± Percival tries to respond, but he is missing a jaw. He can¡¯t move a muscle. He can barely blink. He still feels his poisoned divinity swimming around within his heart, but he knows that in his current state, he cannot move it to form a spell. ¡°Of course you can,¡± says the stranger, speaking as if he can read Percival¡¯s mind. ¡°Just don¡¯t use your hands.¡± Cast a spell¡­ without his hands? What the stranger asks for is impossible. ¡°It¡¯s entirely possible,¡± the stranger says, again responding to Percival¡¯s thoughts. ¡°Watch. First with hands¡­¡± The stranger casts a simple Spark cantrip using one hand, but he does so with deliberate slowness so that Percival can follow along. The fingers of his hand dance in intricate swirls as if plucking at the very strings of reality itself, and after a few moments of this pass, a spark of blue light flashes to life before quickly winking out. If Percival¡¯s lungs weren¡¯t already pulverized, the demonstration would¡¯ve taken his breath away. He knows from experience that spellcasting is highly dependent on rhythm, and beyond a certain point, casting a spell more slowly becomes exponentially more difficult. The stranger¡¯s demonstration was absolutely glacial, hinting to a level of mastery Percival can¡¯t begin comprehend. ¡°Now with less hands¡­¡± The stranger casts the cantrip again, but this time his hand waves lazily through the air. Unlike his previous casting, swirls of arcane mana escape from his fingers, and Percival is able to notice that the escaping mana moves in exactly the same patterns as the stranger¡¯s fingers once did, as if the magic was ¡®filling in the gaps.¡¯ Percival also belatedly realizes that the stranger¡¯s prior casting was the first time he¡¯d ever seen a spell cast without any sort of magical light leaking from the caster¡¯s hands. The stranger¡¯s second ¡®less hands¡¯ casting seems to require more mana, but it takes the same amount of time and results in a spark nearly identical to the first. ¡°And now,¡± the stranger says with more than a little flourish, ¡°no hands at all.¡± Both of his hands drop to his side, but true to his word, a spell begins to form. Its shape is carved directly upon the air in lines of pale blue light, and in a matter of a mere dozen seconds, the spell is completed. The true meaning of Spark is writ upon the world, and a spark of light is made real. ¡°To cast a spell is to imprint its shape upon the world with your hands, and to call forth its name with your voice,¡± the stranger explains. ¡°Most take it for granted that you can forgo a spell¡¯s name by expending some extra mana and force of will, so who¡¯s to say you can¡¯t do the same for the finger waggling?¡± The stranger nods his head encouragingly. ¡°Now you try.¡± A thousand doubts enter Percival¡¯s mind all at once, but he decides to push them all aside. Even if he is fated to die, there is no harm in trying. He tries swallowing to ready his resolve, but he can¡¯t. He tries to close his eyes in order to concentrate, but he can¡¯t do that either. He tries to trace the shape of an overcasted [Tier III] [Mend Wounds] spell ¡ª the simplest spell he thinks could save his life ¡ª but he fails without even drawing a single line of divinity upon the air. He tries again. This time he creates faint wisps of sickly gold-green, but again, he fails. He tries again. He creates a single line, but again he fails, and his poisoned divinity dissipates into the air. He tries again, but this time he gets absolutely no result. He tries again, and though his consciousness is fading faster than before, he deliberately goes slow in order to ensure that every line of his intent is perfect. He makes it nearly a fifth of the way through the spell¡¯s shape before again, he fails. He tries again, and fails once more. And once more beyond that. Barely hanging on, he forgets everything but the task at hand and tries again, and again he fails. He doesn¡¯t know how much time has passed, but he¡¯s amazed that he¡¯s still alive. He briefly wonders if everything since the stranger¡¯s appearance has been a hallucination. For another moment, he entertains the thought that he¡¯s already dead, but he quickly pushes that thought aside too. Percival imagines himself taking a deep breath. He only has one more shot to save his own life. He doesn¡¯t know how he knows, but he knows it to be true. It¡¯s now or never. Again, Percival tries to mend his shattered body. He brings every iota of his remaining focus to bear. He visualizes the shape of his spell perfectly. He sharpens his resolve into a pen capable of writing his will upon the world, and he knows what he must do. Lines of polluted gold-green light trace themselves through the air in the vague shape of a spell. The attempt begins better than most, but again Percival¡¯s doubts resurface. He¡¯s never before cast a spell perfectly, even while in perfect health. Golden light always bled from his hands. He¡¯s never been perfect before, so how arrogant must he be to assume he can become perfect now? He is weak. He is worthless. He has no idea what he¡¯s doing. The lines of his final attempt are fuzzy, crooked, and misshapen. They fade more quickly than they form, and within moments, the spell fizzles and fails. On instinct, Percival tries to refocus by taking a breath, but he cannot. His neck is torn to ribbons, and his lungs are paste. He cannot focus on the spell. He cannot see its shape. He cannot trace its lines. He is in pain. His mind is in shambles. His consciousness fades. He does not have the strength to survive, and so he will die¡­ ¡­ ¡­ ¡°You¡¯re a [Liege], aren¡¯t you? I can tell by the fact you¡¯re still alive.¡± The stranger¡¯s words yank Percival back from the brink. His still-open eyes refocus on the bone-white maybe-hallucination of a man that continues to speak. ¡°You have an army to lead. If you can¡¯t live for your own sake, live for theirs.¡± Impossibly, Percival feels a tear come to his eye. He wants to rage. He wants to despair. He wants to scream for all the world to hear, but he can¡¯t form a single word. ¡®Can¡¯t you see I¡¯m trying?¡¯ he wants to say. ¡®I just can¡¯t do it! I¡¯ve always been a failure, but no one seems to recognize that fact but me. I want to be the leader everyone thinks I am, but I¡¯m just¡­ not. I¡¯m not cut out for this! I¡¯m just¡­ I¡¯m just¡­¡® ¡°Just not strong enough?¡± the stranger asks aloud. Percival¡¯s eyes widen in surprise. ¡°No, I can¡¯t read your mind. I¡¯ve just lived long enough to recognize the face of self-pity when I see it ¡ª even if half that face happens to be missing.¡± The stranger smiles as if he¡¯s just said something clever, and despite the fact that Percival is on the verge of death ¡ª or perhaps because of it ¡ª he can¡¯t help but find the other man¡¯s terrible joke just a little bit funny. ¡°In all likelihood, your next attempt will be your last, so you need to make it count. I¡¯m going to give you a piece of advice, and you only have the time to hear it once, so I need you to listen. Ready?¡± Without waiting for a response, the stranger takes a breath, and he speaks. ¡°Ask not what you have the strength do. Ask what must be done, and find the strength to do it.¡± The stranger speaks the words in a practiced cadence, as if these are words he¡¯s said often. Whether he is quoting someone else or repeating an idea of his own, Percival cannot tell, but either way, the words resonate with something deep in Percival¡¯s bones. He thinks of Gregory. He thinks of the thousands of names and faces waiting for him to return with news of hope. He thinks of his myriad countrymen who¡¯ve already died beneath the rule of the monster he needs to stop. Suddenly, Percival knows what he must do. Time stands still. Time rushes by. Time loses all meaning. He weaves the lines of his spell through the air, threads of gold stained with streaks of putrid green. The spell has no right to succeed, but it does not waver for an instant. Imperfect, imprecise, ugly, oafish, half-baked and horrid, Percival completes his spell in spite of all its flaws. Percival¡¯s flesh becomes whole. There is still venom in his heart, but that is a problem for later. For the first time in who knew how long, Percival can breathe. He breathes deep¡­ and immediately passes out. He is weak, but he is alive. In retrospect, dying had never been an option.
Percival awoke to the pain of his right arm being blasted apart. GLERSCHK! ¡°AAAH!¡± I can scream, which means I can breathe, thought Percival, maintaining his internal composure despite the circumstances. That¡¯s good news. He must¡¯ve only been knocked out for an instant. The [Hollow King] was still in front of him, one of its clawed hand pinning Percival through the chest and into the Torr Royale. Its other hand slid away from where Percival¡¯s right arm had been, slithering over to rest gently atop his recently mended throat. ¡°Surrender, now,¡± the [Hollow King] commanded in a whisper. ¡°Give me your name, and I¡¯ll kill you quickly. Deny me, and I will immolate the soul of every Solarian on the continent.¡± The words were spoken in a voice so calm and matter-of-fact that it took Percival¡¯s bleary mind three-quarters of a second to realize that they were a threat. So it doesn¡¯t want to kill me until I give over my name. That¡¯s even better news. Suddenly, Gregory came flying in from the side to strike the [Hollow King] from behind. Suddenly-er, Viktor the [Steward of Pain] and his griffin mount dove in from above, skewering Gregory through his leg with a lance before he could intercede. Screeching like a peal of thunder, the griffin dug into the former [Champion of Sol] with its claws, wrapping him up in tackle and sending the trio all plummeting down toward Kingsblood Square hundreds of feet below. That¡¯s¡­ bad news. As his consciousness flickered, Percival tried to follow the falling tangle of armor, feathers, and blood with his eyes, but he couldn¡¯t. The [Hollow King] clamped its claws around Percival¡¯s chin and directed his gaze back toward its own faceless visage. ¡°Do not fear for them, little Percival. Fear me.¡±
¡°The Voxwraith,¡± declares the stranger. After waking, Percival described the creature that poisoned him, and the stranger apparently knows its name. ¡°The Voxwraith?¡± Percival asks. The two of them are walking eastward along the floor of the ravine. Snow, rubble, plant matter, and bits of fur, carapace, and blood are piled about everywhere due to the recent avalanches, but the debris is spread out evenly enough that traversal isn¡¯t too difficult. In fact, the walk is pleasant enough that Percival allows himself the occasional moment to appreciate the rugged plants growing along the walls of the ravine. He even once spotted a snow- and stone-colored rodent scurrying along a mossy crack in the wall. ¡°Exactly,¡± says the stranger. ¡°The Voxwraith is a rare creature that feeds off of spellcasters like yourself, so rare that I thought they¡¯d gone extinct. It envenoms its prey with a remarkably adaptive concoction that disrupts the victim¡¯s mind and magic via the creation of incompatible magical aspects within the host¡¯s heart and brain. Once the victim succumbs to the venom, their body dissolves, and the Voxwraith gains both a new face and a new voice to add to its menagerie.¡± Upon hearing the stranger¡¯s explanation, Percival realizes that his mind is still foggy, as if he¡¯s walking through a dream. When he looks inward and feels his heart, he finds that his divinity is just as tainted as it was before. He tries casting a [Tier II] [Remove Poison] spell but finds the process to be more difficult than it should be. He¡¯s in a much better physical condition than he was yesterday, but for some reason, his casting feels more sluggish. He completes the spell, but once it goes off, he feels no change in his condition. ¡®Odd,¡¯ he thinks. He goes to cast the spell again, this time overcasted to [Tier IV], but the stranger stops him with a hand. ¡°No use!¡± the stranger says with an odd cheerfulness. ¡°The Voxwraith¡¯s venom is especially tricky. Most antitoxin magic doesn¡¯t work against it because it isn¡¯t technically a toxin, at least as far as your magic is concerned. Because the venom¡¯s already incorporated itself into your divinity, any spells you cast will get tricked into thinking the venom belongs there. If you¡¯re any good at modifying your spells, you could manually tell a healing spell to get rid of the venom even though it technically isn¡¯t a poison¡­ but that would be like creating a healing spell that specifically destroys one particular half of your red blood cells. Certainly possible, but absurdly difficult and unintuitive.¡± Half of the stranger¡¯s explanation goes over Percival¡¯s head, but he thinks he got the gist of it. If he wants to heal himself, he would need to modify a healing spell¡­ but has no idea how to go about modifying a spell. He wonders if perhaps the process is similar to the first time he used magic. A year ago, on the morning of the [Divine Apocalypse], he¡¯d healed Gregory without the aid of a spell by just ¡®asking¡¯ his divinity to do it. He¡¯d managed to perform a few other ¡®spell-less¡¯ castings since then, but never on purpose. Diverting a small avalanche to save a village, throwing up a barrier to save a soldier¡¯s life, mending a little girl¡¯s torn-up doll¡­ It only ever seemed to happen whenever someone else needed help and Percival managed to forget about himself. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t think I can do that,¡± Percival admits to the stranger. ¡°Is there any other way?¡± The stranger scratches his chin. ¡°The Voxwraith¡¯s venom is linked to the creature itself ¡ª thus how it¡¯s able to steal your face after you dissolve from the inside-out. I suppose it¡¯s possible for the venom to weaken if you get a few thousand miles away¡­¡± Percival and the stranger both look up toward the mouth of the ravine. They find that the blizzard is still blowing as strong as ever. If Percival waits for the weather to clear, it could take weeks. ¡°¡­but I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll have the chance for that.¡± The stranger smiles a predatory grin. ¡°No, no running. You¡¯ll have to kill it yourself, your [Liegeliness].¡± ¡°K-kill it?¡± ¡°Of course! As I said, the creature¡¯s venom is merely an extension of itself. End the monster, end your problems! ¡­Well, at least all your problems that have to do with being slowly consumed from the inside-out by venom. Simple as that!¡± Percival briefly reconsiders the possibility that this is all a hallucination. His perception of his surroundings are slowly but surely getting more dreamlike as the venom within him interferes with his mind, but the stranger¡¯s advice has only helped him thus far, so he sees no reason ignore the man now. ¡°Alright then. So all we need to do is kill it?¡± ¡°No, not ¡®we.¡¯ You. You need to be the one to do it. The Voxwraith¡¯s corpse will make for a perfect atonement, and I won¡¯t interfere.¡± Percival has no idea what the stranger is talking about. It takes him more than a few moments to figure out how to respond. ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir. I feel like all I¡¯ve done so far is ask you questions, but¡­ atonement?¡± The stranger smirks. ¡°No need to be coy. I recognize the Mark of Atonement when I see it.¡± The stranger takes two fingers and traces a line down from each of his eyes. ¡°You healed the rest of your body, but you kept your ¡®tears of blood,¡¯ which means subconsciously, you wanted to keep them.¡± Percival reaches up to touch his own face and finds that the two ¡¯tears of blood¡¯ he¡¯d carved under his eyes are indeed still there. ¡°Sorry again, but I¡¯m not sure what you¡¯re¡ª¡± ¡°Talking about?¡± the stranger interrupts. His smirk grows wider, and he waves his hand dismissively. ¡°Alright, alright, I¡¯ll play along, your [Liegeliness]. I know how important secrets are to your people, so I definitely don¡¯t know what a Mark of Atonement is. I also haven¡¯t a clue as to why a [Liege] like yourself is out here, naked and alone in the mountains, despite the fact you have an army bound to your soul. You¡¯re certainly not searching for some way to redeem yourself in the eyes of your peers, that¡¯s for sure.¡± The stranger¡¯s smile becomes pensive, and he scratches his chin. ¡°Funny. I didn¡¯t know the local Fae accepted Humans. Good to know. Or not know, I suppose.¡± Percival has no idea what the stranger is talking about. ¡°Sorry again¡­ and sorry for saying ¡®sorry¡¯ so much, but I feel like there¡¯s been a miscommunication here. I really don¡¯t know what you think is going on.¡± ¡°And neither do I,¡± says the stranger with a wink. This is when Percival decides that this is definitely all a hallucination, and he might even already be dead. He lets out an exasperated sigh but decides he might as well play along on the off-chance that following the stranger¡¯s advice might lead him back to reality. Real or not, the stranger hasn¡¯t led him astray thus far. Suddenly, Percival realizes something obvious. ¡°I¡¯ve been rude. You¡¯ve saved my life at least twice now, but I haven¡¯t thanked you properly, so¡­ thank you, sir.¡± Percival chuckles nervously and scratches at the back of his head, embarrassed. ¡°I haven¡¯t even asked for your name yet. In my head, I just keep calling you ¡®stranger.¡¯¡± The scythe-wielding black-robed bone-white man¡¯s smile grows knowing. ¡°As I said, I know how these things work. If ¡®the stranger¡¯ I am, then ¡®the stranger¡¯ I shall be. I won¡¯t ask for your name either, so don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll have no need for mine. Oh, but as long as we¡¯re making introductions, allow me to mention that I¡¯m comfortable with any pronouns.¡± Percival knows his letters, so he¡¯s vaguely aware that ¡®pronouns¡¯ have something to do with grammar¡­ but he¡¯s never studied grammar. ¡®Nouns¡¯ are the action words, right? So being comfortable with ¡®professional nouns¡¯ must mean the stranger considers himself a man of action? Percival nods his head. ¡°I¡¯ve always been more comfortable with amateur nouns myself, but I¡¯d like to believe that when others are counting on me, I rise to the occasion.¡± The stranger stares for a second, and then laughs as if Percival¡¯s said something clever. Percival chuckles along, too abashed to ask what¡¯s funny. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°Very well then, your [Liegeliness]! I¡¯d guess you have five¡­ maybe six days before the Voxwraith¡¯s venom kills you, so you¡¯ll just have to kill it first!¡± Percival hesitates. ¡°Do you really think I can do it? As I am now?¡± he asks. The stranger considers the question for a moment, and then nods. ¡°As you are now, I¡¯m certain you¡¯ll die!¡± The other man speaks the words with such enthusiasm that Percival assumes he¡¯s misheard. Before he can ask for clarification, however, the stranger continues speaking. ¡°But we still have a few days of tracking ahead of us, and I think I can whip you into shape before then.¡± The stranger stops by the side of the ravine where lay the dead and dry trunk of a fallen tree. It must have fallen down from somewhere above, because Percival has yet to see a tree growing down at the bottom of the ravine. The tree¡¯s trunk is thick, dark, and wound as tight as a braid of rope. The wood itself is surprisingly undamaged. Only one end has its bark slightly cracked ¡ª the end it must have landed on. ¡°Ironwood,¡± the stranger says, answering Percival¡¯s unasked question. He grabs a sturdy-looking branch the length and breadth of a laborer¡¯s arm and uses his scythe to sever it at the base. He holds the branch out for Percival to grab and unthinkingly, Percival grabs it. The branch is surprisingly heavy for its size, and Percival nearly drops it before securing his grip. He comes to appreciate the wood¡¯s name, for it truly feels like he¡¯s holding a thick rod of iron. ¡°Tell me, your [Liegeliness],¡± begins the stranger, ¡°how do you feel about killing monsters with a stick?¡±
RIIIIIP! Percival was once again jolted awake by pain, but this time, it was because his left arm was being torn from his body. He would¡¯ve screamed, but he couldn¡¯t breathe. The [Hollow King] had a clawed hand wrapped around his throat, choking the life out of him. This¡­ isn¡¯t good news, Percival thought as he began covertly casting a¡ª ¡°I did not permit you to rest!¡± The [Hollow King] peeled Percival¡¯s limp form away from the wall and slammed him back into it, shattering more than a few already-broken bones. There might have been a subtle gold glow coming from behind Percival¡¯s back, but nothing obvious enough for the [Hollow King] to notice. ¡°Now tell me, little Percival, will you die alone, or do you insist on dragging others to Hell beside you? My patience grows thin. GIVE! UP!¡± Gregory and the [Steward of Pain] were nowhere to be seen, but behind the [Hollow King], Percival saw the scattered members of the [Nameless Vanguard] destroying as many of the cables as they could. They were harried by arrows every step of the way, and most of them had already been hit at least once, but it seemed none of them were out of the fight just yet. They were doing their job admirably, but even with Percival¡¯s buffs, they simply wouldn¡¯t be a match for the [Hollow King]. If Percival died now, they¡¯d have no hope of disrupting the ritual on their own. The faceless monster could kill them all as easily as sunlight slayed the night. They still need me. I¡¯m not allowed to die just yet. At that simple realization, Percival felt a wave of calm wash over him. His people needed him to be strong, so strong he would be. Simple as that. Percival felt an invisible weight disappear, and the three patterns of gold hidden behind his back began forming faster than ever before. Perhaps mistaking Percival¡¯s peacefulness for resignation, the [Hollow King] loosened its grip on his throat. ¡°Say the words, and this can all be over,¡± the [Hollow King] crooned, the subdermal musculature of its head twisting its skin into a horrible facsimile of a smile. ¡°Give me your name.¡± Percival tried to mumble something, but the words wouldn¡¯t form. Ever gracious and merciful ¡ª probably by its own reckoning at least ¡ª the [Hollow King] loosened its grip even further and leaned in to hear Percival¡¯s words. Percival coughed once, involuntarily spitting up some blood that burned away when it touched the [Hollow King]¡¯s pure white robes. Then he spoke in a weak, rasping whisper that let loose the first of the three spells he¡¯d been quietly casting ever since regaining consciousness. ¡°[hyperlight¡­ step].¡± Percival¡¯s body became a stream of light, and he reappeared an instant later a hundred feet away, free but free-falling down toward the square below. By pure chance, he¡¯d teleported directly into the path of a pair of arrows. They pierced his side, but he didn¡¯t let the pain distract him from his completing his final two prepared spells. [Non-Somatic Simulcast]: [Rapid Regeneration], [Divine Avatar]. Golden lines of light flew out from behind Percival¡¯s back. They formed two intricate weaves of primordial scripts and abstract patterns ¡ª the shapes of Percival¡¯s spells given form. Simultaneously casting the pair of high-tier spells consumed more divinity than Percival could normally muster in so short a time, but [Dying Breath] allowed him to do so at the cost of further shortening his life. [Rapid Regeneration] made it so that all his minor injuries were healed near instantaneously, but not with flesh. His open wounds and broken bones stitched themselves back together with sutures of golden thread. His gouged-out chest and missing arms regrew so quickly it were as if they¡¯d reappeared from nowhere, but they too were forged entirely of unyielding gold. Even the veins of gold in his face thickened like the roots of a growing tree. [Divine Avatar] took effect at the same time. As for what the spell did, Percival didn¡¯t know. He¡¯d never heard of it before, and neither was it his own creation. In fact, he¡¯d had no idea he¡¯d been casting the spell until the deed was done. All he¡¯d done was ask his divinity for a spell to help him find the strength to protect his people, and the spell had come to him fully formed. Simple as that. A whirlwind of divinity shrouded his form. The flanged mace he¡¯d been wielding was gone ¡ª likely lost around the same time he¡¯d lost his arms ¡ª but to replace the weapon, a million motes of shimmering light congregated within the palm of Percival¡¯s now-golden right hand. A miniature tornado of hopes and dreams, the swirling lights slowly solidified, coalescing into a¡­ Into a¡­ Into a big wooden spoon. Just a big wooden spoon, no different from the kind used to stir large pots of porridge. Rugged. I like it, Percival thought, unable to keep his lips from quirking up into a smile at sight of his new ¡®weapon.¡¯ Feels like my spoon from back at the Abbey. As for what the [Divine Avatar] spell decided to replace his armor with, the sight was even more outrageous. Instead of anything that appeared even remotely protective, he now wore a simple brown robe, no different from what he wore during his time as a monk. The cheap-feeling cloth even itched in all the same places. Gone was the enameled plate armor that¡¯d never felt quite right. Gone was the ethereal golden glow that set him apart from the world. Gone were the six wings of the [Seraphim]. Though [Arms of the Seraphic Host] continued to function for Gregory and the [Nameless Vanguard], the spell¡¯s effects on Percival had made way for an enchantment both greater and lesser, both more complex and more simple, both otherworldly and mundane all at the same time. Percival Commonblood the First and Only, [Tier V] [Paragon of Charity], [Liege] of the [Nameless Revolt], Voice of the Revolution, Companion to Divinity, Slayer of the Voxwraith, Bringer of Light, Unveiler of Truth, Herald of Hope and Warmth of the Sun ¡ª he set to the side all he had become in favor of what he had always been: Percival the simple monk, maker of the soup, wielder of naught but a wooden spoon, a gap-toothed grin, and a patient ear. The [Hollow King] regarded him from across the way. It looked as confused as a creature without a face could possibly look, but it didn¡¯t take long for that confusion to morph into rage. ¡°You mock me?¡± Percival tried to respond, but before he could get a word in, the [Hollow King] charged. It was upon Percival in an instant, but all Percival needed to do was lightly smack the back of its clawed hand to divert its momentum and send it sprawling through the air. ¡°We don¡¯t need to do this,¡± Percival called out as the [Hollow King] righted itself. ¡°Silence!¡± It beat its wings to rocket back toward the monk, but Percival hopped out of the way to land on another cable. A volley of arrows tried to snipe him just as he touched down, but by the time they arrived, he¡¯d already rebounded away. ¡°[Hollow King], my offer still stands. If you stop what you¡¯re doing, I promise I¡¯ll do all I can to help you find a back to the man you were.¡± ¡°Your word means nothing to me!¡± The [Hollow King]¡¯s ferocity redoubled. It loosed a flurry of attacks, lashing out with its claws, beating its wings, and chasing from Percival from cable to cable, all the while shouting ¡°Hypocrite! Cannibal! LIAR!¡± One strike in particular caused the [Hollow King] to overextend. Both its claws raked forward to grasp at the fleeing monk, but rather than step away, Percival ducked and came in close to sweep the [Hollow King]¡¯s legs out from under it. The [Hollow King] began to fall, but it quickly rearranged the bones and muscles in one of its feet in order to grasp onto the wire and swing back up to a standing position. Given the rhythm of the battle, the [Hollow King] expected to receive an immediate counterstrike, so it righted itself while guarding its head with its claws and its body with its wings ¡ª but no return blow came. It back-stepped to create space and lowered its claws to gain sight of its opponent, but SMACK! As soon as it stopped guarding its head, Percival¡¯s wooden spoon crashed into its temple. Percival attempted to press his advantage with several follow up strikes, but they were all deflected. Eventually, the two of them separated. They each alighted on a different cable and took a moment to stare each other down, even if only one of them had any eyes to do the staring. ¡°Perhaps it was selfish of me to again waste time offering you a chance at redemption, but I had to try. I know there is only one form of mercy a monster like you can be made to receive, but I¡¯d hoped to be wrong.¡± Percival took a ready stance with his spoon. ¡°Prepare to be put down, [Hollow King].¡± ¡°And I had hoped you would have the decorum to bow your head,¡± retorted the [Hollow King], taking a stance of its own. ¡°As is stated in the Law, those heads which do not bow, shall roll.¡± The two leapt at each other, and so began the next phase of a battle whose legend would resound throughout history for ages¡­ but not for a reason either of them could¡¯ve possibly predicted.
Gregory leapt back into the air as another [Solar Cannon]¡¯s shot exploded below him, tearing up the ground and incinerating the [Solar Guards] who¡¯d been surrounding him but a moment before. He tried to rise back up to the wires overhead and join Percival in fending off the [Hollow King], but Viktor and that godsdamned mount of his were once more there to bar his path. ¡°Let! Me! PASS!¡± Gregory screamed, rearing back with his greatsword. He struck, but the [Steward of Pain]¡¯s griffin dodged the blow by a hairsbreadth, perfectly spacing Gregory¡¯s attack. Before the former [Champion of Sol] could react, the griffin used its superior aerial mobility to dive back in and close the distance. The beast¡¯s foretalon slashed into Gregory¡¯s side with enough force to rend, and working with uncanny synchronicity, its rider used the maneuver¡¯s momentum to tear into one of Gregory¡¯s wings with the barbed end of his whip. Gregory finally managed to bring his blade into position to defend, but with another coordinated strike, Viktor and his griffin sent Gregory hurtling back toward the ground. He crashed into a regiment of halberd-wielding guardsmen, and one of the soldiers managed to ¡ª perhaps by chance ¡ª brace himself and align his weapon such that he impaled Gregory through the gut. The soldier had little time to celebrate, however, because the blow only bled off a fraction of the falling [Liege]¡¯s momentum, and Gregory landed directly atop the soldier with enough force to turn the guardsman into a spray of gore. Gregory¡¯s newest injuries threatened to send him into shock ¡ª his pain¡¯s intensity likely magnified by Viktor¡¯s abilities as a [Steward of Pain] ¡ª but Gregory was a veteran of a thousand battles, and he knew that to hesitate was to die. It took Gregory but a heartbeat to regain his feet and slash in a wide arc, fending off a trio of guardsmen who¡¯d been about to capitalize on his apparent vulnerability. He prepared another sweeping attack to clear more space, but he felt prickle at the back of his neck. He leapt, beat his wings, and dove over the soldiers surrounding him. The maneuver left him open to several glancing blows and jabs, but he knew he¡¯d made the right choice when the ground he¡¯d been standing on a moment earlier exploded in a destructive burst of light. The guardsmen who¡¯d been surrounding him a moment earlier became nothing more than an unpleasant stench on the breeze. Volleys of arrows and [Solar Cannon] shots came at him ceaselessly, but now that he had his bearings, Gregory was able dodge or deflect the majority of attacks sent his way. It still took a majority of his focus to do so, but the battle soon stabilized into a game of cat-and-mouse ¡ª or to be more accurate, a game of griffin-and-cat played in a field of weapon-wielding mice. He irregularly alternated between maneuvering along the ground and low flight, but wherever he went within the square, the projectiles followed. It got to the point that enemy soldiers began dodging out his way whenever he approached for fear of being caught by friendly fire. Viktor and his griffin continued to circle overhead, ever ready to again prevent Gregory from intervening in the battle between Percival and the [Hollow King]. After a few minutes of this when Gregory felt that [Dying Breath] was nearly done stabilizing his wounds with gold, he took a moment to reassess the battle. Except for the [Hollow King] and the [Sunlit Archers] who were splitting their fire, every enemy in the area was focused solely on Gregory. Logically speaking, this was good news. From the brief glances Gregory stole of their high-wire battle, he knew Percival had the [Hollow King] well in hand, freeing the [Nameless Vanguard] to destroy the overhead cables with near impunity. At the rate everything was progressing, the ritual would be disrupted, and the night would be won. So why was Gregory feeling so frustrated? He didn¡¯t know why, but he knew he had to get to Percival¡¯s side. Now. In an attempt to get out from under the circling [Steward of Pain], Gregory leapt from the facade of one building straight into the side of another, using it as an anchor to quickly shift his momentum and leap onto the roof of a third. From there, he bounced around the perimeter buildings of Kingsblood Square several more times, attempting to leverage his superior grounded mobility to gain a straight shot toward the ongoing duel up above. Viktor, however, was simply too adept at aerial screening. No matter how quickly Gregory moved, the crimson-armored man was always within range to intercept him should he attempt to rejoin Percival¡¯s side. Though Gregory could undoubtedly defeat Viktor in single combat, he wouldn¡¯t be able to do so quickly. If Gregory wanted to get to Percival¡¯s side quickly, he needed to outmaneuver the [Steward of Pain]. Faster. I need to be faster. Gregory was already burning through his stamina at a dangerous rate, but he picked up the pace even further. He could feel [Dying Breath] exacting its toll on him, the veins of gold spreading and thickening throughout his body at an alarming rate. Even if he avoided every blow from here on out, he would die before fifteen minutes passed. As for why he was trying so desperately to get to Percival¡¯s side, he simply needed to. A year ago, he promised the man that he would be his [Kingmaker]. Even though they¡¯d both be dead before dawn and that promise would have to be left unfulfilled, Gregory couldn¡¯t bear the thought of the young man dying without him by his side. Over the course of his long life, Gregory had let too many people down. Percival wouldn¡¯t become another. Gregory knew that he should be preserving his strength in order to distract Viktor and the rest of the enemy forces for as long as he could, but his pain at the thought of remaining below while Percival fought above was simply too much for him to¡ª Gregory stopped. Pain, he realized. He calmed his breathing and took stock of himself. He was riddled with minor injuries, he had a hole in his thigh from where Victor had pierced him with a lance, he had another hole in his gut, two of his six seraphic wings were mangled beyond recognition, and what remained of his flesh was nearly half made of gold. ¡°I¡¯ve been acting a fool,¡± Gregory admitted. ¡°You¡¯re a more cunning opponent than I anticipated.¡± Another set of [Solar Cannon] shots flew towards him and Gregory leapt out of the way, but this time rather than zip a quarter-way around the square, he only jumped onto the next building¡¯s roof, doing his best to conserve energy. ¡°I hadn¡¯t expected a [Class] named [Steward of Pain] to work so subtly.¡± A volley of arrows came his way, and Gregory dodged by swaying in place. One arrow flew right by the bridge of his nose, but it was able to come so close only because he¡¯d allowed it to. Dodging further away would have been a waste of energy. ¡°Amplifying my emotional pain so that I¡¯d act recklessly? Truly an inspired stratagem, but I must apologize that such tricks won¡¯t work on me any longer.¡± ¡°Too much talk,¡± Viktor intoned without a hint of emotion, his voice low and rumbling like that of an [Ur-Bear]. ¡°Cannons and archers, hold. Knights and guardsmen, clear a circle. Titans, to me.¡± The enemy troops moved at once, hastily yet cleanly clearing an area right in front of the Torr Royale¡¯s main doors. Viktor guided his mount to land in the center of the circle as it formed. He held out his mace to point at Gregory. ¡°Come. Fight me.¡± As the [Steward of Pain] spoke, the circle finished forming, a twenty-foot-diameter ring of [Solar Guards] pointing their halberds inward. The twenty [Solar Knights] were spread along the perimeter of the circle at regular intervals, and the two [Luminous Titans] planted themselves on either side of their equally stoic commanding officer. Gregory couldn¡¯t see the other man¡¯s face, but his movements were so even and calm that Gregory couldn¡¯t help but imagine a faceless visage ¡ª no different from the [Hollow King]¡¯s ¡ª hiding beneath the crimson visor of the other man¡¯s helm. ¡°Your reputation does you injustice, Viktor,¡± Gregory said, ignoring the other man¡¯s challenge and staying perched atop a roof. ¡°You comport yourself with much more calm than I would expect from a man holding a [Class] titled [Steward of Pain].¡± ¡°You are stalling.¡± ¡°I suppose am,¡± Gregory admitted shamelessly, ¡°but enough of that.¡± He lowered his stance and raised his blade. ¡°I see now that you¡¯re too dangerous to leave alive, Viktor. I apologize, but I¡¯ll need to kill you before I rejoin Percival¡¯s side. Let us fight.¡± With a great flap of his remaining wings, Gregory flashed forward. The [Luminous Titan] to Viktor¡¯s right stepped forward to intercept Gregory¡¯s charge, but its movements ¡ª as powerful as they were ¡ª were far too clumsy to keep up with the former [Champion of Sol]. It punched the ground where it expected Gregory to land, blasting apart the ancient cobblestones with the sheer force of its blow, but Gregory had used his wings to slow himself just enough to land a mere six inches out of the Titan¡¯s range. His lead foot touched down just as the ground beneath it was blown into the air. Without missing a beat, he transferred the erupting earth¡¯s momentum into a rising slash that split the Titan¡¯s arm clean at the elbow. He prepared a follow-up strike, but rolled out of the way as the other Titan kicked out at him. Viktor and his griffin followed up immediately with both a mace and a talon strike, but Gregory carried the momentum of his roll into a heavy sweep of his blade that parried both blows and cut a deep gash into the griffin¡¯s side. The griffin let out a pealing cry of pain. Both of the Titans attempted to crush Gregory with their thunderous fists, but Gregory again managed to retreat just out of range. Viktor managed a light crack his barbed whip across Gregory¡¯s back, but Gregory barely felt the blow so it must not have penetrated his armor. And so the real battle commenced, and Gregory was unstoppable. He was a virtuoso of the battlefield. Even outnumbered, he landed two to three devastating blows for every minor wound he received in return. He dodged and redirected blows by the slimmest of margins, leveraging his vast wealth of experience to always remain at a positional advantage despite being surrounded. Every step he took, every sweep of his blade, every minute shift in his momentum served multiple purposes for both attack and defense. He leveraged both [Dying Breath] and [Arms of the Seraphic Host] to their fullest. Both spells passively boosted his speed and strength, but he also intermittently drew on the former to perform otherwise impossible maneuvers at the cost of burning away more of his life. As for the latter spell, the enchantment surrounding his blade [Redemption] allowed it to bite through the enemy golems¡¯ metal-and-stone flesh with ease, and the strength of his ethereal plate armor allowed him to ignore minor blows such the cracks of Viktor¡¯s barbed whip. Viktor was still able to use his [Class]¡¯s abilities to sporadically amplify the physical pain of Gregory¡¯s many injuries in an attempt to distract him during key moments, but the former [Champion]¡¯s discipline proved mightier than his instinct, and Gregory managed to muscle through every sudden spike in agony with little more than a wince. After but a minutes of exchanges, Gregory felled the first of Viktor¡¯s two [Luminous Titans] by stabbing it though its core. The second one ¡ª already missing both its arms ¡ª tried kicking Gregory from behind before the man could remove his embedded blade, but Gregory anticipated the blow. For an instant, Gregory¡¯s limbs glowed gold. With preternatural speed, he removed his blade from the inert golem¡¯s chest and took a single step forward, away from the kicking Titan. The Titan¡¯s kick hit nothing but air, but before it could plant its foot down to ready another kick, Gregory kicked backwards with his own foot, launching the Titan¡¯s lead foot out from under it and causing it to pitch forward and fall. Then, as nonchalantly as a person might brush off a speck of dust from their coat, Gregory turned around and relieved the [Tier V] [Luminous Titan] of its head. Viktor and his griffin again charged forward and tried to strike Gregory down with in a flurry of steel and talons. All they managed to land was another light whip-crack against the back of his leg, but the blow didn¡¯t affect him through his armor. Even with his amplified sensitivity to pain, Gregory found it easy to ignore the light smack. Gregory tried to close the distance to press his advantage, but a cable strewn with metal and glass ornaments fell between him and Viktor, forcing them both to step away. Unsuccessful with their attacks thus far, Viktor and his griffin used the opportunity to fully retreat to the edge of the circle so that they could stand beside their soldiers. Now that his [Luminous Titans] were down, Gregory half expected the man to command his infantry to charge, but he didn¡¯t. Instead, he spoke. ¡°You are already dead,¡± intoned the [Steward of Pain]. Gregory raised an eyebrow. He glanced at the fallen pieces of Titan strewn around him, and then back to Viktor. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to disappoint, but I¡¯m not dead quite yet. If you wish to kill me, you¡¯ll need to put in the effort.¡± ¡°You have already lost.¡± ¡°Have I?¡± Gregory asked. As if on cue, a pulse of unstable divinity swept through the square, originating from the Torr Royale and spreading outward, shaking the ground and stirring the air as it passed. ¡°Whatever ritual that [Tyrant] hopes to complete is already on the verge of collapse,¡± Gregory continued. ¡°My side has already won.¡± ¡°You have already failed.¡± Gregory narrowed his eyes. Viktor seemed keen on keeping him talking, but why? Delaying their battle only worked to Gregory¡¯s advantage. ¡°Now you¡¯re stalling,¡± Gregory accused. ¡°I would have preferred you take longer to notice.¡± Not bothering to elaborate, Viktor reared back with his smooth-bodied whip. He was nowhere near close enough to hit Gregory with an attack, but something about the weapon still sent alarm bells ringing though Gregory¡¯s mind. Wait, wasn¡¯t his whip barbed? CRACK! SPLERTCH! Viktor cracked his whip into the air, and dozens of spikes erupted from Gregory¡¯s chest, stomach, and legs, but he didn¡¯t feel a thing. His blood splattered all around him, most of it turning gold before it even struck the floor. The damage was so sever that [Arms of the Seraphic Host] was shattered and dispelled. Gregory remained standing, but only because every one of his major joints were skewered in place. He kept a white-knuckle grip on [Redemption] through it all. ¡°Gaugh-cugh-kkkkgh¡ª¡± Gregory tried to speak, but all that escaped his lips was blood and a choked rasp. With both his heart and his lungs torn to shreds, it took all his will to hang onto consciousness. He tried pulling harder on [Dying Breath] to quickly heal his injuries, but the spikes embedded all over his body interfered. They sucked up the spell¡¯s healing magic, using it to each grow a quarter inch thicker before Gregory stopped drawing on the spell. It seemed no individual spike could absorb enough magic to have negated the healing effect on their own, but since dozens of them had appeared simultaneously throughout his body, they were more than enough to prevent Gregory from healing himself. But how had they all suddenly in the first place? The barbs, he realized, remembering all those ¡®ineffective¡¯ whip cracks Viktor had landed on his back. He whipped me to stick me with the barbs, and then he transformed the barbs into these spikes. But why didn¡¯t I notice earlier? I should have been able to feel¡­ Gregory¡¯s eyes widened. Nearly every wound on his body flared with agony, but when he focused on the wounds caused by the spikes, he felt nothing. He looked up at Viktor, and Viktor¡­ Viktor chuckled. The stoic man actually chuckled. It was an odd sound, a disquieting thing somewhere between a rumble and a scratch that made Gregory¡¯s mind itch. ¡°At last, you understand?¡± he asked, a perverted glee in his voice. His left arm ¡ª the one he¡¯d used to crack his whip ¡ª hung limp, bleeding, and useless at his side, but his grip on the weapon¡¯s handle remained firm. Another wave of unstable divinity thundered through the square, but Viktor was too busy reveling in Gregory¡¯s suffering to notice. ¡°Cannons, on my mark!¡± Viktor called, and Gregory felt the invisible weight of loaded artillery pieces training their sights onto him. Viktor holstered his mace and raised his good arm high into the air, ready to give the order. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to kill a [Hero],¡± Viktor said conversationally, ¡°but I can settle for you.¡± Percival, I¡¯ve failed you, Gregory thought. Viktor¡¯s hand chopped through the air, and Gregory closed his eyes. Thanatos, old friend, I¡¯m sorry that I couldn¡¯t set things right. ¡°FIRE!¡±
Another set of explosions rang out far below, but Percival couldn¡¯t spare the attention to investigate. Dodging arrows, using the cables anchored around the Torr Royale to rapidly alter his momentum through three-dimensional space, keeping track of the [Hollow King]¡¯s position and remaining out of the way of that impossibly fast divinity-catapult-charge thing it¡¯d hit him with earlier, severing as many cables as he could between exchanges, guiding his duel away from the members of the [Nameless Vanguard] still severing cables of their own ¡ª Percival balanced these and a dozen other concerns all at once, stretching his cognitive abilities to their limit, but he didn¡¯t feel overwhelmed in the least. If anything, the task of balancing a dozen concerns all at once reminded him of his time as a monk, and strangely enough, it made him happy. Giant wooden spoon in hand, Percival deflected a series of claw swipes from the [Hollow King]. He maintained his footing as he backpedaled along the cable bouncing underfoot, but at the end of his opponent¡¯s combination, he was left ostensibly off-balance with his lead foot too high in the air. The [Hollow King] attempted to capitalize on the opening, backhanding Percival¡¯s weapon aside with one claw while lunging forward to deliver a knife-hand stab with its other, but an instant before its lunging foot could plant, Percival stomped his own lead foot onto the cable and slid off to the side. The cable snapped back up right into the [Hollow King]¡¯s foot, trampolining the monster up and away from Percival. Percival slashed the cable with his spoon as he fell, severing it. A volley of arrows closed in on him, but with a kick off of another cable, Percival dodged and landed on a third, ready to receive the [Hollow King] next attack. It was obvious the [Hollow King] expected Percival to eventually slip up, but this cycle had already been going on for several minutes. Defend, counter, destroy, dodge, retreat, reposition, repeat. The individual steps didn¡¯t each always happen, nor did they always happen in that particular order, but over and over again Percival and the [Hollow King] cycled through the same set of interactions as they battled their way through the air. Even without a face, it was clear the [Hollow King] was growing more and more frustrated with each passing minute and each severed cable. ¡°You¡¯re too predictable,¡± Percival goaded. ¡°Silence!¡± The [Hollow King] loosed a flurry of claw strikes, but Percival managed to block or dodge them all before creating more space. ¡°You¡¯ve stolen your victims¡¯ spirits, but you lack their heart. You¡¯re a beast mimicking its betters, and nothing more.¡± ¡°SILENCE!¡± The [Hollow King] demanded once more. Enraged, it charged. ¡°High slash left,¡± Percival said just as the [Hollow King] launched its first attack, a high raking slash with its left claw. Percival redirected the blow with his spoon, and he kept talking without missing a beat. ¡°Low slash right,¡± he said, and just as he predicted, the [Hollow King]¡¯s defected blow flowed seamlessly into another low slash with its right hand. ¡°Center left stab. Low spin trip. High chop. Feint and elbow right. Quick left, right slash. Low lunge left. Double slash up.¡± Percival narrated each and every blow before it came, defending them all with contemptuous ease. He dodged the [Hollow King]¡¯s final double slash by leaning back just out of range, but rather than allow his opponent to continue attacking, Percival fell into a back handspring. He crossbarred his giant wooden spoon against the cable and kicked up with both his feet, slamming his heels into the [Hollow King]¡¯s chest to send it flying backwards and away. As the [Hollow King] regained its bearings, Percival flipped from his handspring back onto his feet. He held his weapon at the ready, his back to the Torr Royale, and continued taunting his opponent. ¡°Predictable. Desperate. Pathetic. You can steal from other as much as you like, but that¡¯ll never make you whole. You are destruction and decay. You¡¯re a hammer in a world of glass. You¡¯re miserable, and you¡¯ll always be miserable because you lack the one fundamental ability of humankind ¡ª the ability to create anything new.¡± ¡°I! Demand! SILENCE!¡± The [Hollow King] screeched in a dozen over lapping voices, and Percival was struck by how similar its cry sounded to the wails of the Voxwraith. The skin at the front of the [Hollow King]¡¯s head stretched and spasmed to the point of tearing, and pockets of roiling flesh began appearing all over its body, forcing it to pause its assault to regain control over itself. Percival smiled bitterly, pity in his eyes. ¡°To be Human is to share. To be Human is to give. So long as you do naught but take, you¡¯ll never be fulfilled,¡± he said, shaking his head sadly. ¡°You are no [King]. You¡¯re not even a [Tyrant]. You¡¯re barely a monster. You¡¯re a squirming, wretched parasite trying to fill the void in its own existence, and unless you change course now, this is all you¡¯ll ever be. Empty¡­ Insatiable¡­¡± Percival stared at the creature in front him and infused his next word with all the authority he could muster. He spoke just as his opponent regained control over its form. His final condemnation rang through the air like a bullet, an immutable declaration of Truth. ¡°[Hollow].¡± ¡°AAAAAAAGHHH!¡± Just as Percival predicted it would, the [Hollow King] used its wire-latching charge to catapult itself directly at Percival. It moved impossibly fast, but since Percival was able to predict the charge, he was able to react. ¡°[Hyperlight Burst]!¡± The spell exploded into existence, imbuing Percival with the speed to dodge, but that wasn¡¯t all the casting accomplished. [Hyperlight Burst] was a spell that could inherently affect multiple targets with a single cast, so in addition to himself, Percival also bestowed explosive speed onto¡­ the [Hollow King]. Managing the trajectory of its divinity-anchored charge must¡¯ve taken all of the [Hollow King]¡¯s concentration even under normal circumstances. With its already wild speed nearly doubled, Percival¡¯s opponent immediately lost all semblance of control. Percival threw himself out of the way, and the [Hollow King] rocketed past like a meteor, tumbling ass-over-teakettle straight into the Torr Royale. CRASH! The [Hollow King] smashed through the tower¡¯s wall, and the resulting shockwave rippled out with enough force to make Percival feel like someone was rolling a log across his body. Rubble exploded out in every direction. Dozens of cables snapped or fell away as the stones they were anchored to were pulverized into dust and debris. The sound of the impact spread throughout the city, deafening and indomitable. The divinity being pulled into the tower ¡ª already turbulent ¡ª became utterly chaotic. Whorls of divinity slammed into nearby buildings and ricocheted about at random, becoming an uncontrollable storm of power to all who could observe it. Even those who couldn¡¯t precisely sense divinity were thrown about within their own skin, feeling as if their very beings were being pulled and stretched into a dozen different and ever-changing directions. The infrequent pulses of divinity that leaked from the [Hollow King]¡¯s ritual became a torrent all its own as the vast reserves of divinity it had gathered up until then were let loose, fueling the pandemonium like a broken dam fueled a flood. We¡¯ve won. The thought struck Percival¡¯s mind like a bolt from the heavens. He, Gregory, and the [Nameless Vanguard] would still inevitably perish due to the effects of [Dying Breath] ¡ª Percival could feel veins of gold in every part of his body ¡ª and with them would die every fallen soldier tied to their soul, but that didn¡¯t change the fact that they¡¯d won. The [Hollow King]¡¯s ritual was doomed to fail, and the fallout of its failure wasn¡¯t even that bad. Turbulent flows of divinity that made people want to vomit? Down-right tame compared to the earth-shattering explosion he and Gregory feared might happen in the worst-case scenario. As soon as whatever had been storing the divinity in the Torr Royale was bled dry, whatever minuscule chance the [Hollow King] had of quickly restarting its ritual would be quashed¡­ but in the meantime, Percival still had work to do. He gripped the haft of his giant wooden spoon tighter, and he steeled his gaze, hardening his heart for what he¡¯d have to do next. Time to put down a rabid dog, he thought. Not just for the world¡¯s sake, but for its own as well. Percival summoned a pair of wings and flew toward the building, covering his mouth as he entered an opaque cloud of atomized granite. He spread his awareness out as best he could within his immediate area, but the skill was difficult to use in even the best of circumstances. With the overpowering levels of ambient divinity and mana running rampant through the air, it was nearly impossible. Changing tactics, Percival beat his wings to clear the air. The area¡¯s visibility immediately improved as much of the dust was forced away from the building. Having just broadcasted his position, Percival readied his weapon to receive an attack¡­ but none came. The visibility continued to improve as the dust thinned, and soon Percival found himself flying outside a hole blasted into the side of the tower. He flew forward and landed within the tower itself, his boots crunching as he alighted on the floor. He looked around, and based off of the amount of shattered shards of reflective glass strewn about the room, he gathered that he was in a storage room for mirrors. Percival briefly wondered why so many mirrors were stored so high up within the sacred Torr Royale, but he quickly pushed the thought from his mind. He spied a trail of blood leading out one of the room¡¯s intact doors, and he hastened to follow. He was here for but a single task, and he hadn¡¯t any time to waste. The corridors beyond the mirror room were a confounding maze of twists and turns. Every stretch of grey-veined marble wall looked identical to every other, and every polished-iron door was equally spaced apart. He could hear the [Hollow King]¡¯s labored breath and arhythmic footfalls coming from somewhere, but something about the building¡¯s geometry made the sound come from every direction at once. There were complicated symbols inlaid into the floor of every intersection, but Percival had no idea how to read them. If not for the trail of blood on the floor, Percival would¡¯ve gotten lost in moments. He stalked through the floor¡¯s twisting halls as quickly as he dared, wary of an ambush behind every corner, but even at his reduced pace it wasn¡¯t long before he came across his quarry. He rounded one last bend in the serpentine passageway, and there it was. The only part of the [Hollow King] that seemed wholly intact was the wooden crown upon its head. The right half of its body was shattered and limp. It¡¯s one good foot was braced against the wall as it struggled to yank open one of the hall¡¯s heavy iron doors, but it hadn¡¯t the strength. Both its wings were gone, and its once pristine robe was now little more than tattered rags of alabaster white cloth. The cloth shimmered as all the creature¡¯s blood that was soaking into it burned away before it could stain, but the size of the pool of blood at the creature¡¯s feet suggested it¡¯d been trying the door for nearly an entire minute. Percival charged. The [Hollow King] turned, startled by the sound. ¡°Fool! If you kill me now, there¡¯s no hope for¡ª!¡± PWAAASCH! Percival smashed his spoon into the [Hollow King]¡¯s head, blasting the creature straight through the hall¡¯s iron door.
