ã€ŠACCISMUSã€‹


 CHAPTER ONE // MUST WE IMAGINE SISYPHUS HAPPY?

    At the edge of the Milky Way galaxy ¨C the seat of power of The Domain, the interstellar empire that spans the universe itself ¨C there lies a world known as Jupiter. It is a violent, turbulent place; an impossibly large mass of writhing winds and world-shattering storms and, in truth, little else. And in the sway of this mad titan there hang in perpetual orbit countless moons, all of them as cold and bleak and silent as the grave ¨C save for Callisto.

    Its surface is one of scars and deformities, its outer shell pockmarked with countless craters and crags - all of them tipped with sheets of thin, sparkling frost. It is an ugly, malformed thing, and it us upon this unsightly rock that a city of eighty-four million is perched ¨C and it is at the precise center of this teeming city, in the heart of a grand structure part palace and part fortress, that a young man now sits and waits.

    He was a thin, dark-haired man, with a face that might very well have been quite handsome in the absence of his gaunt cheeks and sunken, heavy-lidded eyes. That was always the first thing anyone noticed, you see ¨C his eyes, verdant blue and oh-so-intelligent and oh-so-hungry, like a crow''s eyes, always darting to and fro and always observing. Always taking in some invisible little detail. Always searching for more.

    He wore a white-and-black robe in the style of ancient Earth, his garment bound together by a simple length of cord that had, in truth, cost more to procure than a dozen hovels combined. Dangling from his earlobes were a pair of gold-plated studs, and upon the fingers of his right hand were the gold, silver, onyx, and cordite rings that marked him as Jaheed Kesol Gragnad Demnod Vell, Deiform Ascendant Heavenly 43rd Imperial Marquess of the Most-Hallowed Thrice-Honored 257th Dukedom ¨C the son of the Hallowed Duke Jerohd Vell, one of the most powerful men in the entire universe.

    One of them, anyway.

    The Marquess sat now upon a gilded throne of dark ivory, one that hovered nearly a foot above the ground, and concealed beneath the folds of his robe there lie a pair of warped, shriveled legs ¨C crippled things that looked not unlike a pair of wash-rags wrung out to dry.

    Every day of his life, it was these ruined legs that drove Marquess Jaheed Vell forward. They alone were the reason for every one of his ambitions, his fears, his hatreds, and his passions. There was never a moment in which the failure of his body was not present somewhere in his mind.

    He had never been a particularly happy man.

    At any rate, however, his father had now begun to speak.

    "A toast!" the old man was calling, rising to his feet and holding aloft, with a spindly mechanical hand, a goblet of some bubbling concoction. "To the Seventh-Venerated Holy Emperor!"

    "Here, here!" the hall of nearly a thousand guests thundered in immediate response. Jaheed turned the corners of his mouth upwards into some facsimile of a smile, raised his glass to his lips ¨C then immediately set it aside. The taste of alcohol had long disgusted the young Marquess.

    His father was standing there at the head of a table nearly two thousand feet in length, shoulders squared and chest puffed-up like a prized ether-bird at an auction. Though the Duke was not yet an old man, he was certainly an older man, his gray hair rapidly thinning and his face marked with the indelible wrinkles brought on by age and fatigue both. The venerable Duke was resplendent in a suit festooned with all manner of chaotic black-and-red patterns, one that nearly concealed the fact that nearly half his body was cybernetic in nature. And they were beautiful cybernetics ¨C masterworks, all of them, many crafted not from metal but from wood imported at unfathomable cost from the ruins of ancient Earth.

    Jaheed found himself brutally disinterested. There was nothing and nobody interesting here ¨C just the usual array of graying beards, boisterous voices, sparkling finery, and mewling sycophants. He sighed to himself, reached down to begin cutting into his brahmin-steak ¨C and then, slowly, his keen eyes shifted towards the far end of the table.

    Well. There was, he had to admit, someone interesting here.

    Seated at the far, opposite end was a tan-skinned man with a shaved head and an easygoing smile, clad in a simple and elegant black-and-emerald vest. His eyes were brilliant, sparkling yellow, and he bit into his steak now with motion that appeared almost uncannily calculated and smooth. Standing at his side was a towering figure clad from head to toe in a sleek gray bodysuit adorned with beautiful, swirling lines of gold. The figure¡¯s face was entirely obscured by a visor of featureless black, and though they were unarmed all present knew well the lethal prowess of the Emperor''s legendary Sed-ai.