The stranger designs a training regime for Percival that is as straightforward as it is grueling. Every moment not spent sleeping or trekking through the ravine with a stale bit of hardtack softening in his mouth was spent wielding his makeshift mace, discussing tactics, or casting spells. The Voxwraith¡¯s venom and Percival¡¯s own divinity continue mixing together. They become more and more inextricable with every passing breath, and Percival¡¯s mind deteriorates. His thoughts are in perpetual disarray. Time loses all meaning. His three days of training are the longest of his life. His three days of training are the shortest of his life. His three days of training all happen simultaneously, every moment occurring in tandem with every other. His three days of training are isolated islands of experience, each and every second distinct, separate, and unrelated to each and every other, regardless of proximity. Through it all, the only constant Percival can rely on is the sound of his own heart pumping blood through his ears. With every beat, it brings him closer to death, but each beat lets him know he¡¯s still alive. Ba-dum. On the morning of the first day, Percival finally asks the question that¡¯s been on his mind for a while now. ¡°Why are you helping me so much?¡± he asks. ¡°I¡¯ve done nothing to deserve it, and you don¡¯t know me at all.¡± The stranger looks at him funny. ¡°What people deserve and what people get have less than nothing to do with each other. As for why I¡¯m helping you, it¡¯s because I¡¯m here, and because I feel like it. Do I need any other reason?¡± Ba-dum. It is noon on the fourth day, and the blizzard¡¯s white winds rage as furiously as ever. Percival finally spots the Voxwraith. It looms high above him atop the end of the ravine, framed on either side by the mountains that stretch even higher. Half shrouded by the blustering storm, the creature is more terrifying than he remembers. Perhaps it is only a result of Percival¡¯s own muddled perception, but the edges of the creature¡¯s form seem to dance in and out of reality. Strewn all about its corpulent body are the myriad stolen faces of its past victims, all sneering at him, demanding his surrender, and each of their mouths drip with the same venom that now runs wild through Percival¡¯s own heart. Ba-dum. It¡¯s the first day again, but later in the afternoon. Generously speaking, Percival and the stranger are ¡®sparring,¡¯ but it would be more accurate to say Percival is flailing around helplessly while the stranger does his best to provide instruction. ¡°Trust your body to know what to do on its own,¡± the stranger says, slapping aside one of Percival¡¯s awkward attacks. ¡°You have a high-tier class, so let it guide you.¡± The stranger sidesteps another blow. ¡°I admit you¡¯ll never be the best by relying on this method, but for now, you don¡¯t need to be the best.¡± The stranger prods Percival¡¯s foot with the butt of his scythe, causing the naked young man to lose his balance and tumble face-first into a pile of snow. ¡°Competence will be more than enough.¡± Percival extracts himself from the snow. Out of breath and frustrated at his own ineptitude, he is about to charge right back in, but the stranger stops him with a raised hand. ¡°Seek first to know thyself,¡± demands the stranger. ¡°If you insist on hamstringing yourself, I might as well kill you now to save us both the trouble. Breathe. Reflect. Improve. Listen to your own body, and hear what it says.¡± As the stranger demands, Percival pauses. He takes in a deep breathe, and for the first time that day, he looks inward. He doesn¡¯t like what he finds. He is weak. He is scatterbrained. He is inept. He is frustrated. He has never amounted to anything, and he never will. He will inevitably fail, and there¡¯s nothing he can¡ª ¡°Ask what must be done,¡± Percival whispers to himself, cutting off his own spiraling thoughts, ¡°and find the strength to do it.¡± Why those words came back to him at that exact moment, he isn¡¯t sure, but he¡¯s glad they did. He takes another deep breathe. He reexamines his negative thoughts, acknowledges them, and finally lets them go, freeing them to drift away on the breeze. His mind quiets, and in that quiet, Percival can finally hear his body speak. His shoulders say they are too tense, and so Percival lets them relax. His feet tell him that they¡¯re too far apart, and so Percival shifts them closer together. His grip on his makeshift mace whines like a petulant child, and so Percival rearranges his fingers, altering his grip until the child is comfortable and happy. His elbow he brings in. His knees he bends just right. His chest he stops clenching so tight, and the tension of his body melts away. Percival opens his eyes. He is no longer a tightly wound ball of anxieties and stress. He stands as a warrior does, aware and at the ready. The stranger smiles. Ba-dum. The Voxwraith shrieks in discordant chorus of a thousand different voices, but Percival pays it no mind. He sets his bag to the side and prepares to strike. ¡°[Hyperlight Leap].¡± Stick in hand, Percival rockets out of the ravine and up into the storm, shooting straight for the aberration¡¯s high perch. In his wake, the world is painted in streamers of sickly green and gold. Where, when, or how he learned the spell, Percival has no idea, but neither does he care. He simply tells his divinity what he needs, and he trusts it to handle the rest. Ba-dum. It¡¯s the third day again. Percival and the stranger trek along the bottom of the ravine, and they are once more discussing strategy and tactics. The winds of the blizzard high above blow as harshly as ever. Over the past three days of training, Percival has learned that the stranger has a thousand little sayings and pieces of advice, at least a dozen for every occasion. The sayings range from absurdly broad to agonizingly specific. Some seem to contradict each other, at least by Percival¡¯s own reckoning, but the stranger insists that just means Percival doesn¡¯t understand the words well enough. ¡°And so,¡± the stranger continues, ¡°rather than take either path around the mountains, the vainglorious [Liege] commanded his army march directly through the [Valley Impenetrable], and remember, this is despite the fact that all previous invaders traversing that valley were ambushed and killed. What do you suppose happened next?¡± Percival considers the question. The straps of his bag dig uncomfortably into the bare flesh of his shoulders, but he does his best to ignore the sensation as he formulates a response. ¡°He and his men¡­ were ambushed and killed?¡± Percival asks. Based on what little he knows of the stranger, Percival knows his response will be deemed incorrect. His answer is too obvious to be right, but he can¡¯t think of any other outcome. ¡°You¡¯d think so, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± the stranger says, a knowing smile on his face. One hand rests leisurely on the back of his neck while the other spins his scythe. He strides nonchalantly atop the snow. His footfalls make not a sound, and he leaves nary a footprint behind. ¡°But no, your [Liegeliness]. He does not die. He decisively crushes the opposition, and the war is won within the month.¡± Percival cocks an eyebrow. His bare feet crunch loudly through the snow with every step. ¡°How?¡± he asks. ¡°Consider for a second the opposing general¡¯s perspective,¡± the stranger says. ¡°A force roughly equal to yours approaches from beyond the mountains. You have the defender¡¯s advantage, but your enemy might approach from any of three different directions, and you need to split your forces. If your enemy approaches through the valley, a mere quarter of your forces will be sufficient to obliterate them. If, however, your enemy takes either of the paths around the mountains, you¡¯ll need at least half of your troops at each fortification to comfortably ensure victory. I¡¯m sure you already see the problem.¡± Percival nods. ¡°As the defender, I don¡¯t have a large enough army to guard every path. No matter how I split my forces, I won¡¯t have enough to guarantee victory on every front.¡± For several minutes, Percival considers the conundrum, trying to create a solution. ¡°Can I retreat to a different position? If I¡¯m the defending [Liege], I must be familiar with the land. Is there a chokepoint where I don¡¯t have to split my forces?¡± ¡°Retreat?¡± the stranger asks, feigning incredulity. ¡°You can¡¯t even guard the [Valley Impenetrable]? How incompetent can you be? If you can¡¯t hold this position, one of your fellow [Lieges] will use the fact against you. You¡¯ll never campaign again. Your troops will be redistributed to more capable leaders, and you¡¯ll be a laughingstock for the rest of your life.¡± Percival frowns. He hadn¡¯t considered the politics of the situation, but what the stranger says makes sense. ¡°Point taken,¡± he says, ¡°but what about just spreading out my troops to guard each position? Maybe a fifth at the valley, and then two-fifths at either side. Not enough to ensure victory, but it should still be doable. Or what about keeping my army¡¯s elites at some central location, and then sending them out to the proper fortification after my scouts find out where the enemy¡¯s headed? And since I¡¯m in mountainous terrain, how feasible would it be to cause a landslide and collapse one or more of the paths?¡± ¡°Excellent questions, one and all! We¡¯ll never know for sure, but I¡¯d wager most of your ideas could even work.¡± ¡°¡­Which implies the actual defending [Liege] did something else.¡± ¡°Correct! And can you guess what that ¡®something else¡¯ was?¡± Percival spends some time tossing the question around in his head. He considers everything he knows of the set-up and the outcome. A ridiculous idea enters his head, but it¡¯s so absurd he can¡¯t bring himself to believe it. He turns to regard the stranger, and the ancient man has a shit-eating grin on his face. Percival deflates. ¡°No¡­¡± The stranger¡¯s grin grows wider. ¡°But yes~~~!¡± ¡°You mean to tell me that the defender left the [Valley Impenetrable] completely unguarded?¡± ¡°Exactly! He didn¡¯t believe any opponent worth their boots would ever march through a thus-far unconquered death trap, so he decided not to ¡®waste¡¯ any troops defending it. The Vainglorious [Liege] was able to march right through the valley and attack each half of the defender¡¯s forces from the rear ¡ª a classic defeat in detail!¡± Percival scrunches his nose. He understands what the stranger is saying, but he finds the story utterly unsatisfying. ¡°What am I supposed to learn from this?¡± he asks. ¡°¡®Don¡¯t leave an obvious weakness unguarded?¡¯ ¡®Be prepared for anything?¡¯ ¡¯Don¡¯t forget that scouts exist?¡¯¡± ¡°And so we come to the moral of this tale,¡± the stranger goes on. ¡°Any wise coward can avoid an ambush, and any brave fool can fall to their opponent¡¯s schemes¡­ But to walk knowingly into a trap only to emerge victorious? There¡¯s nothing more¡ª!¡± ¡°So the lesson is to walk into every trap I come across?¡± Percival asks, interrupting with a shit-eating grin of his own. The stranger stumbles and nearly trips. ¡°What? No! Of course not. The lesson is that¡ª¡± ¡°I should assume my enemy will do something stupid?¡± ¡°No!¡± The stranger stops walking and rounds on Percival. ¡°The point of the story is that¡ª!¡± Ba-dum. Percival lands before the Voxwraith, poised to attack. Ba-dum. It¡¯s the third day for the first time. ¡°There¡¯s no need to rush,¡± says the stranger as they spar. ¡°A duel is a conversation. Attack, defend, parry, feint, deflect, counter, press, withdraw¡­ they¡¯re all but phrases in a conversation. And just as with any conversation¡­¡± Percival sees the stranger position himself for a strike. Percival moves to block, but the strike doesn¡¯t come immediately. When the momentum of his block meets no resistance, he is left out of position and vulnerable for a bare second, but that is more than enough time for the stranger. Effortlessly, his scythe meanders past Percival¡¯s defenses, and the flat of its blade slaps him on the shoulder. The stranger smiles. ¡°¡­a dramatic pause can work wonders.¡± Ba-dum. Percival strikes. The Voxwraith screams. Ba-dum. On the second day ¡ª or is it the day before? The day after? ¡ª Percival encounters an interesting flower growing from a crack in the ravine¡¯s wall. Time is of the essence, but he decides he can spare a minute to admire it. Its petals are sharp, angular, and iridescent, shifting their hues depending on the angle Percival views them from, but after a few seconds of neck craning, he decides his favorite viewing angle is to look at the flower straight-on. At that angle, an odd pattern forms. Five of its seven petals are equally spaced apart and radiate out from the central pistil in jagged waves. Traveling from the base to the tip, each of the five petals tells the story of a full day and night. Brilliant oranges and reds connect with magentas, deeper blues, and royal purples across a bridge of azure, and Percival can¡¯t help but to for a moment lose himself in the little bloom¡¯s tale of dawn and dusk. The other two petals are¡­ strange. They lie directly opposite each other, but they aren¡¯t spaced evenly with the other five. It¡¯s almost as if they were jammed onto the flower and glued in place¡­ as if they don¡¯t belong on the flower at all. They¡¯re colored mostly green ¡ª an odd color for flower petals ¡ª but they also have one great circle of white on each of their centers. Squinting his eyes, Percival thinks the two circles almost resemble a pair of spectacles. Ba-dum. The battle is anticlimactic. Before the Voxwraith can even react, Percival¡¯s ironwood mace crashes into the monster¡¯s center of mass, obliterating it utterly. Percival¡¯s mace shatters with the force of the impact, and the monster is slain in a single blow. Ba-dum. It¡¯s the third day for the last time. The sun sets on the eve of Percival¡¯s battle with the Voxwraith. Just as Percival prepares to rest for the night, the stranger speaks. ¡°I believe it¡¯s time for me to tell you I¡¯ve been lying,¡± he says, his tone uncharacteristically somber. ¡°You can kill the Voxwraith, and it won¡¯t even be close. You were capable of killing it before our first day of training was over, but I never told you.¡± ¡°Ah. Okay.¡± ¡°¡­¡± A moment of silence passes between the two. It¡¯s clear that the stranger is waiting for Percival to go on, but Percival feels no need to elaborate. For some reason, the revelation that he can easily slay tomorrow¡¯s foe feels like a forgone conclusion. It¡¯s a strange feeling, but to Percival, it¡¯s almost as if the deed is already done. ¡°¡®¡­Okay?¡¯¡± The stranger repeats, incredulous. ¡°Just¡­ ¡®okay?¡¯ You¡¯re not going to ask why I lied?¡± ¡°You already told me why,¡± Percival says, cracking a grin. ¡°It¡¯s because you¡¯re here, and because you felt like it. Do you need any other reason?¡± The stranger opens his mouth to respond, then closes it. He does this twice more before he eventually shakes his head, cracks a grin of his own, and bursts into laughter. In the morning, he is gone. Ba-dum. The Voxwraith is dead. Chunks of its corpse are scattered everywhere. Its ichor ¡ª a rancid smelling substance with a consistency somewhere between mucus and oil ¡ª is splattered about in every direction, dyeing the snow in patches of that same sickly green-gold of Percival¡¯s tainted divinity. The creature¡¯s thousand stolen faces all begin to wriggle and writhe, bubbling away from their respective bits of ruptured flesh in a series of burbling eruptions. Percival tenses, for a moment thinking that perhaps the fight isn¡¯t over, but no new violence comes his way. Instead of attacking, each of the thousand faces drift upward, and they change. Percival watches, utterly transfixed, as the grey faces gain limbs and color and morph into full-bodied spirits of dance. They spin and twirl in a panoply of riotous and ever-shifting hues, spiraling ever higher and higher. Wheresoever they pass, the storm makes way. The blizzard¡¯s blinding white winds retreat in every direction, and soon Percival is in the eye of the largest tornado he¡¯s ever seen. He feels no fear. Without the wind directly in his ears, Percival finally hears them, the voices of the rising spirits. They no longer wail as they had when caged. They laugh, and they cheer, and they sing, and they hoot and they holler for all the world to hear. And finally, with one last jubilant cry of joy, they complete their journey skyward and meld into the sky itself. Perhaps by coincidence, the newly revealed Sun chooses that moment to again disappear behind an opaque cloud, and all that is left to illuminate the heavens are the thousand-thousand ribbons of omnicolored light. Individually, each band of light is insignificant, but together they shine brighter than the Sun ever could. The blizzard¡¯s winds still howl as harshly as ever, but Percival doesn¡¯t hear a thing. For him, the world is silent, for he is lost in his admiration of the spirits¡¯ heavenly display. ¡°Beautiful¡­¡± he whispers. ¡°Couldn¡¯t have said it better myself.¡± Percival turns to the now-familiar voice. The stranger is standing amidst the smoking and shriveled detritus of the thing that¡¯d once been the Voxwraith. He bends down to retrieve an object from among the bits of the thing¡¯s corpse. He straightens, and in one hand he holds¡ª ¡°A mask?¡± Percival asks. ¡°Eyes up,¡± the stranger commands. ¡°This might be our only chance to see such a sight.¡± Following his own advice, the stranger has already turned his gaze skyward, and Percival follows suit. The ever-shifting lights continue to dance overhead, and naught but the whistle of the winds is there to distract them. Entranced by the splendor, neither moves a muscle except to breathe, and they stand there, just like that, for the briefest of forevers. For the first time in too long, Percival knows peace. As Percival watches, his mind slowly gains clarity. Now that the Voxwraith is dead, Percival¡¯s divinity is slowly eliminating its poison from his heart, but it is a gradual process. Lost in the beauty before him, he still finds it hard to believe the last few days haven¡¯t been a dream. Perhaps in an hour his head might clear enough to figure out where lies the line between hallucination and reality, but for now, he is simply content to revel in the phantasmagoria. A dozen minutes pass, and only once the lights begin to fade does Percival break the silence. ¡°You were watching me the whole time,¡± he says. ¡°I was,¡± the stranger admits. Both of their gazes are still set on the sky. ¡°Would you have let it kill me? If I were weaker, if it were a more even fight and it seemed like I might lose, would you let me die?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± High above, the ethereal lights continue to dim, and the Sun¡¯s rays begin to peek out from behind the clouds. ¡°Good,¡± Percival says. A moment passes. The winds grow louder as the world returns to normal. The final wisps of the freed spirits¡¯ light refuse to die. ¡°The [Hollow King],¡± Percival says. ¡°It¡¯s trapped the Prince¡¯s soul. Him and countless others.¡± Percival hears the man beside him let out an amused puff of air. ¡°So what are you going to do about it, your [Liegeliness]?¡± ¡°Same as I¡¯ve done here,¡± Percival says. ¡°I¡¯ll kill the monster, and set them all free.¡± The resolve in his own voice surprises him, but he supposes it shouldn¡¯t. He is no longer that meek monk who¡¯d spent each days with his eyes locked to the floor. Now, he has the courage to look up. Now, he is a leader. Now, he is a [Liege]. Together, he and the stranger share one last moment of silence, and despite the brevity of their acquaintance, their silence is an easy one, the knowing quiet of lifelong friends who¡¯ve only just met. The last colored lights put themselves to rest. The Sun breaks through the clouds. The tornado of winds remain, but it begins to grow turbulent, threatening to lose its shape. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d get to witness the namesake of the [Aurorae Sylvas], but I¡¯m glad that I have,¡± says the stranger. Percival turns to regard the man, and he¡¯s holding out the mask he¡¯d picked up from the Voxwraith¡¯s corpse. ¡°Here, for you. Proof for your atonement.¡± Percival finally gets a good look at the object in the stranger¡¯s hand. It¡¯s a gnarled wooden mask with three crescent-shaped holes ¡ª a pair of weeping eyes and a downturned mouth. The design is simple, but evocative. The mask is tragedy given form. ¡°No, stranger,¡± Percival says with a smile on his face. ¡°You keep it.¡± The stranger frowns. He looks like he wants to argue, but Percival raises a hand to stop his complaints. Percival closes his eyes and takes a moment to see as Gregory had once taught him to see. His senses extend as far as his divinity can reach ¡ª which in his current state isn¡¯t very far ¡ª but he keeps his vision imprecise so as to not lose himself as he had that first time. Seeing what he expected to see, he cuts off his extended perception and opens his eyes. To him, it feels like no time has passed, but from the proximity of the encroaching winds, he knows at least half a minute must have come and gone. ¡°The local Fae are coming,¡± Percival says. ¡°I doubt they missed what just happened with the sky, so the fact that they¡¯ll find me here should be proof enough that I¡¯ve done what I¡¯ve done.¡± Percival¡¯s eyes meet the stranger¡¯s orbs of solid blue-grey, flit down to the still-proffered mask in the man¡¯s hand, and then rise once more to match his gaze. ¡°I don¡¯t need it.¡± The stranger¡¯s frown deepens. ¡°It¡¯s yours by right, and you don¡¯t even know what it does. You have no idea what you¡¯re giving away.¡± ¡°As some old fart once told me, ¡¯To have certainty in all things is the task of fools and gods,¡¯¡± Percival says, throwing one of the stranger¡¯s aphorisms back at him. ¡°¡®To admit ignorance is the first step toward true knowledge.¡¯ I¡¯m perfectly happy not knowing what that mask does, and I freely give it to you.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what those words are supposed to mean, and you know it, you cheeky bastard!¡± ¡°Huh. What a coincidence. A cheeky bastard once said to me, ¡®Twisted words oft¡¯ prove more effective than a twisted knife,¡¯¡± Percival replied. ¡°Wipe that smarmy grin off your face!¡± the stranger demands with mock outrage. A small grin crosses the man¡¯s face, but it soon fades as he once more grows serious. ¡°Please, just give this a tad more thought. Even if you don¡¯t need it as evidence, a natural treasure such as this might prove invaluable. That Voxwraith must have been hundreds of years old, perhaps over a thousand. Naturally occurring magic items are rare enough, and to give away one left behind by a creature that old¡­ you¡¯d do well to reconsider.¡± ¡°I have,¡± Percival says rather glibly, ¡°and my mind hasn¡¯t changed. I want you to have it. If it makes you feel better, think of it as a thank-you present. I¡¯d be dead if it weren¡¯t for you, so please, just accept it.¡± The stranger¡¯s expression becomes complicated. ¡°As I¡¯ve said, I helped you for my own reasons, and I¡¯ve reaped my own benefits. I never expected repayment, for none is required. Our accounts are balanced. If I accept this now, I¡¯d be in your debt.¡± Percival gives a slow nod. ¡°Okay then. I see where you¡¯re coming from. If you don¡¯t want to be in my debt, I understand, but I also want you to understand that that¡¯s not how I see it.¡± ¡°Then we are agreed.¡± The stranger tosses the mask to Percival, and he catches it on instinct. ¡°May your conquests be many and your defeats be few.¡± The stranger turns and walks away. The vortex of white winds encircling them, once distant, has closed in on all sides. The stranger steps toward it without a shred of fear. For some reason, Percival is certain that if he allows the stranger to leave now, they¡¯ll never see each other ever again. ¡°Stranger, wait!¡± he yells. The stranger stops. A mere stride away from disappearing forever, he turns to regard Percival. Percival tosses him back the mask, and the stranger frowns as he catches it. Before he can speak, however, Percival continues. ¡°If you won¡¯t accept a gift, then accept a request.¡± Percival breathes deep and releases it slowly. The winds howl ever louder. ¡°Look me in the eye and tell me you¡¯re real.¡± The stranger cocks an eyebrow. ¡°What?¡± ¡°This is embarrassing, but I have something to confess.¡± ¡°You¡¯re naked, absolutely slathered in a monster¡¯s rancid hemolymph, and it¡¯s so cold out that your pecker¡¯s tucked away ¡®till spring.¡± The stranger smirks. ¡°I fail to see how you can be more embarrassed than you are right now. Out with it. I¡¯ll listen.¡± Percival feels a smirk of his own reach his lips. He gives his head a light shake in order to organize his thoughts. ¡°Since that thing bit me,¡± he says, nodding toward a clump of the Voxwraith¡¯s withered flesh, ¡°it¡¯s been as if I¡¯m walking through a dream. I can never quite tell what¡¯s real and what¡¯s not. Half the time, I think I¡¯m still lying on the floor of the ravine, hallucinating at death¡¯s door. The other half, I think I¡¯m already dead. Even looking at you now, it feels like I¡¯ll wake up any second and discover none of this was real.¡± ¡°And to remedy that, you want me to tell you that I¡¯m real?¡± the stranger asks. ¡°I fail to see how that could help. Whether I¡¯m a dream or not, I¡¯ll insist that I exist.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the thing,¡± Percival says. ¡°I don¡¯t think you will. I think that you¡¯ll tell me the truth no matter what, but I can¡¯t explain why. Do you ever have that feeling in a dream where you just suddenly know something to be true, no questions asked? It¡¯s like that. You¡¯re going to tell me the truth, because there¡¯s simply nothing else you could possibly do. Call me a fool, but I¡¯m certain of it.¡± As the blizzard¡¯s opaque whirlwind cinches tighter and tighter around them, the two men stare at each other. The wind at his back threatens to blow Percival off his feet, so he steps closer to the stranger. The stranger, mask in hand, mirrors the movement and steps closer to Percival. In but a few steps, they meet at the center of the ever-shrinking eye of the storm. They continue staring, their eyes separated by a mere handsbreath. The stranger¡¯s are filled with curiosity and puzzlement. Percival knows his own to be calm, ready to accept whatever answer the stranger is willing to give. Strangely enough, Percival has always in his mind¡¯s eye imagined the stranger to be taller than him, but looking at him now, he realizes they¡¯re the same height. Percival smiles at the thought, and the stranger smiles right along with him. ¡°Very well then, your [Liegeliness],¡± says the stranger. ¡°Allow me to do you one better. Allow me to share with you my name.¡± The winds crescendo like never before, and they close in tight. ¡°I!¡± Fwheuwph! Wings of night, reminiscent of a bat¡¯s if not for the spikes, unfurl from the stranger¡¯s back and snap taut. ¡°AM!¡± A mad gleam enters the stranger¡¯s eyes. He takes in a breath to speak once more, but his next word never comes. The very moment he is about to speak his name, the eye of the storm collapses, and the winds fall upon them both. The wrath of nature buffets Percival from all sides and throws him to the ground. He tries to raise his arms to guard his head, but he¡¯s unsure if he succeeds. The world is a void of white, invisible beyond the bridge of his nose. He¡¯s about to scream for help, but as quickly as they came, the winds disappear. Breathing heavily and shivering from the cold, Percival rises to his feet and shakes the snow from his hair. The stranger is gone without a trace. The scattered pieces of the Voxwraith¡¯s corpse are nowhere to be found, blown away beyond the horizon in every direction. Even the foul smelling gunk that¡¯d clung to Percival¡¯s body is gone, every crevice of his skin blasted clean by torrents of air. He flicks his fingers, and sparks of pure gold, untainted by green, flit through the air before quickly burning out. Every sign of the stranger and the Voxwraith are gone completely, and Percival is left with naught but his memories to remember if they¡¯d ever even existed. Overhead, the clouds sew themselves shut. The sky is once more a demure overcast grey, but there is nary a storm in sight. Percival breathes. A moment later, he looks around and chuckles. ¡°You never did answer my question, did you?¡± No response. ¡°I asked if you¡¯re real,¡± he calls out softly. ¡°I gave you the mask, now you owe me an answer! Not going back on your word, are you?¡± Again, there is no response. Percival¡¯s smile slowly fades. ¡°What am I going to tell your oldest friend?¡± he asks the air, a note of pleading in his voice. ¡°For goodness¡¯ sake, just tell me you weren¡¯t all in my head!¡± Percival closes his eyes and clenches his teeth. Over the past year, he¡¯s rarely heard Gregory speak of his time before Sol¡¯s curse ¡ª some memories are just too painful, it would seem ¡ª yet whenever he did speak of those times, each and every one of his tales revolved around but one other person. The one-sided rivalry that began at his former god¡¯s behest¡­ The battle in the valley where it all turned around¡­ That stolen night spent making promises they could never keep¡­ Percival slaps his cheeks. He opens his eyes and glares defiantly at the sky. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for your name!¡± he seethes, voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Like you said, I don¡¯t need it! Figured it out for myself on day two.¡± He scoops up a ball of snow and launches it heavenward. It sails farther than he expects, and he loses sight of it as it crests a nearby crag. ¡°Don¡¯t you disappear, you coward!¡± he screams. Again, there is no answer, but Percival can¡¯t bring himself to believe that the stranger isn¡¯t out there listening. ¡°Stop hiding! Come out! I know you¡¯re there!¡± In response to his call, several figures rise into view from behind the crag he is facing, and it takes all of Percival¡¯s discipline not to let his surprise show on his face. He¡¯d forgotten that the Fae were coming. His next days and weeks pass by in a flurry of activity. Percival is led to the [Aurorae Sylvas]¡¯ main encampment. Scout Master ¡ª the man leading the Fae who¡¯d found Percival after he¡¯d killed the Voxwraith, the very same man who¡¯d days earlier demanded Percival wander into the mountains naked, alone, and with tears of blood running down his face ¡ª now pleads Percival¡¯s case on his behalf before the faction¡¯s elders. The next day it comes to light that one of the elders betrayed the Prince to the [Hollow King] for some political reasons, but the specifics go over Percival¡¯s head. Something about the elder in question wanting an all-out war against Humanity and turning the pro-peace Prince into a pro-war martyr? The day after, the encampment¡¯s army begins its march toward Soleil, and word goes out to every other Fae encampment to join in the fight against the [Hollow King]. Within a few weeks¡¯ time, Percival is reunited with Gregory and his troops outside the walls of Soleil, and the entirety of the [Aurorae Sylvas] and the [Nameless Revolt]¡¯s forces stand ready to depose the monster leading the [Solarian Courts]. They initially prepare for a drawn-out siege, but are forced to instead storm the city when it becomes clear the [Hollow King] is gathering titanic quantities of power to cast some sort of foul ritual. The morning after he¡¯s reunited with his troops ¡ª mere hours before their desperate final gambit ¡ª Percival finally finds a moment alone with Gregory. Atop a hill overlooking their mustering troops, he confides to his friend all that¡¯d happened in the ravine, including details of the stranger whom up to that point he¡¯d yet to mention to anyone else. ¡°And just as he was about to say his name, the winds collapsed. When I opened my eyes, he was gone, and besides my own memories, I couldn¡¯t find a shred of evidence that he¡¯d ever been there in the first place.¡± Throughout Percival¡¯s entire recounting, Gregory has remained stoic, but how the man reacts next, Percival could¡¯ve never predicted. Gregory chuckles, and Percival looks on in confusion. Gregory gets one glimpse of Percival¡¯s bafflement, and his chuckles become chortles. He pauses, perhaps just now registering the sound of his own laughter, and then bursts into a fit of full-bodied cackles. Percival rubs his eye and shakes himself, but nothing about the scene changes. It takes several long moments before the old man calms down enough to speak. ¡°Ha! Sounds exactly like something he¡¯d do¡­¡± ¡°So you think he was really there? He wasn¡¯t just a hallucination?¡± Gregory lets out one last chuckle, but even after his laughter has died, a smile remains on his face. ¡°Knowing him, I doubt the answer will be a simple yes or no. Perhaps both, or perhaps neither. I suspect it all depends on how we define the question. If you ask me, I say you saw what you saw, and that¡¯s all there is to it.¡± Such a blas¨¦ answer from the usually straightforward man stuns Percival into silence. He opens and closes his mouth several times, but he can¡¯t think of a proper way to respond. ¡°I saw what I saw, and that¡¯s all there is to it? He was real and he wasn¡¯t? Gregory, none of that makes any sense.¡± ¡°You were dying, Percival. You were on death¡¯s door. If you knock on a man¡¯s door, don¡¯t be surprised when he answers.¡± His own words again cause Gregory to burst into a small fit of laughter. ¡°Look at me, an old man speaking in riddles! Makes me feel young again¡­¡± Despite his mentor¡¯s levity, Percival can¡¯t find it in himself to relax. Chewing his lower lip nervously, Percival asks another question. ¡°So you really think it was him?¡± Gregory snorts, a toothy grin on his face. ¡°You can say his name, Percival. I appreciate the consideration, but tiptoeing does us no good. I¡¯m no delicate flower, and I¡¯ve had millennia to grieve.¡± ¡°It¡­ It still feels wrong to say aloud. It¡¯s such a ridiculous thing to believe. It feels like as soon as I say it, I¡¯ll feel like an idiot.¡± ¡°¡®If you¡¯re too scared of being wrong, you¡¯ll never learn a thing.¡¯ That¡¯s something he used to say to me all the time,¡± Gregory says with a far-off look in his eyes. He turns his gaze back to Percival and speaks again. ¡°Tell you what, we¡¯ll both say his name on the count of three, and no one has to feel like an idiot. Are you ready?¡± Percival considers the offer. ¡°If it¡¯s alright with you, I¡¯d prefer to scream.¡± ¡°Haha! Sounds good to me.¡± So as to not alarm his troops, Percival erects a golden barrier around the two of them to muffle sound, and then he nods. Gregory spends a moment admiring the barrier with curiosity, but then shrugs and nods back to Percival. Percival takes a deep breath, and as he and Gregory begin their countdown, he remembers the stranger. His skin bone-white. His robe black as night. The scythe held ever at-the-ready. The earnest smile of a sage wise enough to remain a fool at heart. Whether or not he was real, Percival doesn¡¯t know, but neither does he think it matters. The man is Thanatos. The man is Death. Percival screams until he¡¯s light in the head and seeing stars, and it feels so godsdamned good. Chapter 21.2 Death PWAAASCH! Percival smashed his spoon into the [Hollow King]¡¯s head, blasting the creature straight through the hall¡¯s iron door. Percival cursed himself silently. He¡¯d intended the strike to be lethal, but he¡¯d instinctively pulled his blow at the last possible moment. His heart thundered so violently in his chest that he wanted to vomit. He could barely hear a thing over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. He didn¡¯t feel tired in the least, but each of his breaths came shallow and rapid. His jaw was clenched so tight that his gums were numb. His eyes felt strange, and the world was both far too bright and far too dark all at once. I can¡¯t hesitate, he thought. The more I delay, the more it suffers. Not wanting to give himself any more time to think, he leapt through the hole he¡¯d created in the door. He entered fully intent on finishing his bloody task, but what he saw on the other side cemented his feet to the floor. The entire room was a giant hemisphere, at least five hundred feet across and half as tall ¡ª far too wide to fit within the Torr Royale without some sort of spacial-magic chicanery. Back in the twisting halls, nearly everything had been made up of grey-veined marble slabs, but here, the marble walls were seamless and veined in gold. Bracketed torches of azure ever-burning flames ringed the room at even intervals, and braziers full that same blazing radiance lit the room above, hanging from the domed ceiling by gently swaying chains of silver. Under normal circumstances, any of these details on their own would be enough to capture Percival¡¯s attention. Presently, however, the only thing that drew his eye was the swirling tornado of screaming, thrashing, and disintegrating spirits in the center of the room. Like a twisted reflection of the spirits he¡¯d freed by slaying the Voxwraith, what must have been a million or more human shapes and faces were stretching, wailing, and millimeter-by-millimeter being shred apart into innumerable motes of mind-bending light. The further away a spirit was from the tornado¡¯s center, the quicker they were unmade. Every spirit clawed and scratched at every other stay close to the tornado¡¯s eye, but the centrifugal force of the phenomena¡¯s spin and the violent struggle of each spirit¡¯s neighbors forced them as a whole to slowly drift outward toward their doom. With each passing second, thousands of spirits were utterly erased from existence. Souls were, as a rule, impossible to sense directly. Laymen often incorrectly equated souls with things like spirits, ghosts, or specters, but those things were just distorted one-way impressions of the soul, as opposed to faithful representations of the soul itself. Spirits, in particular, were the intermediary between a person¡¯s soul and their body. To use a common but imperfect metaphor, spirits were the ¡°hands¡± of the soul ¡ª hands that were almost entirely numb, but hands nonetheless. In the same way a palm reader might be able to tell a few things about a person¡¯s life based off of their callouses and the texture of their skin, spiritual experts could infer a thing or two about a person¡¯s underlying soul based off of their spirit, but such inferences were always closer to guesswork than statements of fact. In that moment, however, staring at the horrible suffering of the spirits arrayed before him, Percival suddenly knew what was happening, and he knew it with greater certainty than anything else he¡¯d ever known before. Their souls¡­ he realized. They¡¯re being torn apart. Again, Percival had no definitive proof for this belief ¡ª definitive proof for anything having to with souls was hard to come by ¡ª but seeing the spirits¡¯ horrific expressions, it was difficult to believe anything else. At the origin of the tornado was a familiar crown sitting atop a pedestal. Percival had never seen the crown in person before, but he didn¡¯t need to. Its image had been pressed to the back of every coin he¡¯d ever held in his life. It was the [Couronne Solaire], the [Sun Crown], the divine right to rule given form. Each adult citizen of the realm was sworn to the crown at least thrice over the course of their lives ¡ª once at birth by their parents, once more at their confirmation by their own lips, and once again when they reached the age of majority. As the name implied, the [Couronne Solaire] was meant be as the Sun to its followers, an unattainable beacon of light and life to all below it. Now, however, it was chain, a collar choking the air from its prisoners¡¯ throats and binding them to the earth ¡ª binding them to a destruction everlasting. ¡°[Hollow King]! Stop this! What¡¯s going on?¡± The intricate patterns of gold inlaid in the floor and ceiling, the silver lights and braziers at precise intervals, the chaotic flows of divinity and mana whipping through the air¡­ The ritual was¡­ It was¡­ It was far too complicated for Percival to understand, but it didn¡¯t take a genius to recognize that it was going horribly wrong. ¡°Cough!¡± On the opposite side of the domed room, the [Hollow King] peeled itself from the wall and coughed wetly into the crook of its arm. Its head was caved inward where one of its eyes should¡¯ve been. It tried to remain standing on its one good leg, but soon collapsed onto its hands and knees. Percival flew over and was by its side in an instant, shaking the monster to keep it conscious. ¡°[Hollow King]! What is this? How do I stop it? Tell me!¡± In response, the [Hollow King] tried spitting at him, but the thin membrane of skin covering its mouth caught the glob of spittle and was almost stained red before the color burned away. It spent another few seconds coughing and spluttering as its own bloody spit ran down its throat. With each passing second another legion of spirits was unmade. ¡°Please!¡± Percival screamed. ¡°If there¡¯s even an ounce of Humanity left in you, please stop wasting time! Just tell me how to stop this!¡± The [Hollow King] let out several pathetic high-pitched wheezes. Percival initially thought the thing was choking on its own blood, but he soon realized the sound was laughter. The [Hollow King] was laughing. Thousands of spirits were perishing by the second, and the monster before him was taking the time to laugh. Several more seconds passed. Percival was simply too dumbfounded to know how to respond. Finally, the [Hollow King] ceased its laughter. It unsteadily found its way to a standing position, nearly falling again in the process, but it steadied itself against the wall. It loomed over Percival¡¯s crouched and confused form, and it spoke. ¡°Beg,¡± it commanded, voice raspy and weak. ¡°Please!¡± Not hesitating for an instant, Percival pressed his head to the floor. ¡°I am begging! I beg you! I¡¯m begging you! I¡¯m begging you a thousand times! How can I stop the ritual? I beg of you, please!¡± The [Hollow King] sighed, and Percival raised his head. ¡°No hesitation? None at all?¡± It sounded disappointed. ¡°This would¡¯ve been much more fun if you had some pride. Set on annoying me to the very end, aren¡¯t you, little Percival?¡± Percival made to continue begging, but the [Hollow King] stopped him by raising of its destroyed right hand. ¡°There is but one way to save the remaining souls.¡± ¡°How?¡± ¡°Simple, little Percival.¡± The [Hallow King] spent several precious seconds straightening its back as much as it was able. It speared Percival with the most imperious gaze it could muster, but the effect was somewhat lost due to its wretched state and complete lack of eyes. ¡°All that is required of you is to relinquish what I have demanded from the beginning: Give me your name.¡± ¡°W-What?¡± Percival didn¡¯t understand. ¡°Oh? Who¡¯s wasting time now, little Percival? I spoke clearly, did I not? Give. Me. Your. Name.¡± The [Hollow King] swept its mangled right arm toward the tornado of dying spirits the same way a noble might gesture toward a work of art hung on their wall. ¡°Do you see what fetid fruit your rebellion has borne? Are you satisfied with the harvest you reap? Are you proud?¡± The [Hollow King]¡¯s voice dropped an octave, becoming an inhuman rumble of ash and stone as all traces of humor left its bearing. ¡°All because of you, my ritual has gone awry. All because of you, the spirits of my subjects are dying. All because of you, the [Solarian Courts] are doomed. ¡°Hear my words and know them to be true, you petulant, tittering, up-jumped fool! Only I, your [King], am capable of salvaging this disaster, and all I require is your compliance with but a single, simple request.¡± With a grunt of pain, the [Hollow King] leaned down to place a hand onto the still kneeling Percival¡¯s shoulder, the same way an adult might lean down to speak with an unruly child. ¡°Entrust to me the means to right what you have wronged,¡± the [Hollow King] commanded. ¡°Surrender to me what I am owed. Return to me what is mine.¡± The creature leaned in to whisper directly into Percival¡¯s ear. It¡¯s grip on his shoulder became iron. Its next words came as quiet as a blade in the dark. ¡°Give me your name.¡± A thousand doubts whizzed through Percival¡¯s head in an instant, but he paid them no mind. Every moment wasted on deliberation costed thousands of spirits their very existence. Many a time in the past year, others had suffered because of Percival¡¯s unsteady heart, but now he was resolved. This moment would not be like the others. He knew what he had to do. The divinity in his heart whispered to him without words, telling him all would be well as long as he did what he knew to be right. A greater man might have been able to weigh the pros and cons of sacrificing spirits in the present to prevent the [Hollow King] from causing further devastation in the future, but Percival was not a greater man. All that mattered to Percival was the fact that a million spirits were suffering right there in front of him, and there was something he could do to stop it. ¡°[Hollow King], I surrender,¡± he said, bowing his head. ¡°I give you my name.