    Duke Jerohd was one of the most powerful men in the entire universe. But Ket Sal ¨C the yellow-eyed man in the emerald vest ¨C was one of the Emperor¡¯s twenty-nine Scions, those deemed worth to speak on the Holy One¡¯s behalf. He was beyond such paltry concerns as power.

    And he would not be sitting here without a very, very good reason.

    "A fine toast," Ket Sal called, his voice amplified by a near-microscopic speaker somewhere on his cowl, and at once a room of nearly a thousand fell deathly silent. "Such enthusiastic loyalty to the Blessed Emperor''s distant authority is always a welcome sight."

    Jaheed leaned forward now, intrigued.

    "Well," Jerohd replied, letting loose a canned but nonetheless authentic-sounding chuckle, "we are closer to Mercury than most. We can''t get away with half the same nonsense as those Alpha Centauri ruffians!"

    As if one cue, the entire room erupted into raucous laughter ¨C then, Ket Sal opened his mouth to speak, and once more there was frigid silence.

    "Indeed," the Scion smiled, unbothered by the uncomfortable hush. "And, of course, we all know full well what would happen to a backwater Duchy like your own if you ever considered..." he paused, letting his words hang, "...straying."

    Jaheed forced himself to suppress the smirk tugging at his lips. His father, he knew, was already simmering with rage.

    "Well," Jerohd replied, not even skipping a beat in response to the bold-faced insult that the Scion had so suddenly delivered. "At any rate ¨C please, enjoy your meal! These brahmin were carefully tended to for nearly three decades before their slaughter just the morning prior."

    "I shall indeed," Ket Sal replied graciously, taking a bite of his steak and chewing carefully ¨C his eyes fixed upon the Duke all the while.

    All conversation had gone completely and utterly dry. What were once boisterous and affluent guests were now a garden of statues ¨C and, in the middle of them all, keen-eyed Jaheed couldn¡¯t help but smile to himself.

    "Now then," Jerohd continued, lowering himself onto his throne once more, "if I may, Lord Scion ¨C what brings one of the Emperor''s chosen to my ''neck of the woods'', as it were? Though, before I continue, I should make clear that your gracious presence will always be more than welcome within these halls ¨C no matter the occasion."

    "Really?" Ket scoffed, his tone suddenly quite casual. "How droll."

    Jerohd narrowed his eyes ¨C but said nothing. To be insulted once within his own domain was as grave an insult one could muster. But twice? Jaheed could see the bait clear as day, which meant his father could as well. And if there was one compliment that the Marquess could pay his father, it was that the canny old Duke never, ever took the bait. Patience and cunning in the face of adversity ¨C that was their family creed.

    "Anyway," Ket Sal said, waving a hand and setting his utensils aside. "I am here to announce the coronation of the Celestial Seraphic Empyreal Seventh-Blessed Panoptic God-Emperor Doss Ken Vessholt Tefand Disnal El Errendekes Sen Sorad Volsif, Ninety-Seventh of his name and Seventh-Touched by the Outer Hand."

    This was nothing new to Jaheed¡¯s ears. Every man, woman, and child of the Domain knew that the reigning Emperor Volsif XCVI had died some weeks ago at the age of three-hundred-and-seven, and that now his son Volsif XCVII was here to take his place. All of this information was well-known and well-disseminated. It certainly did not warrant the physical presence of one of the Emperor''s twenty-seven Scions. There was something more to this visit ¨C of that, Jaheed was certain.

    "By the Seven Spokes," Jerohd intoned, bowing his head and pressing two fingers to his forehead. In unison, all present did the same ¨C Jaheed included.

    "By the Seven Spokes," Ket repeated dryly, tapping two fingers against his forehead. There was a wry smile upon his face, now.

    "My heart is full, and my soul is glad," Jerohd declared, after a moment had passed. "I will serve the new Emperor with all that I am. The people of Callisto will serve His Great Domain with all that they are."

    "I''m sure you will," Ket Sal replied, his smile never fading. Then, abruptly, he rose to his feet.

    "Well, then," the Scion declared, dusting himself off as the Duke, too, shot to his feet. "You''ve been an accomodating host, Duke Jerohd, but I''m afraid I must now take my leave. Even in quiet days, I am a busy man, and in the wake of the Emperor¡¯s coronation these next few thousand will be anything but."

    "I-wait-" Jerohd sputtered ¨C a rare loss of composure from a man who had been conditioned to public appearances since birth. He expression resolved itself at once; an easygoing smile spread upon his face as he extended a hand towards to blatantly-disinterested Scion.