¡± The effect was immediate. Like a line of soldiers resigned and ready to throw away their lives in a battle¡¯s first charge, Percival¡¯s divinity rushed from his heart. As his strength left him, Perci¡­ Perci¡­? Per-something? Puh¡­? As his strength left him, the nameless man fell flat onto his face, gasping for breath. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably. His divinely conjured armaments shattered into motes of light that flooded into the [Hollow King], and the man was left to flounder on the ground, naked if not for the torn remnants of what used to be a robe. His mind became as unfocused as his eyes. He still knew who he was, but only in an academic sense. He could still remember his life, but none of it felt his. Neither did those memories feel like they belonged to someone else. It were as if his every experience belonged to no one at all. Even his present circumstances ¡ª the hollow pain in his chest, his breathlessness, his confusion ¡ª he couldn¡¯t identify with any of it. Why? The answer came to him easily. His life felt like it belonged to no one because he was no one. He was nothing but a nameless man. ¡°Again, no hesitation?¡± a voice asked, deep and regal. Its texture was unnervingly pleasant, like velvet jammed into his ears. ¡°You really are a bore.¡± The nameless man felt a kick against his side, and he was flipped over onto his back. Above him loomed the [Hollow King]. Its torn flesh was mending right before his eyes, and its featureless face was slowly morphing into something other. An eye here and there, the beginning of a pair of lips, a nose with nostrils capable of unfettered breath ¡ª feature by feature, pieces of a face began appearing where a face should be, but none of the pieces fit together quite right. It all looked so wrong. The nameless man put all those thoughts aside. Mustering his willpower, he fought through his muscle spasms to throw one of his hands awkwardly toward the tornado of dying souls in the center of the room. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! ¡°Ah, yes,¡± said the [Hollow King], speaking as if it¡¯d just remembered something trivial. ¡°I nearly forgot about that, but don¡¯t worry. A [King] is nothing if not true to his word.¡± Muttering chants beneath its breath, the [Hollow King] used both its hand to trace incomprehensible patterns through the air. Its still-forming eyes flicked hither and thither as it closely observed the entirety of the room, adjusting its chants and motions as it went. The wild divinity slowly calmed under the [Hollow King]¡¯s ministrations, and the tornado slowed its spin. Over the course of several long minutes, the pandemonium disappeared completely. The divinity that¡¯d once churned so chaotically through the air now settled into the veins of gold inlaid within the room¡¯s marble, pulsing and flowing in patterns that the nameless man still could not fathom. Most importantly, the spirits bound to the crown were no longer being torn apart, but they were still far from free. The tornado had been decelerating at a constant rate, but once it became still, it did not remain still. It continued accelerating in the opposite direction of its previous spin, and the tornado became a vortex sucking spirits into the [Couronne Solaire]. The spirits were subsumed by the crown, absorbed entirely into its myriad jewels and golden body. The crown¡¯s surface rippled and bubbled and squirmed as the imprisoned spirits fought to escape, but not a one could break away. To add insult to injury, more spirits began entering the room, pulled toward the vortex right through the floor and the domed walls. At first they were a trickle, but soon enough they were a flood. Did my divinity lead me astray? Or am I such a fool that my divinity couldn¡¯t stop me? Doubt entered the nameless man¡¯s mind. He could no longer feel the comforting presence of the divinity he¡¯d grown so used to over past year. With every passing moment, strength continued to leave his already enfeebled form, and he¡¯d soon be naught but a husk. As spirits continued flooding into the crown from every direction, an even more troubling realization entered the nameless man¡¯s head. I¡¯ve doomed every soul in the [Solarian Courts]. The [Hollow King] scoffed, and the nameless man turned his wide eyes to regard the creature. Individual facial features were still forming where the creature¡¯s face should be, and the features were even mostly arranged in the correct places, but as a whole it still no more resembled a face than a jumble of words resembled a story. The creature had at some point stopped chanting and waving its arms, so its work stabilizing the ritual must¡¯ve been complete. ¡°Try not to look so impressed,¡± it said, wearing a facsimile of a self-satisfied expression. ¡°I¡¯ve studied this ritual for years, nearly every day since I was first bestowed with the [Couronne Solaire]. I was a [Champion of Sol] for over a decade before that, and as [King] of the [Solarian Courts], I handled vast amounts of divinity on a daily basis. With my stolen strength now returning to me, it would be stranger if I couldn¡¯t accomplish this minor feat with ease.¡± A mouth finished forming upon the [Hollow King]¡¯s face, and it settled into a smirk. ¡°Besides, a [King] has no need to attempt. A [King] succeeds.¡± Mustering what little strength he had left, the nameless man raised his hand toward the [Couronne Solaire] and the spirits trapped within. ¡°Free them¡­ please¡­¡± he croaked. The [Hollow King] let out a short laugh. ¡°Why would I do that? I still have need of them.¡± ¡°You¡­ promised¡­¡± ¡°Did I? Ah, I see now where your confusion lies,¡± the [Hollow King] said with a shake of its head. ¡°Allow me to clarify the situation. I never once promised to stop the ritual. My only promise was that I would set things right, and set things right I shall.¡± The [Hollow King] strolled over to the nearest wall of the large domed room. Gently, it brushed the back of its hand against the marble the way one might brush a lover¡¯s cheek. ¡°Do you know how old this room is?¡± the [Hollow King] asked. ¡°Most assume the Torr Royale is at most one or two millennia old ¡ª a reasonable assumption, considering the depictions of the [Solarian Courts]¡¯ history carved into its exterior ¡ª but the fools who believe that couldn¡¯t be further from the truth.¡± The [Hollow King] turned to regard the nameless man. ¡°Sixteen thousand years, little P#!$!%(@.¡± For some reason, the nameless man couldn¡¯t understand the [Hollow King]¡¯s last word. He clearly heard each individual sound, but he couldn¡¯t make sense of the thing as a whole. ¡°For sixteen millennia this tower has stood, and for sixteen millennia this edifice of living stone has slowly shifted its facade to reflect the slowly shifting identity of this land¡¯s people. Do you know why? ¡°I¡¯ll give you a hint. The tower¡¯s very name reveals its nature. Torr Royale, a name half ancient and half modern, and bound by neither. ¡°Have you figured it out yet? No? Well then, I¡¯ll give you another hint. I¡¯ve told you that this building is sixteen thousand years old. Tell me, what else happened sixteen thousand years ago? Do you know?¡± The [Hollow King] turned its mismatched eyes toward the [Couronne Solaire]. With slow, reverent steps, it approached, a hideous smile widening betwixt its jaws with every click of its heels against the marble floor. Click. Click. Click. ¡°So you don¡¯t know? I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised that an unrefined miscreant such as yourself never thought to better yourself through education.¡± Click. Click. Click. ¡°I repeat: Sixteen thousand years, little P^%#%*(&. We live in the year 15926. This tower rose in the age of the first gods, and that is no coincidence.¡± Click. Click. Click. The [Hollow King] ceased its march an arm¡¯s length away from the pedestal. It stood between the nameless man and the [Couronne Solaire], casting a shadow over the man as the crown outlined the creature in a golden corona of light. By this point, the flood of spirits pouring in from every direction had slowed, but dozens more were still being pulled into the crown¡¯s vortex with every passing second. ¡°Sixteen thousand years ago in the year zero,¡± the [Hollow King] went on, walking a slow semicircle around the crown, ¡°my ancestor, the first [King] of the [Solarian Courts], a mere mortal fated to die, ascended beyond his lot in life! He became the first and greatest of the gods to ever exist!¡± The [Hollow King] raised its arms wide, basking in the glow of its imminent victory. ¡°This is where He ascended! Upon this very floor stood the mortal whose name would become Sol! With some minor aid from his sister, he built this tower to be the site of his ascension! So great was his achievement that his tower, the Torr Royale, became a living edifice of stone whose form to this very day shifts to reflect the faith upon which his godhood was achieved!¡± ¡°Do you now understand, little P(#@#*$^? The Torr Royale is a forge! This room, a bellows! Divinity, the fuel! The crown, a crucible! These spirits, the flux! And I? I am the mortal iron that shall be refined into indomitable steel! ¡°I shall become a GOD!¡± The nameless man stared in horror. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ mad¡­¡± The words escaped the his lips before he knew he was speaking. He expected his words to rouse the [Hollow King]¡¯s ire, but contrary to expectations, the thing¡¯s smile only grew wider. ¡°Oh?¡± it asked. ¡°Why, pray tell, do you think me mad?¡± The question was obviously a trap, but the nameless man knew this might be his last chance to convince the [Hollow King] to stop. ¡°Your ritual¡­ It won¡¯t work¡­ It can¡¯t work¡­¡± He barely managed a whisper, and even that much required him to gasp for breath between every few words. ¡°This ritual¡­ is a lie.¡± How did the nameless man know the ritual to be a lie? Because if what the [Hollow King] claimed were true, Gregory would have known about this chamber and its purpose. By and large, ancient histories were prone to exaggeration and invention. If a six thousand year old former [Champion of Sol] were ignorant about a ritual this monumental, there was a high chance that the ritual ¡ª whatever its purpose ¡ª had been created sometime in the last six thousand years, and its origins had been fabricated sometime since. Sure, it was possible that Gregory had simply never been told about the ritual ¡ª perhaps because he¡¯d never been crowned [King] ¡ª but that chance was relatively low. Besides, there was a far more fundamental reason why the ritual could never work in the way the [Hollow King] believed it would. ¡°Stolen strength¡­ It destroys you¡­ from the inside out¡­¡± The nameless man forced the words out his lips with the very last of his waning strength. Images flashed through his mind from a life not his own. He¡¯d seen [Priests of Sol] with broken minds and shattered hearts ¡ª the inevitable result of shackled divinity escaping its chains. If the [Hollow King] was determined to capture and enslave not just divinity, but the very spirits and souls of once living people, the result could only be orders of magnitude more catastrophic. ¡°Stolen strength?¡± The [Hollow King] asked, an edge of danger creeping into its jovial tone. ¡°You¡¯re correct on only one count, little P@^$##*#. The crime is correct, but you have mistaken the criminal for the victim. ¡°My strength was stolen ¡ª stolen by you. Now, justice shall be done. Now, you are destroyed, and I¡­¡± The [Hollow King] took in a deep breath, bracing itself for what it would do next. It reached out with both hands and grasped the [Couronne Solaire], removing the crown from its pedestal. The floor shuddered, the air grew chill, and the azure flames illuminating the room spluttered and died. The vortex above the crown at first expanded and then collapsed in on itself, crumpling like paper as it was drawn into and absorbed by the crown in its entirety. The [Hollow King] took in a sharp breath. Its fingers in contact with the crown began smoking. The surface of the crown itself bulged and stretched erratically as the spirits inside were struggling to break free, but the [Hollow King] was undeterred. Trembling with anticipation, the monster raised the crown high above its head. ¡°I am made whole.¡± It placed the crown upon its head, and the chaos was immediate. Bands of blinding light erupted from the crown in every direction, carving deep gouges throughout the room. One caught the nameless man in his legs, severing and cauterizing them both beneath the knee. He screamed. The pain was nearly enough to knock him unconscious, but he hung on. Luckily, the barrage of light was over after only that single volley, and it hadn¡¯t hit him anywhere vital. The man blinked away his tears of pain and forced his eyes back toward the too-bright center of the room. The [Hollow King]¡­ it had become something else. It had once been a thing in the shape of a man, but now¡­ Now it was something entirely other. A heroic frame over eight feet tall, perfectly sculpted muscles shining with internal light, golden hair without apparent beginning or end flowing all around its head like a band of rivers¡­ A smile with too many teeth, lips pulled wider than should be possible, skin so uniform in color the creature appeared flat, plates of golden armor melded directly into its flesh like the scales of a malformed fish, two vertical golden eyes on either side its head, the silhouette of a skin-covered crown enfleshed directly upon its brow, membranous insectile wings whose every cell held the face of a spirit with eyes sewn shut and mouth pinned into a twitching smile¡­ It was magnificent beyond compare, and it was misshapen beyond recognition. Upon its form the Perfect and the Abhorrent intermingled so intimately as to become one and the same. The nameless man¡¯s mind nearly broke at the sight of it. He tried to scream, but he hadn¡¯t the air. ¡°Finally!¡± the golden monster bellowed, its voice like a dozen people all screaming at once. The smile-holding pins jutting from its wings pulled and shifted as it spoke, forcing the attached faces to mouth along with the monster¡¯s words. It breathed deep, subtly draining its surroundings of color as its own luster grew. Its already wide grin grew even wider, expanding beyond the boundaries of its head. ¡°This feels better than even I expected, and my power only grows by the second.¡± It raised a hand high above its head and clenched it into a fist, reveling in its newfound strength. It chuckled darkly to itself, the sound of it disconcertingly slimy and lascivious. It lowered its fist and began to approach the nameless man with slow, regal steps. Its next words came like thunder. ¡°IN MOMENTS, I WILL BE A GOD! I WILL BE THE ONLY GOD!¡± it boomed. The tips of its smile continued to stretch and curve up into a ¡®U¡¯ shape twice the width of its head. ¡°EVERY MORTAL WILL BOW BEFORE ME, AS IS THEIR PLACE, AND I WILL STAND ABOVE THEM ALL, AS IS MINE!¡± ¡°TODAY MARKS THE BEGINNING OF A NEW YEAR ZERO, AND THIS NEW AGE SHALL BEAR MY NAME, FOR IT BELONGS TO ME, AND TO ME ALONE!¡± The monster ceased its march three paces from the nameless man¡¯s prone form. It raised its arms wide, posing like a [Priest] gesturing for its congregation to stand, or perhaps a deity commanding the earth itself to rise. The tips of the abomination¡¯s expanding smile finally met and merged high above its head. Its mouth now formed a grinning oval, a gruesome halo of teeth and lips joined to the creature at its jaw. ¡°WELCOME WORLD, TO THE AGE OF¡ª!¡± Before the creature could speak its name, it coughed, and out of its mouth came a heterogeneous mixture of red, black, and gold blood. The semi-coagulated fluid splattered all over the floor and the nameless man. The creature blinked its vertical eyes in surprise. Tentatively, it parted its ring of lips to speak again. ¡°Welcome world, to the age of¡ªKEUGH!¡± Again, foul effluvia splattered everywhere, and the creature bent over as if struck. It quickly recovered, clenching its teeth and bracing itself to speak again. ¡°The Age of¡ª!¡± PLEUSCHE! The thing¡¯s head exploded in size. Like a loaf of scored sourdough in the oven, its head expanded and split in an ¡®X¡¯ pattern, briefly doubling in size and revealing its internal viscera before the monster grabbed its own head with two hands and squished it back down to size. Slowly, it removed its palms from over its eyes, and it looked down at its now-bloody hands. ¡°Where¡¯s the rest of it?¡± it asked quietly. The words came out calm, but the nameless man could tell that the creature was simmering with anger. ¡°Where¡¯s the rest of it?¡± it hissed again, and the nameless man belatedly realized the thing was talking to him. ¡°The¡­ rest?¡± he asked, still having trouble finding the breath to speak. ¡°WHERE¡¯S THE REST OF ME?¡± it screamed, grabbing the nameless man by the collar and pulling him up to the level of its eyes. ¡°WHERE¡¯S THE REST OF MY POWER? WHERE¡¯S THE REST OF MY HEART? WHERE IS MY NAME? WHERE? WHERE?!? WHERE!?!?!?¡± With its free hand, it punched the wall next to the nameless man¡¯s head. ¡°WHERE-IS-IT-WHERE-IS-IT-WHERE-IS-IT!?! WHY CAN¡¯T I SPEAK MY NAME? WHY DO I STILL HUNGER? WHY DO I FEEL SO¡­ So¡­ so¡­¡± ¡°Hollow?¡± The nameless man finished the creature¡¯s question without thinking, but as soon as the word left his mouth, he knew he¡¯d made a mistake. The creature snarled, and its boiling rage manifested into a swarm of boiling eyes that formed, bubbled, and popped all over the left side of its face. It screamed and threw the nameless man toward the center of the room, sending him crashing into the stone pedestal. The nameless man hit the pedestal back-first, and he felt something crack between his shoulder blades. Everything below his neck went numb and yet burned with pain, and he vomited up more blood than he thought he had left. The monster was back upon him in an instant, looming over him with an eerie calm settling over its inhuman features. It was in that moment that the nameless man realized why he¡¯d never been able to think of the [Hollow King] as anything other than a monster. Staring into the thing¡¯s innumerable gilded eyes, he realized that the creature before him had never been [King] Richard Kingsblood V. That man had died the day the gods disappeared. The abomination before him now was nothing more than a rot-pitted corpse covered in a shroud of gold. ¡°Give me the rest! GIVE ME THE REST! Give me the rest or I¡¯ll kill them all!¡± ¡°I¡­ did¡­¡± ¡°LIAR!¡± What little semblance the creature had to a Human disappeared as its flesh twisted and contorted in a thousand different directions. The nameless man briefly considered what he could say to convince the creature he was telling the truth, but he soon realized the feat would be impossible. Unless the creature felt completely satisfied with its stolen power, it would assume the nameless man was holding out on it, but no amount of power could ever sate it. The creature was empty on a fundamental level. It was for that reason the creature could entrap the spirits of others using onomancy, but it was also for that very same reason the creature could never be fulfilled. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ given you¡­ everything¡­¡± ¡°LIAR! LIAR! LIAR-LIAR-LIARLIARLIARLIAAAAAAR!¡± It screamed so loudly that the air pressure threw the back of the nameless man¡¯s skull into the pedestal. Having vented a portion of its rage, the creature calmed itself enough to reassert its form. It morphed back into the halo-mouthed thing it¡¯d been before it¡¯s eyes began boiling, and with a flick of it¡¯s wrist it conjured a greatsword of pure goldsteel. ¡°Let us see how you tell lies without a neck.¡± The creature raised its arms to strike at the nameless man¡¯s exposed neck, and the man could do naught but close his eyes and await his end. He knew there were no gods left to hear him, but still he prayed. It was a prayer not of words but of pure emotion, a desperate plea that someone out there would come and save everyone he¡¯d failed. He heard no answer to his prayer, but only the sounds of his approaching doom. The whistle of a blade through air. The squelch of parting of flesh. The snap of bone. The wet burble of a head sliding from its neck and falling to the ground¡­ Chapter 21.3 Death Viktor traded blows with the final [Nameless Vanguard] ¡ª the regiment¡¯s leader, judging by her prowess. In one final exchange, the half-gold woman managed to cut off Viktor¡¯s lame arm while only receiving a whip crack on her side in return. The woman ostensibly came out ahead as Viktor signaled Sylph ¡ª his griffin ¡ª to retreat, but Viktor¡¯s blow caused her to recoil in pain. She was frozen in the air for but a second, but in that brief window of vulnerability, half a dozen arrows found their mark and delivered the fool unto death. An arrow through the base of her neck and out her forehead forced [Dying Breath] to consume her flesh entirely. Now a statue of pure gold, she plummeted from the air toward the cobbles of Kingsblood Square far, far below. Her [Arms of the Seraphic Host] dissipated into motes of light trailing her form like the tail of a falling star. She crashed into the square with all the force of a meteor. Her impact caused a kinetic explosion of gold and stone shrapnel, and several of Viktor¡¯s soldiers couldn¡¯t get out of the way in time, but Viktor paid them no mind. Their deaths were the result of their own ineptitude. Cleaning up was always Viktor¡¯s least favorite part of a battle. He knew his soldiers assumed that as a [Steward of Pain] he would enjoy sampling the despair of an enemy who knew that all was lost, but that couldn¡¯t be further from the truth. Viktor didn¡¯t love pain for its own sake. No, his passion lay in causing pain. To take a man filled with hope and crush him, to be the cause of the light in his eyes to die out¡­ There wasn¡¯t a better feeling in all the world. Dealing with soldiers who already knew they¡¯d lost, on the other hand, was boring. What was the point of adding misery to the miserable? It was akin to ¡®hunting¡¯ a caged animal. There was no challenge to it, no sport. Viktor had already had his fun with Gregory. Snuffing out the last flames of hope in that ancient man¡¯s heart had been the greatest ecstasy of Viktor¡¯s life, and he would be riding that high for weeks to come. The rest of this, however, was just work. Now that Kingsblood Square was empty of enemy combatants, Viktor began formulating orders for his troops to reinforce the other battles going on throughout the city. Before he could speak a word, however, the atmosphere changed. The sky shifted from black to polychromatic swirls. Was this an attack from the [Aurorae Sylvas]? Viktor tried signaling Sylph to dive, but something was wrong. It wasn¡¯t just the sky. The entire world was warped with maddening light. No, it wasn¡¯t the world. It was his own eyes. Something was wrong with him. Viktor again tried to signal a dive, but he had no legs. He looked down to see both his armor and his flesh were falling apart and merging into Sylph. His only friend¡¯s avian eyes were filled with fear as she too was becoming similarly undone. Viktor¡¯s very last thought was that he needed to comfort her. He tried reaching out his hand to scratch her feathers in that way she liked, but he no longer had any arms. His self-awareness disappeared. ¡®Viktor¡¯ and ¡®Sylph¡¯ were gone, and all that remained was an amorphous ball of living flesh, organs, feathers, and metal falling from the sky. All throughout the city, the same scene was repeating itself over and over again. The divinity in the air shifted. The pulses that had been radiating from the tower reversed into a flow, at first a trickle, and then a torrent. The fell ritual somewhere within the Torr Royale was repaired, and the spirits of all beholden to the [Couronne Solaire] were ripped from their bodies and pulled into the city¡¯s center by the flood of magic. Every one of the [Hollow King]¡¯s soldiers collapsed and discorporated into their base visceral components. The undead citizenry had no spirits left to yield, but they too shivered with such force that their bodies fell apart. From without the city were pulled a plethora of ordinary citizens¡¯ spirits, but only for several hundred miles in every direction. The forces of the [Nameless Revolt] managed to remain themselves, but even they felt their rescinded oaths stirring ¡ª ethereal string tugging at their hearts, coaxing them to submit their souls to their rightful [King]. Only their allies, the [Aurorae Sylvas], were left wholly unaffected. SPLAT! The mush that had been Viktor and Sylph splattered onto the ground, but no one was around to hear it. For a moment, save for the crackle of flames, the city was silent. The scattered soldiers of the [Aurorae Sylvas] and the [Nameless Revolt] could only stare in confusion, weapons at the ready as they eyed their disassembled foes. Then, all at once, the flesh moved. Tendons, ligaments, bones, muscles, eyes, and teeth surged into irregular piles. Some pounced on soldiers who stood too close and consumed them. Other piles launched themselves at each other to pool their masses together. Still others split themselves apart, turning singular corpses into swarms of ankle-height fleshlings of every shape and description. Unbeknownst to all, this sudden reformation of the [Hollow King]¡¯s forces were caused by the [Hollow King] itself. Somewhere deep within the [Torr Royale], it spent stolen power to reforge its form, and as it became changed, so too did its army. The ankle-high fleshlings congregated into [Tier I] [Penitent Swarms]. Hand bones wrapped in membranous skin attached themselves to eyeballs, becoming [Tier I] [Cherubim Voyeuristes] that gathered information from the skies. The shapeless fleshpiles undulating toward their enemies were [Tier II] [Vacuous Amalgams], hole-ridden aberrations seeking only to consume and replicate. Perhaps the least terrifying creatures of the [Hollow King]¡¯s reformed army were the [Tier III] [Osseum Missilaries]. Their forms were the most uniform, and their silhouettes were the closest to Human if one ignored their lack of heads and lower backs. They were the desecrated corpses of [Sunlit Archers] stripped of everything unnecessary to wield their bows. Their shoulders were placed directly above their hips, and their single eyes were sewn above the knuckles of their right hands for simpler aiming. Their left elbows were fused straight, and the large back muscles usually required to draw their bows were replaced by pairs of winches made of spinal gearwheels. Some notched regular arrows while others used sharpened bones fletched with cartilage-stiffened hair. Lower-tiered corpses were subsumed by the corpses of [Solar Knights] to become [Tier IV] [Gluttonous Templars], headless horse-shaped things with eyes upon their shoulders. From tip to tail, their undersides were replaced with body-spanning maws lined with whirring teeth ready to grind flesh into paste. [Solar Cannons] were repurposed into [Tier IV] [Sinew-Limbed Cannoneers], bones and connective tissue wrapping around the artillery pieces to become spike-lined tentacles useful for attaching themselves to walls. The blood splattered all about the streets pooled together into [Tier IV] [Sanguine Vespers]. Their specific forms were varied, but each of the glistening blood constructs out-massed the average Solarian by at least a factor of four. Meanwhile, the blood spilled nearer to fallen [Luminous Titans] invaded the golems¡¯ inert shells, wearing them like armor. Their trims were dyed red, and every gap in their plating revealed deeper shades of the same hue. A number of [Sanguine Vespers] took the form of enormous blades and hammers, and they launched themselves into the hands of the former [Luminous Titans] to be wielded as weapons. And so the [Tier V] [Scarlet Cardinals] stood and brandished armaments composed of their subordinates, bloodthirsty and ready to wreak havoc. At the center of it all, upon the broken ground of Kingsblood Square, lay the desecrated flesh of Viktor, Sylph, and a sizable portion of the [Hollow King]¡¯s elite forces. Most became troops similar to those spread throughout the rest of the city, but the [Steward of Pain]¡¯s corpse was destined for something more grotesque. Like iron filings to a lodestone, every corpse in an area tens of meters wide flew into Viktor¡¯s. Dozens of equine legs attached themselves in series to create a centipede of horseflesh. Erupting from the head of the train was a grotesque patchwork of meat that could generously be called a ¡°torso.¡± It towered over a dozen feet tall. Five limbs were attached to the creature¡¯s left, and three to its right, and all eight were tipped not with hands but with a motley assortment of swords, spears, and lances jutting from each arm¡¯s end like the spikes of a morningstar. A pair of griffin wings ¡ª haphazardly enlarged with the addition of Human hands ¡ª unfurled themselves at the creature¡¯s back. Abandoned bits of armor slid up its body, borne upon waves of undulating flesh, and were knit together with tendons to form a mosaic carapace. In the center of the creature¡¯s torso, a pair of pustules swelled into existence and burst apart to leave behind a pair of eyes. The eyes looked as if they wanted to scream, but the creature hadn¡¯t a mouth. Filled with nothing but pain and hate, the [Tier V] [Centaurion Pontifex Aberrant] charged away from Kingsblood Square in search of any upon whom it could vent its rage. Its hooves were thunder against the ground, its flesh roiling waves, its hearts a storm. Woe ¡ª and a prolonged end ¡ª unto any who crossed its path. The [Hollow King], somewhere within the Torr Royale, donned the [Couronne Solaire], and a final pulse of mana and divinity spread throughout the city. Like a perfumed rot, every one of its horrid troops became shrouded in a miasma of gold. The [Solarian Courts] were no more. The [Profane Fleshtide] surged throughout Soleil.
¡°Reincarnation, transmigration, or annihilation?¡± Gregory heard the words, and for some reason he instantly knew what they meant, but he was far too distracted to form an answer. Before him lay a memory. It was an early autumn evening with just the barest hint of a chill in the air, and Gregory was sat on a bench atop a hill overlooking the splendor of a familiar city. Hundreds of glistening roads meandering in harmony along the curves of hills, wide boulevards where merchants would set their carts and children would play their games, climbing vines and twisting trees preparing for winter and filling the air with the aroma of their calm, resplendent feats of architecture that gave each district its own unique character, the Grand Colosseum at the center of it all¡­ Arcadia. The city looked exactly as he remembered it did from all those years ago¡­ The only difference was that it was empty. Not a soul was there. ¡°Take your time. It¡¯s a difficult choice to make.¡± Well, not a soul save for himself and the angel standing at his side. Gregory looked over to regard the man who¡¯d just spoke. He wore the stereotypical white robes of his kind, and his spectacles and wrinkled face made him look like a grandfather. ¡°So I¡¯m dead?¡± Gregory asked, surprised with how calm he was. In all likelihood, his serenity was due mostly to his surroundings, but it galled him to think that the angel at his side had constructed this scene specifically for that purpose. It galled him even more to admit that it was working. ¡°Without the gods, I didn¡¯t think there could be an afterlife.¡± ¡°Technically, there can¡¯t, but that¡¯s why I¡¯m here,¡± the grandfatherly angel said with a shrug. ¡°Doing a favor for an old friend, you see.¡± ¡°Reincarnation, transmigration, or annihilation. Are those really my only options?¡± Gregory asked. ¡°Well, they should be¡­¡± the angel trailed off leadingly, ¡°but since I¡¯m a fan of yours, allow me to show some favoritism. I¡¯ll let you say one last goodbye to an old friend, and then I¡¯ll whisk you away to whatever comes next. What do you say?¡± Gregory snorted. ¡°Say goodbye to an old friend? My death didn¡¯t come as a surprise, and I¡¯ve already said my goodbyes. I don¡¯t have any ¡®old friends¡¯ left. Who are you talking about?¡± ¡°Oh, I think you know,¡± the angel said with a smirk. Before Gregory could respond that he didn¡¯t ¡ª even though he knew he did ¡ª the angel raised his hand. Time sped forward. Evening became night in an instant, and Gregory knew exactly when he was. Gregory looked beside him, to the empty seat of his two-person bench. Resting there was a tray with two steaming wooden bowls of cauillum, a hot alcoholic drink made from the root of a plant Gregory assumed went extinct millennia ago. Cautiously, he brought a bowl up to his nose and sniffed. It was heady and sour, just like he remembered. The last time he¡¯d had this drink was¡ª Familiar fingers glide gently through his hair to rest upon the nape of his neck. ¡°I¡¯ll never let you go, Gregory. I promise.¡± Another¡¯s lips, achingly sweet, brush up against his own¡ª Gregory threw the bowl away from his face before he could remember any more. The memory was a happy one, but that only made it sting all the more. The bowl crashed into a nearby tree, splashing its contents all over the bark. The bowl cracked but stayed in one piece. With a hollow thuk thuk thuk, it bounced a few times against the alabaster-white cobbles of a footpath, rolled, and finally settled bottom-up in a patch of grass by the angel¡¯s feet. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry,¡± Gregory wheezed, suddenly short of breath. ¡°I just¡ª¡± ¡°No need to apologize, young man,¡± the angel said with a reassuring pat against Gregory¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I should have better taken your feelings into account. This was my fault.¡± Gregory nodded slowly, surprised at the genuine contrition in the old angel¡¯s voice, but his eyes were still on the bowl in the grass. He looked down at the tray on the bench, but it was gone. He looked up, and it was day again. He had so many questions he could ask, but ultimately, one thing mattered to him more than anything else. ¡°Can I really see him again? Can I really say goodbye?¡± ¡°You can,¡± the angel said, giving Gregory¡¯s shoulder a light squeeze. Gregory took a deep, shuddering breath. Something wet was running down his cheeks. ¡°Then please, make it so.¡±
Gregory awoke to chaos. His nostrils were filled with death, his throat with stone, and his ears with the distant sounds of battle. He tried to cough, but he hadn¡¯t the air. For a moment, he panicked, but then his discipline reasserted itself and he realized he didn¡¯t need to breathe. He got to work. Luckily, he wasn¡¯t buried too deep, and he was pleasantly surprised to find that he still had both his arms too. He clawed his way up through layers of dirt and rubble, but something about the process felt strange. He managed to exhume the majority of his body in under a minute, and the endeavor ended up taking much less effort than he expected. Other than his left foot ¡ª which was still stuck exactly where it¡¯d been when he woke up ¡ª his body flowed slowly but smoothly through the rubble, almost as if he were surfacing from a pool of molasses. The first thing he noticed when he reached open air was the sky. It was flooded with Human souls of every shape, size, and description being pulled into the Torr Royale like ships drawn to the eye of a vortex, and attached to every soul was a similar-looking spirit dyed gold. Gregory squinted. Upon closer inspection, it appeared as if it weren¡¯t souls themselves being sucked into the Torr Royale, but the spirits attached to them. The souls were just being dragged along. As he watched, he noticed some souls managing to separate themselves from their spirits, at which point the spirits continued on as if nothing happened and the souls faded away, but those instances were rare. Wait a moment, how was Gregory able to see souls? And why was he able to distinguish them from their spirits? As far he knew, no living person had ever been able to directly observe the soul. Ah, no living person, Gregory realized. He took stock of himself, and as it turned out, he did not still have both his arms. The tips of his fingers were transparent, and perhaps the rest of him was too, but it was difficult to tell because the entirety of his form ¡ª even his clothes ¡ª was crisscrossed with millions of micro-fractures leaking purple-gold light. Wait, where did he get these clothes? He was wearing neither the [Armaments of the Seraphic Host], nor even the cloth armor he¡¯d had underneath. In their place, he now wore a simple autumn tunic with matching pants. The clothing¡¯s only embellishments were the deceptively simple swirling patterns woven directly into the fabric near their hems, the trademark pattern of a certain city¡¯s fashion industry six thousand years dead. These were the same clothes he¡¯d worn that night in Arcadia, a time that felt like yesterday and a hundred lifetimes ago all at once. He hadn¡¯t a heart in his ethereal chest, but he felt something tremble there nonetheless. He flexed his right hand, and the cracks there widened to further reveal the amethyst-gold hues of a soul set aflame ¡ª his soul. He could feel himself burning away from the inside out. It wasn¡¯t natural for him to be awake, and he intuitively knew that if he persisted for more than a handful of minutes, his soul ¡ª the only part of him he had left ¡ª would be burned away forever. Nearly his entire body must have been vaporized in the explosion that killed him. The only corporeal part of him left seemed to be the left foot trapped beneath a chunk of granite. He tried lifting the rock, but his hands just phased through without budging it an inch. It seemed he was stuck. Gregory took in his surroundings. Kingsblood Square was in shambles. He couldn¡¯t spy a single living person. This wasn¡¯t too odd in and of itself, but what bothered him more was the lack of corpses. The only ones he could spy were the solid-gold bits of the [Nameless Vanguard] mixed in among the debris and shattered festival decorations, but there wasn¡¯t a single enemy corpse to be seen. There wasn¡¯t even any blood. The [Hollow King]¡¯s troops must have sallied from the square to reinforce other battlegrounds throughout the city, but why send everyone? And why take corpses with them? Gregory shook the questions from his head. He didn¡¯t have any time to waste speculating. He tried spreading his awareness through the city, but the attempt caused the burning of his soul to intensify. His skin threatened to fly away in every direction, and he was forced to cut off his perception before he burst apart. He collapsed to his knees and wretched, but nothing came out. When he finally got ahold of himself, he looked at his hands. The cracks there were larger than before. What in the realms was that? Gregory had no idea what¡¯d just happened, but he wasn¡¯t keen on attempting to use his signature perception skill a second time. Incapable of gathering more information, Gregory¡¯s first instinct was to charge into the Torr Royale and aid Percival, but he shoved the urge away. His left foot was still trapped, but even if he were capable of teleporting to Percival¡¯s side right that instant, what could he accomplish? He was intangible, immobile, and effectively useless. He vaguely remembered that an angel had sent him back to Terra for a reason, but his memories from beyond the veil were jumbled and incoherent. He couldn¡¯t for the life of him ¡ª or the death of him ¡ª remember what the reason could be. Frustrated, Gregory yelled at the sky. Why was he still here? Just to suffer? Quickly regaining control of his emotions, he squeezed his eyes shut and redoubled his efforts to remember his purpose. Was is something¡­ something about¡­ saying goodbye¡­? ¡°You alright, old man?¡± Gregory froze. He knew that voice. It was different from what he remembered ¡ª deeper, gravelly, aged ¡ª but the underlying timbre was unmistakable. Gregory turned, and there he saw the love of his life. ¡°Thanatos?¡± The cheap black robes he always wore because he hated cleaning stains, the farming scythe he¡¯d learned to use as a weapon because of a dare, the silver hair he¡¯d kept short ever since Gregory said it made him look ruggedly handsome, the blue-grey eyes and delicate features scrawled into a familar expression of worry ¡ª he couldn¡¯t be anyone else. Sure, he had a few more wrinkles than he did millennia ago, but who was Gregory to judge? ¡°Thanatos?¡± the black-robed man repeated, parroting Gregory¡¯s question. He looked himself up and down, as if just now noticing how he looked. He flashed Gregory a winning smile and winked. ¡°Yeah, I suppose I am.¡± Gregory¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°Oh, you smarmy ass! I knew it was you! I knew it! It¡¯s so good to¡ªhic! It¡¯s so good to see you!¡± In no time at all, Gregory went from stunned silence to a sobbing, sniffling, hiccuping mess with the biggest smile he¡¯d ever had stretched across his face. Gregory tried taking a step toward Thanatos, completely forgetting that he still had a corporeal foot stuck in the rubble. He stumbled and fell, a mere moment away from crashing into the ground, but Thanatos launched himself forward and slid on his knees to catch him. Gregory¡¯s threw his own arms out on reflex, and the two of them landed chest-to-chest in a kneeling embrace. Thanatos¡¯ arms were just as strong, warm, and gentle as Gregory remembered. ¡°Careful, you ol¡¯ geezer!¡± Thanatos chastised playfully. ¡°You could¡¯ve broken a hip!¡± As the dust from Thanatos knee-slide settled around them, Gregory¡¯s breath caught. He simultaneously made two realizations. The first ¡ª and more important of the two ¡ª was that Thanatos¡¯ face was only a few scant inches away from his own. The second was that Thanatos could interact with both souls and the physical world. Thanatos had caught him, a being made of pure soul, and yet he¡¯d been able to kick up dust. That could only mean one thing. Six millennia ago during the [Shattering of Aolyn], Gregory heard that Thanatos had tried and failed to become a god¡­ but perhaps he¡¯d succeeded at becoming something else. Suddenly it all made sense. Percival had only been able to see Thanatos while on the verge of death, but as soon as he cleared his heart of the Voxwraith¡¯s venom, his vision of Thanatos disappeared. Gregory too, despite his countless years spent searching, could only find Thanatos now that he was dead. Gregory didn¡¯t understand it all perfectly, but he didn¡¯t need to. The only thing that mattered was that Thanatos was here, right in front of him, right now. ¡°One last goodbye, love.¡± Gregory didn¡¯t hesitate for another second. He closed the distance between them, and they kissed. Thanatos was at first shocked, perhaps unused to Gregory being the aggressor, but he soon relaxed and returned Gregory¡¯s enthusiasm in kind. It wasn¡¯t chaste. It was desperate and longing and cathartic and beautiful and euphoric and more than everything Gregory remembered and dreamed it could be, but most of all, it was far, far too short. Gregory pulled away first. The taste of his greatest friend and greatest love still fresh in his mouth, still dripping from his teeth. He wanted more, but there wasn¡¯t the time. The cracks all across his body were widening, and his soul was burning away faster and faster. He needed to leave immediately, but there was still one last thing he needed to say. ¡°Please, love. It¡¯s Percival. He¡¯s up there, somewhere high in the tower,¡± Gregory pointed up to the Torr Royale, tears running down his face because he knew he¡¯d never see Thanatos again. ¡°I¡¯ve-I¡¯ve failed. I¡¯ve got to go, but¡­ You¡¯ll take care of him for me, won¡¯t you? Percival, he needs¡ª¡± ¡°Consider it done,¡± Thanatos said. Coming from any other man, the words would be a figure of speech, but to hear them coming from Thanatos, Gregory couldn¡¯t help but take the phrase at face value. Gregory relaxed, completely at ease. He quite literally considered the whole affair over and done with for no other reason than because Thanatos said so. With no worries left to anchor him to Terra, Gregory began to fade. He smiled, and Thanatos smiled back. ¡°May the Beyond treat you well, old man,¡± Thanatos said. Gregory chuckled at his lover¡¯s playful teasing. As he felt his body dissolve into motes of light, he realized this would really be their final goodbye. ¡°Don¡¯t be in a rush to catch up, love. Be well, and be happy.¡± The held each other right up until the end. Gregory stole one last kiss ¡ª nothing more than a brush against the lips ¡ª and then he was gone forever.