    "Please, noble Scion," Jerohd offered, his voice infused with all of the warmth and charisma that a charlatan of six decades could muster. "Feel free to take in all the many comforts that Callisto has to offer. Our gratitude at the presence of one of the Emperor''s chosen is beyond words, and we would be more than happy to-"

    "I have much to do," Ket said, turning away. "Good day, Jerohd. We''ll be in touch."

    Jerohd. Not Duke Jerohd, not Lord Jerohd - just Jerohd. It was an insult for which a common citizen would be flayed alive. It was an insult the likes of which could forge century-long rifts between two of the Noble Dynasties. It was unforgivable ¨C from anyone but the Emperor himself.

    And everyone knew that the Scions spoke with the Emperor¡¯s voice.

    "Of course," Jerohd said quickly, bowing and returning to his seat ¨C and then, as the conversation and bustle began to resume, Jaheed was on the move, his chair floating silently past countless seated backs as the Marquess depressed the actuator-key with a pale, ring-laden finger. Those curious, hungry eyes were now tightly and rigidly focused.

    There was opportunity here ¨C for one with the courage to seize it.

    -----

    "Lord Scion!" Jaheed called, and the moment he opened his mouth the Se-dai was whirling around faster than his eyes could follow. In an instant, there was an obsidian blade ¨C a weapon so black as to hardly exist at all ¨C hovering only the barest fraction of a micrometer from Jaheed''s throat.

    The Marquess fell abruptly and totally still. He knew full well that the Se-dai were masters of the Sixth and Seventh Vile Arts ¨C the Art of the Silent Cut and the Art of Instantaneous Death. To provoke their ire was to invite total obliteration, no matter one''s status. Even a venerable Duke would not to be spared the blade of a Se-ai ¨C to say nothing of a Marquess.

    The three of them stood, now, in the center of a hangar that stretched nearly five thousand feet in the air, to a ceiling so thoroughly draped in darkness as to be completely inscrutable. All around them, drenched in hazy amber light, were countless ships - some bulbous and organic, some blocky and rigid, and some utterly amorphous in appearance. Ahead loomed an enormous vessel; a spacecraft that was little more than one long, pointed needle, its surface covered in innumerable and intricate engravings. It was, like the Duke''s cybernetics, more form than function ¨C more artwork than vehicle - and it could only have belonged to a man such as Ket Sal.

    The Scion turned, now, a bemused smile upon his face as he regarded the crippled heir.

    "That''s enough, Ammit," he said. "Give the boy a chance to breathe ¨C otherwise, he¡¯ll suffocate himself."

    The Se-dai stepped back at once, the weapon retracting back into its arm, and Jaheed let out a ragged gasp. He had indeed been forced to hold his breath, for fear of gouging his throat open on a blade sharpened down to the molecular level.

    "My apologies, Lord Scion," Jaheed coughed, after a few moments of labored, gasping breaths. "I often forget that my chair moves quite silently ¨C it was in no way my intention to startle you.¡±

    "Ammit was aware of your presence from the moment you entered the hangar," Ket Sal scoffed. "Your mistake was simply to enter within a certain radius without my permission."

    "Then I must apologize again," Jaheed acquiesced, inclining his head. "But if I seem brash or impudent, Lord Scion, know that it is only as a byproduct of the severe importance of that which I would bring to your attention."

    "Oh?" Ket asked, cocking his head to the side ¨C a sardonic gesture, to be sure, but one that carried with it a faint undercurrent of bemused interest as well.

    Jaheed closed his eyes ¨C steeled himself ¨C then opened them and began to speak.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    "My father," Jaheed declared, meeting the Scion¡¯s yellow gaze with not even a hint of fear, ¡°has on over a dozen occasions now made contact with the Crimson Emir.¡±

    The Crimson Emir ¨C a name that carried with it an unspeakable weight. Ordinarily, it was by ancient decree that the Emperor¡¯s firstborn would succeed him upon the event of his passing. But Volsif XCVI had, on his deathbed, instead nominated Volsif XCVII ¨C adopted, third in line, and the only one of the Emperor¡¯s children to bear the old man¡¯s name ¨C leaving the man known informally as the Crimson Emir with nothing. And, of course, Volsif XCVII''s first act was the dismissal and exile of his brother by Immutable Decree ¨C thus making an enemy of the most celebrated Admiral in the history of the Great Domain, of the man who had led and won no less than thirty-seven interstellar campaigns across one-hundred-and-seven years of service.

    Volsif XCVII had the support of both the nobility and the commonality ¨C but it was an open secret that the forces of the great Solar Militaria still swore allegiance to the outcast Emir. These were tumultuous times ¨C and to even make mention of the Domain¡¯s infamous black sheep was to invite unwelcome and dangerous attention.

    Ket Sal continued to smile.

    "We know," he replied, and Jaheed could only blink in stunned, silent surprise. For a moment, the wheels were spinning within the Marquess¡¯ agile mind ¨C and then, a moment later, he had resolved to continue forward exactly as planned.

    "I don''t know what they''ve been discussing," Jaheed continued, slowly, "but every night for the past three weeks he''s been in contact with a remote sector of the Horsehead Nebula ¨C what can only be the location of the Crimson Emir¡¯s flagship. And I¡¯m sure you wonder, now, to yourself ¨C how could I possibly know the identity of my father¡¯s contact? My answer is only that the Crimson Emir is a man with not even an ounce of shame. He signs his correspondences with his full name ¨C blatant as a festering wound." He hawked, then spat upon that perfectly constructed floor. "Their disloyalty to the seventh-venerated Holy Emperor offends and disgusts me.¡±

    "Are you asking me to kill your father?" Ket Sal asked, cutting to the heart of Jaheed¡¯s words with all the precision and brutality of a laser-scalpel.

    "I''m asking for justice," Jaheed replied firmly ¨C conjuring up as much bravado and passion as he possibly could before a man who could order him killed with little more than a gesture.

    The Scion saw right through him, then ¨C Jaheed was certain of it. And he was equally certain, too, that there was no backing out of this now.

    "That''s adorable," Ket Sal smirked, thumb resting upon his chin now as he regarded the Marquess. "You¡¯d like to order me around, then?"

    "That''s not-" Jaheed started.

    "Want me to bow?" Ket Sal continued, his words dripping with cold venom. "Want me on my knees? Should I start by addressing you by your full name and title, boy?"

    "Lord Scion, please, do not misunderstand-"

    "You Callisto dogs," Ket Sal snarled, his smile somehow unchanging even as his nose wrinkled with disgust. "The sight of you, the smell of you ¨C I can''t stand it. And your legs-" At that, the Se-dai strode forward ¨C its footfalls pounding against the hangar floor ¨C and grabbed a handful of Jaheed''s robe, yanking it up to reveal his ruined limbs.

    Shame hung about Jaheed¡¯s head like a spiteful crown ¨C and slowly, his hands began to tighten into impotent fists.

    "As I thought," Ket Sal chuckled. "Disgusting. And that look in your eyes! Such unguarded hatred ¨C such helpless fury! Do you want to kill me, dog? Want to put those pampered hands around my neck and squeeze and squeeze until I finally stop smiling?"

    "What I want..." Jaheed growled, his voice going low. Gone were the mannered affectations, the faux-outrage, all of it. Unlike his father, Jaheed had a long way to come before truly mastering his outward appearance, and now he was as his true self before the Scions'' yellow eyes. "...is for that stupid, arrogant, empty-headed bastard at the head of that table to never again have power over a single thing in his entire life. I don¡¯t want you to kill him, I want you to leave him with nothing."

    "Go on," Ket Sal said slowly, observing the young Marquess as he shuddered and spoke.

    "This moon is ripe with unclaimed possibilities," Jaheed declared. "The harsh conditions, the higher gravity. Our people are stronger and faster than the average citizen of the Domain, and we sit at the seat of one of the largest Cordite veins in the entire system. We could become a military and economic force to rival the Dynasties of Centauri if only that lazy old man wasn''t so-"

    "Content," Ket interrupted, clicking his tongue. "If only that lazy old man wasn''t so damned content with what he already has."

    There was a momentary pause.

    "Exactly," Jaheed agreed, finally. He was beginning to calm, now. And he was starting to understand, too, that something very, very important had shifted between them.

    "And are you content, Marquess?" the Scion asked. And Jaheed did not hesitate for even a moment to reply.

    "Only to serve directly at the Emperor''s side," Jaheed said firmly, and there was steel in his words now. "Anything less and I will always, always strive for more. It is simply the nature of my soul.¡±

    With that, Jaheed fell silent, and slowly the reality of his situation began to dawn on him. What he had just said. What he had just done ¨C in front of a Scion, no less. And as his heart began to beat faster and faster, Jaheed was able to take only minor comfort in the fact that death at the hands of a Se-dai would come faster than he could ever hope to even perceive.