The whistle of a blade through air. The squelch of parting of flesh. The snap of bone. The wet burble of a head sliding from its neck and falling to the ground¡­ But the head that fell to the ground was not his own. ¡°Your [Liegeliness], we¡¯ve got to stop meeting like this.¡± Wait, I know that voice. Slowly, Percival opened his eyes. Ah. That¡¯s right. Percival. That¡¯s my name. How could I forget? ¡°That¡¯s twice now that I¡¯ve swooped in at the last moment to save your life. Once more and it¡¯ll start to feel clich¨¦.¡± Blinking away his tears, Percival¡¯s vision cleared, and he locked eyes with the stranger who¡¯d once again saved his life. No, not a stranger. ¡°So you are real. It¡¯s good to see you, friend,¡± Percival said. His voice had returned to him, but he was still dying. Glancing down at himself, he saw [Dying Breath] exacting its toll on his body. The spell had paused during the brief time he¡¯d lost his name, but now everything below his neck was regenerating in gold, more and more of his flesh was being consumed by the second. ¡°But there¡¯s no need to worry. I don¡¯t think there¡¯ll be a third time.¡± Death chortled. ¡°This might sound odd coming from me, but don¡¯t be so morose.¡± He flicked the ichor off his scythe and bent down to offer Percival a hand. Numbly, Percival accepted. Death helped him up, but no sooner had he found his feet than he stumbled again. He nearly fell back onto his ass, but Death was there to catch him and set him right once more. There on the floor, split neatly into three pieces, lay the corpse of the [Hollow King]. Its crown was nowhere to be seen. Its body, steaming and shrinking as if being boiled by the air, rested on its side. Its right arm was a full pace away from its body. Its head lay askew, half facing the ceiling and half staring Percival down with its glassy, teeth-filled eyes. ¡°I know who you are, and I¡¯m fairly certain I know why you¡¯re here too,¡± Percival said with a smile. ¡°I only wish it were possible we could meet under better circumstances.¡± Death favored him with an odd look, something between relief, surprise, and vindication. ¡°The victims¡¯ souls¡­¡± Percival went on, glancing down at the corpse that¡¯d shrunk down to its original size. ¡°Are they¡­?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry. It takes more than a novice¡¯s borrowed ritual to destroy so many souls,¡± said Death. ¡°I doubt more than a few thousand were truly annihilated. At worst, the rest suffered only the destruction of their spirits.¡± He gave a helpless shrug. ¡°They will feel somewhat removed from themselves for a few days, months, or even years depending on a number of factors, but so long as the soul and the body remain, the spirit will recover, or if needed, be born anew.¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± Percival replied. He¡¯d hoped that his earlier intuitions about souls being destroyed were wrong, but he was sadly unmistaken. It was some consolation to know that ¡®only¡¯ a few thousand souls were gone forever, but that was still a level of loss beyond his comprehension. ¡°I have something to give you,¡± said Death, interrupting Percival¡¯s line of thought. He pulled open a hidden slit at the hip of his robe to retrieve something, but as he did, Percival thought he spied the night sky through the gap. It was like a band of a million stars set against the black, blue, and pink of a twilight sky, but his glance was so brief that he couldn¡¯t be sure if what he saw beneath the ancient man¡¯s robes was real. When his eyes refocused, he saw that Death was holding a crown. Not just any crown, but a crown of gems, gold, and fire. It greatly resembled the crown the [Hollow King] had worn, but its every aspect was made more. ¡°The [Couronne Solaire], the [Sun Crown] ¡ª whatever you want to call it really,¡± said Death. He held out the flaming crown for Percival to take. ¡°It¡¯s yours. This whole region too, if you want it. You could rule it all.¡± Percival was stunned silent by the offer. Him? Rule the [Solarian Courts]? As the leader of a revolution, perhaps he should¡¯ve been more prepared for the possibility, but he wasn¡¯t. He was dying, and he¡¯d known he would be dying this night for quite a while. ¡°After this chaos, the people will need someone to lead them, to tie them together, to keep them whole,¡± Death went on. ¡°This realm¡¯s people ¡ª all its people, Fae and Human alike ¡ª will need a leader they can believe in. I can think of no one better to fill that role than you.¡± Death was offering him a chance to rule. Percival was dying, but a dead man couldn¡¯t rule. Was Death offering him what he thought he was? ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not sure I understand,¡± Percival said lamely. ¡°I am saying that I shall guide you, and you in turn shall guide [Solaria]. Say the word, and the crown is yours.¡± Death raised the crown Percival¡¯s eye level. Its metal glimmered in tempting shades of yellow-gold, the gems encrusted on its band shining with every color of the rainbow as the light of its own white flames reflected off of them. ¡°What say you, my student?¡± Percival considered the offer seriously. A thousand thoughts crossed his mind in an instant, but ultimately, one piece of advice rose to the top. Seek first to know thyself. Percival gave a bittersweet smile. ¡°I say that thrice now you¡¯ve helped me defy fate, and I worry Fate might never forgive me if I scorn her a fourth time. Forgive me, teacher, but I must reject your offer, and further, I must say that you are wrong.¡± ¡°I am wrong?¡± Death asked, his tone full of curiosity. Seek second to know thine enemy. ¡°We are at the precipice of peace. The enemy is no longer an external threat, but internal strife. You were right to say my people need someone to tie them together, but you are wrong to think they need me as a leader.¡± Ask not what you have the strength do. Ask what must be done, and find the strength to do it. Percival could feel it within himself, the potential to reject [Dying Breath] and stretch out his life. All he needed to do was accept the crown, and that potential would catalyze into a power great enough to sustain him for centuries¡­ but he knew that wouldn¡¯t be the right thing to do. ¡°It is weakness to cling to that which is no longer yours. It is strength to let it go,¡± Percival said, glancing down at the dismembered corpse of the [Hollow King]. ¡°My people have already seen one corpse upon the throne, and I doubt they¡¯d be eager for another.¡± He looked back up to Death. ¡°My lot is with the dead, and though it tempts me to reject their company, I have found the strength to accept my place among them. I am ready to die.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have a spell to get rid of¡­ all this?¡± Death asked, gesturing vaguely to Percival¡¯s golden body. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I don¡¯t,¡± Percival replied with a smile. His face was the only part of him left that wasn¡¯t yet entirely gold, but he could feel thickening veins of the metal running through every one of his features. He¡¯d be dead in mere moments, but strangely enough, he felt no dread. He felt¡­ calm. ¡°You have no reason to apologize to anyone,¡± said Death, a hint of melancholy in his voice. ¡°If these are to be you last breaths, do you have any final words?¡± ¡°A request, if you would.¡± ¡°If it¡¯s within my power,¡± Death replied with a nod. ¡°My soldiers,¡± Percival began. One of his hands placed on Death¡¯s shoulder, and the other he placed over his own heart. ¡°It might be my time, but it¡¯s not theirs. Please, accept their strings and bring them back.¡± He clenched the hand over his heart into a fist, and with a grunt of effort, he ripped. Nothing visible came away, but he could vaguely feel the result of what he¡¯d done through his spirit. It was a subtle thing, like a thousand distant lights in his peripheral vision slowly dimming before they disappeared. If he hadn¡¯t been paying attention, he wouldn¡¯t have noticed. He held them out to Death, the thousands of intangible strings connecting him to the souls of his subordinates. It was also in that moment that he realized that there were roughly twice as many stings in his hand as there should have been, which meant Gregory was already dead and had passed his burden onto Percival. Sadly, there was no time to mourn. Percival could already feels his eyes ¡ª the first place the gold had appeared, and the last place it would consume ¡ª turning wholly into metal. ¡°I know it¡¯s a lot to ask, but¡ª¡± ¡°They shall live. You have my word.¡± Percival stared at Death in shock. His mouth silently worked through the beginnings of a dozen different questions left unasked, but ultimately, he just settled on a smile. Death grasped the thousands of invisible threads from Percival¡¯s hand and pressed them into his own heart, tethering to him each and every remaining soul of the [Nameless Revolt]. A single tear rolled down Death¡¯s face, and Percival felt more than a few roll down his own. Thank you, he mouthed silently. Thanks to Death, the lives of his subordinates were secure, and Percival could die without too many regrets. Only he, Gregory, and the [Nameless Vanguard] would remain permanently fallen, but that was a sacrifice they¡¯d been willing to make from the beginning. With the [Hollow King] slain, the [Solarian Courts] ¡ª No, [Solaria] ¡ª had a chance to be rebuilt better than it ever was. All of the [Nameless Revolt]¡¯s remaining lieutenants had long ago been made aware of the false origins of [Solaria]¡¯s eternal war with the [Despoiled Legion], and they¡¯d been given instructions to seek reconciliation with their ancient allies come spring. Beyond that, he trusted his subordinates to guide the land in the right direction. There were too many unknowns for Percival to predict what a tomorrow without him might hold, but he held hope that the future might finally be one of peace. His golden eyes locked onto Death¡¯s orbs of storm grey. He spoke his last words, and he died with a smile on his face. ¡°Best of luck, Thanatos.¡±
¡°They shall live. You have my word.¡± Melpomene, still disguised in her scythe-wielding ¡®kooky old man¡¯ persona, accepted the soul tethers from her former student¡¯s hand. It looked like he had a lot ¡ª way more than a new [Liege] should be able to handle ¡ª but the way individual [Lieges] bound soldiers to their souls were always at least a little idiosyncratic. Maybe this young man was the type to create two dozen tethers for each of his soldiers just to make sure he really got it right ¡ª a completely unnecessary precaution, but if it assuaged his anxieties, who was Melpomene to judge? Melpomene briefly examined the bundle of tethers in her hand. She expected the vast majority of them to be redundant connections that wouldn¡¯t add much ¡®weight¡¯ to her soul, so she saw no problem in accepting them. She pressed the connections into her own heart, and then¡ª AAAAH! OW OW OW! WHAT IN THE UNHOLY FUCK¡ª!?! Melpomene felt like her eyes were trying to shoot out of her skull, but she managed to retain her outward composure. An entire army, thousands upon thousands of souls, all latched onto Melpomene in an instant. As a [Tier V] [Liege], she should¡¯ve been able to deal with the burden in isolation. The only problem was that she already had an army of her own. Melpomene¡¯s army was already about eighty percent of what her soul could handle. She¡¯d expected the other [Liege] to only have relatively few connections in comparison, but this¡ª It felt like she¡¯d been doing weighted back-squats, and instead of throwing on a few more pounds, her student had added enough weight to break her knees. Melpomene felt a single tear of pain roll down her cheek, but she sealed her tear ducts through sheer willpower before another could escape. She was vaguely aware of her former student saying their last words or something. Maybe she should¡¯ve been listening, but it took all of her concentration not to collapse into a blubbering mess. She¡¯d spent all that time and effort to make this persona look cool and mysterious, godsdamnit! She wasn¡¯t going to ruin it now!
Earlier¡­ ¡°¡±SECRET TUNNEL!¡±¡± Their cheering complete, Melpomene and Eurymedon got to work. While Eurymedon began casting various scouting spells on the tunnel, Melpomene went to share the good news with her troops and to provide them with new orders. Everyone was already roused by the earlier avalanche that had definitely come out of nowhere, so her task didn¡¯t take very long to accomplish. Logistical accommodations for the impromptu expedition would take longer to complete, but there was enough flex in the existing system to begin without delay. By dawn, every soldier was rested, ready, and raring to march. There was only one problem. It was in that liminal band of time when Night¡¯s fingers still wove through Day¡¯s first amber rays of dawn, both hesitant to let go ¡ª one of Melpomene¡¯s favorite times of day, though she¡¯d never admit it ¡ª that Melpomene furled her wings and landed at Eurymedon¡¯s side. Her darksteel boots crunched into snow as she landed, but so focused was Eurymedon on their task that their eyes did not stray from the tunnel¡¯s entrance. Despite the cold, sweat dripped from each of their myriad brows, and all six of their arms continued tracing intricate patterns through the air as the purple light of their magic danced in befuddling patterns. Their mouths, which had each been chanting independently, suddenly unified, and with one last push, Eurymedon sent her spell in the shape of a giant purple eye rocketing toward the secret tunnel. The spell splattered against an invisible wall beneath in entrance¡¯s archway. A lone spark of Eurymedon¡¯s spell made it a few feet into the tunnel, and then died. Eurymedon visibly deflated, becoming six inches shorter as their central column sagged and crumpled in on itself. ¡°Eurymedon, are you okay?¡± ¡°Ah, my [Liege]!¡± Eurymedon popped back up the full height and hastily bowed, obviously embarrassed that they¡¯d been caught unawares in the midst of failure. ¡°Please, none of that,¡± Melpomene said, gesturing for her lieutenant to rise. She looked down the tunnel that been giving her second-in-command so much trouble and saw that it stretched for at least a hundred meters through the mountain in a perfectly straight line. Beyond that, it was difficult to make anything out without more light. ¡°Tunnel¡¯s giving you trouble?¡± ¡°¡­Yes, my [Liege],¡± Eurymedon said, obviously embarrassed. ¡°The construction of this spell is based off a framework I¡¯m completely unfamiliar with. Much to my shame, I must admit that I have no idea how long it will take for me to decipher this enchantment¡¯s full effects ¡ª let alone how to dismantle it without collapsing the whole tunnel.¡± Eurymedon shifted uncomfortably. ¡°As you¡¯ve just seen, my frustrations caused me to stoop so low as to try overwhelming the spell through brute force, and much to my chagrin, it seems I¡¯m incapable of even that.¡± Eurymedon shook their head in frustration and glared balefully at the archway. ¡°Whatever this spell is, it must have been absorbing power and reinforcing itself for millennia. I apologize, my [Liege], but unravelling this spell might be the work of years, if not decades. Come spring, I would consider it an accomplishment if I¡¯ve dispelled even ten meters of this preternatural darkness.¡± Melpomene looked back down the tunnel toward the natural-looking darkness a hundred meters away. It didn¡¯t appear especially magical to her, but she wasn¡¯t the expert. ¡°Would it help if we get closer?¡± she asked. Eurymedon scrunched their eyes. ¡°I would caution against stepping through the archway until we better understand the tunnel¡¯s enchantment, but for now, I believe we¡¯re close enough. The darkness is only a few feet away, after all.¡± Melpomene paused. She reexamined the darkness deeper into the tunnel, but no matter how much she squinted, tilted her head, or rubbed her eyes, the darkness didn¡¯t move. ¡°A few feet?¡± she asked. ¡°It looks like a hundred meters to me.¡± ¡°A hundred meters, my [Liege]?¡± ¡°Yes, a hundred meters, give or take,¡± Melpomene said, a hint of confusion entering her voice. ¡°Why do you ask?¡± ¡°My [Liege], if you don¡¯t mind my asking, could I borrow your eyes for a moment?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Eurymedon casted a quick spell and touched Melpomene¡¯s shoulder. Melpomene felt her eyes glow, so she looked toward the tunnel, knowing that Eurymedon was seeing through her eyes. A moment later, Eurymedon cut off the spell, each of their myriad mouths puckered in bafflement. ¡°Even through your eyes, I can see naught but a shroud of darkness beyond the first few feet,¡± they said. ¡°My [Liege], could you please describe exactly what you see? I ask that you spare no detail.¡± Melpomene shrugged and obliged. It took half an hour, but she described the darkness, the tunnel, the archway, and a bit of the surrounding rock in excruciating detail. She described exactly how the early morning light played against every facet of stone, the patterns dust particles wove as they wove through the air, even how particular rocks made her feel. Melpomene knew from experience that when Eurymedon asked for every detail, they meant every detail. Melpomene was just about to launch into an explanation about why a particularly angular arrangement of striations reminded her of her Terpsichore when Eurymedon raised a hand to stop her. ¡°I think I¡¯m finally beginning to see¡­¡± ¡°I never doubted that you would!¡± Melpomene beamed. ¡°Seeing is what you do best.¡± The frustration from their earlier shortcoming now gone, Eurymedon gracefully accepted the praise with a nod and a few dozen smiles. ¡°With approximately ninety-five percent confidence, I can rule out the possibility that what you see is an illusion. No illusion magic I am aware of could produce a scene that is both self-consistent and environmentally-reactive enough to withstand a full half-hour of your observation without contradiction.¡± ¡°Any ideas on why I¡¯m able to see then?¡± ¡°Too many to list, my [Liege], but I now see a path toward understanding.¡± The following hour was consumed with further experimentation. Eurymedon casted more spells while Melpomene summoned the leaders of each regiment to observe the archway with their own eyes. From what Melpomene could tell, they all saw the exact same thing as Eurymedon ¡ª a stone archway, an open stone gate, and an absolute, all-consuming dark. It seemed that Melpomene was the only one who saw anything different. Eurymedon¡¯s final experiment was to enchant a small array of objects ¡ª a knife, a potted herb, a piece of tarp, a chunk of meat, some animal feed, four different coins, a deer¡¯s eye, a number of stones with different runes carved into them ¡ª with a variety of spells that made them glow different colors. They affixed the objects to a wooden board with some twine, and then they carefully tossed the board into the tunnel. Ninety-one seconds later, they pulled the wooden board out of the tunnel with an attached rope and took note of the results. Melpomene watched as Eurymedon took meticulous notes on each object, most of which were now glowing in different colors, vibrating, or cracked. ¡°I have yet to uncover this magic¡¯s true nature, but I¡¯ve eliminated enough possibilities to devise a workaround,¡± they said while pulling out a half-dozen different spell reagents from a nearby chest. ¡°It¡¯s an altered version of [Nightmare Realm],¡± Eurymedon went on as they began drawing a ritual circle using green dust Melpomene didn¡¯t recognize. ¡°If I invert a few runes and replace a few components, I should be able to reverse the spell¡¯s effect in exactly the right way to superimpose your vision of the tunnel onto reality, in effect subverting whatever protections are placed on the tunnel without needing to fully understand them.¡± ¡°[Nightmare Realm]?¡± Melpomene asked. She was familiar with the spell. As the name implied, it was a perception-altering spell that trapped a single target¡¯s mind within a nightmarish illusory world. It was one of Eurymedon¡¯s favorites, the same spell they¡¯d used on Morgan in their battle a year ago. ¡°Why use a heavily altered version of that spell instead of one that¡¯s already closer to what you need?¡± ¡°A variety of factors, my [Liege], chief among them being the spell¡¯s precise mechanics, its high [Tier], and my familiarity with it,¡± the [Daemon of Eyes] responded as they continued their preparations. ¡°There definitely exist spells that wouldn¡¯t need so much alteration to achieve the ends we desire ¡ª likely spells in my own repertoire ¡ª but I am simply not adequately familiar with them to guarantee similar results with the same level of confidence.¡± Finished with drawing their ritual circle, Eurymedon began arranging their other reagents within it. Half of their mouths started a cacophony of chants to prime different sections of the circle while the other half continued their conversation with Melpomene. ¡°If you¡¯re interested, I could explain the spell theory while I work?¡± Melpomene smiled. ¡°I¡¯d love that.¡± The vast majority of Eurymedon¡¯s explanation went over Melpomene¡¯s head. She¡¯d never had a personal interest in learning magic ¡ª too godsdamned confusing! ¡ª but her second-in-command¡¯s passion for the subject was so infectious that she couldn¡¯t help but enjoy the one-sided discussion. Did Melpomene know what it meant to ¡®collapse a fifth-order manifold into a third-order projection?¡¯ Of course not, but neither did she need to understand every facet of a smith¡¯s profession to appreciate a well-forged blade. Fifteen minutes later, the spell was nearly complete, and Melpomene had an important decision to make. As they¡¯d explained earlier, Eurymedon¡¯s modified ritual-cast [Nightmare Realm] would enchant one of Melpomene¡¯s weapons with the power to impose her perception onto reality. The problem was that she could only pick one weapon. Arrayed on a table before her were her three favorite tools of war: [Audacity], her darksteel flamberge, and her matching gold-plated handcannons, [Subtlety] and [Discretion]. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that!¡± she whispered to the inanimate objects. ¡°I can only pick one of you.¡± The inanimate objects didn¡¯t respond because they were inanimate objects. ¡°I already told you!,¡± Melpomene went on, frustration entering her voice. ¡°I would pick all three of you if I could, but we only need one cast! Any more would be a waste of time and reagents.¡± The inanimate objects didn¡¯t respond because they were¡ª ¡°Oh, you know that¡¯s not what I meant!¡± Melpomene snapped, glaring at [Subtlety]. ¡°I wasn¡¯t implying anything!¡± The inanimate objects didn¡¯t respond because¡ª ¡°It¡¯s so like you to bring up old shit, [Audacity]. I swear, the only reason I didn¡¯t notice that smudge on your pommel was because¡ª¡± The inanimate objects didn¡¯t¡ª ¡°You know what? This discussion is over!¡± Melpomene snatched [Discretion] up from the table with a dazzling flourish of spins. She held the handcannon up above her head and admired the way the daylight played against its sharp lines and gentle curves. ¡°As a reward for good behavior, I choose you!¡± The inanimate objects didn¡¯t respond because they were inanimate objects, but Melpomene still occasionally liked to imagine what they¡¯d say if they could talk. She looked at [Audacity] and [Subtlety] still lying on the table, and she couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°I love you too. Now let¡¯s get to work.¡±
Eurymedon¡¯s ritual went off without a hitch, and [Discretion] was soon shrouded in a faint purple sheen that should last for over a month. Her army arrayed behind her, Melpomene loaded a blank into her handcannon and fired into the tunnel. BANG! She would use specially prepared low-charge ammunition later in the tunnel so that everyone could keep their hearing, but it felt properly Evil? for the inaugural shot to be loud. To her eyes, nothing about the tunnel changed, but when she looked to Eurymedon, her second-in-command gave her a nod. The spell was working. Melpomene turned to address her troops. ¡°Soldiers!¡± she boomed. ¡°Listen, for today I address you not only as your [Liege], but as a fellow Daemon hungry to claim what is rightfully ours. Judge my words by their own merits, and know them to be true.¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. She launched into her speech with gusto, performing an adapted version of one of her ready-to-go speeches she kept loosely memorized for occasions like this. She¡¯d had this particular speech in her pocket for over a decade. She knew it so well that it only took half her attention to recite, so as she spoke, she allowed the other half to wander. Another faction¡¯s [Lieges] might assume Melpomene greatest accomplishment was her empire ¡ª as [Daemon Autarch] she had, after all, more than doubled the landholdings of the Daemonic realm in the past year alone ¡ª but that assumption was wrong. Melpomene¡¯s greatest accomplishment was here, standing before her, arranged in a marching column atop a ramp constructed just that morning, and ready to go to war. They were fierce. They were beautiful. They were disciplined. They were hers. Melpomene had spent decades forging her troops into the greatest force they could be, and in that, she¡¯d succeeded. Her only problem was that she¡¯d apparently succeeded too well to keep things interesting, because as of late, conquest had become dreadfully boring. More often than not, the mere threat of her army was more than enough for the enemy to surrender. Failing that, those few who were dumb enough to face her army head-on were also dumb enough to fall for every one of her traps. Melpomene wasn¡¯t usually one to complain when a plan worked, but for plan A to work every time? Ugh. It almost made plans B through H feel like a waste of time. Millennia of peace and plenty had turned the [Solarian Courts]¡¯ [Lieges] into a corpulent pack of politicking ninnies. According to Dux Heartless, they¡¯d never even trained for war, only tournaments and mock battles. No enemy force had been able to challenge Melpomene and her army this past year, but with any luck, that was all about to change. If this tunnel led all the way through to the other side of the [Titan¡¯s Fingers], perhaps even somewhere near Soleil, her boredom was about to be alleviated. Their latest intelligence painted the enemy capital as an order of magnitude better defended than any of the Duchies Melpomene had encountered thus far. Better yet, there were a pair of guerrilla revolutionaries named Gregory and Percival who sounded like they might actually be half-competent leaders. Melpomene had trouble admitting it to herself, but she still wanted an epic final battle. She didn¡¯t want to die, of course. She just wanted death to be on the table. A true kill-or-be-killed clash of mind and might that¡¯d force Melpomene to use every ounce of skill and effort she had, a battle whose legend would resound through the ages! With any luck, that¡¯d be exactly what she¡¯d find beyond these mountain. ¡°They call us a ravening tide! They call us a wildfire tearing through the plains! They call us a tempest fierce enough to bring down the sky!¡± Her musings complete, Melpomene refocused her attention back to her speech. Her troops, cheering at her every word, deserved nothing less than her best. ¡°They are right to fear us, but I tell you this: They do not fear us enough! I ask, are we a mere force of nature?¡± Guided by nothing other than the tone of their [Liege]¡¯s voice, the soldiers quieted, hanging onto her every word. Anticipation hung in the air, a quiet so taut it could snap. ¡°No, my soldiers. We! Are! LEGION!¡± ¡°¡°¡°ALAL¨¦! ALAL¨¦! ALAL¨¦!¡±¡±¡± The soldiers thundered their war cry, clanged their arms, and stomped their boots, the sound of it all so loud that Melpomene would¡¯ve feared an avalanche if the last one hadn¡¯t been so recent. ¡°Terra¡¯s wrath is nothing compared to the wrath of a Daemon spurned! Tides recede, fires burn out, and storms clear. But we? We! Are! FOREVER!¡± ¡°¡°¡°ALAL¨¦! ALAL¨¦! ALAL¨¦!¡±¡±¡± ¡°Once called Deathless, now Despoiled, we have come to wrong the rights of the past! For six millennia we have sharpened our blades and honed our cunning! ¡°Do you feel it, my soldiers? Do you feel the gaze of histories made and histories yet to come? The past gazes upon us with pride, and the future shall stare at us in awe! ¡°Feel it, my soldiers! Feel the ice in your veins! Feel the steel in your hearts! Feel the fear in our enemies eyes as we strike from the dark! ¡°We are inexorable! We are inexhaustible! We! Are! DEATH!¡± ¡°¡°¡°ALAL¨¦! ALAL¨¦! ALAL¨¦!¡±¡±¡± ¡°Soldiers! At the ready!¡± ¡°¡°¡°HO!¡±¡±¡± More than a thousand heels clicked together in perfect unison. Melpomene turned toward the tunnel, eyes locked on the glory that lay beyond. ¡°MARCH!¡±
¡°As far as we can tell, it¡¯s only a local collapse caused by the fissure. Barring other factors, the tunnel should be intact on the other side, your Vilenesses.¡± ¡°Very good,¡± Melpomene said to Theo, her chief [Surveyor] and head of her army¡¯s Engineering Corps auxiliaries. ¡°Any estimates on how long it would take to clear?¡± ¡°And keep in mind the need for subtlety,¡± Eurymedon chimed in. ¡°We may be distant from the nearest Solarian settlement, but we are directly underneath the realm of the [Aurorae Sylvas]. Though they are not on amicable terms with the [Solarian Courts], rumors may spread if Terra suddenly shakes beneath their feet.¡± Theo scratched his head with one hand while his other two furiously hashed out numbers on his clipboard. He spent a full minute doing this, and after double checking his work, he presented his findings. ¡°Two weeks, give or take three days.¡± Melpomene wasn¡¯t thrilled at the delay, but she had to admit that it would be a welcomed reprieve for her troops. They¡¯d been marching through a dark tunnel for five days, and even though no one had complained, Melpomene predicted they¡¯d appreciate a change of pace. Some time in the past few thousand years, a fissure had collapsed part of the tunnel and created a ravine. The ravine wasn¡¯t deep enough to penetrate the tunnel, but it did compromise the arched ceiling for a stretch over a hundred meters long. It would take time to clear, but her soldiers could use that time to breathe fresh air. Serendipitously, the rock had collapsed in such a way that it created a small passage connecting Melpomene¡¯s side of the tunnel and the ravine. After Eurymedon spent some time creating illusory barriers, everyone besides the [Darksteel Golems] and the [Drake Berserkers]¡¯ mounts would be able to enjoy the open sky without fear of discovery ¡ª and once Theo¡¯s engineers widened that passage enough, so too would the larger members of the army. On the morning on the second day of the excavation, the seventh day of the overall expedition, Melpomene was above ground rereading a dossier on the local wildlife while sitting on a waist-high rock. There were tents and collapsible seats available, but today just felt like a rock-sitting day. She looked to the sky and saw that it was relatively calm, but for those who knew where to look, there were signs that a blizzard was coming in. Melpomene kicked her legs excitedly. ¡°Eurymedon, do you think we¡¯ll see any [Avalancers] today?¡± The nearby [Daemon of Eyes], who¡¯d been reinforcing their illusion magic, paused in their work. ¡°[Avalancers], my [Liege]?¡± Melpomene held up the twine-bound dossier. ¡°[Avalancers]! They¡¯re a native monster with a novel hunting method.¡± She turned to a page in the dossier filled with illustrations and presented it to her friend. ¡°They¡¯re like scorpions, but with more limbs and a rocky exterior,¡± she went on, gesticulating to different parts of the dossier¡¯s anatomical diagrams as she spoke. ¡°They hide high up in the mountains in a constant state of torpor, curled up in balls to look like boulders. And when a storm rolls in, they plough downhill, knocking through as much snow and rock as they can in hopes of causing an avalanche.¡± ¡°How does causing avalanches help them hunt, my [Liege]?¡± Eurymedon asked, genuine interest in their multitudinous voice. ¡°That¡¯s the most interesting part!¡± Melpomene said as she turned the page to a new set of diagrams. ¡°The avalanche is a lure, filter, and snare all wrapped up into one! The perfect trap! ¡°Look up there,¡± Melpomene said, pointing up to the towering mountainsides lining the ravine. ¡°Do you see how much vegetation there is? I admit it¡¯s not much, but considering the time of year and where we are, don¡¯t you find it odd that anything is growing here?¡± Eurymedon looked up and considered the sight. ¡°I am beginning to understand,¡± Eurymedon said. A few of their eyes studied the diagrams in Melpomene¡¯s hands while the rest surveyed their surroundings. ¡°The semi-frequent avalanches clear the snow and soften the ground, improving the odds that native flora to take root.¡± They crafted a miniature illusion of falling rocks and growing plants as they spoke. ¡°The flora in turn lures the [Avalancers]¡¯ prey, the [Rammoths].¡± A small group of giant wooly quadrupeds with curled horns lumbered into existence from the edge of the illusion. They wandered over to the freshly grown plants, their hoofed feet striding confidently atop the steep incline, and began to graze. ¡°Juvenile [Rammoths] to be precise,¡± Melpomene added, flipping to a new page. ¡°The fully grown ones apparently put up too much of a fight.¡± A few of Eurymedon¡¯s illusory pachyderms shrunk in size. ¡°Ah. This must be where the ¡®filter¡¯ you were speaking of comes into play, my [Liege]. It says here that fully matured [Rammoths] are more surefooted than their young. If the [Avalancers] manage to create avalanches of just the right intensity, they could separate the young from the old, filtering out their preferred prey with simultaneously pushing them right into¡­¡± A torrent of snow and rock rolled through Eurymedon¡¯s illusion, carrying away the smaller [Rammoths] while leaving behind the large. The illusion remained centered on the falling [Rammoths], following them as they plummeted into a ravine. Most died on impact, and those that survived were too injured to escape. ¡°¡°The snare.¡±¡± The two friends spoke in unison, giddiness clear on their faces. The rocks in Eurymedon¡¯s illusion unfurled into [Avalancers], and they began dancing. The mangled corpses of the young [Rammoths] followed soon after, picking themselves up to shimmy alongside their killers. With one last hurrah, the dancing illusions exploded into fireworks to spell out the word ¡®MURDER!¡¯ in a swooping, glittery font. ¡°Ingenious! Inspired! Elegantly simple and needlessly complex in all the right ways! My [Liege], thank you for enlightening me!¡± ¡°Of course, Eurymedon. What are friends for?¡± The two of them spent several more minutes poring over the dossier together. After they gleaned all they could about the local ecosystem, Eurymedon drew themself up to their full height and continued marveling at their surroundings. ¡°They are truly admirable, these [Avalancers]. If everything within this dossier is true, they¡¯ve spent generations carving this stone to their purpose. Every furrow and gulley for kilometers around must lead to this ravine! Who can tell how many other ravines betwixt these mountains have been thus tamed?¡± Eurymedon turned the majority of their eyes towards Melpomene, anticipation writ across their features. ¡°Amazing! Simply amazing! But if I know you, my [Liege], then I know that your excitement stems from more than mere admiration at another¡¯s techniques. Tell me, how have you incorporated these methods into a trap of your own?¡± Melpomene faltered. A look of confusion flashed across her face, but it was quickly replaced by one of concern. Mistaking the cause of Melpomene¡¯s expression, Eurymedon continued speaking. ¡°Apologies, my [Liege]. Have you not created a trap? Have you instead formulated an entirely new grand strategy? Sincerely, I am a fool for underestimating you! Please share with me the details!¡± Melpomene¡¯s concern morphed into embarrassment. ¡°My¡­ My [Liege] Melpomene? Are you feeling unwell?¡± Melpomene took what she hoped was an inconspicuous look around them. The area Eurymedon had shielded in illusions wasn¡¯t overly large, just over a hundred meters across. The nearest soldiers were a score of her notoriously perceptive [Hex Rangers] barely ten meters away, but they were preoccupied with tossing Human head shaped balls for their mounts to fetch. From her position still sat atop a rock, Melpomene leaned closer to Eurymedon and raised a hand to cover the side of her mouth. Eurymedon, taking the hint, leaned in closer to listen. Melpomene whispered, ¡°I uh¡­ I hadn¡¯t though about coming up with a new trap.¡± Eurymedon froze, but Melpomene kept talking. ¡°I just thought it was interesting¡­ so I got excited. Incorporating it into a new tactic hadn¡¯t even crossed my mind.¡± Eurymedon still wasn¡¯t moving. ¡°Eurymedon? Eurymedon? Hello?¡± Melpomene waved a hand in front of a few of their eyes, but they didn¡¯t react. Melpomene felt her cheeks flush. ¡°Eurymedon!¡± ¡°Ah? Huh? Wha-?¡± A few of the [Hex Rangers] looked over, but Melpomene waved them away. ¡°Eurymedon, please calm down.¡± ¡°Oh, uh, yes-Yes, my [Liege]! I was just¡­ concerned.¡± One of Eurymedon¡¯s lips drew tight, and their voice grew quieter. ¡°For you to become interested in a piece of information without considering how it might be used to shatter the hearts and minds of your enemies¡­ It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s unlike you, my [Liege].¡± ¡°I know, I know, but please don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯m alright.¡± ¡°Are you, my [Liege]?¡± Eurymedon¡¯s gaze bore right through her, and Melpomene resisted the urge to look away. ¡°There exists an unpleasant truth about your mental wellbeing that we must both acknowledge. I noticed it several months ago, but I refrained from speaking it aloud because I know you well enough to know that you know yourself. I see now that my silence was a mistake. In my capacity as both your [Vassal] and your confidant, I believe it best for you to speak the truth aloud yourself, though I know it will cause you discomfort. Will you trust me in this, my [Liege]?¡± ¡°Eurymedon, I trust you with my life.¡± The words came out without needing to think, but they were far from thoughtless. The two shared a bittersweet smile, and Melpomene gathered her courage to speak. ¡°I¡¯ve been¡­¡± She slumped her shoulders and looked away from her lieutenant¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve been off my game. For a while now. My mind¡¯s been scattered ever since we killed that [Hero], if I¡¯m being honest with myself. It¡¯s as if¡­¡± Melpomene cast her hands about, trying to fish out the right words. ¡°It¡¯s as if my whole life were leading up to that point, and it was¡­ It just wasn¡¯t what I thought it would be? It was¡ª I was¡­ I was disappointed. And I know how that sounds! We won. We un-shattered that useless god of ours, and we¡¯ve been on a tear ever since! I should be proud or hungry for more or something¡­ but I just can¡¯t bring myself to feel that way.¡± Melpomene took a deep breath and lightly slapped her cheeks. She turned her head to the east. Somewhere in that direction lay the ravine¡¯s end, and beyond that, the rest of the [Solarian Courts]. ¡°I can¡¯t shake the feeling that Terra is out of worthy challengers for us to face. It feels like we¡¯ve done all the difficult parts, and the rest of this is just formality. ¡°I¡¯m no slouch, Eurymedon. We both know I don¡¯t deal in half-efforts, but that just makes it worse. I¡¯ve been trying to try my best, but without an overpowered nemesis anywhere in sight, my heart just hasn¡¯t been in it. ¡°I¡¯ve been letting things fall through the cracks, and that¡¯s not fair to you, Eurymedon.¡± Melpomene looked down at her hands. ¡°I apologize. I¡¯ll snap myself out of this sooner or later, but until then, I hope you can forgive me.¡± A small cheer went up from the nearby [Hex Rangers]. Melpomene wasn¡¯t looking, but one of their mounts must have pulled off a difficult catch. Eurymedon¡¯s voice brought her attention back to the matter at hand. ¡°My [Liege], there is nothing to forgive.¡± Melpomene listened, but she didn¡¯t turn around. ¡°I thank you for the sentiment, old friend. If it¡¯s alright with you, I¡¯d like some time to reflect.¡± She thought the conversation was over, but Eurymedon didn¡¯t leave. ¡°Chapter seven, final remark nine,¡± said the [Daemon of Eyes]. Melpomene blinked. ¡°What?¡± ¡°The Tactics of Thanatos, Autarch Melpomene. Chapter seven, final remark nine. We both know you know the words.¡± Melpomene finally turned around. ¡°I know you¡¯re talking about The Tactics of Thanatos, but what does that have to do with¡ª?¡± ¡°My [Liege], you¡¯ve had months to reflect on your own. A few more hours won¡¯t do you any good. Please, say the words.¡± Melpomene scrunched her face, but begrudgingly obliged. ¡°Chapter seven, final remark nine,¡± she said. ¡°¡®The blade needs oil. The mind needs rest.¡¯ But I¡¯m already resting Eurymedon. I¡¯m stuck here sitting on a rock while you and the Engineering Corps do all the actual work. I fail to see how the words apply.¡± ¡°And seeing, my [Liege], is exactly what I do best,¡± Eurymedon said with a knowing grin. ¡°To rest does not mean to be ¡¯stuck¡¯ in place with nothing better to do than stew in your anxieties. To rest means to do that which replenishes you.¡± Eurymedon looked up to the clear sky, observing it closely. ¡°As you earlier implied, there will be a storm today, and it will come from nowhere ¡ª the perfect opportunity to see the [Avalancers] at work.¡± They refocused their eyes onto Melpomene, and soft smiles played across their many mouths. ¡°As second-in-command of the [Despoiled Legion]¡¯s Army Protos, I recommend that we organize a scouting mission to explore the ravine. In the dual interests of subtlety and security, I further recommend that the mission be undertaken by a single Daemon proficient in both disguise and battle. Preferably, we should send someone who is currently idle¡­ perhaps someone who¡¯s just ¡®sitting on a rock.¡¯¡± The two of them shared a look, and Melpomene couldn¡¯t help but smile back. ¡°I know just the person. Thank you, Eurymedon¡± She hopped off her rock and made to leave, but Eurymedon stopped her. ¡°If I may add one more thing¡­¡± ¡°Yes, Eurymedon?¡± Melpomene turned back around to give the Daemon her full attention. ¡°I feel the need to emphasize one of my earlier points. I must tell you, my [Liege], that¡­¡± Eurymedon trailed off, taking the time to pick out her next words carefully. ¡°Allow me to rephrase. I must tell you, my friend, that there is truly nothing to forgive.¡± Melpomene felt her lips part in amazement, and something warm bubbled up in her chest. She knew that Eurymedon considered her a friend, but to state it so openly just wasn¡¯t in their nature. ¡°Eurymedon, you don¡¯t have to¡ª¡± ¡°No, please, I must. Melpomene,¡± they spoke the name deliberately, enunciating every syllable, ¡°standing beside you has been the greatest pleasure of my life. You have enriched my existence in ways I can¡¯t begin to describe. Even if we had to start over, even if you were half the Daemon I know you to be, I would gladly do it all over again. ¡°I say this not to flatter, nor to assuage. I say this so that you might know my sincerity when I speak these words for the third and final time: There is nothing to forgive. ¡°It is no mere sentiment, so I ask that you do not do me the disrespect of labeling it as such. With you, I only ever have, and only ever will, deal in nothing but the absolute truth.¡± Melpomene felt some moisture coming to her eyes, but she blinked it away. She could not, however, stop a foolish smile from spreading across her face, and neither could she keep her voice from shaking when next she spoke. ¡°My first instinct was to apologize for not taking you seriously enough the first time, but I don¡¯t think you¡¯d accept that. Instead, I say this: You are my greatest friend, Eurymedon. You are the greatest friend a Daemon could ask for.¡± Eurymedon straightened. ¡°I appreciate your words, my [Liege], but you¡¯d better get going. The storm is coming from the east, and I would hate for you to miss the beginning.¡±