    The Scion was observing him ¨C staring directly into his eyes. Was he looking to confirm the presence of something? Or the absence?

    All Jaheed could do was sit in silence and await either absolution or obliteration.

    Seconds crawled by like hours.

    Then, finally, the Scion nodded ¨C and turned sharply away.

    "As I told your father, we''ll be in touch," Ket Sal said simply, his back turned as he spoke. "I thank your Dynasty again for your generous hospitality."

    "The honor," Jaheed replied, after an uncertain pause, "is all mine."

    "Indeed," Ket Sal agreed, his back still turned as the Se-dai moved silent and lethal to stand by his side. Its deafening footsteps now let out not even the barest of whispers. "Oh, and by the way ¨C a bit of advice, young Marquess."

    "Oh?" Jaheed said, straightening in his seat. ¡°I would be honored to hear it.¡±

    "Keep an ear to the ground," Ket said, and there was just a hint of mirth in his words as he spoke. "A new regent brings great change, always - and with great change comes great opportunities, for those with the courage to seize them. And, well," he glanced over his shoulder, and Jaheed caught only a glimpse of a single yellow eye, "let¡¯s just say that I expect to return to this place ¨C sooner, rather than later.¡±

    Then, the doors slid shut, and with neither sound nor heat nor even light the Scion¡¯s ship rose, then slid forward, passing through a gate of crackling, iridescent lightning and out into the empty maw of space.

    Jaheed stared at that receding vessel for a long, long time. Then, he reached up ¨C felt the spot on his neck where he had come infinitesimally close to death ¨C and grinned.

    "Opportunities, huh?" he chuckled to nobody ¨C surrounded, as he was, only by lobotomized hangar-workers. "Alright, Scion. I''ll be waiting."

    -----

    "Man," Ket Sal sighed, sinking down into a waiting seat. "What a day."

    It was in an ovular, blue-lit room that the Scion sat and the Se-dai stood ¨C and now, the Se-dai reached up, removing its helmet to reveal a face marred with a hundred different intersecting scars. These were not the scars of battle, but rather the byproduct of the torturous training and conditioning that each Se-dai underwent from the day of their birth to the day of their coronation as a full-blooded warrior.

    "Were you successful?" Ammit asked bluntly, her voice deep and somewhat oddly modulated. The Se-dai were the only individuals in the entire Domain exempt from the ritual declaration of titles.

    "Hmm," Ket Sal mused in reply, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. "I''m not sure yet. Ah, Amnit, I hate it - all this needless floundering about while we try to find an excuse to remove some powerless, no-name Duke."

    "The precepts are clear," Amnit replied flatly, reciting that which Ket Sal already knew. "None can harm blessed nobility of the Great Domain without a seven-times-ratified Crux of Purpose, not even-"

    "I pity you, Amnit," Ket Sal chuckled. "Forced to memorize every one of the twenty-thousand precepts when, with young Volsif in charge, most will soon be rendered quite unrecognizable."

    "I will memorize those as well," the Se-dai replied without a hint of irony.

    "I''m sure you will," Ket Sal smirked. Outside the window, the stars were beginning to turn to streaks of white light. "At any rate, I think we could perhaps make some use of the boy. Perhaps. He''s exactly what I expected, after all ¨C which is both a blessing and a curse."

    "Too much ambition is a dangerous thing," Amnit cautioned. "Even the Se-dai fear a man whose hunger cannot be sated.¡±

    "Well, we can always take certain," Ket Sal yawned, ¡°precautions. Contingencies, failsafes, whatever. If we decide to use him, Amnit, we''ll fit his collar tight ¨C so tight that he won''t even realize it''s there."

    "And if you deem him unsuitable?" Amnit asked.

    "What do you think?" Ket Sal scoffed, glancing back at his towering bodyguard. "I expect you¡¯ll likely be one of the ones doing the dirty work, after all."

    "The entire family?"

    "If it comes to that? Absolutely."

    The entire room was beginning to hum, now, and there was a strange sensation in the air ¨C a feeling of building power, of potential energy waiting eagerly to be released. The hair on Ket Sal¡¯s arm stood on end, and Amnit''s red-glowing eyes flashed white for just a moment before returning to their usual color.