Melpomene flew east along the southern lip of the ravine. She wore a generic black robe she found in a supply crate. In lieu of her usual weapons, she wielded a decrepit old farming scythe she¡¯d dug out from a pile of miscellaneous tools. As for why Melpomene dared to fly brazenly out in the open despite not wanting to be recognized, it was because she looked almost nothing like her regular self. Deathly pale skin, silver hair, solid bluish-grey eyes, just wrinkly enough to sit in that ambiguous place between ¡®finely aged¡¯ and ¡®godsdamned ancient¡¯ ¡ª Melpomene was in what she like to call her ¡®kooky old man¡¯ form. It was one of Melpomene¡¯s three forms that only she and Eurymedon knew about, so being recognized wasn¡¯t a concern. Running into another intelligent creature out there in the mountains was unlikely in the first place, but even if someone did see her and realized she was a Daemon, what were they more likely to believe? That the half-mad hermit in front of them was secretly a foreign [Liege] that decided to do some sightseeing before launching a surprise offensive on the [Solarian Courts]? Or that he was the normal kind of half-mad hermit that adventurers ran into all the time? The blizzard from nowhere. In one moment, the sky was clear, and in the next, it was before her, swift, solid, and stark like the alabaster hand of an ancient god sweeping away the world. A smile on her face, Melpomene dove right in and let the wind carry her away. Visibility within the blizzard was nonexistent, so she didn¡¯t bother to keep her eyes open. She kept her bearings solely through keeping track of her momentum. The storm buffeted her every which way, forcing her to constantly adjust the angle of her wings to keep herself roughly over where the center of the ravine should be ¡ª but other than that, she allowed herself to enjoy the thrill of being a leaf in the wind. For a few blessed minutes, Melpomene spun, twisted, barreled, and banked through the air without a care in the world. She cheered, whooped, and screamed through the howling winds with all the might her lungs could muster, but the sound couldn¡¯t even reach her own ears. When she was done cutting loose, Melpomene angled her wings to throw herself back into the ravine. Just as she¡¯d predicted, due to the wind¡¯s speed and direction, the storm skimmed right across the top of the ravine without stirring up too much of the air below. Hands behind her head, Melpomene plummeted leisurely down the ravine, enjoying the weightlessness that came with falling. Her eyes lazed over her surroundings. ¡°They should be¡­ Ah, there.¡± Juvenile [Rammoths] and boulders began raining down from above and either side of the ravine. Shifting her wings to glide along the chasm¡¯s centerline, Melpomene was able to take it all in without worrying too much about dodging. Thanks to their preternatural hardiness, most of the [Rammoths] survived the fall. They were battered, bruised, and likely had more than a few broken bones each, but hey, survival was survival. But then came the [Avalancers]. The ¡®boulders¡¯ landed on top of the living [Rammoths] with uncanny accuracy, smashing them into puddles of hairy meat-paste. The rocks then unfurled themselves into ox-sized decapod scorpions that each had a venomous stinger, six needle-point legs, and four pincered forelimbs. Largely unscathed by the fall, the [Avalancers] utilized hit and run tactics ¡ª They stung at the [Rammoths] by out-ranging them them with their tails, and they retreated up the ravine¡¯s sheer walls with their needle-point legs whenever a member of their quarry tried to retaliate. Melpomene stared in wonder, wishing she¡¯d brought along something to take notes with. She¡¯d already studied all the information she could find on the [Avalancers] and [Rammoths], but there was no substitute for witnessing the monsters in person. There were quite a few details missing from the dossier she¡¯d read, and dozens of questions popped into her head. For one thing, Melpomene had assumed the smaller [Rammoths] would have been would have been more likely to survive their fall thanks to the square-cube law, but for some reason, it was the larger [Rammoths] who more often than not left standing after hitting the ground. How was that possible? For another, how did the falling [Avalancer] boulders land on the living [Rammoths] with such accuracy? Their hit rate wasn¡¯t anywhere near one hundred percent, but Melpomene had already witnessed over a dozen of the things curving mid-fall to land on their prey. Did the [Avalancers] have small external fins she couldn¡¯t see? Did they alter their spin some other way? How did they even know where to land? Perhaps her most gruesome ¡ª and exciting ¡ª observation was witnessing the [Avalancers]¡¯ method of hunting the largest juvenile [Rammoths], the ones the size of a small cottage. Twice Melpomene saw an [Avalancers] jump onto a [Rammoth]¡¯s back and latch onto it by stabbing their needle-point legs into their prey¡¯s flesh like the predatory version of a clawed hair clip. From there, safely out of reach of other [Rammoths]¡¯ horns, the [Avalancer] was free to stab, pincer, and bite until the [Rammoth] collapsed. Melpomene was busy committing the scene to memory when she caught a new scent in the air. Hm? A divine caster? Intrigued, Melpomene dove for speed and flew east.. Could it be a Fae? I don¡¯t see why a Human would be all the way out here¡­ A year ago, Melpomene could safely assume that any divine caster she sensed was a [Priest of Sol] or something similar, but things weren¡¯t so simple now that there weren¡¯t any gods to monopolize Terra¡¯s divinity. After studying some antedeum records, Eurymedon hypothesized that other forms of divine casters would become more common over time, but they didn¡¯t have any hard data to work with yet. The only divine caster that comes to mind is Percival, but that doesn¡¯t make any sense. Must be someone I haven¡¯t heard of. Maybe someone who just got their first [Class]? It wasn¡¯t long before Melpomene found what was left of the person, and godsdamn, she was surprised they were even alive. Bits of them were strewn about everywhere, and they weren¡¯t even breathing. If it weren¡¯t for the unmistakable spark of life still in their eyes, Melpomene would assume they were dead. A rather large [Avalancer] was rearing back to finish off whoever-it-was, but Melpomene was curious as to who the person could be. Allowing that curiosity to get the better of her, she dove down and cut the monster in half before it could strike. It was a bit awkward to slice through such a sturdy monster with an unfamiliar farming implement, but she managed. She turned around and waited for the person to heal themselves so that they could have a conversation, but the person was just staring at her. Melpomene looked from the person¡¯s brown eyes to their growing puddle of blood and then back to their eyes, her face scrunched in confusion. ¡°You have healing magic. I can smell it,¡± she said. ¡°Why don¡¯t you use it? If you haven¡¯t noticed, you¡¯re dying.¡± The dying person has no way of responding, but from reading their eyes, Melpomene got the impression that they were thinking something foolish like ¡®Hey asshole! I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve noticed, but both my arms are broken! I can¡¯t cast a spell!¡¯ ¡°Of course you can,¡± Melpomene responded, hiding her exasperation. ¡°Just don¡¯t use your hands.¡± Belatedly, Melpomene remembers one of her initial suspicions. Oh yeah, they might be new to their class. They probably don¡¯t know how non-somatic casting works yet. From the sheer magnitude of divinity radiating from the person in her, Melpomene guessed that the person¡¯s class had to be [Tier IV] or maybe even [Tier V]. That normally implied a certain level of mastery over their powers, but it was impossible to tell with divine casters nowadays. Thanks to Aolyn¡¯s ¡ª may that deadbeat bastard die and rot in heaven for eternity ¡ª [Divine Apocalypse], it was entirely possible that the divine caster dying in front of her awoke to their power yesterday. Such ¡®jumps¡¯ in power seemed to be getting rarer as time went on, but for now, Melpomene couldn¡¯t rule it out. ¡°It¡¯s entirely possible. Watch. First with hands¡­¡± Taking pity on the poor thing, Melpomene decided to give them a demonstration. She was absolutely ass at magic, but the dying person didn¡¯t need to know that, right? Projecting confidence to make the process seem easy, Melpomene began casting the only spell she knew, the tier zero cantrip called Spark ¡ª a spell so simple and weak that the [System] didn¡¯t even recognize it as a spell. Melpomene was casting as quickly as she could since the sad sap in front of her might croak any second now, but a sprinting slug was still a slug. Once she finally got the spell to work and create a tiny blue spark, she looked back to the mangled soon-to-be corpse and expected them to already be dead from blood loss or boredom, but contrary to expectation, they were still alive and staring at her. Huh. Honestly didn¡¯t expect to get this far. ¡°Now with less hands¡­¡± If Melpomene were a spellcasting genius like Eurymedon or Morgan, she could come up with a quick explanation that would save the prehumous cadaver¡¯s life, but she most decidedly wasn¡¯t a spellcasting genius. It took decades of on-and-off practice for her to master her single, useless cantrip, so the best she could do was provide a nonsensical set of demonstrations in hopes that her impromptu student could figure it out before they became worm food. A second spark finally fluttered out from Melpomene¡¯s ¡®less hands¡¯ casting like an anemic butterfly missing one of its wings, and before she could second-guess herself, Melpomene began her final demonstration. ¡°And now,¡± she said, adding more than a little flourish to her voice in order to mask her embarrassment, ¡°no hands at all.¡± Melpomene dropped her hands to her side, snuck a glance at the spellcaster to make sure they were still alive, and then began to cast her cantrip without her hands. Hoping not to come across as a complete buffoon, she spent her casting time trying to come up with a mystical-ish, pseudo-intellectual explanation for what she was doing. Blue lines of Melpomene¡¯s meager mana traced themselves upon the air with all the blistering speed of a sleeping turtle, and when she at last created a spark, Melpomene opened her mouth to speak. ¡°To cast a spell is to imprint its shape upon the world with your hands, and to call forth its name with your voice,¡± she said in her best approximation of a sagacious tone, fully confident that her explanation was already wrong in half a dozen ways she didn¡¯t understand. ¡°Most take it for granted that you can forgo a spell¡¯s name by expending some extra mana and force of will, so who¡¯s to say you can¡¯t do the same for the¡ª¡± Fuck fuck fuck! What¡¯s the technical term for ¡®finger waggling¡¯ again? ¡°¡ªfinger waggling?¡± ¡­Did I really say that out loud? Melpomene nodded her head and pretended that she didn¡¯t want to curl up into a ball and die. ¡°Now you try.¡± Somatic component, she remembered, a tad too late for it to matter. The correct term for ¡®finger waggling¡¯ is ¡¯somatic component.¡¯ This person must think I¡¯m an idiot. Her student began their attempts, but it wasn¡¯t going so well. Over the course of a couple minutes, they tried to cast their healing spell nearly a dozen times, but each attempt failed miserably. Most of the time, they managed to draw a couple lines of beautiful green divinity upon the air, but their magic was tainted by disgusting shades of gaudy gold. Voxwraith venom, Melpomene realized. From the dossier she read about the local ecology, she knew that the Voxwraith was a rare creature ¡ª perhaps one-of-a-kind. Sightings were scarce and hard facts even scarcer, but according to the stories of the [Aurorae Sylvas], the creature had an adaptive venom capable of disrupting its victim¡¯s magic by becoming something exactly opposite. Assuming that what she was seeing was indeed Voxwraith venom, Melpomene came up with a different idea on how it worked. If the venom and the victim¡¯s magic were true opposites, they should¡¯ve annihilate each other into nothing. Instead, the two of them were merely interfering with each other, meaning that while they were incompatible, they weren¡¯t true opposites. Thinking about it another way, it were as if the victim was trying to paint a picture, but all their arms wanted to do was punch each other. ¡°You¡¯re a [Liege], aren¡¯t you?¡± Melpomene asked. ¡°I can tell by the fact you¡¯re still alive.¡± The other¡¯s slowly dimming eyes regained a spark of life and refocused onto her. From the moment she¡¯d laid eyes on them, Melpomene expected every moment to be this person¡¯s last. The fact that they¡¯d managed nearly a dozen attempts at a non-somatic cast in the state they were in was beyond impressive. At first, Melpomene had tried helping only to sate her own curiosity, but the sheer determination they displayed in the face of an impossible task made her feel like they deserved a bit more effort on her part. Since her lacking explanation on magical theory had been unsuccessful ¡ª no surprises there ¡ª she decided to take a different tack. ¡°You have an army to lead,¡± she said. ¡°If you can¡¯t live for your own sake, live for theirs.¡± It was theorized that the Voxwraith subsisted solely off of spirits, so its venom ¡ª technically an extension of the monster itself ¡ª was purpose built to shape its victims to the monster¡¯s tastes. Assuming her dossier¡¯s recounting of the [Aurorae Sylvas]¡¯ stories was accurate, Voxwraith¡¯s venom slowly dissolved its victim¡¯s mind and magic from the inside out ¡ª It methodically beat everything around the spirit into submission whilst avoiding irrevocable damage to the spirit itself. If all went according to plan, the venom tethered the victim¡¯s spirit to the monster, and so when the victim finally breathed their last, the Voxwraith would reap its reward. A tear rolled down the victim¡¯s face. Melpomene could roughly guess at their thoughts. The desperation, the futility, the despair¡­ The certainty that no matter their effort, no matter their struggle, no matter their wit, their fate had already been writ unto the stars. Poisoned, helpless, and hapless, they were destined to fail. They were destined to die. Melpomene couldn¡¯t help but feel an ounce of kinship for the poor thing. They reminded her so much of herself ¡ª or rather, the person she used to be. She remembered all too well that night she realized she was destined to die. She remembered her head in her hands, the nothing in her heart, the temptation not to try. And she remembered the words that brought her back from the brink. ¡°Just not strong enough?¡± she asked aloud. The other¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. ¡°No, I can¡¯t read your mind. I¡¯ve just lived long enough to recognize the face of self-pity when I see it ¡ª even if half that face happens to be missing. ¡°In all likelihood, your next attempt will be your last, so you need to make it count. I¡¯m going to give you a piece of advice, and you only have the time to hear it once, so I need you to listen. Ready?¡± The Tactics of Thanatos, Melpomene thought to herself, chapter five, first rebuke. ¡°¡®Ask not what you have the strength do. Ask what must be done, and find the strength to do it.¡¯¡± Whether or not the dying lump of flesh could make use of the words on such short notice, Melpomene had no idea, but she hoped beyond hope that they could. A moment passed, and the light retreated from their eyes. They¡¯d failed, and by extension, so had Melpomene. Another soul had succumb to their fate, and Melpomene had been powerless to stop it. Would defying fate even done them any good? Melpomene looked up to white winds howling overhead. The cold bit at her skin, but she didn¡¯t care. A nearby [Rammoth] crunched on the upper half of the bisected [Avalancer]. Melpomene looked over to see the giant creature casually chowing down on one of its predator¡¯s meaty pincers. ¡°Can¡¯t you see I¡¯m having a moment here?¡± Melpomene asked. The [Rammoth] looked to her with intelligent eyes, but it kept up its loud chewing. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be looking for your herd or something?¡± The [Rammoth] let out a puff of air that almost sounded like a scoff, shrugged its massive shoulders, and began wandering away with apathetic, lumbering steps. It dragged the upper half of Melpomene¡¯s slain [Avalancer] along with it, but it left the venomous bottom half behind. ¡°Omnivores. Noted.¡± She would need to update the dossier when she got back to camp. What was I brooding about again¡­? Oh yeah. Would defying fate even done them any good? She looked back to the person¡¯s corpse. ¡°I defied my fate, and look at all the good it¡¯s done me¡­¡± Melpomene trailed off, scrunching her eyebrows together as a new question came to mind. I have defied my fate, haven¡¯t I? The sudden doubt confused her. Where did that thought come from? She¡¯d obviously defied her fate, hadn¡¯t she? Seek first to know thyself. The familiar words came to the fore of her mind and dashed away her unease. I¡¯m confused. I¡¯m scatterbrained. The entire point of this excursion is to clear my head. I¡¯ve had an unexpected thought, and now I must examine it. Have I defied my fate? For decades, her greatest want in life had been to defeat the [Solarian Courts] and revive her god. But that¡¯s not what I wanted at the end, was it? The [Curse of Heart¡¯s Desire] ¡ª I could never get what I want. The only reason she could put Aolyn ¡ª that stinky pile of dung ¡ª back together was because it was no longer her greatest desire. In fact, it prevented her from having the epic final battle she¡¯d spent her whole life working toward. She¡¯d wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, and for glory, there were no thieves greater than the gods. So I never did defy fate, did I? Thus far, nothing in Melpomene¡¯s line of reasoning was new to her, but now it was time to review the facts from a different perspective. My fate was to never get what I want, and that¡¯s exactly what happened, she thought. I wanted a chance to give it my all, but all I received was victory served on a platter. I never defied fate. I played right into its hand. This realization, while morose, brought Melpomene a measure of peace. To put a name on the nameless, faceless anxiety she¡¯d been feeling as of late did little to lessen it, but it did give her a place to start. Seek second to know thine enemy. Her enemy had never been Arthur, nor Sol, nor even the [Solarian Courts]. Her enemy was Fate itself. Fate, Destiny, the Inevitable, whatever Melpomene wanted to call it. The thing now had a name, and to be given a name was to be given form. Melpomene was no longer grabbing at smoke. She now had an enemy standing before her, and she would strike it down. My greatest obstacle, the [Curse of Heart¡¯s Desire], has already been dealt with. Aolyn told me so, and even though he¡¯s a duplicitous bastard ¡ª in the rude way, not the Evil? way ¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t lie to me about that, would he? All I need to do is find a worthy foe and have an epic final battle, and then my greatest desire will be fulfilled. One last all-out struggle to cement my legend, and then I can finally put my worries to rest. Melpomene clenched her fist in anticipation, and a smile unconsciously spread across her face. Already her mind began whirling with ideas to improve her five-phase final battle. I¡¯m going to defy my fate, and it¡¯ll feel so godsdamned good. Melpomene once again regarded the mutilated corpse she¡¯d failed to save. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that you had to die, but if it¡¯s any consolation, you¡¯ve shown me what must be done. I¡¯m off to defy my fate, whoever you are. I only wish you could¡¯ve defied yours.¡± She turned to leave, but her instincts warned her that a spell was being cast behind her. She rounded back again, scythe poised to defend, but what she saw nearly made her choke on her tongue. The corpse ¡ª no, the living person ¡ª was casting a spell, carving its very shape upon the air in lines of green and gold. They drew no breath, their eyes shed no light, and their blood held no life¡­ and despite it all, they completed their spell, and with a burst of light, they made themself whole. The Human ¡ª a man? ¡ª took a deep, shuddering breath, and immediately passed out. Interesting, Melpomene thought, looking the Human up and down as she relaxed her posture. ¡°I¡¯m free for a few more days,¡± she said aloud, addressing the man who couldn¡¯t hear her. ¡°Before I defy my fate, I¡¯ll help you with yours.¡±
Melpomene¡¯s next few days and nights were pleasantly uneventful. ¡°The claw is perfectly safe to eat,¡± she said as the Human eyed their roasted meat suspiciously. ¡°Are you not eating?¡± they asked, looking up at her from across the cookfire. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. I¡¯m not the one who lost the contents of their pack falling down a mountain.¡± The Human¡¯s face screwed up with embarrassment in a way Melpomene found most amusing. Amazingly, the bag they¡¯d been traveling with was found near their body, but everything inside it had been gone. Reluctantly, the Human took a tiny nibble from the [Avalancer]¡¯s claw, and their eyes lit up with stars. It didn¡¯t take long for the rest of the morsel to disappear. The dying person she¡¯d helped turned out to be a Solarian Human who¡¯d defected to the [Aurorae Sylvas]. They verbally denied it ¡ª because of course had to, considering their new faction¡¯s penchant for secrecy ¡ª but they provided plenty of evidence to inform Melpomene of their true allegiance. Despite being a [Liege], the Human was naked and out in the wilderness all alone. In addition, they hadn¡¯t healed the ¡®tears of blood¡¯ cut beneath each of their eyes, meaning that subconsciously, they didn¡¯t consider them wounds in need of healing. Taken all together, that could only mean that they were undergoing a ¡¯Trial of Atonement,¡¯ either to prove their loyalty or to make up for past crimes. But perhaps the biggest hint they¡¯d given her was their roundabout way of saying they were undecided about their gender identity. The [Solarian Courts] were much too rigid when it came to such matters, so the Human had to belong to the [Aurorae Sylvas]. Perhaps it was the reason they defected in the first place. Ha! Amateur nouns! Simply hilarious. ¡°How do you know which way to go?¡± they asked the next morning. Melpomene glanced over her shoulder to look the other [Liege] in the eye, but she didn¡¯t break her stride. When she unfocused her eyes in that way she was sure most [Lieges] could, she could feel the other person¡¯s very existence leaning ever so slightly in the direction they were walking. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you can¡¯t,¡± she replied. Must be because they¡¯re a new [Liege]. ¡°The Voxwraith is tugging at you, even now. Feel the pull, and you¡¯ll know the way.¡± The Human took her words seriously ¡ª a quality of theirs she appreciated ¡ª and closed their eyes. They stopped walking, so Melpomene did too. A minute later, they raised their hand and pointed in a direction fifteen degrees to the right of current heading. ¡°Faster than I expected,¡± Melpomene said, genuinely impressed, ¡°but unless you can walk through stone or wish to brave the storm, I think it best we continue walking through the ravine.¡± Melpomene sincerely enjoyed mentoring the young [Liege], and doing so provided the additional benefit of strengthening a prospective asset. After she killed the [Hollow King], Gregory, and Percival, she¡¯d need to find someone to govern the area. She would prefer someone native to the region but disloyal to the [Solarian Courts] be in charge, so she and Eurymedon had already drawn up plans to peacefully incorporate the [Aurorae Sylvas] as a semi-autonomous protectorate faction. If the [Aurorae Sylvas] happened to have a Human [Liege] who could run the Human parts of the territory ¡ª and if that Human [Liege] just so happened to owe Melpomene their life ¡ª even better. For now, however, Melpomene preferred not to give her mentee her name. As far as anyone this side of the [Titan¡¯s Fingers] should know, she and her army wouldn¡¯t be here until spring, and she preferred to keep it that way for as long as possible. Her student knew her only as ¡®the stranger,¡¯ and until it was time for her dramatic reveal, ¡®the stranger¡¯ she would remain. For three days Melpomene and the young [Liege] made their way toward the Voxwraith at a leisurely pace. Every moment not spent resting was filled to the brim with training, both mental and physical. Even when they were walking or eating, Melpomene crammed as much wisdom into her student¡¯s head as she could, most of it courtesy of The Tactics of Thanatos. They could¡¯ve made it there sooner, of course, but Melpomene was having too much fun, and so long as they made it there before the Human died, it wasn¡¯t exactly urgent, right? But ultimately, their time spent peacefully traveling had to come to an end. ¡°I believe it¡¯s time for me to tell you I¡¯ve been lying,¡± she said on what she knew would be their last night together. ¡°You can kill the Voxwraith, and it won¡¯t even be close. You were capable of killing it before our first day of this training was even over, but I never told you.¡± ¡°Ah. Okay.¡± ¡°¡­¡± A moment of silence passed. ¡°¡®¡­Okay?¡¯¡± she repeated, incredulous. ¡°Just¡­ ¡®okay?¡¯ You¡¯re not going to ask why I lied?¡± ¡°You already told me why,¡± her student said while cracking a gap-toothed grin. ¡°It¡¯s because you¡¯re here, and because you felt like it. Do you need any other reason?¡± Melpomene opened her mouth to respond, but then she closed it when she remembers why the words sounded familiar. I forgot I said that. They¡¯re throwing my words back at me, she realized. Cheeky little bastard. I¡¯ve taught them well. Melpomene opened and closed her mouth twice more, unable to form a rebuttal. Ultimately, she just burst into laughter, and her student laughed along with her. In the morning, she¡¯d be gone so that her student could face the Voxwraith on their own, but until then, she would enjoy their company. Between cackles, she took another look at her student¡¯s gap-toothed smile. The brown hair, the brown eyes, the plain face, the missing teeth¡­ she mused to herself. They really do look a lot like Percival. Comparing the Human before her with the sketches she¡¯d seen of Percival, the two Humans bore quite a resemblance, but Melpomene easily dismissed the similarities. Ha! As if this person could be Percival! I thought I was pretty good at differentiating Humans, but apparently I need more practice to get away from the ¡®they all look the same¡¯ stereotype. I¡¯ve almost misgendered them once already. If I confuse them for an entirely different Human ¡ª and a male Human at that ¡ª they¡¯ll think I¡¯m speciesist for the rest of their life!
As expected, the Voxwraith hunt went off without a hitch. Melpomene watched, hidden at the edge of the blizzard, as her student casted a speed-enhancing spell she didn¡¯t recognize and slayed the monster in a single blow. Their green nature-y, poison-y magic looks pretty cool. Can¡¯t wait to see what it¡¯s like when all that gold disappears. Upon its death, the Voxwraith released the spirits of all its past victims into the air. As her dossier had predicted, there were no souls attached to the spirits, but the colorful apparitions nonetheless had more than enough power to blow back the storm. High up in the sky, the spirits began to dance. Interesting. I¡¯ll need to remember as much of this as I can. Eurymedon will find it interesting. There were no written accounts of a Voxwraith¡¯s death, and if the creature truly was one-of-a-kind, this would be the only chance Melpomene had to witness the phenomena. Intent on committing as much as she could to memory, she leapt out from cover to join her student in observing the light show the [Aurorae Sylvas]¡¯ spirits were putting on. She alighted soundlessly upon the ground beside the largest pile of the Voxwraith¡¯s rapidly disintegrating corpse-bits. She planned on only sparing it a quick glance so that she could later detail how it was dissolving into the air¡ª bubbling, melting, smoking, something else? ¡ª but much to her delight, she discovered a masked-shaped natural treasure peeking out from behind one of the creature¡¯s dissipating faces. ¡°Beautiful¡­¡± she heard her student mutter. She looked up, and indeed, the sight was beautiful. Why hadn¡¯t she noticed that before? ¡°Couldn¡¯t have said it better myself,¡± she agreed. She retrieved from the monster¡¯s corpse the mask-shaped magical item. It appeared to simply be a frowning theatre mask carved from old, knotted wood, but Melpomene knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving. ¡°A mask?¡± her student asked. ¡°Eyes up,¡± she deflected. ¡°This might be out only chance to see such a sight.¡± And what a beautiful sight it was. Melpomene had originally been intent on mentally recording as many individual points of data as she could ¡ª the composition of colors, the number of spirits, the timing of it all ¡ª but her student was right. Melpomene knew she was prone to missing the forest for the trees, so perhaps it was time to let her mind relax. She took it all in without a care in the world, and for the first time in a long while, she felt at peace. Lots of colors. Pretty neat. I like it. Despite the shallow nature of her observations, Melpomene had the distinct feeling that she would be able to remember how this moment made her feel her whole life long. After the show came to an end, it was time for her to go. She¡¯d had her fun, and it was time for her to return to her army and get back to work. She and her student shared some parting quips, and then they argued a while over who should keep the unidentified magical mask, each insisting the other should have it. The inexperienced young [Liege] insisted that they owed Melpomene a debt for all she¡¯d done, but that wasn¡¯t how she saw it. As far as she was concerned, she¡¯d helped them for her own selfish reasons, and they¡¯d killed the Voxwraith on their own. The spoils were by right all their own. She threw them the mask and tried to make a dramatic exit by disappearing into the storm, but her student stopped her with an interesting offer. They gave her the mask, and all they wanted in return was¡ª ¡°¡­to tell you I¡¯m real?¡± she asked. Apparently her student¡¯s mind was so addled that they couldn¡¯t discern fact from fiction. Such being the case, she responded, ¡°I fail to see how that could help. Whether I¡¯m a dream or not, I¡¯ll insist that I exist.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the thing,¡± her student replied, a dumb grin on their face. ¡°I don¡¯t think you will. I think that you¡¯ll tell me the truth no matter what, but I can¡¯t explain why. Do you ever have that feeling in a dream where you just suddenly know something to be true, no questions asked? It¡¯s like that. You¡¯re going to tell me the truth, because there¡¯s simply nothing else you could possibly do. Call me a fool, but I¡¯m certain of it.¡± Melpomene took some time to seriously consider what to say next. She could¡¯ve just said she was real and left, but that felt too perfunctory. If her student wanted to gift her with their hard-earned loot, she wanted to reciprocate with more than the bare minimum. But what should I say? While Melpomene pondered, the storm slowly closed in around the two of them, forcing them to step-by-step get closer together. One brief contemplation later, they were standing so close they could count the pores on the other¡¯s nose. Melpomene came up with two dozen different things she could say, but ultimately, she could think of nothing more dramatic than revealing one particular piece of information. She smiled, and for some reason, her student smiled too. ¡°Very well then, your [Liegeliness],¡± she said. ¡°Allow me to do you one better. Allow me to share with you my name.¡± Name sharing among the [Aurorae Sylvas] was the height of taboo, but taboos, when used correctly, could form the strongest of covenants. If she could pull off sharing her name in just the right way, her student ¡ª the [Liege] she was already planning on elevating to Dux of the region ¡ª would stay loyal to her forever. The storm¡¯s winds howled louder and louder as they continued to close in tight. ¡°I!¡± Melpomene roared. Fwheuwph! Behind her, her bat-liked spiked wings slipped out from the strategic slits in her robes and snapped taut. She didn¡¯t need them at the moment, but she knew that expanding her silhouette would make her appear more powerful and worthy of devotion. ¡°AM!¡± She allowed a mad gleam to enter her eyes as she paused for another beat. Sure, she was dragging out the reveal, but she only had one shot at this! It had to be dramatic! She took a deep breath, getting ready to really thunder out her name, but before she could say anything, the eye of the storm collapsed and the storm¡¯s winds were upon them. Her student got thrown to the ground, but since Melpomene had her wings fully extended, she got flung into the distance at the speed of sound. ¡°MELPOMENEEEEEEEEEEEEE!¡±
Disheveled and windbeaten, it took Melpomene the rest of the day to get back to her army¡¯s camp, but she wasn¡¯t disheartened in the slightest. ¡°But right as I told them my name, the winds fell upon us and blew me away. Firing!¡± BANG! At Eurymedon¡¯s hand signal, Melpomene fired another shot down the tunnel. Not bothering to break her stride, Melpomene loaded another low-charge blank into [Discretion] and holstered the handcannon with a well-practiced series of one-handed spins and flips. She had a giddy expression on her face. ¡°Oh, you should have seen their face, Eurymedon! The buildup, the circumstance, the atmosphere! Everything was perfect for a [Villainous] reveal! And then when I disappeared into the wind just as I revealed my identity? Oooh! Couldn¡¯t have been better! So mysterious! So ominous! I could scarcely time it better if I¡¯d tried.¡± For now, it was just her, Eurymedon, a score of [Daemon Ancients], Theo, and a few other Engineering Corps auxiliaries preparing the way for the rest of the army to march through. Eurymedon had suggested that this work could wait until Melpomene got some rest, but Melpomene insisted on both beginning her debrief and clearing the tunnels as soon as possible. The engineers had finished clearing the blockage ahead of schedule, and Melpomene didn¡¯t want her troops to be further delayed on her account. ¡°My [Liege], are you sure the Human heard you?¡± ¡°Of course they did. Why do you ask? Firing!¡± BANG! ¡°I ask because of the way you described the scene, my [Liege]. Opaque white winds strong and swift enough to launch you kilometers away would have a significant impact on the audibility of your words, even at close range. If the winds whisked you away as you proclaimed your name, I find it entirely possible that your final word never reached the Human¡¯s ears, especially when taking into account how poor the average Human¡¯s hearing is.¡± Melpomene considered her lieutenant¡¯s words carefully, as she always did, but it wasn¡¯t difficult for her to find a reason to put the other Daemon¡¯s doubts to rest. ¡°You must also remember that they were able to sense the presence of Fae so far-off that I never noticed them myself. I admit there are other explanations for this ability of theirs, but I find the simplest explanation to be that their powers of perception are far greater than mine. Assuming that to be true, I find no problem in believing that the heard my name.¡± It was now Eurymedon¡¯s turn to consider Melpomene¡¯s words. ¡°Could it also be that you¡¯ve lowered your bar for evidence because you want the Human to have heard you? Because that would make for a more dramatic reveal?¡± Melpomene smiled, thoroughly chagrined. ¡°You know me so well, Eurymedon. Firing!¡±
¡°Anomaly ahead, Eurymedon. Looks like¡­ a brick wall?¡± The second leg of the army¡¯s subterranean journey was much more eventful than the first. Forgotten ruins, a few Underland aberrations, a small warband of hostile [Mycenoid Anthroforms]¡­ They ran into a new random encounter every few days. Any one of the incidents would have been a worthy quest for a new [Adventuring Party], but Melpomene¡¯s army was of such a caliber that such events were barely worth a footnote. They were each dealt with in a matter of hours before being sealed away or trampled underfoot. Perhaps another millennia-old tunnel would¡¯ve been more heavily infested with interesting roadblocks, but the mysterious darkness ubiquitous in this particular tunnel kept such things to a minimum. Wherever the tunnel was breached, the locals tended to stay away for fear of the unknown. Such being the case, it was a simple enough task to deal with nearby threats, repair the tunnel¡¯s walls, and move on whenever they came across a problem. As time went on, however, they noticed the tunnel getting rougher and rougher. Now, weeks of marching later, the army hit a literal brick wall. Eurymedon placed a hand upon the obstruction, mumbled a spell under their breath, and released a pulse of magic into the stone. ¡°Just as we expected, it seems we¡¯ve reached the catacombs beneath Soleil.¡± Though neither Melpomene nor Eurymedon had yet to discern the who, why, or how of their secret tunnel¡¯s construction, they did notice that it was heading in the exact direction they wanted to go, directly towards the [Solarian Courts]¡¯ capital city of Soleil. This was suspiciously lucky to say the least, but they¡¯d yet to notice any sort of trap awaiting them despite their vigilance, and Melpomene wasn¡¯t one to let the fear of the unknown hold her back. ¡°The brick wall makes sense given the historical context,¡± Melpomene responded. ¡°Solarian construction contracts for the last few millennia have tended to incentivize paving over problems rather than fixing them. If I were an underpaid tunnel jockey and I came across an impenetrable wall of darkness, I¡¯d probably cover it up without telling the higher ups too. How thick is this wall?¡± ¡°Half a meter, my [Liege]. I can sense enough of the other side to recognize where we are, but it¡¯s difficult for me to see much farther.¡± Eurymedon turned a few of their eyes upward to peer at the ceiling. ¡°There seems to be some sort of arcano-divine storm going on above ground. I didn¡¯t notice earlier because the tunnel¡¯s magic is insulating us from the storm¡¯s effects, but that protection is also making it more difficult for me to sense what is happening beyond. Please, allow me a moment to cast a more powerful spell.¡± ¡°Proceed,¡± Melpomene allowed, straightening her posture. ¡°At once, my [Liege].¡± Eurymedon began casting another spell, this time using all six of their hands to weave through mind-bending shapes while their mouths loosed a cacophony of discordant chants. All twelve of their eyes glowed brilliant purple, and hundreds of miniature phantom eyes began forming all around them before shooting out in every direction. ¡°It is just as I feared,¡± they declared a minute later, the glow slowly fading from their eyes. ¡°First point of interest, my [Liege]: Some imbecile is conducting a ritual they don¡¯t understand. The vast majority of the interference is originating from a single point several kilometers north of here in what is likely the city¡¯s center. That point should be the ritual¡¯s primary node, and it¡¯s leaking enough mana and divinity to prove a nuisance. Without knowing more about the particular ritual being attempted, however, I cannot predict what effects this malformed casting will have. It might fizzle without effect, but it also might create an explosion capable of leveling half the city. ¡°Second point of interest: There is a battle going on throughout the city. I cannot discern too many particulars due to the aforementioned interference, but the belligerents seem to be the [Aurorae Sylvas], the [Hollow King]¡¯s [Solarian Courts], and Percival¡¯s [Nameless Revolt]. All battling seems to be going on above ground, and battle lines are indistinct.¡± ¡°Above ground?¡± Melpomene asked. ¡°Why is no one using the catacombs to move their troops?¡± ¡°Third and final point of interest, my [Liege],¡° Eurymedon replied with an array of smiles. ¡°As we¡¯ve discussed, no complete map of the catacombs has ever existed. The closest to central planning this tunnel system ever come was six centuries ago when [King] Phillip VII demanded it be made more confusing for fear of the network¡¯s use during a rebellion. ¡°Our mistake is that we underestimated the extent to which the catacombs were altered. The passages beyond this wall seem to be maze-like, collapsed at irregular intervals, and riddled with all manner of traps. Practically speaking, it is unnavigable and useless to all¡­¡± Eurymedon trailed off leadingly. A flicker of purple light flashed through their eyes, and their thousand smiles turned deliciously wicked. Melpomene felt a smirk of her own cross her lips. She clenched her gauntleted hand into a fist, and twisting her body to add her full weight to the blow, she punched a head-sized hole into the cheap, shoddily constructed wall. The gap was just large enough to see into the gloomy bone-lined hall beyond. ¡°But not to us.¡±
Maneuvering through the danger-fraught catacombs at a measured pace, it took Melpomene¡¯s army over an hour to position themselves at advantageous egress points spread about the city center. Thanks to Eurymedon¡¯s scouting magic, every trap they came across was either disabled or triggered from a safe distance. There were false floors, falling spikes, suffocating gases, poison darts, and even a fiery rolling bone-boulder trap ¡ª too ill maintained to trigger properly, much to Melpomene¡¯s disappointment ¡ª but the worst injuries anyone sustained were scrapes and bruises from having to squeeze through too-tight stone passageways. The most troublesome part of the process was finding routes the girthier troops could traverse. It was similarly difficult to find an exit they could fit through, but that problem was solved when they discovered a chamber with a relatively thin ceiling. When the time came, the troops could make their own exit point, because really, what was a wall if not a door waiting to happen? After ensuring all of their troops were in position, Melpomene and Eurymedon found themselves alone at the bottom of an exit they¡¯d determined must lead to Kingsblood Square, the epicenter of the ongoing ritual. They felt a rather large explosion go off somewhere overhead as another pulse of divinity passed through them, but neither event was enough to cause them to worry. ¡°My [Liege], I can confirm that given this rate of magic leakage, the ritual is unlikely to explode, but the interference is getting worse. I am still unable to discern the ritual¡¯s intended purpose, nor can I see what is happening in the area surrounding the Torr Royale. Do you still wish to continue with ambush-reconnaissance pattern two?¡± ¡°You should know better than anyone that I¡¯ve been wanting to use pattern two for a long time, old friend,¡± Melpomene said, attaching her helmet to her belt. ¡°Hit me.¡± ¡°Yes, my [Liege]. [Command Relay]!¡± Melpomene felt the overcasted spell sink into her bones, and she could suddenly feel the approximate positions of her troops. She also intuitively knew that she could give any of them simple commands, and they would hear her. She could feel her nearby troops more clearly than those further away, but the spell¡¯s area of influence was large enough that she could account for her entire army. The spell was always nice to have active, but given the amount of mana it consumed, it was usually unnecessary for field battles where signal flags would work nearly as well. For situations such as the one Melpomene found herself in now, however, the spell was invaluable. ¡°Thank you, Eurymedon,¡± Melpomene said, throwing on a black robe over her armor and weapons. ¡°I appreciate you more than any other Daemon on all of Terra, but I still sometimes feel like I don¡¯t appreciate you enough.¡± ¡°My [Liege], I will be loyal to you until my final breath. On an unrelated note, might I ask why you¡¯re altering your form?¡± ¡°You said the [Aurorae Sylvas] are here, correct?¡± Melpomene asked, her voice growing gravelly as her skin grew paler and her face more wizened. She gave the farming scythe she¡¯d set aside a spin, and smiled. ¡°I¡¯m just readying myself in case I happen to run into a certain fresh-faced [Liege].¡±
Melpomene covertly made her way up through a half-collapsed passage to what remained of Kingsblood Square. In the sky she could see a host of spirits ¡ª many with souls, some without ¡ª flying toward the Torr Royale at the square¡¯s center, but the square itself seemed completely devoid of anything save for debris, scattered loot, and a screaming old man¡¯s soul. I¡¯ve never seen a soul like that, all cracked and burning, Melpomene thought. Is this a Solarian thing? ¡°You alright, old man?¡± she called. The old man turned to her and froze. ¡°Thanatos?¡± he asked. ¡°Thanatos?¡± Melpomene repeated. She looked down at herself with fresh eyes, and she had to admit that her ¡®kooky old man¡¯ form did somewhat resemble a few of the ancient descriptions of the man in question, if only older and scruffier. In Melpomene¡¯s opinion, the resemblance was only superficial. If she were wielding a weapon other than a scythe ¡ª a weapon the real Thanatos hardly ever used, though Solarian art always depicted him with it ¡ª the old Human in front of her likely wouldn¡¯t have noticed the surface-level similarities. Melpomene remembered that the Solarians had a myth about Thanatos being the one to reap unbelievers¡¯ souls. Since this man was dead, it was natural for him to assume any Daemon he saw was Thanatos, and it wasn¡¯t like the old man could have met enough Daemons in his time to be able to tell similar looking ones apart. Not that Melpomene could begrudge the old Human for his lack of exposure, of course. She apparently still needed more practice differentiating Humans herself, because to her, the old man looked like Gregory Kingsblood II, so who was she to judge? The real Gregory Kingsblood II ¡ª if Percival¡¯s second in command even was the real Gregory Kingsblood II ¡ª would probably fly into a zealous rage the second he saw a Daemon, so this old man couldn¡¯t be him. All that considered, being mistaken for a Daemon as great as Thanatos put Melpomene in a good mood, so she decided to play along with the dead Human¡¯s misconception. He asked if she was Thanatos, and she would give him an answer. ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, flashing him a smile and a wink, ¡°I suppose I am.¡± Melpomene wasn¡¯t sure what sort of reaction she expected. Perhaps fear, perhaps awe, perhaps a bit of both. What she hadn¡¯t expected was for the old man become an incoherent glob of sobbing and smiles. ¡°Oh, you smarmy ass! I knew it was you! I knew it! It¡¯s so good to¡ªhic! It¡¯s so good to see you!¡± The old man tried to step toward her, and miracle of miracles, the clumsy bastard somehow got his foot caught on something and tripped despite being made entirely intangible of soul-stuff. Melpomene knee-slid over to catch him without thinking. ¡°Careful, you ol¡¯ geezer!¡± she chastised, carefully observing the soul resting in her arms. ¡°You could¡¯ve broken a hip!¡± She was on a scouting mission so she really should be getting a move on, but then again, she¡¯d never seen a loose and cognizant soul before. Interacting with the soul would likely reveal something about the nature of the ongoing ritual since the two were likely related. Objectives aside, some small part of Melpomene felt the need to comfort the old man¡¯s soul for no other reason than because she wanted to. As for why she wanted to, she rationalized the urge as being caused by pity for an old soul burning away into oblivion. Perhaps if given more time, she would realize there was something else there. ¡°One last goodbye, love,¡± said the old man. Before Melpomene could realize what he was doing, the old man kissed her on the lips. At first she was shocked, but then she remembered some of the more esoteric bits of her Human research. First of all, the old man had called her ¡®love.¡¯ An untrained mind might assume this meant he¡¯d mistaken her for his lover, but Melpomene knew better! ¡®Love¡¯ could also be an informal mode of address used my old-timey folks when talking to strangers or loose acquaintances. For example, ¡®Would you mind holding the door, love?¡¯ or, ¡®I¡¯m only two pence short! Can¡¯t you let an old man slide, love?¡¯ Such being the case ¡ª because why else would a Solarian address an ancient Daemon as ¡®love?¡¯ ¡ª this meant that the old man had a penchant for old-timey customs. And what else did old-timey Humans have weird hang-ups about? That¡¯s right! Kissing! Solarians tended to be too prudish when it came to kissing, and yet they also did it at the weirdest times and in the weirdest ways. For example, why were enemy captives always so eager to kiss her feet, and yet none of them ever took her literally when she told them to kiss her ass? As part of knowing her enemy, Melpomene had spent many long hours studying human customs, so that¡¯s why she knew Humans also kissed when performing death rites! Since Solarian culture treated Thanatos as a psychopomp for unbelievers, it made perfect sense that the old man wanted to kiss her before passing on. But why is he using so much tongue? Eh, must be a regional difference. Subconsciously, that small part of her that had wanted to comfort the old man shrieked in victory at the kiss, but her conscious mind ignored that part of herself in favor of trading spit in a purely professional manner. But of course she had to match the old man¡¯s intensity. She wouldn¡¯t want to raise any suspicion, after all! The old man pulled away first. ¡°Please, love,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s Percival. He¡¯s up there, somewhere high in the tower.¡± Oh? Melpomene thought, shooting a quick glance at the Torr Royale. Percival¡¯s up there? Is he the one running this shit-show of a ritual? ¡°I¡¯ve-I¡¯ve failed. I¡¯ve got to go, but¡­ You¡¯ll take care of him for me, won¡¯t you? Percival, he needs¡ª¡± ¡°Consider it done,¡± Melpomene interrupted. The soul¡¯s last few sentences told her everything she needed to know, so as repayment, she¡¯d help him pass on as soon as possible. ¡°May the Beyond treat you well, old man.¡± The old man began dissolving into motes of light with a smile on his face, apparently at peace thanks to Melpomene¡¯s promise to ¡®take care¡¯ of Percival. ¡°Don¡¯t be in a rush to catch up, love. Be well, and be happy.¡± Melpomene had witnessed quite a few people die in her time, and as far as last words went, the old man¡¯s were rather nice. She didn¡¯t know what she might use them for, but she filed them away for later. The old man leaned in to kiss her one last time, and Melpomene obliged without thinking. At last he disappeared, and Melpomene was left alone in the ruined square. A smile on her face, she extended her wings and made her way up to a hole blasted into the side of the Torr Royale. Perching there, she looked out over the city, and what she saw confirmed her suspicions. ¡°So the old man was right. This is all Percival¡¯s doing.¡± Spread throughout Soleil, there were hordes of monstrous undead creatures wreathed in the disgusting golds of holy divine magic. According to her army¡¯s latest intelligence, the only one in all of the [Solarian Courts] capable of this kind of magic at scale would be Percival, so barring any unforeseen factors, this magic had to be his. Fighting against the undead were the [Aurorae Sylvas] and a host of poorly equipped Human troops. At a glance, Melpomene couldn¡¯t determine who the Humans swore allegiance to, but they were fighting alongside the Fae against Percival¡¯s horde. Melpomene briefly wondered where the [Hollow King]¡¯s forces were, but then she noticed that many of Percival¡¯s zombies bore arms and armor far more exquisite than the rebel [Liege] should be able to afford. Ah. Percival must¡¯ve already destroyed the [Hollow King]¡¯s army and equipped his troops with the spoils. These surviving Humans must be the remnants of the [Hollow King]¡¯s peasant levies. That would explain how shit their equipment is. Having reason to believe the [Hollow King] was dead, Melpomene stifled a sigh, but her disappointment soon turned into anticipation. I¡¯d hoped the [Hollow King] might be fun to fight¡­ but if Percival beat him so easily, perhaps that means Percival will be an even better challenge? ¡°Prepare to strike,¡± she intoned, speaking through the [Command Relay] spell Eurymedon had given her. ¡°Primary foe: Undead horde enhanced by holy magic. Sweep-breach protocol, then pull back and engage using slow bulwark advance at unit leader¡¯s discretion. Be ready to employ anti-large, anti-many, and anti-air tactics as needed. ¡°Be advised: Human and Fae troops in area. Dispositions unknown. Do not engage unless attacked first, but be wary.¡± Melpomene turned away from the city to peer into the tower where the ritual was being held. ¡°At the ready. Autarch set to engage with enemy [Liege]. We strike on my mark.¡±
¡°LIAR! LIAR! LIAR-LIAR-LIARLIARLIARLIAAAAAAR!¡± Melpomene arrived just in time to witness something interesting. ¡°Let us see how you tell lies without a neck.¡± There was a weird, fleshy monster with eyes, teeth, and gold in all the wrong places. It had an oversized golden sword in its hands, and Melpomene spied it just as it was rearing back to strike down a helpless looking Human getting eaten alive by gold. Wait, the Human from the valley? Melpomene realized. No! They can¡¯t die yet! They¡¯re supposed to be my in with the [Aurorae Sylvas]! ¡°Mark,¡± she whispered, signaling her troops to strike. In the interest of protecting her asset, she charged in through the hole in the chamber¡¯s door. Instead of blocking the monster¡¯s blow directly, she went for the kill. She attacked Percival ¡ª for who else could this holy-looking flesh horror be? ¡ª from behind, slicing through his neck and his shoulder in a single fluid motion. The former monk¡¯s goldsteel blade dissolved into light. His head and his arm fell away from his body with an odd slowness, as if underwater. When his severed bits finally hit the ground, they did so with an unsettling plop, squishing and deflating with a bonelessness that disgusted and fascinated Melpomene in equal measure. Without further fanfare, the man died. His malformed corpse began steaming and shrinking back down to the size of normal Human as the trapped spirits within him faded into the air. The flesh-crown on his head receded, revealing an actual crown underneath. The [Couronne Solaire]? Melpomene marveled silently. It seems fancier than expected, but I shouldn¡¯t be surprised that millennia-old intelligence is a tad imprecise. And it¡¯s literally on fire? That wasn¡¯t mentioned anywhere, but it doesn¡¯t seem to be letting off any heat. A new enchantment perhaps? Seeing that her former student still had their eyes closed, Melpomene had an idea. Oh, this is the perfect opportunity. Quick as a shadow, she swiped the artifact from Percival¡¯s corpse. Only after she had it hidden beneath the folds of her robe did she address her student. ¡°Your [Liegeliness], we¡¯ve got to stop meeting like this,¡± she said nonchalantly. ¡°That¡¯s twice now that I¡¯ve swooped in at the last moment to save your life. Once more and it¡¯ll start to feel clich¨¦.¡±
One conversation later¡­ AAAAH! OW OW OW! WHAT IN THE UNHOLY FUCK¡ª!?! Despite it feeling like ten thousand [Drake Berserkers] were tap dancing on her soul, Melpomene managed to keep her composure until her student died. Sure, she didn¡¯t have the mental capacity to comprehend their final words, but she¡¯d heard them. She could worry about what they¡¯d said after she unburdened her soul. Her student ¡ª now solid gold thanks to whatever curse the monstrous-looking Percival had cast on them ¡ª tipped over and clattered to the ground, but Melpomene was already out the door. Chapter 22. Sight ¡°[Verdant Hunters]! The west street! Target the cavalry! Break their charge!¡± At the Fae¡¯s command, a barrage of preternaturally fast arrows curved through the air toward the oncoming line of¡­ He didn¡¯t know what they were. In shape, the nearest equivalent would be the month-old corpse of a horse he¡¯d stumbled upon as a child, but that comparison did the corpse a disservice. These creatures were¡­ unnatural. Their torsos were unsettlingly long, and their underbellies were lined with teeth. Their flesh ¡ª like the flesh of every enemy monster ¡ª appeared ground up and resculpted by the hands of a Human who thought themself above the pursuit of art. The volley of arrows impacted the horse-shaped monsters thirty strides away from his Human allies¡¯ spear wall. Each arrowhead sunk into flesh and exploded into shards mere fractions of a second after impact, embedding poisoned wood shrapnel deep into the monsters¡¯ limbs. This alone would have been devastating, but the attack wasn¡¯t over. The embedded wood shards ¡ª still alive ¡ª flashed with green light and grew, lancing and twisting through the monsters¡¯ flesh to become a mat of interconnected, immobilizing roots. The monsters¡¯ charge faltered as a full half of them ¡ª their entire front line included ¡ª lost control of their limbs and fell to the ground. They crashed into each other, and the whirring teeth of their underbellies took no time in transforming the pileup into a windstorm of gore. Carried by their momentum, the flailing mass of monsters slammed into the Humans¡¯ spear wall, but the [Verdant Hunters]¡¯ volley had diminished the force of the charge enough that the impact only managed to knock a few soldiers onto their asses. The flank¡¯s commanding officer was shouting orders from behind the third rank. He turned to address his soldiers positioned on the left of the formation, and it was at that moment that one of the trailing horseflesh monsters not caught in the pileup leapt over the battle line, launching itself straight for the commander. One of the Human soldiers shouted a warning and the commander turned to look, but everything was moving too fast. He wouldn¡¯t be able to dodge in time. The monster stretched wide its body-length maw, ready to consume the commander in an instant. An arrow cut through the air between them and exploded with a small repulsive force ¡ª not enough to harm, but just enough to move. The Human was thrown to the ground, and the monster was shoved higher into the air. It landed on its back, stunned, and the Humans in the backlines swarmed it before it could put up a fight. The Human commander turned to look for whichever archer had just saved his life, but the Fae who¡¯d loosed the arrow ¡ª the same Fae who¡¯d given the firing order that¡¯d broken the monsters¡¯ charge ¡ª was already turning his eyes elsewhere. ¡°[Dancing Blades]! Reinforce the South! [Ghost Walkers]! Another cannon is coming from the East, crawling along the left wall! [Snow Speakers]! Spread out and target the vermin! [Verdant Hunters]! Target the blood-wielding giants!¡± His true name was Ethsu¡¯ul Byahgru¡¯mbil, but he was known only as ¡®Scout Master¡¯ to all but his parents and closest confidants. He gave his people orders, and they obeyed ¡ª not because of some artificial hierarchy, but because his people knew that in this instance, he was the best equipped to lead. It was thanks to his efforts that the lines held for now, but the situation grew more tenuous by the minute. This was why he hated ¡®holding positions.¡¯ Though he begrudgingly admitted that there was some value to the practice, doing so himself still felt too ¡®Human.¡¯ He was of the opinion that eleven times out of twelve, any perceived need to guard some particular patch of stone was an illusion born from a lacking imagination. Unfortunately, he now found himself in that final twelfth. This position needed holding, and his Human allies ¡ª the [Nameless Revolt] ¡ª couldn¡¯t do it on their own. The mission had been going well up until the enemy¡¯s transformation. The group of Humans he was with now had been tasked with disrupting a ritual node a Fae Elder had sensed, and Scout Master and his huntmates were in turn tasked with making sure the Humans didn¡¯t die too quickly. With the Humans in the streets and the Fae in the shadows, they¡¯d taken this ¡®jail¡¯ building ¡ª a disgusting place the Humans built to cage up their own kin ¡ª easily enough, but they were horrified to find the cells within filled-to-bursting with women and children. They¡¯d initially planned to retreat and move on to another objective after disrupting the ritual node ¡ª a set of crystals that now lay dashed across the ground ¡ª but they could not safely retreat with so many civilians in tow. It¡¯d been a difficult decision, but Scout Master and the Humans¡¯ leaders all agreed it was best to hold their position until Percival could destroy the ritual¡¯s heart. They¡¯d even managed to do so with minimal losses ¡ª at least up until a few minutes ago. The images were still fresh in Scout Master¡¯s mind. The blood, the flesh, the agony ¡ª all of it violently unmade and reformed into the monsters they now faced. Too many of his soldiers died in those first moments after the enemy¡¯s transformation ¡ª their limbs pierced by arrows of bone, their veins exsanguinated through their eyes, their still-screaming selves consumed by roiling masses of flesh. There was no way Scout Master could have foreseen any of it happening, but the battlefield was no place for excuses. He played a part in making the call to defend this place, and now he had to deal with the repercussions. ¡°Percival, for Love of the Sky, please hurry,¡± he whispered beneath his breath. From his perch atop the jail¡¯s flat roof, he loosed an arrow. It burst into the side of a blood-wielding giant, doing little damage but staggering it just enough for a group of soldiers to land the killing blow. He loosed another, distracting a wall-climbing cannon long enough for the [Ghost Walkers] to engage. He loosed a third, and a section of wall collapsed and crushed a score of those bone-firing atrocities the enemy passed off as archers. He was Scout Master. His strength lay not in magic, nor in overwhelming might of arms. His strength lay in his sight. He saw where every soldier was needed most, and so he barked orders to direct them, his voice empowered to be heard above the din. He saw which clashes teetered on the edge of disaster, and so he fired arrow after arrow to tip the scales. He saw the shifting tides of battle, and so he knew they were going to lose. The jail was too small for both his people and his Human allies to cram into, forcing them to defend the open streets. Gold-wreathed monsters came at them from every direction, and though Scout Master was able to ensure ten enemies fell for every one of their own, the enemy¡¯s numbers were endless, and his own were not. Hurried steps approached from behind, but he didn¡¯t turn to look. ¡°Scout Master!¡± came his subordinate¡¯s voice as they ran through the doorway leading to the roof. ¡°The civilians all collapsed!¡± ¡°What? Was there another set of crystals hidden somewhere?¡± Scout Master asked, still not turning around. He continued his work of firing arrows and surveying the field as he spoke. ¡°[Ghost Walkers]! Two cannons approaching from the South!¡± ¡°It started when the enemy transformed,¡± the younger Fae went on, speaking as quickly as she could. ¡°The women and children went suddenly vacant. We couldn¡¯t sense any magic or poison acting on them, but just now they all fell to the floor.¡± Scout Master opened his mouth to ask another question, but then he stopped. He felt something shift in the air. All at once, the [Hollow King]¡¯s monsters went silent. Like the wind disappearing on a blustery day, the sudden stillness left the jail¡¯s defenders off-balance and hesitating. Then, just as swiftly as it had begun, the silence disappeared. Screams, blood, rubble, and gold flew in every direction. A chorus of shrieks ¡ª women¡¯s and children¡¯s ¡ª resounded from within the jail. The monsters went mad. Their ferocity redoubled. Their golden auras condensed and shattered into jagged shards, half cutting into the air and half into their flesh. Any semblance of order within their ranks was lost as they tore into whatever lay near them, be it stone, Human, Fae, or each other. ¡°Stand strong!¡± barked Scout Master in Solarian, but his voice ¡ª even empowered as it was ¡ª was drowned out by the chaos. ¡°Keep your¡ª!¡± BOOM! With uncanny synchronicity, half a dozen explosions went off within Scout Master¡¯s line of sight, but his ears told him many more occurred in places he could not see. He swiveled his head and watched as bursting from cellar doors, sewer grates, and the cobbles right beneath a horseflesh monster¡¯s hooves came forth an army of¡ª ¡°Daemons?!?¡± Daemonic soldiers spewed out onto the streets, surging like a storm. Steel flashed, boots thundered against stone, and a thousand voices howled their cries of war. In their wake, they left only blood and shards of shattered gold. Scout Master¡¯s only saving grace was that no Daemons had appeared near his troop¡¯s defensive lines. For now they contented themselves with slaying the [Hollow King]¡¯s monsters, but that was no guarantee that they would not close in and strike when the opportunity presented itself. ¡°Wind Seer, check on the civilians,¡± Scout Master commanded the Fae at his back, his eyes still darting every which way as he tried to grasp the situation. ¡°[Aurorae Sylvas]! Stay behind the lines! Full defense!¡± Scout Master had studied many a storm in his days, but these Daemons were a storm unlike any he¡¯d seen. Every one of them ¡ª from the humblest infantry to the greatest golem forged of abyss-black steel ¡ª blew through the battle like a rogue gale, arrogant and heedless of whatever winds blew at their side. It made no sense. Their actions were wild, selfish, and undisciplined ¡ª yet somehow, it was working. Beyond all logic, beyond all reason, beyond all doubt, it was working. As if by pure coincidence, every soldier was always where they needed to be; their own strikes unerring while the strikes leveled against them seldom found their mark. He couldn¡¯t make sense of it. He needed to make sense of it. Unbidden, a memory came to the fore of his mind, and he remembered the words of his Teacher, the woman who had been Scout Master before him. ¡°Eth, look to the snow,¡± she¡¯d said, the two of them alone in a blizzard. He shivered, but she stood firm. Her hair was loose, whipping about in every direction like the many scars on her skin. ¡°From the snow, see the wind. From the wind, see the storm.¡± His only problem now? He was lost in the snow. No matter how hard he studied the individual Daemonic soldiers, Scout Master could not glean an ounce of insight into their regiments¡¯ movements, much less the army as whole. He could not identify any patterns in their storm, and that incomprehension, that uncertainty, became an arrow of fear fired straight through his heart. He took an involuntary step back, a phantom chill spreading up his shoulders that disappeared as soon as he went to brush it away. Even the [Hollow King]¡¯s monsters were more predictable than the Daemons. Each individual monster¡¯s actions were equally if not more chaotic than the Daemons¡¯, but they were as a whole ruled by a pattern of instinct. Even now, the stronger abominations were asserting their dominion over the weaker, creating small warbands whose actions could be anticipated even if the actions of the monsters comprising them could not. Luckily, the monstrous warbands seemed equally inclined to attack each other or the Daemons as they were Scout Master¡¯s coalition. This meant that the pressure directed at Scout Master and his allies had lessened compared to before, but this relief could not last. The Daemons were for now content to battle only the monsters, but when the final abominations were slain, his people would be next. If he could not understand their tactics by the time they arrived, his guidance would be useless, and his people would fall. ¡°Lights above, guide my eyes,¡± he pleaded, mostly alone on the roof. ¡°Help me understand.¡± Sparing only half an eye for the [Hollow King]¡¯s monsters, he focused on the Daemons. ¡°See the Storm,¡± he told himself. His eyes scoured the battlefield, but the harder he looked, the less he could see. His breathing grew heavy. ¡°See the Storm,¡± he repeated. Several times he tricked himself into believing he was beginning to understand, but his flashes of inspiration guttered out faster than they could form. ¡°See the Storm!¡± Had this been a feast tale, now would be the time for Fire Tongue or another of The Fourths to suddenly find a way forward ¡ª to learn something new or perform some miraculous feat of bravery. Sadly this was no story, and Scout Master was far from a [Hero]. He had no idea how long he¡¯d been stuck there ¡ª frozen with indecision, searching for answers that might not exist ¡ª when a sense of danger tickled at the back of his head. He whipped his eyes to the east. There, not even two hundred meters away from the defensive perimeter, was one of those horrible spike-and-tentacle limbed cannons skulking beneath the eve of a clocktower¡¯s peaked roof. Within its maw was the telltale black-and-broken-gold glow of a charging shot ready to loose. ¡°East flank! Scatter! Scatter NOW!¡± he yelled in Solarian, but he knew he was too late. The threat was too great, and it had gotten too close. How could he have missed it? A blast of light, bright as the sun and dark as blood, shot straight toward the defensive line. Some of the defenders had heard him and were beginning to move out of the way, but most were too stuck-in with the beasts before them. They were all going to die. All of them. The east flank would collapse, and it would all be his fault for not seeing the threat. My eyes have failed me. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it wasn¡¯t true. It was not his eyes that had failed him. I have failed my eyes. BOOM! The eastern front was engulfed in a burst of blinding light. Scout Master was formulating orders to repair the broken line, but when the light cleared, what he saw struck him dumb. His troops were all alive. All of them. Some had fallen backwards, and all were either rubbing at their eyes or blinking rapidly, but they were each and every one still alive. Before them floated a circular mirror no more than a meter in diameter, and before that mirror smoldered an impact crater strewn with monsters-turned-puddles of molten gold. Its purpose fulfilled, the mirror cracked and shattered harmlessly into a million motes of purple light. ¡°A show of goodwill,¡± came a chorus of voices at his side, all speaking Auroran. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Scout Master hadn¡¯t consciously known there was anyone next to him, but he turned and was surprised to find himself unsurprised at the presence standing there beside him. My eyes have seen them there for a while, he realized, but my mind did not think them important enough to notice. They ¡ª she, he, or other, he could not tell ¡ª were unmistakably a Daemon. They had four legs, six arms, and a ring of eyes pointed in every direction. Many mouths were strewn about their form in some pattern he could not comprehend. Each mouth moved as if speaking or chanting, but he could only hear the words coming from the trio of mouths nearest the eye trained on him. ¡°I¡¯ve dispatched my [Wyvern Riders] to destroy the [Sinew-Limbed Cannoneers], so you needn¡¯t fear any more such attacks.¡± Scout Master turned his head, and indeed, the cannon monster was already falling to the ground, rent in twain and burning with green fire. He hadn¡¯t seen what¡¯d killed it. ¡°You are Eurymedon, [Daemon of Eyes] and [Vassal] to [Daemon Autarch] Melpomene of the [Despoiled Legion],¡± Scout Master said aloud, several pieces clicking into place. A creeping sense of doom crawled up his neck. Too scared to again look the Daemon in the eye, he instead watched as the flaming halves of the cannon crashed down into a mob of brawling flesh vermin on the street below. ¡°Your people and mine have no quarrel,¡± he went on after he found his voice. ¡°Please, let us see tomorrow, and I promise the [Aurorae Sylvas] will give you no trouble.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± asked the Daemon. ¡°And what of the Humans fighting beside you?¡± Something about their overlapping voices reverberated in Scout Master¡¯s bones, and he felt lightheaded. ¡°They are our allies,¡± he said, fighting through the sudden bout of dizziness. ¡°You have no need to do them harm. In secret, they¡¯ve made plans to broker a peace with you come spring.¡± ¡°They told you this secret?¡± ¡°I am Scout Master,¡± he said without thinking. ¡°It is my life¡¯s purpose to see what lies ahead.¡± ¡°You did not answer my question.¡± ¡°And you have no need for my answer.¡± Why he gave voice to that bold reply, Scout Master did not know. His first thought had erupted from his mouth unfiltered, and there¡¯d been nothing he could do to stop it. Luckily, the Daemon appeared amused by his insolence. He heard them chuckle, but he couldn¡¯t muster the will to turn back around and face them. ¡°Interesting,¡± came their voices. ¡°I acknowledge your efforts, but your vision is too narrow. Why don¡¯t you turn around?¡± He hesitated. ¡°I¡ª¡± Plack! Something slammed into the back of Scout Master¡¯s head, and he fell forward off the roof. He flailed, but soon realized he was no longer falling. With one arm, the Daemon Eurymedon held the collar of his rammoth leather vest, and with another they held a malformed creature of wings, claws, and eyes ¡ª in all likelihood, the creature that had taken him by surprise. The thing squealed like a banshee, but with a squeeze of Eurymedon¡¯s hand, it exploded into a spray of black ichor, golden shards, and purple light. Not a drop of the spray landed on either Scout Master nor the [Daemon of Eyes], and the shards of gold landed on the stone roof with barely a sound. Scout Master was being held parallel to the ground, his feet pressed against the eve of the jail¡¯s roof, and his back to open air. His heart skipped a beat as he looked into the Daemon¡¯s eye still trained on him. All they needed to do was let go, and he would fall. ¡°If your life¡¯s purpose is to see, then you must look for more than just ¡®what lies ahead.¡¯¡± They yanked him violently back onto his feet, and Scout Master found his eyes only a handsbreath from the Daemon¡¯s. He was short for a Fae ¡ª not even two meters tall ¡ª so he had to tilt his chin up to meet their gaze. ¡°You look too much, and you see not enough, Scout Master,¡± the Daemon rebuked him, words just above a whisper. Something in the timbre of their voices sent another vibration down his neck, this one more strange than chilling. It wasn¡¯t until two long breaths passed that the Daemon finally let go of his collar, creating space. ¡°But you have given me useful information,¡± they went on, ¡°and I respect the role you have decided to fill on the battlefield. From one controller to another, allow me to give you a gift before we part ways.¡± One of their hands ignited with purple flame, and they reared back as if preparing to slap him. Wait, they weren¡¯t actually going to slap him, were they? They paused with their arm cocked back, and just as Scout Master predicted, they did not slap him. An odd look briefly flashed through their eye regarding him, and then the Daemon spoke. ¡°I have just received an order,¡± they said. ¡°When you have recovered from my gift, I would appreciate it if you tell your soldiers to grab as many valuables as they can, and make your way to Kingsblood Square.¡± Scout Master was confused. ¡°Why would I need to recover from¡ª?¡± SMACK! Eurymedon slapped him across the face so violently that his hair came loose. He was sent reeling. His eyes went watery, blurring his vision. ¡°To see requires more than eyes,¡± came the Daemon¡¯s voices from every direction at once. ¡°It oft¡¯ requires no eyes at all.¡± Scout Master regained his balance as the Daemon finished speaking, amazed that he hadn¡¯t fallen off the roof. He could barely see a thing, but he knew the Daemon had left. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked rapidly, but his vision remained blurry. His first impulse was to panic, but he was Scout Master. He¡¯d survived harsher trials in the past. Being unable to see frightened him on a visceral level, but he forced himself to keep a level head. The Daemon described this as a gift. Why? He ignored the temptation to strain his eyes back into focus, and he allowed the Daemon¡¯s wordsto come back to him. You look too much, and you see not enough. What could they have meant by that? He was alone on the roof ¡ª truly alone this time. He looked first to his army¡¯s defensive lines, and though he couldn¡¯t make out every detail, he could tell they were holding firm. Then he looked out toward the chaotic streets where the [Despoiled Legion] were fighting the [Hollow King]¡¯s monsters, but at that distance he could make out little more than waves of flesh breaking against dark islands of steel. He again felt the urge to force his vision into focus, but he resisted. ¡°The arrow rides the wind,¡± he muttered to himself, repeating another of his Teacher¡¯s lessons. Deliberately, he stopped trying to see, and he allowed his eyes to further unfocus. He stopped trying so hard to understand, and it was only then that suddenly¡­ suddenly he understood. It were as if up until that moment he¡¯d been staring point-blank at randomly tangled strands of color, and only now that he¡¯d stepped away could he recognize the tapestry they wove. No, perhaps a tapestry wasn¡¯t the right metaphor ¡ª too rigid, too set in its patterns. Perhaps a song? No, too comprehensible. A dance? Close, but not quite. Ultimately, Scout Master decided his very first impression ¡ª the one he¡¯d had when the Daemons first appeared ¡ª to be the most apt. Like a tapestry, they were a matrix of wind woven tight. Like a song, they flowed. Like a dance, they wrought their presence upon the world. And like an Ancestral Sky, they were a Storm. Gradually, Eurymedon¡¯s magic faded, and Scout Master¡¯s vision grew sharper. It was difficult to notice through the blinding haze of their bravado, but the Daemons as a whole advanced slowly and solidly, sliding back to reorganize and gain leverage just as often as they surged forward. On one front, they were thunder and lighting, and on another they were a reaping chill rolling through the dark. Then all at once, their dispositions swapped, and the monsters between them fell like chaff before the blade. Elsewhere it happened again, but this time in a different shape Scout Master wouldn¡¯t have recognized as being similar to the first had he been looking for an exact match. Then at a different interval and in a different place, it happened again, and then again after that. How were they doing this? To find out, Scout Master decided to look closer¡­ And from the Storm, he saw the Wind. He focused onto a single regiment of infantry. The soldiers were each moving as they wished ¡ª ostensibly at random,just as he¡¯d come to expect ¡ª as they tangled with a mixed horde of enemy monsters. There was no distinct line of battle, no ranks, no indication that the battle was anything other than a senseless melee filled with far too many flips and flourishes to prove effective ¡ª and yet again, Scout Master bore witness as the Daemons remained nearly untouched as the monsters fell in droves. This time, however, rather than panic and scramble for an explanation, Scout Master held his gaze steady. Patiently, he waited, allowing the answer the space it needed to make itself known. It didn¡¯t come to him all at once. He caught only glimpses as it flitted by. Like tracking a fox on the hunt, he spied it only in those fleeting moments when it leapt up from the snow to pounce upon its own prey. After some time had passed, Scout Master had an inkling of the answer¡¯s true form, and indeed, it was fox-like¡ª playful, cunning, and vicious in equal measure ¡ª but that wasn¡¯t the whole picture. It was time for him to look even closer¡­ And from the Wind, he saw the Snow. He focused on but two of the Daemonic soldiers within the fray. They were identically equipped with darksteel plate and more weapons than should be reasonable, but one favored their pair of blades, and the other their spear. At first, Scout Master noticed nothing new. He saw only what he¡¯d come to expect. Both soldiers fought as if in a world all their own. They spun and leapt and kicked and swept and performed a dozen other ridiculous feats that should¡¯ve gotten them killed, but again, it all just worked. And that was when he saw it. It was a small thing, easily missed, but he knew what to look for when the fox leapt from the snow. The two soldiers crossed paths, each moving at their own tempo, each with a monster at their back. They could not have seen each other coming, for it was only at that moment that they¡¯d both turned to have the other in their field of view ¡ª and yet neither seemed surprised to find the other there. They flashed each other the grin of comrades-in-arms, and for but a breath, their steps fell in time. The swords flew high over the spear sliding low, and when three steps had passed, they¡¯d each slain the other¡¯s foe. And then the moment was over. The two continued on their separate ways, each moving at their own pace, strides unbroken, fighting in worlds all their own. But it had been in that moment ¡ª that one, singular moment ¡ª that Scout Master discovered the answer to how it was all possible. Rhythm, he realized. It¡¯s in their rhythms. He wasn¡¯t thinking of something so rigid as literal rhythms, of course, but rhythms of war. Such rhythms were by their very nature fickle, yet the two Daemon¡¯s had coordinated theirs seamlessly, falling in step with each other the precise moment they needed to without any forewarning. He remembered again the soldiers¡¯ shared smile ¡ª the smirk of veterans who trusted each other without reservation ¡ª and he couldn¡¯t help but wonder when was the last time he¡¯d shared that look with another himself. Now that Scout Master had noticed the pattern once, he saw it everywhere. Over and over again, wherever and whenever two soldiers crossed paths, they fell in time together all without needing to alter their own natural flow. Effortlessly, without even realizing he¡¯d done it, Scout Master shifted his focus back to encompass the entire regiment. From there, he had another epiphany that led him to see the entire army, and from there he had another. From Snow to Wind and Wind to Storm, then down to Snow and back again, he understood more and more of what he saw with every shift ¡ª and the more he understood, the more he realized he had left to understand. Patterns and patterns of patterns and patterns of patterns within patterns themselves¡­ It wasn¡¯t long before he found a name for the clarion song the Daemon¡¯s wrought with every clash of arms, every shout from their lungs, every beat of their boots upon the ground. Trickery. Every aspect of their fighting was designed to mislead. They projected strength where they were lacking and they revealed weaknesses where none existed. Each soldier affected an individualistic attitude while maintaining a covert synchronicity with the whole. Their tempos were so precisely syncopated they appeared like noise. It was no wonder Scout Master had taken so long to make sense of anything they did. They were so steeped in guile that merely looking at them wouldn¡¯t reveal a thing. The [Aurorae Sylvas] were a people of Chaos. They lived and fought like the Ancestral Sky for which they were named. They existed in tight harmony with each other, with their mountains, and with their sky, but every Fae was ultimately their own strand of light, free to wander whatsoever their heart led them. The Solarians were a people of Law. On the battlefield, The Courts and The Revolt both relied on highly regimented formations for their troops, and only their leaders and elites were allowed the freedom to move about as they themselves saw fit ¡ª and away from the battlefield, the dynamic was much the same. Wheresoever they settled, they imposed their Law upon the land with timber, stone, and mortar. The [Despoiled Legion], however, were something else entirely. They were a Law so firm it could don the guise of Chaos without harm. Scout Master watched, utterly transfixed, as the soldiers of the [Despoiled Legion] performed marvel after marvel upon the field. It was beautiful and absurd in equal measure. He could¡¯ve gazed upon it every day for a year and still be left wanting more. A tear rolled down his cheek. His lips were parted as if to breathe it all in. His hair, free from its braid, whipped about him in every direction. Slowly, his thoughts wandered to the one who¡¯d allowed him to see such a sight, and his free hand unconsciously wandered up to touch the cheek where they¡¯d slapped him. He thought of their many eyes, for a moment so close to his own, and he felt his face flush. Scout Master was a passionate man ¡ª he¡¯d never have become Scout Master if he weren¡¯t ¡ª so he already knew the name for what he felt bubbling up within his chest, and he knew the name of the one who¡¯d caused it. ¡°Eurymedon¡­¡± he whispered. He heard footsteps approaching from behind, and for a moment tricked himself into believing he¡¯d summoned the Daemon by speaking their name. ¡°Scout Master!¡± came his subordinate¡¯s voice, dispelling the illusion. She ducked through the human-sized door that lead to the roof and rushed to his side. ¡°Whatever spell struck the civilians is gone. There¡¯s some vomit and confusion, but they appear to be stable and recovering their wits.¡± Nodding his head, Scout Master surveyed the battlefield one last time before issuing any orders, but he already knew what he would see. The tide had turned, and it would soon be time to move on. ¡°[Aurorae Sylvas]!¡± he shouted, addressing his own soldiers in Solarian so that his Human allies could listen in. ¡°The threat here is nearly settled! The tired and injured, stay behind to guard this place. Everyone else, grab as many treasures as you can comfortably carry, and prepare to head toward Kingsblood Square! Wind Seer will remain here to guide those who stay,¡± he said, nodding to his subordinate at his back. ¡°Commanders of the [Nameless Revolt],¡± he said in a more relaxed voice, though he made sure to speak in a tone he knew would carry, ¡°I have no right to issue you orders, but I recommend you do the same.¡± His own people began moving to fulfill his orders without hesitation, but the Humans did not. ¡°The threat? Settled? Are you mad?¡± came the complaint Scout Master expected to hear. He shifted his gaze to look directly at the man who¡¯d spoken, and the leader of the Humans¡¯ northern line gazed back. ¡°There¡¯s Demons all around us, closing in as we speak!¡± the man yelled, still using that fear-disguised-by-anger tone of voice Humans so often used. As I suspected, Scout Master thought to himself, it seems none of the Humans here are ¡®in-the-know.¡¯ ¡°Be assured,¡± he said aloud, ¡°the [Despoiled Legion] is here as an ally. If they wanted us dead, they could have stayed hidden for another ten minutes and let the monsters deal with us.¡± Something in his periphery grabbed his attention, and he glanced over. Two blocks away, Scout Master watched as a score of Daemon cavalry he recognized as [Drake Berserkers] tore through a small horde of monsters being led by one of the blood-wielding giants, but one of the [Drake Berserkers] was conspicuously out of position. Scout Master couldn¡¯t articulate exactly how he knew, but he suddenly knew the vague shape of what would happen next. ¡°You can¡¯t trust Demons!¡± the Human leader rebutted, addressing the soldiers at his side as much as he addressed Scout Master. ¡°Have you heard none of the stories? You show your back to them, and they¡¯ll¡ª!¡± ¡°Turn around. Something¡¯s coming.¡± The man glared at Scout Master. He didn¡¯t turn around, evidently unappreciative of being interrupted, and wary of a trap. ¡°What are you¡ª?¡± The [Drake Berserkers] in the distance destroyed the small horde with little trouble, but in the process the enemy giant managed to slam its fist right into a drake¡¯s shoulder, sending the beast and rider alike hurtling straight toward the Human leader. Scout Master signaled his fellow Fae not to intervene. ¡°Captain!¡± shouted a soldier. ¡°Dodge!¡± ¡°What? Ah!¡± The Human dove out of the way, and the [Drake Berserker] landed on its feet right where the man had been standing a moment earlier. The beast skidded to a stop in a low stance, already poised to strike at whatever threat appeared before it next. It was a fierce thing of scales, darksteel, and fire. It must have been over twenty hands tall at the shoulder, and its vestigial wings ¡ª too small to grant its massive frame flight, but nonetheless rippling with muscle ¡ª only added to its imposing silhouette. It glowed with a smoldering light brightest in its eyes, maw, and between its scales, and every inch of its form not covered in plate exuded a thick, choking miasma. Upon its back sat its rider, a fully armored Daemon showing not an inch of skin. The most notable thing about the rider was the floating band of ice-white condensation trailing their helmet. It billowed behind them on an invisible breeze, fluttering like a banner, or perhaps a wave of hair. The drake bared its teeth and seemed about to pounce on the prone Human captain before it, but the Daemon on its back said something in a language Scout Master could not understand, and the creature¡¯s attitude flipped on its head. Its inner fire dimmed to an ember, and the fierce look on its face was instantly replaced by one of innocent curiosity that Scout Master couldn¡¯t help but find cute. Several Humans tried to surround it with spears, but the drake ignored them in favor of surging forward and rapidly flicking out its ribboned tongue to plant a bevy of kisses on the startled Human captain. Then, with another word from its rider, the drake reignited its inner fire, beat its wings, and leapt over the soldiers¡¯ lines in a single bound, rocketing up to the side of a building and leaping from there straight back into the battle it¡¯d been expelled from less than a dozen seconds ago. The Human captain was shaken, to put it lightly. He was unmolested save for the hot saliva on his face, but it took two of his subordinates to help him back up to his feet. ¡°Orders, sir?¡± asked the soldier on his left. The captain looked first to Scout Master, and then he looked to where the score of [Drake Berserkers] were now tearing through rank upon of rank of bone archers and undulating piles of flesh. Scout Master caught a whiff of fresh piss coming from the captain¡¯s direction, but he thought it best not to mention the fact. ¡°Do as the Fae said!¡± the captain shouted. ¡°Leave the monsters to the Demons! If you¡¯re tired, garrison the jail! The rest of you, grab as much loot as you can carry and follow me!¡± Scout Master continued to supervise the battlefield as the Humans began their preparations to move out, and he couldn¡¯t help but think about how serendipitous it had been for that [Drake Berserker] to appear exactly when, where, and how it did. Certainly, Scout Master could have persuaded the Humans on his own given more time, but every minute upon the battlefield was precious. How lucky, he thought, entirely unconvinced it had been mere luck. On a hunch, he allowed his gaze to wander, relaxing his eyes so that they might stumble upon someone impossible to find were he searching for them deliberately. He looked north, and for a moment he almost convinced himself he could see them there, that enigmatic conductor of the Daemons¡¯ confounding dance. Scout Master took pride in his leadership, his ability to unite his people toward a common goal while accounting for every individual¡¯s needs and desires. He took pride in his archery, his ability to place an arrow exactly where it needed to be. Above all, he took pride in his sight, his ability to see, to predict, to understand. Measured against the [Daemon of Eyes], all his pride amounted to nothing. Their leadership was unassailable. Their every word was an arrow with thrice the impact of any he could fire. Their sight made him feel as if he¡¯d lived his life with eyes half-shut. ¡°Eurymedon,¡± he said, more firmly than before. He gazed directly at that something in the distance that he could not fully notice, and he had the distinct feeling that that something was gazing back. He clenched his left hand tighter around the grip of his bow. His hair waved gently in the breeze. ¡°By my name, I swear I won¡¯t let your gift go waste.¡± Chapter 23. A [Hero] is Born FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFU¡ª Melpomene dashed through the narrow streets surrounding Kingsblood Square, tearing through masses of Percival¡¯s weird flesh monsters with every step and stride. ¡ªCKFUCKFUCKFUCKF¡ª She¡¯d hoped that the slaughter would distract her from the pain of getting her soul pulled apart and ground down into a million motes of dust, but¡­ ¡ªUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK¡ª It wasn¡¯t working. A crimson golem swung at her. The strike was fast, but far too telegraphed to be effective. Melpomene would¡¯ve normally just struck down the idiotic construct before its own strike could gain momentum, but she¡¯d been caught slightly out of position. Having just cut through a dozen of those smaller flesh creatures with a running slash, she couldn¡¯t bring her scythe back around quick enough. Tears streaming down her face, Melpomene tucked her legs and slid, dodging beneath the construct¡¯s sanguine blade. She was planning on getting around the thing and striking from behind, but as she slid by, the blade¡¯s pommel grew a maw and vomited a spike of blood straight for her throat. Melpomene slammed the butt of her scythe into the cobbles at her side, lodging it there to transform her slide into a lateral swing. The spike of blood ¡ª unable to account for her sudden shift in momentum ¡ª stabbed into the street behind her. The golem was turning to bring its other bloody weapon to bear, but Melpomene was faster.Carried by her swing¡¯s momentum, she planted her feet against a wall and twisted her hips, dislodging her scythe from the ground and bisecting the golem from groin to shoulder in a single fluid swipe. Like all of Percival¡¯s monsters, the golem was wreathed in an ethereal halo of shattered gold. Upon death, the gold would become real and actually useful for something beyond being an ugly accessory, but despite getting cut in half, this creature wasn¡¯t dead quite yet. Instead of becoming real, the golem¡¯s halo began splitting into three. The golem¡¯s bloody weapons each lost their shape and splattered to the ground, but already they were reforming into independent monsters of living blood. Slithering out from the golem¡¯s destroyed shell came a third of their kind. Melpomene had been surprised the first time she saw this happen. Despite being pass¨¦, the second time was a bit interesting too. The third time had just been annoying. And now? Now she was pissed. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this!¡± Before the slain golem¡¯s halo could split into three, Melpomene drew [Subtlety] and [Discretion] from within her robe and unloaded a salvo of incendiary rounds into the nascent creatures. The trio died shrieking, but Melpomene didn¡¯t have the bandwidth to care. One hand recovered her scythe while her other snatched the shards of shattered halo from the air. With a flex of her will and a flash of light, Melpomene annihilated the gold, and in its place appeared a naked man gasping for air and choking on smoke. The weight crushing Melpomene¡¯s soul lightened, but only by as much as a pebble thrown from a mountain. She beat her wings to clear the smoke and extinguish the pools of flaming blood ¡ª it¡¯d be a waste to have the poor sap she¡¯d just revived die of asphyxiation ¡ª and without further delay, she dashed away to continue her slaughter. Eurymedon, please hurry!
Jeremiah awoke to fire and pain. He gasped for air, but all he managed to choke down was a lungful of fumes. The smoke sent him into a full-bodied coughing fit, and every cough made his aching muscles tear themselves apart. This hurts like Hell. The last thing he remembered was a lance crashing through his chest, but he was in too much pain to be dead. Am I in Hell? He blinked clear his eyes, and before him, he saw Death. I am in Hell. Death looked just like Jeremiah¡¯s mother warned it would, only worse. The demon¡¯s solid-grey eyes bore right through his soul. Its ink-black wings made him feel like he¡¯d never see the sun again. Worst of all was its expression. Rivers of tears ran from each eye, framing a grimace that seemed to promise, ¡®I have suffered, and so shall you!¡¯ The demon reared back its wings, and Jeremiah shut his eyes, expecting the worst. A wind washed over him. The fire¡¯s heat dissipated. Cool air rushed into his lungs, fresher than a peach pulled from a summer tree, and at last, he could breathe. Jeremiah¡¯s eyes shot open. He looked for Death, but all he caught was a glimpse of its form rocketing away and disappearing down a bend in the road.
Time passed. Melpomene had no idea how long she¡¯d been at it. [Command Relay] had expired some time ago, but whether it¡¯d been a moment or an hour, she could not tell. Each second stretched into dozens, and every minute was forever. She kept slaying monsters and reviving people as she went, but it did little to ease the burden on her soul. Her only option was to endure, but already she could feel herself fraying at the edges. She needed to be rid of her burden entirely, and she needed it soon. Finally, the signal came. A flare whistled through the air and burst into a shower of purple sparks, perhaps only a few kilometers away. ¡°AT LAST!¡± she screamed, her tears of pain becoming tears of joy. She crushed a bone archer under her boot, and a chunk of scapula popped into the air. She swung at the bone shard with the butt of her scythe, batting it straight into the barrel of a cannon trying to snipe her from the other end of the street. The cannon backfired, exploding into a hail of shrapnel and causing half of a four-story building to collapse. Melpomene took to the air and bolted for Kingsblood Square.
FWWWWWwwwwwwhp¡ªPOP! The many-eyed Daemon ¡ª Daemon, not Demon, apparently ¡ª shot a bundle of purple magic into the air, and it exploded into a shower of sparks so pretty-looking that Jeremiah knew he¡¯d remember it for the rest of his life. Any other day, he would have been frozen in awe, but he¡¯d already seen so many once-in-a-lifetime things this night that it was all starting to feel normal. He went for another sip of his broth, but he missed his mouth. He knocked the rim of his bowl into his upper teeth and sent a splash of soup up his nose. He spluttered, sending a splattering down his shirt. None of the backwash spilled into his bowl ¡ª thank the heavens for that ¡ª but it was a close thing. He went for another sip, and this time he took it slow. He focused. Steadily-steadily-steadily he brought the lip of the bowl up to his own, and for all his effort was rewarded with a scrumptious, sumptuous, and some-other-¡¯S¡¯-word slurp of flavorless soup. He smacked his lips together. Needs salt, he thought. He was having trouble getting his muscles to work with him. If he were being honest, he was feeling a bit discombobulated up in the noggin too. How much of this he could blame on being tired and how much he could blame on that whole ¡°revival shock¡± thing the doc had told him about, he couldn¡¯t be sure. Over the last hour or so, Jeremiah had gone through more whiplash than a weathervane in a blizzard. First he¡¯d died, and then he¡¯d woken up to find Death saving his life. After that, a group of Daemons rounded up him and a few other un-killed soldiers, given them all blankets and clothes, and started ushering them towards Kingsblood Square. The Daemons could only speak bits and pieces of broken Solarian, and they were ¡®bout as talkative as chopped wood to begin with. Not knowing what was going on, Jeremiah and his fellow soldiers assumed ¡ª like any rational group would ¡ª that the Daemons were gathering them up for torture or sacrifice or something. Scary stuff. Lucky for the lot of them though, their guess couldn¡¯t have been further off the mark. Turns out the Daemons were part of the good guys now? Well, maybe and maybe not, but anyone helping Percival fight against the [Hollow King] couldn¡¯t be all bad. And that was how Jeremiah came to find himself sat on a bucket beside the Torr Royale, just outside the medical tent. He was warm, safe, fully clothed, and sipping soup. Couldn¡¯t complain. He and his fellow ¡°revival shocked¡± soldiers were just sitting around trying not to get in anyone¡¯s way, but all about Kingsblood Square there were Humans, Fae, and Daemons all working together as if they hadn¡¯t just been killing each other for thousands of years. They were helping each other put up barriers and they were teaming up to fend off those rabid beasties that kept showing up every now and then, but what really caught Jeremiah¡¯s eye was the huge pile of treasure everyone was putting together. It was already piled up bigger than one of those Fae elephants, and it was only getting piled up bigger by the minute. No matter how many of the [Hollow King]¡¯s gross monster things died, they just kept showing up ¡ª they were coming because they were attracted to the treasure and all the people, the doctor lady in the medical tent had told him ¡ª but all they managed to do was die and make the pile of treasure even bigger. Seeing all of everyone else¡¯s workings and doings was a lot to take in, and it was starting to make Jeremiah feel perhaps maybe just a little bit more than a tad useless. He wanted to get up and do something, but the doctor threatened she¡¯d tan his hide redder than a beet¡¯s bum if she found him scuttling about instead of resting like he ought to. But then again, she also told him to focus on feeling better, right? And the thing that always helped him feel better was working with his hands, sooooooo¡­ Jeremiah went for another sip of his soup, but he found his bowl empty. That gave him an idea. He looked around, and he didn¡¯t spy a soul looking his way. Doc wouldn¡¯t mind if I get up and ask for more soup, right? And if I just so happen to stick around and help stir the pot? Nothing wrong with that. And if someone catches me doing nothing wrong, I¡¯ll just say I was warming my hands by the fire. Slowly, Jeremiah levered himself up to his feet. His muscles were already screaming at him to sit his butt back down, but he decided to ignore them. The mess tent was nearby ¡ª just over on the other side of the pile of treasure ¡ª so walking there on his own hardly counted as ¡°going anywhere unsupervised,¡± at least by his own reckoning. He draped his blanket over another injured soldier dozing on a stool, stumbled a bit as he got his feet sorted out, and then he was on his way! The only thought on his mind? Soup time! A hobble, a slip, and a trundle away, the mess tent was made up of a bunch of smaller canopies set up beside each other, closer to the Torr Royale than the edge of Kingsblood Square. Most of the space was taken up by the overflowing dining area. The cooking area was a lot smaller, just few cook-fires and tables set up by a whole hoard of wooden crates and boxes. There were only three people working the back, but the soldiers waiting for a meal were packed in tighter than summer wheat on good soil. Leadership must¡¯ve wanted everyone to grab a bite before getting rotated back out, which made sense. Fighting¡¯d already gone on for hours longer than expected, and who knew how much longer it¡¯d go from here? When Jeremiah made his way up to offer a hand, the chef didn¡¯t waste time asking questions. ¡°Great! Finish chopping these turnips ¡®bout yea big and put ¡®em in the bowl. Same with the carrots. When the pot¡¯s boiling, throw ¡®em in. Keep it stirrin¡¯ or it¡¯ll burn. Got it? Thanks for the help!¡± Without waiting for Jeremiah to respond, the portly man stepped away to tend to one of the dozen other things that needed doing. ¡°And don¡¯t forget to wash your hands!¡± he threw back over his shoulder. Jeremiah cracked his knuckles, winced at the pain, and got right to it. Before long, he lost himself in the work. His muscles protested every chop of the knife and stir of the pot ¡ª and he had to pause every so often to keep his balance ¡ª but doing something useful sure beat sitting on a bucket. An alarm went up on the side of the square closest to him and people started yelling, but Jeremiah¡¯s half-fogged mind figured he didn¡¯t need to worry. Worrying was someone else¡¯s job. Jeremiah¡¯s job? Chop the veggies, don¡¯t chop his fingers, and keep on stirring. ¡°To arms! To arms!¡± someone shouted. ¡°Something big is coming!¡± All the soldiers eating or waiting for food went for their weapons and started running toward the action, but Jeremiah just kept at it. Jeremiah took out one last carrot from the little wood crate the chef had shown him. Well, Jeremiah was pretty sure it was a carrot. All the ¡°carrots¡± had been redder than the purple ones he was used to, and the texture was a bit weird too. But hey, the chef called them carrots, and who was Jeremiah to disagree? ¡°Nice!¡± he cheered to himself. ¡°Last one.¡± He put the tuber ¡ª Carrots were tubers, right? ¡ª on his cutting board, lined up his knife, double checked he didn¡¯t have any fingers in the way, and cut through it with a satisfying Thwunk! Pleased with his work, he lined up a second chop and was about to press down, but then the ground shook. He lost his grip and the carrot rolled away. ¡°Oh get back here, you!¡± Jeremiah fumbled for the carrot and managed to grab it before it rolled off the table. He placed it back on the cutting board, and this time he made sure to hold it firmly in place. A few careful chops later, he was done, and the pot had a nice rolling boil going. He unloaded all his chopped vegetables into the pot, but then the ground shook again, stronger this time. A bit of broth splashed over the rim of the big ol¡¯ pot, sizzling against the wood fire below. Grumbling beneath his breath at the inconvenience, Jeremiah carefully lowered himself to make sure the fire was still burning evenly. THWHIIIiiiw! Bent down as he was, Jeremiah was oblivious to the stray lance whizzing right through where his head had been a moment earlier. Satisfied that the fire didn¡¯t need any tending, Jeremiah got up and smelled the soup. Quirking an eyebrow, he grabbed a spoonful to steal a sip¡­ and it was just as he feared. ¡°Bland,¡± he muttered. ¡°Hey chef?¡± FWHUuuuu! An arrow of bone whizzed by his ear, unnoticed, as he turned around to ask the head chef a question, but there was no one else in the mess tent. Why there was no one in line, Jeremiah could understand ¡ª they¡¯d just been called to arms, after all ¡ª but why wasn¡¯t there anyone else making soup? ¡°Must be on break.¡± BOOM! The ground shook for a third time, and Jeremiah was starting to get annoyed, but it wasn¡¯t like there was anything he could do to stop it. ¡°B?????W???A?????R???R????G????H????A????H????U???G????H?????!?????¡± A monstrous, incomprehensible scream tore through the square. The sound of it roiled around in Jeremiah¡¯s guts like soured milk. He looked toward the edge of the square. A something longer than a prayer and taller than a steeple crashed in through a barricade. It looked like a centaur, but it was way too big with way too many¡­ well, everything. Too many legs, too many arms, too many hands ¡ª but none of the thing¡¯s hands were on its arms. Its arms all had a bunch of weapons sticking out the ends, and all its hands were stuck together on its back, stacked and fanned out like feathers for its wings. The only thing Jeremiah couldn¡¯t see on it was a head ¡ª its eyes were in the middle of its chest-ish area ¡ª and neither could he see a mouth. Not having a head, he could understand, but for the mouth he figured it must be hiding under one of those hundred little armor pieces sewn onto its skin. Otherwise, how could it¡¯ve screamed? Charging in alongside the thing were a whole host of the other monsters he¡¯d seen earlier, as well as a whole bunch of others that he hadn¡¯t. Jeremiah took another sip of the soup. ¡°Yup. Definitely needs salt.¡± If it were any other day, Jeremiah would¡¯ve reacted a bit more strongly to the monstrous beasts heading his way¡­ but it wasn¡¯t any other day. He¡¯d already been surprised too many times to feel surprised anymore. And besides, it seemed like everyone else had the situation more or less under control. The Daemons and his fellow Humans wasted no time in reinforcing the lines to keep the centaur-y thing from getting any deeper into the square. The Fae were popping out from every rooftop and hidden corner to snipe at the beast, loosing a flurry of arrows and colorful magics. The Daemons¡¯ fiery horse-dog-ox-lizard things were charging in from another side and¡­ and that¡¯s when Jeremiah stopped paying attention. He couldn¡¯t waste time watching the battle. He had soup to make! ¡°Chef wouldn¡¯t mind if I make it a bit tastier, right?¡± he asked himself. ¡°He never said I couldn¡¯t¡­¡± Jeremiah cast about for spices, but he didn¡¯t see any out on the prep tables. He smacked his lips in disappointment, but then turned to glance at the piles of small wooden crates stacked up a little ways behind him. He picked his way over, careful not to trip over his own feet, and got a closer look ¡ª CRASHHHHH! SHWIIIIIIIIICK! BOOOOOOM! ¡ª completely oblivious to the boulder, the torrent of blood, and the small explosion that tore up the abandoned prep tables he passed by. The crates all had what looked like Daemonic writing on them ¡ª same as the boxes of strange-looking carrots and radishes, now that he thought about it ¡ª but since he didn¡¯t know how to read Daemonic, he didn¡¯t pay it any mind. What he did notice was that someone had already saved him the trouble of prying open all the crates, and there were some mighty interesting smells wafting out! He methodically went through the first small crate of what turned out to be sour smelling leaves, but he quickly got bored of doing things all slow and careful-like. From there, he just followed his sniffer around to whatever tickled his fancy, and he grabbed whatever he thought might go good in a soup. A bit of this, a stick or two of that, a bundle of those, a jar of these¡­ A short while and a few crates later, he had his arms stuffed fuller than a lord¡¯s belly. He started stumbling his way back to his pot when¡ª ¡°A????G????H????H?????R?????A???R????R???A????G?????H???!?????¡± ¡ªanother roar shook the air, and his legs went wobbly. He wumbled and fumbled about, trying to keep the dozen-or-so different ingredients in his arms from spilling out, but a spiky orange fruit hopped out from the pile. ¡°Wups!¡± On instinct he tried catching it with his foot. Good news: he caught it! Bad news: the fruit¡¯s spines stabbed him right in the toes. ¡°Oh blasted teat of a¡ª!¡± Jeremiah hopped around on one foot, cursing, but before he could finish whatever he was going to say, he lost his balance. ¡°WAAH!¡± He landed on his ass, and a lance of pain shot up his spine. The ingredients he¡¯d so non-painstakingly gathered scattered all around the floor ¡ª all except for the spiky fruit still stuck to his toes. Jeremiah stared ruefully at the fruit, but he couldn¡¯t stay mad for long. He plucked the fruit from his toes, winced at the pain, and set about regathering his fallen ingredients. He took it slower this go around, depositing the assorted foodstuffs onto his prep table a few at a time instead of trying to carry them all at once. There was a bundle of sweet-smelling peppers that made his nose tingle, a sheaf of transparent parchment-thin gelatinous squares, square jars filled with what looked like whole and crushed spices of every color, a lemon¡ª BOOOEEEEEUUUGHSH! ¡°¡°¡°AAAAA¡ª¡±¡±¡± ¡°West side! West side!¡± ¡ªa few hard sticks that smelled pleasantly earthy, fresh-looking leafy greens that sweated red mucous when he touched them, a big lemon¡ª ¡°Close the breach! Ready the¡ªEUkghHhh!¡± ¡°Captain! NOOO!¡± ¡°G????H????H?????E?????E?????U???G?????H????H?????R???R?????U????E?????H?????!???¡± ¡ªa string of dried mushrooms that smelled how a hug felt, a small bag of purple rice-like grains that reeked of mint, and last but not least, an even bigger lemon. ¡°B?????R????O???U????E????U?????G????G?????G????G?????H????H?????A????H????!????!?????!????¡± His ingredients all reassembled upon the table, Jeremiah placed his hands on his hips and let out a breath of satisfaction. PWEUSCH¡ªCRASH! A chunk of rubble thrice as wide as Jeremiah was tall flew through the mess tent, taking out half the remaining kitchen and reducing the pile of crates into a spray of splinters and scrap. ¡°Oh ship!¡± Jeremiah screamed, a panic filling his veins. ¡°I forgot to stir the pot!¡± He rushed to the overboiling pot and got to stirring, and lucky for him nothing smelled burnt. He snuck another taste just to make sure, and much to his relief, it still tasted okay. ¡°Phew!¡± Jeremiah picked up his knife and started prepping his new ingredients. The rice and gelatinous sheets he washed and threw straight in the pot. The whole spices he placed in a bag to steep, and the crushed spices he threw in a few shakes at a time, using nothing but his intuition ¡ª and a few extra sips of the broth ¡ª to gauge the right amounts. The greens and mushrooms and peppers he chopped and threw in too. As for the lemons, he was planning on juicing them to add some acidity, but none of them smelled particularly lemony when he cut them open. The smallest was so spicy the fumes stung his eyes, the big one was like a field of flowers shoved up his nose ¡ª dirt and all ¡ª and the biggest one smelled like beef. Shrugging, he dumped all their juices into the pot anyway. He took another taste, and¡ª ¡°Whew!¡± The flavors hit him like a brick in the chest, but in a good way. It was savory and exciting and warm and bracing and a dozen other things all at once, but rather than muddling together, each sensation was distinct. It tasted almost perfect¡­ ¡°But it¡¯s still missing something.¡± Jeremiah looked back to the pile of crates he¡¯d grabbed ingredients from, and only now did he notice it was smashed to bits. He wondered why that was, but again decided that worrying about non-soup-related tasks wasn¡¯t his problem. He turned back to his workstation, and his eyes alighted on the one ingredient he¡¯d forgotten to add. Tucked amongst half-spent spice jars was the spiky orange thing that¡¯d stabbed him in the foot; except for some reason, it¡¯d changed color to a bloody red, and its prickly spines had withered into brown curls. ¡°Ah! There you are.¡± Jeremiah tried reaching for the fruit, but he missed. His hand swiped through the air several inches above the table, and he blinked in confusion. He tried again, but more slowly. He managed to grab the fruit this time around, but he had to brace his other hand against the table to keep from falling over. He hiccuped, and his vision went¡­ Well, it didn¡¯t go blurry. Quite the opposite, actually. It felt like he had a pair of those fancy jeweler¡¯s loupes where his eyes should be. His body, meanwhile, felt ready to lift a mountain! He tried placing the fruit onto the cutting board and missed so badly he slammed his forehead into the table. ¡­If only he could remember how to use his arms. Jeremiah collected himself and got ready to try again, but then he got hit in the chest by a brick ¡ª in a bad way. ¡°UGHCK!¡± All the air got knocked out his lungs, and something inside him went Crack! He flailed his arms and reeled backward several steps, ultimately losing his balance and falling forward onto his knees. He tried breathing but choked on his blood. Something in his chest felt sharp. He coughed and spluttered and hacked until finally a spray of red goop shot out his throat. He breathed. It came wet and strained and thick with the taste of iron, but nonetheless he breathed. He looked up toward the rest of the square and saw that the battle lines had gotten blurry. The three-part coalition was still holding off the wave of monsters as best they could, but it was like trying to hold back a flood with sheets of burlap. The monsters had gained quite a bit of ground, and the Fae were forced to chase down and snipe the buggers that¡¯d soaked past the lines. The monster responsible for most of his fellow soldiers¡¯ trouble seemed to be that centaur-y looking thing. It was leading from the front, pushing back the defenders with every swipe of its barrel-thick arms. At first Jeremiah thought the beastie was headed right for him, but after looking more careful-like, he realized it was actually headed for the big pile of treasure off to his side. ¡°Huh. Maybe this is my problem,¡± he said. The talking made him feel nauseous, and soon enough he was hacking and spluttering all over again. He clutched his chest. Everything hurt, and it hurt bad¡­ but not ¡®I¡¯m gonna die!¡¯ bad. Just ¡®I should really get this checked out¡¯ bad. ¡°Doc is gonna kill me,¡± he muttered. Slowly, Jeremiah got up, making sure to keep an eye out for any more rubble headed his way. ¡°But not before I finish making this soup. Now, where did I¡­? Ah! There it is!¡± Jeremiah cast his eyes around and spotted the hairy red fruit sitting under a table a little ways away. He must have flung it there when he got hit by that brick. Silly him! He gave the pot a quick stir, paused to wince when he moved his arms the wrong way, and then walked ¡ª not hobbled! ¡ª over to the fruit to pick it up. He bent down under the table to grab it and¡ª ¡°Oh, hey little guy!¡± Jeremiah said, a little surprised at what he found. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Curled around the fruit was one of those winged eyeball monsters, except this one looked injured. It had one hand-like wing curled covetously around the fruit, and its other seemed to be missing. It kept bopping its eye against the fruit¡¯s skin as if trying to bite it, but it didn¡¯t have a mouth. It must have snuck up to the fruit while Jeremiah was busy stirring. ¡°Sorry, but I need that back. So¡­ go on. Shoo. Get.¡± Jeremiah grabbed a stirring spoon off the floor ¡ª he¡¯d left his own by the pot ¡ª and tried poking at the creature to make it fly away, but the thing was stubborn. It snapped its wing at him menacingly and hissed. How exactly something without a mouth could hiss, Jeremiah didn¡¯t know. ¡°Oh, none of that now! I¡¯ve got a job to do, so go on, shoo.¡± Jeremiah tried batting at it a bit more aggressively, but the monster only doubled down. It hissed even louder, and then its eye split open at the pupil to reveal a set of sharp teeth. ¡°What in the sunny duck?¡± On reflex, Jeremiah jerked away from the monster, and it took that opportunity to sink its new jaws into the fruit and fly away ¡ª well, kinda fly away. Fortunately, the eyeball thing was pretty shite at flying on account of its missing wing. Unfortunately, Jeremiah was equally shite at running. ¡°Hey! That¡¯s mine! Get back here, you!¡± The eyeball bounded and flapped along the ground, and Jeremiah stumble-jogged after it like a drunken heifer balancing on half her hooves. The eyeball bounced over a smashed ale barrel ¡ª such a waste ¡ª and Jeremiah was in hot pursuit. He tried hurdling over the barrel, but his back foot got caught and he fell forward onto his shoulder. Miraculously, his momentum carried him into a roll and he popped back up onto his feet without knowing how he did it. ¡°I said get back here!¡± Not wasting an instant to marvel at his own luck, Jeremiah resumed the chase. The eyeballwas flopping its way right toward the fighting, but not even that gave the injured soldier pause. He was determined to finish his soup, or die trying! Perhaps a small part of his mind recognized how absurd this conviction of his was, but if indeed any shred of his self-preservation remained, it was far too concussed to be of any use. BOOOOM! All around him, Terra shattered like a pane of glass. The ground beneath his feet ¡ª already sticky-slick with spilled blood and ale ¡ª became part of an enormous shard of stone pitched steeper than a noble¡¯s nose. He slipped onto his back and began sliding. ¡°Oof!¡± His slide picked up speed at an alarming rate, and the ride was getting rough. He clutched at his chest, the jutting cobbles jostling his injuries and grating at his back as he tumble-slid atop them. ¡°Oh flea-shucking milk-watered goat of a¡ª!¡± The ground shook once more. ¡°G?????H?????H????H???A????A???A?????A???H????!????!???!????¡± The centaur monster right in front of him ¡ª When did it get so close? ¡ª bashed all its arms against the ground. The blow sent all the stone shards around it ¡ª including the one beneath Jeremiah ¡ªtumbling away end-over-end, catapulting the would-be soup maker and every other soldiers near him ¡ª When did they get there? ¡ª backwards and away. Having been so close to the monster, Jeremiah was launched at an especially steep angle. Cold air whipped at his cheeks and scoured at his eyes, and it was a miracle that he managed to grab onto the waist of his pants before the wind stripped him nude. He was, of course, screaming his lungs out, but he ran out of breath long before he ran out of momentum. It felt like he spent years flying up higher and higher until finally ¡ª cross-eyed and heaving for breath ¡ª he floated into the apex of his arc. And then, for the briefest of moments, there was wonder. He was paned as a church window and colder than the taxman, but he was also really high up! As high as the tip-top of the Torr Royale! So high up that he could see the whole of Soleil laid out below him. By the light of the full moon ¡ª low now on the horizon ¡ª Soleil was beautiful. Her avenues ¡ª apparently straight when standing on the ground ¡ª spread out from her center in a slow meandering spiral. A thousand-thousand flickers of torchlight twinkled all about her, shimmering through her streets like the stars shimmering through the sky above. Jeremiah wasted absolutely zero time appreciating her splendor. ¡°There you are, you peeky bollard!¡± Below him he spotted the eyeball careening through the air, the stolen fruit still in its maw. Jeremiah flattened his arms to his sides and dove headfirst toward his quarry. ¡°You aren¡¯t getting away this time!¡± The chill pre-dawn air scraped at his face something fierce, but he kept his eyes on the prize. The eyeball ¡ª spiraling helplessly as it tried to fly with its one wing ¡ª spotted Jeremiah diving toward it. It started waggling in a way Jeremiah thought might be panic, but there was no escaping a man on a mission ¡ª especially when that mission involved soup. Jeremiah slammed into the monster, somehow coordinated enough to grasp it with both hands. ¡°Ha! Got you now, you¡ª!¡± The two of them got smashed by a wall of wind filled with arrows. By some miracle, Jeremiah only got hit by two of the bone arrows ¡ª one in his left shoulder and one in his same side¡¯s calf ¡ª but the wind itself smacked into him like a runaway cart. His chest felt like it wanted to split apart, and he lost his grip on the eyeball. He tumbled through the air, clutching at his chest while trying ¡ª unsuccessfully ¡ª not to jostle the pair of arrows stuck halfway through him. PWUPHHKKKK! Jeremiah landed onto the canopy of the mess tent and tore right through it, his momentum and posture such that he just so happened to land perfectly on one foot. He flailed his arms to keep balance, placed his other foot ¡ª the one with an arrow in the calf ¡ª on the ground, yelped in pain, and fell flat on his ass. As if on cue, the eyeball creature landed in front of him a dozen paces away, the fruit no longer in its mouth. A chef¡¯s knife landed next the monster, and next to Jeremiah landed his spoon ¡ª the one he¡¯d picked up earlier from the ground, not the clean one he used for stirring. Shaking off their daze, the two of them locked eyes¡­ er, well, locked eye. As if on another cue, the red fruit fell through the canopy, tearing through and bouncing to a stop perfectly between them. Jeremiah grabbed his spoon. The eyeball chomped onto its knife¡¯s handle with its pupil-maw. Ignoring the pain, Jeremiah carefully rose to his feet. The eyeball rolled over onto its hand-wing, using it like a set of legs. They stared each other down. On some unspoken signal, the two sprinted for the fruit ¡ª or as close to sprinting as they each could manage. Jeremiah shuffle-hopped and the eyeball skitter-sprung forward. Jeremiah was a hair faster. ¡°Aha!¡± He batted the eyeball away with his spoon and grabbed the fruit for himself, but the eyeball wasn¡¯t about to give up that easily. It darted back in and stabbed Jeremiah in the toe, causing him to yelp in pain and drop the prize. It hopped up into the air to grab it. Again Jeremiah smacked it away with a glancing blow ¡ª but in doing so, he accidentally struck the fruit full-on. It sailed away from them both, flying outside the mess tent entirely. ¡°Men!¡± screamed a [Nameless Revolt] soldier. ¡°Intercept the beast! We can¡¯t let it reach th¡ªUGHCK!¡± The soldier¡¯s words were cut off by a lance through the chest. The bulk of the fighting was upon them now. The centaur thing tore through the front of the mess tent with one great sweep of its arms. Its legs shook the ground like rolling thunder. It beat back the soldiers before it, and from its wake surged a tide of corruption. The red fruit landed amongst the feet of some [Nameless Revolt] soldiers. It bounced and rolled and got kicked between them, and then an unlucky shot sent the fruit flying right into the arc of the centaur¡¯s next swing. The fruit impaled itself upon a random spike on the creature¡¯s arm and stuck, holding fast as the monster battered line after line of soldiers in its advance toward the pile of treasure. The eyeball tried speed-galumphing toward the fruit immediately, but Jeremiah barred its path with his spoon. The eyeball creature sent a quizzical look Jeremiah¡¯s way, and Jeremiah sent a look of his own right back. ¡°Thirty second break,¡± he demanded. ¡°I need to stir the soup.¡± The eyeball eyed him suspiciously. ¡°Tell you what. I can probably made do with about half the fruit. You wait for me, help me get it back, and you get the other half. Deal?¡± The eyeball further narrowed its gaze at him. Ultimately, it scrunched back its thumb and pinky knuckles in what Jeremiah assumed was a shrug. Jeremiah nodded back and turned toward his pot. He rested his spoon against one shoulder, and the eyeball hopped onto his other, still holding its knife. The two set off. Pandemonium surrounded them on all sides, but no one seemed particularly focused on either of them. A swarm of eyeballs swooped low overhead, so Jeremiah ducked to let them pass. He walked around the path of a dark-looking golem charging into battle, and it didn¡¯t pay him any mind. A horse-looking thing with a mouth where its guts should be got knocked toward him by some kind of wind magic, and Jeremiah hopped above it as it slid underfoot. So long as he kept an eye out for trouble, it didn¡¯t seem too hard to keep out of harm¡¯s way. He was about to take another step forward when the eyeball creature slapped the flat of its knife against his chest. Jeremiah let out a yelp of pain and stopped short. ¡°What was¡ª?¡± SWHWWWUUCSCH! A frozen wind filled with cut-up bits of monster flesh blew across his path, an inch away from his nose. ¡°Ah. Never mind. Thank you.¡± The eyeball let out a low gurgling roar into his ear that Jeremiah took to mean ¡°You¡¯re welcome, idiot,¡± but he could overlook a bit of rudeness. They were working together now, after all. Jeremiah kicked off from his solid ground and slid over the icy cobblestones remaining between him and his prep table. There, he took up his clean stirring spoon. His left calf was doing pretty okay despite the arrow sticking out of it, but his shoulder was another story. It hurt whenever he tried moving his left arm, so he had to stir the big pot one-handed. It hadn¡¯t been too long since he¡¯d last stirred the pot, but holy birch tips, the aroma¡¯d gotten so mouthwatering it could end a drought! The eyeball on his shoulder was staring at the pot greedily, and Jeremiah could hardly blame it. ¡°¡­I guess we should give it a taste to make sure it¡¯s doing alright.¡± The eyeball shot a look of surprise at the cook, but it quickly switched to nodding as if scared Jeremiah would rescind the offer. Smiling to himself, Jeremiah spooned a bit of broth into a pair of small bowls sitting on his prep table. He ducked beneath a stray rock that would have otherwise brained him, and the eyeball hopped from his shoulder to sit beside one of the bowls. ¡°Cheers!¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°Scree!¡± Jeremiah lifted his steaming bowl up to his lips. The eyeball bit onto the lip of its bowl and leaned back. They each slurped up their soup with gusto, and then¡ª ¡°Foley Huck that¡¯s good.¡± ¡°SCREEE!¡± If before the soup had been a choir of flavors each singing their own heavenly hymn, they were now beginning to harmonize. Every flavor was still its own, but they were finally coming together to become something greater than the sum of their parts. All they needed was a director, a guiding flavor, to help them reach their full potential. Jeremiah looked to the eyeball, and from the sparkle in its gaze he could tell it was thinking the same thing. Together they turned to look at the rampaging centaur and the blood-red fruit impaled on the creature¡¯s arm. ¡°Let¡¯s do this.¡± ¡°Scree.¡± The two set off, and Jeremiah felt invigorated like never before. Whether it was the soup or the adrenaline or both, he couldn¡¯t tell, but neither did he think it mattered. The arrow in his shoulder still ached but it wasn¡¯t bothering him too much anymore, and he felt like he could run a mile naked through the snow! They made it two steps forward before everything went wrong. BOOM! An explosion of darkness went off a dozen paces away, and they were thrown backwards by the shockwave. Jeremiah¡¯s couldn¡¯t hear anything but a sharp ringing in his ears, and he could see nothing but the afterimage of that all-consuming blackness burned into his eyes. He could feel the punch of jagged cobbles digging into his shoulders as he was blasted onto his back. He had the wherewithal to wrap his arms around his head, but his existing wounds didn¡¯t appreciate the impact. He blinked rapidly and rubbed at his eyes in a daze, but his senses were slow to return. The first thing he heard was a faint scree scree scree that slowly grew louder and louder, and when he could finally make out shapes who-knew-how-long later, what he saw turned his blood to ice. His pot was on its side, and the soup was on the floor. ¡°NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!¡± It took him a moment to realize the scream was his own. He scrambled on hands and knees toward the pot, but he knew he was too late. The entire pot was ruined and¡ª No, wait-wait-wait a second. The pot wasn¡¯t flat on its side. The eyeball had wedged itself beneath the lip of the thick cast-iron pot, straining to keep the vessel just barely aloft while getting crushed beneath its weight. Jeremiah¡¯s body moved faster than his mind. Before he even understood what was happening, he found himself thrown forward by his legs and wresting the pot aright. ¡°Ship!¡± he cursed, pulling his hands away from the scalding-hot iron. Ignoring his injuries, he bent down to the side of his fallen comrade. ¡°No! Stay with me!¡± The one-winged eyeball, all its energy spent, lay motionless on its side. Its entire form was red and puffy from being doused in near-boiling soup, and the pot had burned a line so deep into the monster¡¯s wing that Jeremiah could see blackened bone. Carefully, Jeremiah scooped up his newest ally. Its eye was closed, and it wasn¡¯t stirring. ¡°You have to hang on!¡± No response. ¡°We¡¯re not done yet! We had a deal!¡± No response. ¡°We¡¯re finishing that soup, and you will taste it! You have to! Please! Please!¡± The eyeball twitched, and Jeremiah¡¯s breath caught in his throat. ¡°Buddy?¡± The eyeball cracked open its gaze. It looked into Jeremiah¡¯s eyes, and something electric yet unspoken passed between them. It spent some time mustering its strength, and then it nodded, its expression blazing with a fresh determination. Jeremiah cracked a smile and gave the creature ¡ª no, his friend ¡ª a determined look of his own. He placed the eyeball on his shoulder, and together they rose, battered and unbroken. The eyeball tugged at Jeremiah¡¯s ear to grab his attention. It gestured to the pot, and Jeremiah got the message loud and clear. He transferred what remained in the pot to a saucepan, and then he fastened its lid shut with a strip of torn burlap. ¡°Let¡¯s finish this soup.¡± ¡°Scree.¡± They set off at a lightning-fast limp toward the treasure pile where they would face the centaur. Every breath was a hail of knives in Jeremiah¡¯s lungs. ¡°Scree!¡± Jeremiah ducked, and a bone-chillingly cold spear of flesh flew past, passing mere inches above his head. All around them was the tempest of battle, and they charged through it together like a tortoise and a gnat struggling against the squall. Arrows, fire, darkness, shards of blood and splatters of bone ¡ª all this and more flew around the square like raindrops carried upon the wind. The Human as the legs and the Monster as the eye, Jeremiah and his newfound friend worked together to navigate the storm. Their failure was inevitable. A frazzled soldier let slip his arrow before he¡¯d set his aim. The eyeball screeched at the unseen threat, but this time Jeremiah was too slow to react. The wind caught the missile just wrong, and it curved through the air to pierce right through the back of his left knee. ¡°Geuh!¡± Jeremiah fell to the ground. His freshly punctured leg splashed into a pool of swirling blood he¡¯d meant to avoid, and his flesh began to dissolve. ¡°AAEUUGH!¡± He slammed his arms into the ground ¡ª sharp bits of stone and debris scraping and digging into the tender meat of his forearms ¡ª and barely managed to pull himself away before his calf was burned to the bone. The open air stung his wound like fire. He fought past the pain and found his feet. A worried screech cooed in his ear, but he smiled, putting on a brave face to let his friend know he was alright. He doubted the look was convincing. They continued on, this time hobbling three-quarters the rest of the way before something else went wrong. The eyeball screeched, and an explosion went off on Jeremiah¡¯s right. He barely turned in time to take the hail of shrapnel to his back, the soup held protectively ¡ª almost covetously ¡ª against his chest. The blast threw him to the ground, but again he mustered the will to rise. Not the rise of a [Hero] bravely setting his feet against impossible odds, but the rise of a peasant ¡ª delirious, inelegant, and stumbling so badly he nearly put face to pavement all over again. Slowly, shakily, steadily-steadily-steadily, Jeremiah made his way forward. One foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other. He focused on nothing but the work left to do, and the world disappeared. He ignored the pain. He tuned out the ringing in his ears. He didn¡¯t hear the warning screech. Jeremiah reached the foot of the treasure pile. The centaur, little more than a dozen paces away, parried a flying arc of light and just-so-happened to deflect the attack right toward the hapless cook. Before he knew what was happening, Jeremiah found himself falling to the ground. He landed chest-first atop his saucepan. The lid¡¯s handle dug right above his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He lay curled face-down against the saucepan, breathless, and with a smoking stump where his right thigh had been. Jeremiah opened his mouth to scream, but he hadn¡¯t the air. He was frozen there, unable to gasp, his jaw locked wide in a silent, never-ending cry. A hollow pain ripped up through his chest and down through his guts to the leg that wasn¡¯t there. ¡°Scree scree scree!¡± The eyeball clinging to his shoulder screeched at him worriedly, and this time Jeremiah heard it. The creature shook him as best it could, and though it wasn¡¯t much, it was enough to snap him out of his shock. ¡°HEEEEEEUUUUUGH¡ª!¡± Jeremiah sucked in a breath so quick the air cut at his throat. Before he had time to recover further, Terra quaked, and his eyes shot up. The centaur pierced a Daemon dragon ¡ª the last of its enemies in the immediate area ¡ª out the air with a lance-riddled arm and flung it off into the distance. With the final defender of the treasure pile gone, it let out a roar of victory so loud Jeremiah felt his bones shake. It threw itself forward to gorge upon the horde. Its torso bent low, and every one of its weapon-tipped arms dug into the pile to fling masses of gold, art, and gems in the general direction of its mouth and down its gullet. Its teeth didn¡¯t move in unison. Rather, its jaw articulated each tooth individually, undulating them in continuous waves so that it never had to pause between bites. Noxious gas smelling of rotten eggs and putrid meat rolled out its maw in a visible miasma of stink. The sight and smell of it ¡ª especially this close up ¡ª was disgusting, but the worst part was the sound. The squishing and squelching and smacking of its lipless gob and bleeding gums; The slobber of every breath sucked down between the ceaseless chittering chomps and chattering clicks of its abdominal maw. Jeremiah felt the urge to vomit, but that would¡¯ve been a waste of soup. Grabbing tighter onto the saucepan still in his hand, he steeled himself and began crawling closer to the monster and the fruit still impaled on its arm. He was close, so close that he couldn¡¯t give up now. Inch by agonizing inch, he pulled himself along the foot of the pile, trying to stay out of the centaur¡¯s sight. How he would crawl up the creature¡¯s arm and retrieve the fruit, he didn¡¯t know, but that was a problem for later. Lucky for him, he reached the arm sooner than expected! Unluckily, it was because the centaur noticed him. His eyeball friend tried screeching a warning a moment before it happened. The arm sprang at him like a snake. The flesh coiled bonelessly around him, its spikes stabbing into him like a pincushion. He couldn¡¯t breath. Some sort of noxious oil coating the monster¡¯s slime-slick exterior sank into his wounds, burning into him with invisible fire. Jeremiah grit his teeth, and the creature lifted him into the air. Any reasonable soldier would at this point be consumed by fear, pain, or any other of a dozen different despairs; But in this moment, Jeremiah was not a reasonable soldier. He was a soldier with a mission, and his objective was impaled on a spike and bleeding red mere inches away from his face. The fruit was right there! Right in front of his nose! If only he could reach out and take it! He could feel the hand-wing of his eyeball friend still on his shoulder. It shrieked in his ear, but he could barely hear the little fella over the sound of the centaur¡¯s maw getting closer and closer. The monster brought him up to its eyes, and this close up Jeremiah was able to notice something disturbing ¡ª Well, more disturbing than what he¡¯d already seen, at any rate. Wherever it closed its teeth, its skin grew to close the gap over its mouth. Whenever it pulled its teeth apart, it also pulled apart the freshly grown skin. Because its teeth were constantly working up and down to swallow as much treasure as it could, there was a constant spray of fine red mist shooting out from where its lips should¡¯ve been. A lot of the blood got onto Jeremiah¡¯s face, and it burned something fierce. ¡°Goodness,¡± he rasped, not enough air in his punctured lungs to manage a whisper. He tried repeating something his brother¡¯d once told him ¡ª Yer pretty as my backside, and you smell twice as sweet ¡ª but all that came out was a strained ¡°yerpraicgh¡­ meba¡­ sah¡­¡± The centaur¡¯s mouth was getting bigger. Or maybe I¡¯m just getting closer. A fresh puff of stink smacked Jeremiah in the face as a Jeremiah-sized gap in the monster¡¯s mouth stretched open. Looking inside, he couldn¡¯t see a tongue. All he saw were waves of tooth-covered flesh churning like an angry tide. I¡¯m about to be eaten alive. SHIIIIIIING! Before the horror of his situation could hit him, a curved blade flashed before his eyes, and he felt himself beginning to fall. ¡°Not one more soul!¡± It wasn¡¯t a voice Jeremiah knew, but it felt familiar. He fell to the ground, his fall broken by the now-severed arm wrapped around him. Whether the impact hurt or not, he couldn¡¯t tell, but his whole body already felt like it was on fire. ¡°Not one more step!¡± The centaur ¡ª half its arms still shoveling gold into its mouth ¡ª threw itself at the black-robed figure that¡¯d appeared from nowhere. The creature screeched its war cry as it had before, but the sound was cut short by the whistle of a blade through air. SHIIIIIIING! The torso, relieved of its legs, fell to the floor. A mixture of gold dust and crimson blood gushed from its wound, spilling upon the ground. A speck of it got into Jeremiah¡¯s eye. The centaur¡¯s severed legs charged at the Daemon, and each of its arms sprung at him like a striking snake ¡ª including the one wrapped around Jeremiah. Jeremiah flew through the air, his lifeblood streaming out behind him from what felt like a thousand different wounds. He landed on his back against a hard cushion of gold, upside-down, halfway up the treasure pile. His eyes were drawn back to the duel going on before him, but he couldn¡¯t make sense of what was happening. It was all too fast. He saw little more than bits of blood, flesh, and gold flying every which way. Wound after wound after wound appeared on the centaur, but Jeremiah couldn¡¯t tell if any of its own flailing blows connected. The black-robed Daemon was little more than a blur. ¡°Not one more second!¡± Death appeared meters off the ground, wings outstretched, and scythe poised to strike. The centaur¡¯s chest ¡ª now with but a single arm left to defend itself ¡ª tried turning to meet its attacker, but its effort was wasted. ¡°Now, you PAY!¡± The scythe sliced what remained of the monster in half, right between the eyes. As it died, it could not scream. Each of its disparate limbs exploded into a rain of golden shards. The first rays of dawn crested the horizon, and the air shimmered like a vision of paradise. All around the square, though Jeremiah could not see it, the monsters of the [Profane Fleshtide] were stunned by the recoil caused by their leader¡¯s death. Most died on the spot as the square¡¯s defenders capitalized on the opening. Those with the wherewithal to flee were chased down and would soon be slain. ¡°¡­scree¡­¡± The weak cry wrested Jeremiah¡¯s attention away from the glittering dawn. His companion was laying beside him, moments from death just as he was. Already Jeremiah could see the cracks of golden light leaking from his friend¡¯s iris. Any moment now, it would burst apart and they would both be dead. But they still had a job to do. The eyeball unfurled its one wing, and within its grasp lay a cut and battered sliver of the red fruit they¡¯d been chasing this whole time. Beside them, half its contents spilt away, lay the now-lidless saucepan holding what little remained of their soup. Jeremiah tried saying something, but all that came out was an airless yet determined grunt. Let¡¯s do this. Together, they mustered their strength. With great effort they hefted the fruit just barely over the lip of the saucepan and let fall a single crimson drop. The rest of the fruit fell from their grip and rolled down the pile of treasure. Jeremiah¡¯s arm collapsed from the effort, and the eyeball lolled, exhausted, into his palm. They locked gazes, and with their last moments of life shared a look of pride. They¡¯d done it. The soup was finished, and they could each pass on with a smile. The eyeball gently faded into specks of gold that were carried off by the breeze. The soldier closed his eyes, content. For the second time in too few hours, Jeremiah died.
SHIIIIING! ¡°Not one more soul!¡± Melpomene cut off the creature¡¯s arm before it could finish squeezing another soldier to death. If this dumb monster thought Melpomene would just let it kill more people for her to revive, it had another thing coming! ¡°Not one more step!¡± Melpomene slashed again, separating the creature¡¯s torso from its legs in case it felt like running away. She couldn¡¯t waste time chasing it down if it chose to flee. Thankfully, the beast chose to fight. Every part of it ¡ª including the parts she¡¯d already cut off ¡ª flung themselves at her with abandon. Incidentally, the soldier she¡¯d tried saving got thrown through the air, and that really ticked her off. With all the blood he was losing, he¡¯d be dead for sure! And that meant another soul to weigh down her already-overburdened self! She felt fit to explode in more way than one. Her pain, her suffering, her frustration; all of it, all this time simmering there in the back of her throat. All it took was this one tiny setback, and suddenly she was on the precipice of an all-consuming, white-hot rage. The Autarch clenched her teeth. Master thyself, lest thou become a master of none. The words came to her faster than thought, cutting through the noise to give her an instant of clarity. Anger was but a single form of passion, Melpomene knew, and she was a Daemon who knew her passions well. Midair, she set her stance and narrowed her eyes. She tuned out the world, and the world disappeared. All that remained was her pain, the monster, and her desire to see them both gone. The monster was upon her, and she moved. There was no distinction between mind, body, and soul. She was aligned fully and completely with herself, every aspect of her bound together and striving towards the same end. Her thousands upon thousands of hours of experience made themselves known. Wherever she needed to be, she was. Whatever she needed to see, she saw. However she needed to strike, she struck. The monster leveled a dozen blows her way, and she returned the favor a hundred fold. She flowed past its every attack, but she was more than a ravening tide. She blazed past its every defense, but she was fiercer than a wildfire. She was indomitable, but she was beyond even a storm. She was inevitable. She. Was. Death. ¡°Not one more second!¡± She reared back, a stream of blood and ichor trailing the edge of her scythe. All about her were suspended a million droplets of red flying in a thousand different arcs. Even though her pain made her feel as if she¡¯d been in this battle for a decade, scarcely enough time had passed for the blood drawn by her first blow to hit the ground. A light sparked in the back of her eyes. A thin sheen of something azure-blue coated the blade of her scythe, so faint it could have been a trick of the light. ¡°Now, you PAY!¡± She cut the torso of the beast in half, right between the eyes, and she knew it was done. Each of its disparate parts ¡ª every one of them but an instant before brimming with life and acting on their own ¡ª died as the blow was struck. Every piece of it exploded into a shower of gold, and the first rays of dawn crested the horizon to shine upon the bullion ¡ª so brilliant it was blinding. She reached out a hand and grabbed but a single shard of gold. Reviving a soldier took sacrifice. All it required was treasure and time. One could be substituted for the other with diminishing returns, but using a proper anchor was the only way to increase the task¡¯s overall efficiency. Or at least that is what most believed. Melpomene closed her eyes. She felt the weight of far too many souls pressing down and pulling away at every inch of herself, and she embraced the sensation. Any lesser [Liege] would have fallen apart long ago, and even the gods ¡ª were any still alive ¡ª would consider what Melpomene was now attempting to be suicide. But she was no mere [Liege], and if any godly prick had the gall to appear before her now and call her a fool, she would spit in their face and suggest they suck on a toad. She was Melpomene, fifty-fourth [Daemon Autarch] of the [Despoiled Legion], and she would succeed. She flexed her soul like a muscle, and upon each and every tether, she pulled. The temptation was there, she¡¯d have to admit, to just let go of all those souls that were not her own people¡¯s. It would be so easy to just let those tethers go and just¡­ fade away. But she didn¡¯t. Because she was a Daemon of her word. The gold in her hand, the gold in the air, and the treasure in the pile below her all began to shine like the blood of Terra erupting from the earth. It was an enormous bounty, but not nearly enough to finish the job before Melpomene would be shred to dust. She would have to make up the difference herself. Already she¡¯d been frayed at the edges from simply holding onto the tethers for so long, and her present effort only served to hasten her demise. Like the fibers of a muscle struggling against a weight too great to bear, the individual fibers of her soul stretched, strained, and finally snapped. More sharply than ever she could feel herself becoming undone, but so too could she feel her task nearing its end. Whichever would come first, she couldn¡¯t at first tell, but the passing of each interminable instant only served to make the truth clear: She was going to fail. As her soul broke down, she grew weaker. Unable to hold herself together, she unravelled faster and faster. Unable to pull with all her might, the speed of the resurrection slowed and slowed. Her eyes were closed, but she could feel the winter sun¡¯s light strike her face, mocking her. And she was so godsdamned close. All she needed was one last burst of strength. A breakthrough, an ally arriving in the nick of time, even divine intervention ¡ª any of it would¡¯ve been enough, but Melpomene knew no help was coming her way. That was just the way of things. In all the histories and stories and songs that had ever been or could ever be, the fate of the [Villain] was always the same. The [Hero] fought for some almighty universal truth while affecting the attitude of an underdog, whereas the [Villain] needed to don the guise of unstoppable power so that they might garner enough support to change the world. While the [Hero] was handed all they¡¯d ever need on a golden platter by the powers that be, the [Villain] had to scrape and cheat and steal every bit of luck they could find; And when the final moment came, the [Hero] would always prevail, and the [Villain] would always be robbed of their well-earned victory. No amount of preparation, expertise, or trickery was ever enough. Reality or Destiny or Terra herself ¡ª whatever the bards wanted to call it, ¡®the way things ought to be¡¯ always reared its bastard head to crush the [Villain]¡¯s dreams. But this time, Melpomene refused to play along. The gods were dead! Melpomene was free to forge a destiny all her own! The only reason she¡¯d been able to kill Arthur a year ago was because that victory had been a personal defeat, but this time ¡ª this time for sure ¡ª this time, she could have it all. The souls of her fallen mentee¡¯s soldiers were heavy on her soul, but she refused to let them go. The golden shards left from Percival¡¯s mutated monstrosities were too much to use all at once, but she refused to back down. Her soul was breaking apart, but she refused to give up. She would succeed, or she would die trying. She readied herself for what would likely be her final effort, but suddenly, her load lightened; Not by much, but by enough to matter. Melpomene cracked open her eyes, tears streaming down her face, and she locked her gaze with the Daemon who¡¯d been by her side since the very beginning. Eurymedon shimmered along the edge of perception atop a building at the end of the square, hidden to all but their [Liege]. They stood at ease, but there was a tautness in their stance that betrayed the strain on their soul. Leveraging their bond to Melpomene, Eurymedon pulled alongside their [Liege]. Much of their effort was wasted due to their indirect connection to the fallen souls, but they nevertheless brought their strength to bear. Unconsciously, Melpomene let a smile slip across her face. She was not alone. She could do this. Melpomene heaved. The treasure¡¯s glow became blinding. Her soul shattered within an inch of annihilation¡­ but she held on. FWHOOOOSHH!!! Melpomene¡¯s vision went white. Her body went numb. She couldn¡¯t hear a thing. All she could feel was her soul, diffuse and on the brink of breaking apart. All that held her together was a gentle, six-armed embrace. Melpomene examined the innumerable threads tethered to the scattered bits of her soul, and knew them all to be alive. The resurrection was a success, but her work was far from over. Without hesitation, Melpomene severed every connection given to her by her late mentee. The strain on her soul lessened instantly. Free of her burden and with her promise fulfilled, Melpomene began the slow, delicate process of pulling herself back together.
Jeremiah had no idea where he was, but he knew he¡¯d been there before. It was the hill overlooking his family¡¯s little hut and the field they were responsible for, but it also wasn¡¯t. It couldn¡¯t be, because the real thing had burned down about a year ago when the war broke out. Still, it all looked the same. It even smelled the same ¡ª earthy, fresh, and with just a little hint of shit from the fertilizer. But it wasn¡¯t the same, Jeremiah knew. It was too still. Too quiet. Too ideal, like his memory of the thing rather than the thing itself. It had taken him longer to realize it the first time around, but this time he had experience on his side. ¡°I¡¯m dead,¡± he spoke aloud, his tone more matter-of-fact than anything else. He looked down at his waist, and there it was ¡ª a tether tied ¡®round his hips and fading off into the distance. He just needed to wait for a tug, and he¡¯d rejoin the land of the living, his memory of this place forgotten until he came back again. He breathed deep and stretched his arms out to the sky, basking in the light of the afternoon sun. ¡°Ahhhhhhhh~~~!¡± He let out his breath, and the weight of the world fell away. Time was weird here; he knew that much. He had forever and he had no time at all, so he wanted to make every second count. He strolled down to his hut and opened the door. It almost smelled like home. He smelled hot stew simmering over the fire, but he couldn¡¯t smell his wife¡¯s hair. He saw the notches in the doorframe where his daughters and son marked their heights every midsummer, but he didn¡¯t see the mud and scuff marks they left behind like breadcrumbs wherever they went ¡ª much to his and Rebecca¡¯s mild annoyance. The kids had been getting better at not leaving a mess, but Jeremiah missed seeing the dirt now that it wasn¡¯t there. None of it was there, if he were being honest with himself. But it was nice to pretend while he could. He ran his fingers across the wood, across the letters etched beside each mark. He smiled, but he forced himself to turn away. He¡¯d healed enough to remember this much, but he wasn¡¯t ready for more just yet. He left the hut and found himself back at the top of the hill. He didn¡¯t remember walking there, but there he was. He still had a smile on his face, but he wished he weren¡¯t so alone. And then he wasn¡¯t. There was a bird on his shoulder. It¡¯d been there the whole time, but it also hadn¡¯t. Jeremiah decided not to worry about the details. ¡°Hey friend,¡± he called to the bird, but the bird didn¡¯t notice. He couldn¡¯t figure out what kind of bird the bird was. The more he looked for details, the more the details changed, so he decided not to worry about this either. All he knew was that the bird only had one wing, and it was missing an eye. ¡°Buddy, don¡¯t you remember me? After all we¡¯ve been through?¡± He tapped the bird on its head with his little finger, and the bird finally took notice of him. He flashed the lil fella the brightest smile he could muster. ¡°There you are!¡± He held out his little finger. The bird looked puzzled at the gesture, but then it nuzzled up against his digit for just a moment before pulling away. Understanding the message, Jeremiah pulled his hand back to give the bird some space. ¡°I¡¯m sorry we never got to try that soup, lil pal. If we both make it back, maybe we could try tracking down those ingredients again?¡± Jeremiah¡¯s smile turned sheepish and he scratched the back of his head. ¡°Not sure if I can remember all I did though. My head was a bit fuzzy at the time.¡± ¡°Chirp?¡± The bird stared at him in confusion. It flew off his shoulder and pecked at his wrist. Jeremiah wondered what the bird was doing, but when he brought his hand up, he saw that he was holding the saucepan with the soup. It¡¯d been in his hand this whole time. It was mostly empty ¡ª over half of it spilled back in Kingsblood Square ¡ª but there was still some soup at the bottom. ¡°Huh. Maybe my head is still a bit fuzzy!¡± Jeremiah said with a laugh. He looked down at his hut. ¡°Just a moment, please! I should have some clean bowls down there.¡± He took a step downhill, but then his bird friend flew up and pecked at the top of his head. ¡°Ow! What was that for?¡± ¡°Chirp!¡± The bird hovered in front of his face and then landed on¡­ a table? The serving table back at the mess tent in Kingsblood Square to be precise, and suddenly, they were there. Jeremiah looked around. The square was bright, clean, and devoid of life. High up in the sky was the same afternoon sun as there¡¯d been back at his home, warm and kind. ¡°My first time seeing it during the day,¡± Jeremiah marveled, admiring the architecture of all the buildings surrounding the square. It was all so understated and refined, built to complement rather than distract from the splendor of the Torr Royale ¡ª at least that¡¯s what his brother¡¯d told him once. Taking a look at it all himself, he couldn¡¯t help but agree that the simplicity looked nice. When he looked behind him to see the Torr Royale, however, it wasn¡¯t there. Where the tower should¡¯ve been, all he saw was a large patch of grass lined with some intricate-looking paving stones. Jeremiah shrugged. Not his problem. He set down his saucepan and grabbed a bowl, ladling in a nice fat scoop for his birdie friend. It was almost all the soup he had left, but he didn¡¯t mind. He could always try making more when he got back, and his friend deserved the treat. Jeremiah took in a deep whiff. It smelled mesmerizing, and he could tell from the bit of steam coming off the top that it was at the perfect temperature too. ¡°Soup¡¯s up! Here you go.¡± He placed the bowl in front of his friend, but the one-eyed bird had its gaze set elsewhere. Jeremiah tried tracing the bird¡¯s eyeline, but it didn¡¯t look like the bird was staring at anything but bare cobblestone. ¡°Whatcha looking at, buddy?¡± The bird turned to him and extended its wing in the direction it¡¯d been looking. ¡°Chirp chirp!¡± it cried, gesturing worriedly at the empty patch of square. Jeremiah was confused for a moment, but he knew his friend could see better than he could. He decided to trust that there was something there to see, and suddenly there was. It¡¯d been there the whole time, in fact. It ¡ª or rather he ¡ª was a wretched thing; a young man ¡ª perhaps just a boy ¡ª with his face twisted into a rictus of pain. His bones all jutted from him at odd angles, like arrows trying to fly from his flesh in every direction. His muscles were twisted and knotted so badly that Jeremiah could see the individual fibers straining through the poor lad¡¯s skin. He was dressed in nothing more than rags. The sight instinctually made Jeremiah take a half-step back, but he knew that was wrong of him. The boy was weeping, weeping so loud that Jeremiah wondered how he possibly could¡¯ve missed him up ¡¯til now. Jeremiah and the bird shared a look. They turned down to look at their only full bowl of soup. They looked back up to each other, and they could each tell from the other¡¯s gaze that they¡¯d come to the same conclusion. Perhaps they could divvy up whatever scraps they had left in the saucepan afterward, but that was a worry for later. Right now, that boy needed soup, so soup he would have. Jeremiah picked up the bowl and a spoon, intent on walking over to the lad, but the lad was suddenly right in front of the table. Neither of them had moved, and Jeremiah decided this was just another thing to add to the list of things he didn¡¯t have to worry about. ¡°Here you go, lad!¡± he said, and the boy looked over. ¡°A fresh bowl of soup, just for you.¡± He held out the bowl, at first worried that the young man wouldn¡¯t be able to feed himself, but his worry was soon proven unnecessary. The twisted boy unwound an arm and reached for the bowl slowly, as if scared the wood might burn him. He poked the bowl with a finger and quickly pulled away, testing it. Finding himself unharmed, he repeated the test, this time holding the back of hand against the bowl for a whole half second before pulling away. Jeremiah waited patiently, a smile of understanding on his face, and after a few more tentative pokes, the boy worked up the courage to reach out with both hands and take the bowl. Slowly, carefully, cautiously, the boy lifted a steaming spoonful up to his mouth and blew on it. He sniffed it, and a new emotion spread across his face. Surprise? Anticipation? Nostalgia? Jeremiah couldn¡¯t tell what this new emotion was, but neither was it his place to ask. All that mattered was that it diluted the boy¡¯s look of pain and fear, and Jeremiah¡¯s curiosity would have to be satisfied with that. The boy took his first tiny little sip of soup, and stars shone in his eyes. He slurped up what remained in his spoon, and then he went for another. This time he slurped straight from the spoon without blowing, and he did the same with the spoonful after that. He tried some of the vegetable chunks, and soon he was chomping down bites of carrot and turnip with gusto. Jeremiah knew it was rude to stare, but he couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away. He was afraid that the bowl wouldn¡¯t be enough for the lad, but by some miracle the bowl remained half-full long after it should have been emptied ¡ª either that, or maybe Jeremiah was just bad at judging how much soup the boy ate with each spoonful. Probably the latter. With one final pull from the lip of the bowl itself, the boy polished off his meal and let out a great sigh of contentment. It came out raspy and thin, but the sound was unmistakably one of joy. The boy was still pained, that much was clear. His muscles were still in knots. His bones still jutted from his skin. There was still strain in his eyes. But now, there was joy there too ¡ª the simple joy of a warm gut filled with good soup. ¡°¡­th-thank-k-k¡­ you¡­¡± the boy managed, his eyes misting with tears. ¡°Our pleasure,¡± Jeremiah replied, a bit embarrassed to realize he¡¯d just been eyeing the poor chap this entire time. He nudged his bird friend who¡¯d hopped back onto his shoulder, and the bird gave a bow. ¡°Glad we could be of service!¡± ¡°¡­thank you¡­ both¡­¡± A smile on his face, the boy turned and hobbled away toward whatever came next. He shimmered for a moment, and then was gone. Jeremiah held out his finger to his bird friend, and his friend bumped it with its wing. ¡°Chirp!¡± ¡°A job well done,¡± Jeremiah agreed. He made to divvy up what was left in the saucepan between him and his friend, but then a thought struck him. He took another look around the square, but it was still devoid of life. ¡°Chirp?¡± his friend asked. ¡°Oh, I was just thinking. Not my strong suit, I know,¡± he joked, his smile turning sheepish. ¡°Chirp?¡± ¡°Well, thinking that if there was one other person here¡­¡± He gestured vaguely to the rest of the square, unsure how he should finish the thought. He narrowed his eyes, puffed his cheeks, and scrunched his lips. What exactly had he been thinking? What did he expect to see? He let out a long, slow breath, and then he took in another. Following his intuition, he opened his eyes ¡ª he hadn¡¯t realized they were closed ¡ª and suddenly, they were there. All of them. All around the square, thousands upon thousand of people, each twisted or torn or broken or battered or all of the above in their own uniquely horrible way. Some shambled about aimlessly. Some curled up on the ground, crying. Some stared into the distance. Some shivered. Some screamed. It was too much to see, too much to hear, too much to even think about. He¡¯d noticed too much. Judging by the way the friend on his shoulder chirped in alarm, so had it. Jeremiah looked down at his saucepan. It was nearly empty, perhaps only enough for a single mouthful each between him and the bird. The two of them deserved at least that much, didn¡¯t they? After everything they¡¯d done? Before he knew what he was doing, he slammed the lid back on the saucepan, scared that one of the poor souls had already caught a whiff and would come asking for a bite. He held what little remained of the soup tight against his chest and started speed-walking away, doing his best not to draw attention in his rush. The bird on his shoulder started chirping worriedly, so Jeremiah tried calming it down. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s just¡­ There¡¯s not enough for everyone!¡± he hissed, stepping carefully around a pair sobbing on the floor, their flesh sewn together. ¡°We have to get away!¡± Where was the exit? Where was the exit?!? He couldn¡¯t see a thing through the crowd. ¡°Chirp!¡± ¡°We¡¯ll get away from here and then we¡¯ll split what¡¯s left! But we have to get away first!¡± Jeremiah ducked beneath someone¡¯s leg. What that leg was doing jutting from their face was none of his concern. ¡°CHIRP!¡± ¡°Then they¡¯ll have to fend for themselves! They¡¯ll find a way. What do I care?¡± He tripped over someone, his foot sliding over something wet, and he fell to the floor. He kept a death grip on the saucepan, bashing his shoulder and the side of his face into the ground rather than use his hands to break his fall. He got up and brushed himself off, picking up the pace. He was running now. Why was he running? Where was the way out? Where was the way out? WHERE WAS THE WAY OUT? ¡°CHIRP!¡± ¡°BECAUSE THAT¡¯S NOT MY JOB!¡± Jeremiah stopped dead in his tracks. He was panting. He was sweating. His heart felt cold. He took a moment to catch his breath. ¡°But this is my job, isn¡¯t it?¡± He took a few steps forward, and he found himself back at the serving table. He put down the saucepan and gently removed the lid. ¡°This is my job,¡± he repeated. He braced both his hands against the table and stared down at what little remained of the soup. There was practically nothing left. ¡°Chirp.¡± Jeremiah shook his head. He looked up at all the thousands of souls each writhing in their own pains, and he looked back down to the nearly depleted soup. ¡°This is my job, but what am I supposed to do?¡± He fell to his knees and let his head hang limp. ¡°What am I supposed to do?¡± ¡°You do what you can.¡± The young man¡¯s voice came from nowhere, but Jeremiah didn¡¯t feel startled when he heard it. Quite the opposite, actually. It made him feel warm and safe, like a heavy blanket wrapped snug ¡®round his shoulders. And for some reason, it sounded familiar. Jeremiah looked up, but he couldn¡¯t see who spoke. His bird friend was also looking around, apparently having heard the voice too. And then another voice spoke, gruffer and deeper than the first. ¡°You do what you can, and that¡¯s all anyone could ever ask.¡± The old man¡¯s voice thrummed pleasantly through Jeremiah¡¯s chest, familiar, just like the first. Jeremiah tried getting up¡­ but he didn¡¯t. And he didn¡¯t know why. He felt more spent than a coin in the till, but even exhausted as he was, getting to his feet shouldn¡¯t have been a challenge, right? He was strong enough to stand ¡ª he could feel that he was ¡ª but for some reason, he just couldn¡¯t. There was a disconnect somewhere along the line. He wanted to get up, and he could get up¡­ but between the wanting and the doing, there was a chasm he just couldn¡¯t cross. Well, maybe ¡®chasm¡¯ wasn¡¯t the right word. Chasms were hard to get across. Whatever was stopping him from getting up would be a lot easier to overcome. It was just a branch on the road he had to move out the way, a broken bridge over a stream shallow enough to ford, a row in the field he only had to till that little bit more ¡®til he was done. He was trying to get up ¡ª or at least he was trying to try ¡ª but he wasn¡¯t moving an inch. The worst part was the knowing. He knew he could find his feet, and he knew it¡¯d be easy. But that knowing only made him feel all the guiltier that he hadn¡¯t done it yet, and that guilt only made existing as he was all the more exhausting. A branch barred his path, but he was trudging uphill yoked to a wagon growing heavier by the moment. The river was shallow enough to ford, but he was half an inch tall, treading water, and forgetting how to swim. The row was nearly tilled, but Terra herself stretched beneath him, expanding in all directions so fast he had to sprint just to remain where he was. And he was in Kingsblood Square. His knees were on the ground. His hands gripped to the table above him. His head hung low. All he needed to do was find his feet, but he was so lost he couldn¡¯t find his nose. He wanted to breathe, but he was too busy gasping for air. He had to pull himself up, but the ground pulled him down, promising an endless, sleepless rest, if only he would lay his cheek against the cold, hard stone. It was beginning to feel like he¡¯d never rise again. His hands released the table, and he felt himself fall. ¡°CHIRP!¡± Jeremiah slammed his hands against the ground, cutting his palms against the cobblestones. ¡°Chirp! Chirp chirp CHIRP chirp chirp.¡± Jeremiah smiled. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right,¡± he said, addressing the friend who¡¯d been by his ear this whole time. ¡°Chirp,¡± replied the bird with perhaps a bit more good-natured sass than absolutely necessary. Jeremiah pushed himself off the ground, rocking back to sit on his knees. ¡°Yes, yes, I know,¡± he shot back with a laugh, ¡°but you don¡¯t have to be so smug about it.¡± He re-gripped the edge of the table and pulled himself up. Now that he was actually doing it, the act of standing was even easier than he thought it would be. He felt a pang of shame knowing that¡¯d it taken him so long to do something so simple, but he also knew he wasn¡¯t being fair to himself. He swayed on his feet, lightheaded from having stood too quickly. He nearly stumbled back a half step, but a hand pressed against the small of his back to keep him balanced, its steadying touch so light Jeremiah might¡¯ve imagined it altogether. He looked around, but he could find no one to thank. His bird friend looked at him quizzically, but Jeremiah just shrugged and shot back a smile. He breathed deep, and he felt suddenly lighter, as if a weight he hadn¡¯t realized was there had all at once disappeared. With his head held high and his feet planted firmly on the ground, the task ahead no longer felt impossible. ¡°Do what we can, huh?¡± He and his friend looked at each other, down at the nearly emptied saucepan, out to the square full of souls, and then to each other once more. ¡°Would you mind calling one of them over?¡± Jeremiah asked, his smile turning bittersweet. ¡°Might be enough left for someone small if they ain¡¯t too hungry.¡± The bird nodded and took flight, surprisingly stable despite its one wing. It fumbled its way through the air toward the closest soul, and Jeremiah washed his hands to prepare the soup. He tilted the saucepan at an angle to ladle out as much of the broth as he could, and he was pleasantly surprised to find there was more than enough there to fill an entire bowl. ¡°Huh. More in here than I thought.¡± Jeremiah looked up to see the bird guiding a woman with three arms, one leg, and no eyes to the table. ¡°Hey birdie, we might have enough for another bowl. Can you get one more person please?¡± The bird gave him a puzzled look but obliged, flying away as Jeremiah finished guiding the woman to her bowl of soup. He scooped up a second bowl of soup, but when he was done, there was still a bit leftover. Jeremiah quirked an eyebrow, a suspicion crossing his mind. ¡°Hey birdie?¡± ¡°Chirp?¡± ¡°Just keep bringing them over one at a time, please. Let me know when you need a break, and I¡¯ll let you know if we need to stop.¡± His bird friend, still in the middle of helping someone shamble over, looked to Jeremiah and tilted its head, obviously confused. The two locked eyes, and an unspoken message passed between them. The bird nodded, and Jeremiah turned back to his work. ¡°There should be some more bowls around here somewhere¡­¡± A pair of helping hands placed a stack of bowls at his table. ¡°Thanks!¡± Jeremiah grabbed a bowl to fill, and then paused. He looked around to see who he¡¯d thanked, but could find no one. Curious, he inspected the bowl in his hand and found it prettier than a pig at the market. It was a bit worn ¡ª a few small nicks and scratches here and there ¡ª but the wood gleamed like a new copper coin, and its grain felt fresh-scrubbed and oiled. Jeremiah shrugged. Whoever¡¯d done this, they¡¯d done a shining job. Birdie arrived with a new soul. Jeremiah put on the warmest smile he could muster and filled up his bowl. ¡°Soup¡¯s up!¡± Time melted away like butter out on a summer sill. Jeremiah served bowl after bowl of steaming soup with a smile. Birdie led soul after soul to the table. Most of their patrons weren¡¯t much for conversation, but those who could talk were happy to exchange a few words, and those who couldn¡¯t seemed to appreciate the warmth. As the moments turned to minutes turned to hours, neither Jeremiah nor Birdie seemed to tire. Jeremiah once worried that his bird friend might be pushing itself too much ¡ª it was hopping and flapping all about the square without a break, after all ¡ª but just like Jeremiah himself, the work seemed to invigorate the little feller more than it drained. Whenever Jeremiah looked down at the saucepan, there was always just a little bit more than he expected to find. Every once in a while, Jeremiah thought he saw those hands again ¡ª the ones that¡¯d placed down the bowls ¡ª but he only ever caught them out the corner of his eye whilst his mind was busy with the soup or a soul. Though he never got a good look at them, he couldn¡¯t deny the hands were a load of help. Dirty dishes, little spills, fresh kitchen rags, a cup of water when he started feeling thirsty ¡ª problems disappeared and aid arrived all without him noticing or needing to ask. Eventually, Jeremiah decided to stop worrying about it and just lose himself in the work ¡ª and funny enough, that made it easier to notice the ones who¡¯d been helping him. ¡°You were never this helpful back at the abbey, old man!¡± ¡°And you were never this rude!¡± A pair of laughs rang out as an old man¡¯s hands placed a fresh stack of bowls on the table. Jeremiah didn¡¯t know the story behind the overheard banter, he couldn¡¯t help but chuckle along at the camaraderie. More time melted away. Jeremiah took more pride and more care in his work, garnishing each bowl with some green onions he kept chopping on the side and pre-breaking up the stew chunks for those who looked like they might have trouble chewing. A few souls stuck around after they¡¯d been helped in order to lend a hand. Some took over Birdie¡¯s job of guiding their compatriots. Others spoon-fed the armless, set up tables and chairs, or tidied up little messes as they happened. Some stuck around for just a little while, and some others for a little while longer. Birdie hopped and chirped and flapped along, puffing up its chest as it gladly took up the role of organizing the volunteers. Jeremiah ladled out another serving from the pot ¡ª not a saucepan anymore ¡ª making sure to swirl and scoop from the bottom to get a good mix of all the ingredients. He swiped a rag across his brow and grabbed his ladle to serve another, but a hand gently stopped him. ¡°I think that¡¯s enough for now,¡± said the old man, a hint of pride in his voice. ¡°You¡¯ve done good. I can take it from here.¡± Jeremiah tried to protest, to say that he was ready to do more, but when the old man took the ladle from his hand, he found himself too tired to resist. The old man gave him another once-over, and Jeremiah only then noticed the other man¡¯s striking blue eyes. ¡°I take it back,¡± the old man went on. He put a hand on Jeremiah¡¯s shoulder, looked him straight in the eye, and gave him a father¡¯s smile. ¡°You¡¯ve done more than enough. Good job.¡± Jeremiah stumble-stepped back, more than a little dazed, as the grandfather-grey soul took to the work like a bird to the breeze. The man¡¯s hands were defter than Jeremiah¡¯s ever were, serving perfect portions at twice the speed. For each troubled soul, he flashed a smile twice as warm and spoke words twice as comforting as Jeremiah ever could. As the old man struck up a conversation with another soul ¡ª a young boy with a cloth tied over his eyes and a small lion-pawed bird cradled in his arms ¡ª Jeremiah for a moment wondered why he¡¯d even bothered helping when there existed someone so much more capable than him, but he dismissed the thought easily enough. Twice the hands bore more than twice the burden, after all. ¡°Hot stew! Coming through!¡± Jeremiah heard the familiar voice and stepped out the way as if he¡¯d done it a dozen times before ¡ª which, he realized, he had. The young man ¡ª younger than Jeremiah ¡ª came through with a smaller steaming pot of stew. He stepped up beside the old man and carefully poured his load into the larger serving pot, just as he¡¯d done every time the soup ran low. Wondering where the soup had come from, Jeremiah turned around, and there they were: a dozen happy faces and twice as many helping hands working the kitchen. They stirred and chopped and chatted away, bustling about the outdoor kitchen like friends as their many to-dos got rightly done-did. Some of their faces were familiar, but for some reason Jeremiah couldn¡¯t remember any of their names. They¡¯d been helping Jeremiah this whole time ¡ª or maybe it¡¯d be more accurate to say Jeremiah had been helping them ¡ª but he¡¯d been totally oblivious of their presence until now. ¡°Amazing, isn¡¯t it?¡± came the young man¡¯s voice. Jeremiah turned again to find the other man standing there beside him, an empty pot at his hip and a gap-toothed grin on his face. His mud-brown eyes ¡ª same color as his worn-out robe ¡ª were trained on the people working the kitchen, and then they turned to rest on Jeremiah. ¡°Helping others is all well and good, but you¡¯ve got to make the time to let others help you too, Jeremiah.¡± Jeremiah blinked. ¡°You know my name?¡± Lord Percival ¡ª for indeed, this man could be none other than the Barefoot Saint, and Jeremiah mentally berated himself for not recognizing his [Liege] immediately ¡ª gave him a light punch to the chest and smiled. ¡°You¡¯re a good soldier, and an even better man. Least I could do is remember your name.¡± Jeremiah felt a tug at his hip, but he ignored it. ¡°My [Liege], please let me help out a little longer. I can keep going.¡± Lord Percival gave him a look that he couldn¡¯t read. The Saint¡¯s gaze turned elsewhere, and Jeremiah turned his own gaze to follow. Together their eyes roved over the kitchen, the serving area, and the entire square. Jeremiah wasn¡¯t entirely sure what he was supposed to be seeing, but in the middle of it Birdie hopped over and climbed onto Jeremiah¡¯s shoulder. Together, they waited patiently for the former monk to break his silence. After a time, Lord Percival spoke. ¡°Charity is weird,¡± he said. Jeremiah didn¡¯t know how to respond to that, so he just stayed quiet. ¡°Not to get all philosophy with you, but I¡¯ve done a lot of thinking about it,¡± Lord Percival went on. ¡°I know helping others is a good thing to do, but sometimes it feels like I only do it because it makes me feel good. And doing something just because it makes me feel good? That¡¯s just selfish, isn¡¯t it?¡± Jeremiah scratched his head, confused about where this conversation was going. ¡°Chirp! Chirp chirp,¡± Birdie opined. Jeremiah puckered his lips to chew on the idea, and Lord Percival turned to the bird to give it a thoughtful nod. ¡°That¡¯s a good point. Being selfish doesn¡¯t have to mean good or bad, so who¡¯s to say something good can¡¯t be selfish too? I hadn¡¯t thought of it that way.¡± The Saint nodded again. ¡°I never had the words for it, but I guess that¡¯s what I¡¯ve always done ¡ª do my best to make sure being selfish doesn¡¯t get in the way of doing good. And I do that by every once in a while asking, ¡®Am I doing this because this is what the other person needs? Or because I just want to feel good about myself?¡¯ ¡°The answer doesn¡¯t always make me comfortable, but hey, that¡¯s why I ask the question. Sometimes I realize the other person doesn¡¯t need or even want my help, and I just wanted to feel the [Hero]. Other times the person does need and want my help, but not in the way I wanted to give it, and that¡¯s tougher. ¡°But do you see the problem with all this?¡± Jeremiah paused, considering. He tried giving the question a proper think, but after a dozen seconds, nothing he judged worth saying aloud came to mind. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my lord. I don¡¯t,¡± he replied lamely. Lord Percival nodded, a comforting smile on his face. ¡°The problem with only ever asking what others need is that sometimes, I forget to ask what I need. I¡¯ll be the first to admit that forgetting myself every now and then can be all well and good, but it¡¯s a poor chef who sharpens their knives by dulling their wit. So tell me Jeremiah, and tell me honest: What do you need?¡± ¡°What do I need?¡± Jeremiah repeated, caught off guard by the question. His first thought was to wonder why someone as high and mighty as a [Liege] would worry about him, but then he remembered he wasn¡¯t talking to just any [Liege]. He was talking to Lord Percival Commonblood I, the Rebel [King], the Pauper Prince, the Barefoot Saint. If anyone cared, it¡¯d be him. Jeremiah looked down at himself. At first he thought he was fine ¡ª aside from the whole ¡®being dead¡¯ thing, of course ¡ª but like so many other things that day, all he had to do was realize there was something to look for, and then there it was, clearer than day. Jeremiah looked, and he saw his hurt. He bled from dozens of holes scattered about him like leaves beneath a yellow oak. Some wounds were shallow, and some wounds ran so deep he saw bone. He was also missing a leg. Above all else, he was tired, so very tired, and he wanted nothing more than to be off his feet ¡ª well, foot, he supposed. He spoke without thinking. ¡°My lord, I need a break.¡± Birdie hopped off his shoulder. He felt a tug at his hip, and this time he let his tether carry him away. As he was pulled away from wherever he was toward wherever he was going, the last thing Jeremiah saw was Birdie and Lord Percival waving him goodbye. Jeremiah waved back. ¡°See you la¡ª!¡±
¡°¡ªTUUUUGH!¡± Jeremiah sucked in a breath so sharp it felt like breathing needles. He was alive, covered in dried blood, and more than a little confused. The cold morning air nipped at him through every hole in his clothing ¡ª not so much ¡®clothes¡¯ as ¡®rags¡¯ now, if he were being honest ¡ª and the winter sun shone bright in the early morning sky. He brushed through his memories, trying to remember what he was doing here, and it felt like brushing his fingers through a tanglebush. Little bits of recollection would snag here or there, but just as quickly snap away before he could understand what he was feeling. It took him¡­ He didn¡¯t know how long it took him because time was a bit too confusing to keep track of at the moment, but it took him something like a few ounces ¡ª maybe even half a pound ¡ª of time to realize that everyone around him was cheering. Like, cheering really loud type of cheering. Cheering loud as¡­ loud as something that was really loud. Jeremiah looked around, wondering what all the hullabaloo was about, and then he saw Death. Death was standing pretty close to him, but that type of standing that birds did in the air with their little wings ¡ª except Death¡¯s wings were bigger than a bird¡¯s because he was bigger than a bird. Frippery, Jeremiah remembered. That sounds like the right ward. Death was frippery-ing in the air, just a whistle away from Jeremiah, tears shimmying down his cheeks. The sunlight hitting his face and chiming off his grass-cutter looked awful nice. Real [Hero]-like if Jeremiah did say so himself. Was everyone cheering to make fun of him for crying? That wasn¡¯t nice of them. And a lot of the people cheery-ing were naked, Jeremiah noticed now that his eyes were getting butter at fur-seeing. That was also when his hearing started getting cleaver-er, and he could finally make out what everyone was screaming. ¡°¡°¡°[Hero]! [Hero]! [Hero]!¡±¡±¡± they was all chanting. Oh, they¡¯re not being mean, Jeremiah realized. That¡¯s nice of them. Jeremiah kept looking around to catch his bears, and that¡¯s when he saw something that made it all come rushing back ¡ª his saucepan. Last thing Jeremiah remembered, he and his eyeball friend just finished the soup, and then they¡¯d died. It made Jeremiah real sad that his friend would stay dead, but that just meant that he¡¯d need to enjoy the soup for both of them. Jeremiah reached out for the saucepan, but his muscles felt like a peck of pigeons was pick-packering at him with every twitch he tried to move. He fought through the pain, and with one final burst of effort he grabbed onto the pan that lay an entire fingerslength from his eyes. He heaved for breath, more needles in chest, and dragged the saucepan closer to his face. He tipped it over to look inside, and within lay a single drop of the most beautiful amber broth he¡¯d ever seen. Most of it must have spilled out when he¡¯d fallen, and yet that drop remained. Just enough for a taste, but a taste was all he¡¯d knead. Fighting through the pain, Jeremiah dragged the saucepan closer and closer to his face until finally his lips touched the cold metal. Not trusting his ability to hold anything still, he flopped the entire saucepan over his face and laid his head on the ground, allowing the heavenly liquid to roll itself down onto his tongue. It splashed against his tastebuds, and Jeremiah¡ª ¡°Cough! Heuugh! AAAaagEUHkhh¡ª¡± Jeremiah gagged and sputtered. His own saliva ¡ª trapped by the saucepan ¡ª splashed all over his face. Some of it got up his nose, but he felt too weak to do anything about it. ¡°¡­the fruit¡­¡± Jeremiah whispered, realizing his mistake. What the soup had needed was a conductor to tie all its flavors together. What it got was a rabid squirrel with a xylophone. ¡°¡­I¡­ messed up¡­¡± His voice sounded tinny in his ears, but all around him he could still hear the sound of cheering. For some reason, he couldn¡¯t help but find the situation funny. He started laughing. The laughing hurt like a squirrel cracking his ribs with a mallet, but he laughed all the same. A big, dumb grin spread across his face. ¡°The soup tastes like shit!¡± Ch.24 A [Hero] is feeling more than a little regretful about their recent assumptions The world didn¡¯t come back to Melpomene all at once. It rose around her like a tide. ¡°¡°¡°[Hero]! [Hero]! [Hero]!¡±¡±¡± Her soul half-reassembled, she¡¯d gathered herself just enough to hear the people¡¯s cry ¡ª and at first, she was excited! A [Hero]? Here and now? Right when she was at her most vulnerable? Perfect. She was injured, but that would only make her coming victory all the sweeter. ¡°¡°¡°[Hero]! [Hero]! [Hero]!¡±¡±¡± Her soul grew whole and her perception clear, but so too grew her confusion. Where was this [Hero]? Where was her foe? Where was the climactic duel she¡¯d been waiting for all this time? She was no fool, but neither was she as heartless as she claimed to be. She knew the answer before she could bear to put it to words, and in that gap, she knew horror. Her Daemons stood by, unsure of what to do, as thousand upon thousands of Humans and Fae chanted a pox upon her very soul, their smiles sharper than a knife to the heart, their words seawater in her lungs. The tide rose high, and she began to drown. ¡°¡°¡°[Hero]! [Hero]! [Hero]!¡±¡±¡± Tears flew down her face, freer and fiercer than ever. The [Hero] they cheered for¡­ was her.
From within a certain dark and ominous tent perched at the edge of cliff overlooking a valley of spikes ¡ª not the best place for a tent, but appearances had to be maintained ¡ª came another high-pitched wail. ¡°UUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEWWWWWW!!!! They were¡ªhic! They were so MEEEAAAN to me, Eury¡ªhic! Eurymedon! And not even¡­ Sniff¡­ And not even mean in an E¡ªhic! In an Evil way!!! They were just¡ª!!! Just MEAAAAANNNNNNNN!!!!!¡± Eurymedon¡¯s [Liege] ¡ª transformed back into her usual form ¡ª burst into another wail, absolutely inconsolable. The [Daemon of Eyes] responded by wrapping their arms around her all the tighter. ¡°Autarch Melpomene¡­ might I tell you something?¡± Their [Liege] didn¡¯t respond with words, but her crying momentarily quieted. ¡°You, my [Liege], are the most vile, dark-hearted, conniving person I¡¯ve ever known,¡± spoke the [Daemon of Eyes]. Melpomene sniffled, burying her face even deeper into one of Eurymedon¡¯s many shoulders. ¡°You mean it?¡± ¡°I do,¡± Eurymedon replied without hesitation. ¡°There¡¯s not a [Villain] on all of Terra with half as much wrath as you.¡± Melpomene laughed in that fragile way Eurymedon knew to mean she was being bashful. ¡°Oh stop,¡± she complained, voice small. ¡°Now you¡¯re just exaggerating.¡± Eurymedon pulled their [Liege] away so that they might look each other in the eyes. Melpomene at first resisted, clinging to their shoulder, but relented at her second¡¯s gentle touch. ¡°Perhaps I am exaggerating,¡± admitted the [Daemon of Eyes], ¡°but my sentiment holds true. No matter what the ignorant might say, you are Melpomene, fifty-fourth [Daemon Autarch] of the [Despoiled Legion]. You are a [Villain]. You are the [Villain].You are the greatest [Villain] those ingrates will ever have the displeasure of encountering.¡± Melpomene opened her mouth to respond, perhaps intent on shrugging off the direct compliments, but Eurymedon cut her off. ¡°Do not do me the disservice of downplaying my words when you have so clearly taken the words of strangers to heart. Listen to me when I say that you are covetous. You are vain. Your malice knows no end. Those jeering do-gooders cannot begin to comprehend the depths to which you¡¯ll sink to attain that which you desire. They know not what they see, and so their words matter not a whit. ¡°You, my [Liege], are pure Evil?, and no one can ever take that away from you.¡± Autarch Melpomene¡¯s eyes hadn¡¯t been dry for quite some time, and that trend continued as tears of an entirely different sort now rolled down her face. ¡°Thank you, Eurymedon,¡± whispered the autarch. She threw herself back into her lieutenant general¡¯s many arms. ¡°Today¡¯s been a nightmare ¡ª and not the pleasant kind ¡ª but you always know just what to say.¡± ¡°Of course, my [Liege].¡± The two embraced for a length of time neither bothered to track. ¡°I do have a question, though,¡± said Melpomene, first to break the comfortable silence. ¡°Yes, my [Liege]?¡± ¡°Why did you say ¡®evil¡¯ like that?¡± ¡°Like what?¡± the [Daemon of Eyes] responded. The uncharacteristically lax words came out automatically, as if by instinct. No sooner had the question left one of the [Daemon of Eyes] many mouths than they felt their [Liege] stiffen in their arms. Eurymedon at first wondered why that might be, but the answer struck them in an instant. A thousand memories flashed through their mind, all of them pointing to but a single, unthinkable conclusion. Slowly, the lieutenant and their autarch pulled away from their embrace. They looked each other in the eye. Eurymedon hoped against hope that they might find anything other than their own fear reflected in the gaze of their [Liege], but all they found scrawled across Melpomene¡¯s face was a slow, dawning terror, identical to their own.
¡°Aaaaaaaand¡­ done!¡± Theokakos, Chief [Surveyor] and Head of the Engineering Corps for the [Despoiled Legion]¡¯s Army Protos ¡ª or just ¡®Theo,¡¯ as most people called him ¡ª chiseled one last groove into the artificial stalagmite he was working on. He placed two hands on his hips while his third wiped the sweat from his brow, a look of pride on his face. He looked around to check on his underlings, and ¡ª ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHH¡ª!¡± The blood in his veins turned to ice. His heart leapt to his throat. He blushed. That was the uh¡­ the most piercing wail he¡¯d heard thus far. ¡°They do know we¡¯re down here, right?¡± he overheard one of his underlings whisper. ¡°You think that¡¯s part of it for them? Knowing other people are¡ª?¡± ¡°That¡¯s enough of that,¡± Theo cut in. His two gossiping underlings rose to attention at his voice, a half-shaped cone of rock between them. ¡°What did I tell you two about gossiping about others¡¯ private lives while on the job?¡± The two of them flushed. ¡°Chief! To first receive the involved parties¡¯ explicit and enthusiastic consent, Chief!¡± replied the one who¡¯d been speculating. ¡°Good.¡± Theo gave a nod of approval. He looked left, looked right, then leaned in conspiratorially. ¡°But if you two are in the gossiping mood,¡± he whispered, ¡°one of my partners ¡ª won¡¯t say which ¡ª just sent me a letter with the juiciest piece of news about Terpsichore¡­¡± The other two¡¯s eyes lit up. The trio went back to work, furtively chatting away as they finished up the valley of spikes for their Autarch. Perhaps it was a bit hypocritical of him, but Theo couldn¡¯t help but let his mind wander to the ongoings hidden within the tent perched at the clifftop above him. Autarch Melpomene sure is lucky, he thought, trying ¡ª and failing ¡ª not to imagine what the absurdly attractive Eurymedon might be doing to her. He did feel guilty for letting his mind go in that direction¡­ but not too guilty. He would have to have a frank discussion about this with his two superiors later, because if he and his underlings overhearing them was indeed ¡®part of it,¡¯ he would¡¯ve rather been given a heads up. Alternatively, if the two of them just didn¡¯t care if others overheard, that¡¯d be useful to know as well. This was all premised on the assumption that Eurymedon did indeed know that the three engineers were within earshot, because of course the [Daemon of Eyes] knew. Rumor had it they could track a mote of dust from across a battlefield. Sensing three interloping sets of ears would be easier than stealing babies from a candied foe. Unless of course the [Daemon of Eyes] was wholly overwhelmed by some task at hand, but Theo couldn¡¯t imagine that happening.
Eurymedon was wholly overwhelmed by the task at hand. Their many arms drew arcane lines of amethyst upon the air. Their many mouths chanted words of power. Their every eye glowed with magic. Something was amiss with their [Liege], and they needed to find out what. ¡°[Identify]!¡± Eurymedon cast the spell at [Tier V], opting for the full manual cast to ensure nothing went wrong. So of course it came as a shock ¡ª but perhaps not a surprise ¡ª when everything went wrong. The spell¡¯s lines fizzled and cracked, shooting off sprays of purple sparks in random directions. ¡°Eurymedon, what¡¯s happening?¡± called their [Liege]. Her voice shook with ill-disguised fear, and Eurymedon¡¯s heart quivered to hear their nigh-invincible leader sound so frayed, so vulnerable, so unsure. They wanted to respond, but their entire being was tied up in trying to save the spell. Their mind raced to determine the cause of their impending failure, and it wasn¡¯t long before they found an answer. Their casting had been impeccable, and they could still feel their [Liege]¡¯s consent through the nascent spell, which meant the spell could only be failing for one other reason¡­ Eurymedon poured more mana into the spell, causing it to fail all the more spectacularly ¡ª which was exactly what they wanted to have happen. They pored over the spell, absorbing every iota of feedback they could glean. Every break or burst or buzz of failure, every variation in light or resistance or flow, every ripple or wave or twist in its shape¡­ With the spell¡¯s inadequacies exaggerated, the way forward became obvious ¡ª or as ¡®obvious¡¯ as the flaws in a high-[Tier] spell could be, at any rate. Every flaw was problem to be solved, and Eurymedon was nothing if not a solver of problems. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Their arms traced lines all the finer. Their voices chanted all the fiercer. Their eyes saw all the clearer. While a far cry from their usual standard, Eurymedon managed to wrangle the spell into a form stable enough to use. All it took was one last burst of mana ¡ª far more than what a [Tier V] spell of its kind should require ¡ª and their magic leapt into action. ¡°[IDENTIFY]!¡± Purple light flooded the tent, so bright it forced even Eurymedon to squint against its brilliance. Myriad arcane shapes flew from the spell and into Melpomene¡¯s orbit, picking up speed. They whirled around her faster and faster with each revolution, a thousand constellations flitting through a century¡¯s worth of sky. With one final burst of light, the spell exploded into a deluge of sparks, and information flowed into Eurymedon¡¯s mind. They hurriedly scanned the data for what they expected to find, and find it they did. ¡°My [Liege]! My [Liege], it worked!¡± Eurymedon squealed with glee. ¡°I have good news! Great news! You¡¯ve become [Tier¡­¡± Eurymedon trailed off as they examined their findings further. The joy in their eyes slowly morphed into confusion, and then to horror. ¡°Eurymedon, what¡¯s wrong?¡± asked their [Liege], but the [Daemon of Eyes] had no idea how to respond. ¡°I-I, I¡­¡± Melpomene took a slow, cautious step closer. ¡°Eurymedon? You¡¯re worrying me. What did you see?¡± ¡°I¡­ I apologize, my [Liege]. I believe it would be best if I¡­ just showed you.¡± They waved an arm, and more lines of purple magic etched themselves upon reality, putting to words the horrid knowledge with which Eurymedon had been cursed. Name: Melpomene Race: Daemon Faction: [Despoiled Legion] Rank: [Tier VI] [Leige] Class: [Tier VI] [Autarch Redeemed] Keywords: [Angsty], [Anti-Hero], [Unbreakable] Just as Eurymedon¡¯s had, Melpomene¡¯s face flashed through several emotions¡­ but her reactions were far less negative than the [Daemon of Eyes] expected them to be. From trepidation, the autarch¡¯s expression rapidly cycled through astonished, excited, puzzled, and contemplative, until finally settling on relief. Melpomene let out a full-bodied laugh, shoulders untensing. ¡°Don¡¯t scare me like that, Eurymedon!¡± she complained gleefully. ¡°But [Tier VI]?¡± she asked with an air of wonder. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of it before! I always thought [Tier S] came next?¡± Eurymedon stared, curious as to why their [Liege] wasn¡¯t more concerned. ¡°I always thought it¡¯d be funny if the ¡¯S¡¯ stood for ¡®six,¡¯ but I suppose it just means ¡®special¡¯ or something? Could explain why only monsters and godlings ever seem to get it¡­¡± Melpomene scratched her chin, and then her eyes lit up. ¡°But hey! I¡¯m [Tier VI] now, and you used [Identify] on me! That means you just cast your first [Tier VI] spell! Congratulations, Eurymedon!¡± The [Autarch Redeemed] stepped forward and wrapped Eurymedon into a hug. Tentatively, the [Daemon of Eyes] hugged her back. ¡°¡­My [Liege]?¡± ¡°Yes, Eurymedon?¡± ¡°Are you not¡­ concerned?¡± ¡°Concerned?¡± Melpomene repeated, pulling back from the hug. ¡°Concerned with anything I showed you, my [Liege]?¡± Melpomene shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s a shame that my [Villain] keyword isn¡¯t in my active three right now, but I¡¯m not too worried. It¡¯ll come back if I ease up on the angst for a while, and then everything will go back to normal. But what I¡¯m really excited about is this new [Anti-Hero] keyword!¡± ¡°You¡­ You are?¡± Eurymedon asked. The [Daemon of Eyes] had analyzed battlefields a hundredfold more complex than the current conversation, but they¡¯d never been so befuddled as they were now. The Autarch did a little twirl and started prancing about the tent like a child, straight-legged with arms out for balance. ¡°Haha! Of course I¡¯m excited! Can¡¯t wait to try it out! I wonder how noticeable the effect will be?¡± Eurymedon¡¯s leader, life partner, and closest friend continued toddling about, always just about to fall over, but never quite losing her balance. ¡°I do hope it¡¯s a boost for me,¡± she said, pitching forward but managing to turn the fumble into a front flip. She landed off-balance and stumbled backwards into a pirouette, a grin on her face. ¡°Having it debuff my opponent would just be boring, but I wouldn¡¯t mind a bit of both, I suppose.¡± Melpomene¡¯s words caused something to click in Eurymedon¡¯s head, and the lieutenant general¡¯s many mouths frowned with worry. They needed to clear up this miscommunication immediately, but before they could find the words, their [Liege] continued speaking. ¡°By the way, any luck figuring out what that mask or the crown do yet? Do you think [Tier VI] [Identify] will help at all?¡± she asked, falling into a back handspring. She pushed off her hands, throwing herself into a double-leg hanging grip around the tent¡¯s central pole. The specialty-made pole spun the autarch around in a lazy circle as she held herself upside down by crossed thighs. She rubbed her chin. ¡°Not sure about the mask, but it¡¯d be interesting if the crown could¡ª¡± ¡°My [Liege], I hate to interrupt, but I believe it important that we correct a misunderstanding.¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry. I know there¡¯s a lot I don¡¯t understand about magic, but I do remember that [Identify] only works on living things, and only on consenting living things for the more interesting stuff. I was just wondering if¡ª¡± Eurymedon reached out and placed a hand on their [Liege]¡¯s side, arresting her momentum. They looked Melpomene in the eyes. ¡°My [Liege], do you know what an [Anti-Hero] is?¡± The inverted autarch furrowed her brows. ¡°I assume it¡¯s like ¡®anti-large¡¯ or ¡®anti-infantry,¡¯ right? I¡¯m so evil that I specifically counter [Heroes] in combat?¡± Eurymedon winced. This wasn¡¯t going to be pleasant for either of them. ¡°My [Liege], an [Anti-Hero] is¡­¡±
¡°AAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAA¡ª!¡± Theo was in the middle of packing away his chisels when the scream pierced his ears. He took one last look at the tent high up on the cliff above him and gave a low whistle. Luckily, his underlings had already finished their work, so they weren¡¯t there to see the naked admiration in his trio of eyes. His hands cinched his pack tight as his imagination ran wild, dreaming up all the ways he might make his own partners scream that way too. ¡°I definitely need to ask them for tips.¡±
Melpomene skulked through Soleil, sifting through her emotions. It was¡­ Its was all too much. Everything she¡¯d ever wanted. Everything she¡¯d ever worked for. Gone. No, worse than gone: Sanctified. Perverted. Redeemed. Night had again spread her cloak over Soleil, but the dim could do little to obscure the city¡¯s hope. Bricks and pavers stacked neat and ready for use, debris piled and sorted for carting away or salvage, wreaths and flowers and candles at every corner to celebrate and mourn the dead¡­ Soleil was quiet, but it was the quiet of a soldier who knew her battle was won. She breathed deeply, evenly. Her wounds were healing even as she slept, her people dreaming of the peaceful days soon to come. Melpomene hated it. She hated all of it. Where was the open wailing in the street? Where were the rebels plotting her demise? Where was the anger? The dread? The fear? She was the [Villain], godsdamnit! She was evil! She¡¯d won! ¡­Except she hadn¡¯t really won, now did she? Melpomene was mired in her thoughts. She had no mind left to spare on setting her path, and so she wandered about aimlessly, listlessly, going wherever her feet would take her. By chance ¡ª or perhaps by no chance at all ¡ª she eventually found her way back to the edge of Kingsblood Square, back to the site of her greatest shame. Dropping all pretense of stealth, Melpomene stepped past the shattered remains of a barricade. Her boots clinked against the cobbles of the scarred, empty square. She let fall her cloak, and her darksteel armor gleamed with all the colors of the night¡¯s northern sky. The air felt cool against her face, and the breeze hummed pleasantly in her ear, singing about everything and nothing at all. ¡°I¡¯m the one to blame, aren¡¯t I?¡± She began walking toward the Torr Royale. Shoulders back and head held high, her every stride was deliberate and firm ¡ª the march of a soldier to war, or perhaps a condemned to their gallows. Eurymedon had explained everything in the postmortem. The false assumptions, the misconceptions, the mistakes¡­ A lesser [Liege] might have claimed they¡¯d done their best given the circumstances, but Melpomene would make no such excuses. With every step of her boots, she reviewed the steps of her campaign, and her path lay fraught with regret. If she hadn¡¯t been so cautious, she could have conquered the lands west of the [Titan¡¯s Fingers] in half the time and made the crossing before winter. If she hadn¡¯t been so arrogant, she could have gotten the truth from Percival upon their first meeting. If she hadn¡¯t been so impatient, she could have conquered Soleil with an actual plan. Over and over again, she found herself wanting. Her ¡®best¡¯ hadn¡¯t been enough. Not even close. She¡¯d failed in a thousand ways large and small, and every shortcoming stemmed from but a single truth: ¡°I¡¯m still too weak.¡± Her words came out matter-of-fact. Her eyes brimmed with tears unshed. [Heroes] could afford as many mistakes as the story asked of them. [Villains] had to be perfect, and even that was seldom enough. Melpomene, to put it unkindly, was a complete and utter failure. In the past year alone, she¡¯d failed more often and more spectacularly than perhaps every [Daemon Autarch] in the history of the [Despoiled Legion] combined. She had no right to be mentioned in the same breath as those unholy [Tyrants] and [Villains] of ages past, much less the right to bear their title. She was no longer a [Daemon Autarch]. She was no longer a [Villain]. She was a¡­ She was¡­ Melpomene¡¯s strides slowed to a stop a dozen paces from the Torr Royale. She looked up at the tower and opened her mouth to speak, but all that escaped her throat was a tiny, strained whine of air. She was a¡­ a [Hero] now, and no mere prefix could soften the blow. Just acknowledging the fact made her feel wronged, betrayed, violated. Her soul felt raw. Her mind was scattered to the winds. Her flesh didn¡¯t feel her own. Her tears fell. A traitorous sob escaped her lips. Her arms rose to her sides, and she held herself tight. ¡°I don¡¯t even know who I am anymore!¡± She reared back to kick a stone at the stupid tower, but she stopped herself short. Something about the action set off an alarm in the back of her head. She took a moment and considered the last two times she¡¯d kicked a random stone. The first had collapsed a fortress, and the second had caused an avalanche. Slowly, carefully, delicately, Melpomene placed her foot back down onto solid ground. She stepped around the stone, giving it a wide berth. She breathed deep, and exhaled a shudder. As strange as it was to admit, that tiny act of restraint helped Melpomene center herself. It served to prove that in spite of it all, she wasn¡¯t powerless. She could control neither the past, nor the future, nor even the present; but she could control herself, and that would have to be enough. She stepped closer to the Torr Royale, her footfalls lighter than dust, and stared up at the edifice. Her focus was drawn to one particular scene carved into the building¡¯s side. It depicted the [Shattering of Aolyn], the battle that despoiled the [Deathless Legions] of their god. The forces of Good were arrayed on the left, Evil on the right, and in the center was the [Hero] Gregory Kingsblood II locked in battle with the greatest [Villain] to ever live ¡ª Thanatos. Melpomene would be the first to admit she wasn¡¯t an expert on the subject of history ¡ª and what little she did know, she¡¯d need to reexamine in light of old man Gregory¡¯s claims ¡ª but whoever¡¯d made this carving seemed to actively despise historical accuracy. The Solarians¡¯ armor was far too modern. The Daemons were a chaotic mass of shadowy beasts foaming at the mouth. Gregory was wielding a sword thicker than he was wide, and Thanatos was charging into battle bare-chested. But where the carver had failed in the facts of their subject matter, they excelled in the essence. It just felt right. A climactic battle. Everything on the line. Fate hanging in the Balance. Good versus Evil. A [Hero] and a [Villain] giving it their all to lay the other low. One final fight that made the world around her disappear. One last duel, win or lose, that would at last make her feel whole. ¡°That¡¯s what I want,¡± said Melpomene, the no-longer fifty-fourth [Daemon Autarch] of the [Despoiled Legion]. Her eyes locked onto the granite visage of Thanatos the First, first and greatest of the [Daemon Autarchs], tactician beyond [Tacticians], trickster beyond [Tricksters], villain beyond [Villains]; Thanatos the Inevitable! Thanatos the Implacable! Thanatos the Indomitable! Thanatos, Progenitor of Death. Thanatos, the Dead. ¡°I want to be evil,¡± whispered the living autarch, words so quiet she could barely hear her own voice. ¡°I want to be the [Villain].¡± Her breathing hitched, choking back a sob. Her vision blurred with tears, but her eyes remained locked on the stone-eyed depiction of her predecessor. Thanatos stared down at her from on high, judging her, his unseeing gaze colder than Night. ¡°I want to be like you.¡± Melpomene placed a hand against the tower¡¯s stone.
Unbeknownst to all, a fly buzzed about within the Torr Royale. It¡¯d been blown up there by a stray gust of wind, and now it wandered aimlessly through the halls in search of food. It¡¯d been at it for hours and was growing ravenous. Had it a mind, it might¡¯ve felt despair at being trapped within so many sterile, rotless halls, each identical to every other; but the fly had no mind, and so was dauntless in its mindlessness. It was rewarded for its perseverance when a new scent ¡ª tantalizingly putrid ¡ª wafted across its antennae. The insect was enraptured. Pulled like an iron filing to a lodestone, the fly zipped toward the scent¡¯s source with renewed vigor. It passed by some blood spilled on the ground ¡ª a find that any other day would see the creature settling down for a feast ¡ª but it could sense a greater bounty close at wing, and it would not be distracted. Deeper within the tower was the ritual chamber. Imperfectly restored by the [Hollow King], missing the [Couronne Solaire], and furthermore damaged by battle, the chamber was in rather poor condition ¡ª but that did not mean it was inert. To oversimplify, the chamber functioned as all things did: moving energy from one place to another, and having it do something interesting along the way ¡ª except now, there was nowhere for that energy to go. The cables feeding the chamber mana and divinity were all severed, but the room itself managed to gather a steady trickle of magic all on its own. Retaining energy from the interrupted ritual and now having sat undisturbed for over a day, the room¡¯s magical reservoirs were charged to a level far beyond what they were designed to hold, and its dormant energy only grew greater by the minute. The fly flew into the chamber through the large hole in its iron door. It buzzed its way over to the opposite domed wall, heading straight for the human-shaped indentation where the [Hollow King] had slammed into the gold-inlaid marble. The severed end of a gold wire ¡ª jutting out and up from its proper channel in the wall ¡ª hung limp in the air, sparking with magic. The fly ¡ª attracted to the putrid sparks of tainted magic ¡ª landed atop the wire¡¯s frayed end. Despite being incapable of eating raw magic, the fly¡¯s instincts were satisfied to bask in the glow. The wire began bending under the fly¡¯s minuscule weight, sagging down, down, down to the floor. The fly and its wire got within a millimeter of the floor. The magic arced through the fly¡¯s flesh, completing a circuit that was not meant to be completed.
¡°I want to be like you.¡± Melpomene placed a hand against the tower¡¯s stone. The Torr Royale exploded.