    "Finally," Ket Sal sighed, as the vessel began to slip into the space-between-space. "Anyway, Jaheed''s the only one we can use. The father, as you well know, is an impotent old fool with no place in Volsif XCVII¡¯s Great Domain. The mother''s been dead for a decade. And the other two siblings are," he waved a hand, "utterly unremarkable. No..." he shook his head. "If we can''t use Jaheed, then it''d be better to have a clean break. These are the early days of Volsif''s regency, you know. Many of these early atrocities will be forgotten to history, in time." Slowly, his eyes moved to meet the Se-dai''s own. "Tell me honestly, Amnit ¨C are your people excited for the changes to come? These will be busy days ahead."

    "We are ready," was Amnit''s only reply ¨C to which the Scion gave a small, knowing nod.

    "So are we," he said, staring out at the window now as the blackness of space twisted and warped and discolored around them. "So are we."

    There was a crack, a pop, a shriek like metal grinding on metal ¨C and then the ship simply ceased to be.

    It would appear just nineteen hours later at the gates of Blessed Mercury at the seat of the Emperor¡¯s divine power.

    -----

    There was a knock on his door.

    Jaheed did not move, did not speak. He merely waited.

    Another knock.

    Still, Jaheed waited.

    A third rang out.

    They weren''t going to leave, were they?

    "Come in," Jaheed called, finally, and at once the door swung upon to reveal none other than the Duke himself - a Duke who looked as though he had aged a great many years since the events of the night''s repast.

    The Duke stepped quite briskly into the chamber, ignoring the Marquess'' pointed stare as he closed the door shut behind him. It was, for a prince-to-be, a surprisingly small chamber, one overstuffed with all manner of books and manuscripts. Jaheed was at his desk ¨C a finely ornate thing of rich mahogany, topped by a centuries-old oil-burning lamp ¨C and he turned, now, to regard his father fully.

    There was nothing Jaheed hated more than an unwelcome intrusion upon this private space.

    "Son," the old man said, by way of greeting.

    "Father," Jaheed replied flatly.

    "Quite an eventful dinner, wasn''t it?" Jerohd said ¨C and he was pacing, now, his hands clasped behind his back. Jaheed''s eyes narrowed ¨C but he forced himself to remain silent. Never cede an advantage ¨C it was one of his primary guiding principles. Mask your animosity. Give the old man not even the tiniest bit of information to work with.

    "Indeed," Jaheed said ¨C another response that conveyed naught else but rote acquiescence.

    "And an interesting ending, too," the old man continued. "An ending one could draw quite a number of conclusions from, no?"

    "I suppose so."

    "One could assume, for instance, that I ¨C Duke Jerohd ¨C am finished," he declared, his voice suddenly rising in volume and intensity both. "That this new Emperor sees neither interest nor value within me, and that I will soon be swiftly discarded. That I am a powerless, aging monarch, and soon I will be subsumed by the coming wave of the next generation. That one day, a Se-dai will appear in my bedchamber, and I will pass from this world without a sound."

    "One could..." Jaheed replied, after a moment. "But-"

    "But," the Duke countered, turning sharply on his heel ¨C his words growing cold and hard now as he stalked towards his son, "they would be wrong, wouldn''t they?"

    "Of course-" Jaheed said quickly ¨C then, without warning, Jerohd''s hand shot out and grabbed Jaheed tight by the face. And the Marquess fell completely and utterly still as the Duke forced his son''s eyes to meet is own.

    "You idiot fucking child," the Duke growled, and Jaheed could smell the wine on the old man''s breath as he spoke. "A room packed with over a thousand guests ¨C did you really think that not one would see you following that Scion out?"

    "I don''t know what you''re-" Jaheed started ¨C but Jerohd released his grip and slapped the boy hard across the face.

    "Callisto is mine!" Jerohd roared, and flecks of spittle impacted against the face of his firstborn son. "The dirt, the sky, the iron, the smog, the people ¨C they are mine, you insipid little speck!"

    Jaheed was breathing heavily, his nostrils flaring and his face dripping with sweat as he stared up at the ceiling, unwilling to meet his father''s gaze. Then, he remembered what Ket Sal had said ¨C and, slowly, his head came down, his eyes brimming with blazing fire even as a trickle of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth. For the first time in many years he met his father''s eyes without fear.

    "Nothing lasts forever," Jaheed said, simply ¨C and he reached up, wiping away the blood with his thumb.

    "No," the Duke admitted, glaring down at his firstborn with naked contempt. "But it''ll feel like forever to you, boy."

    Moments later, the door slammed shut, and then Jaheed was slumped over his desk, sobbing into the sleeve of his gown. He let out a hoarse, muffled scream, his fist pounding against the mahogany as his body shook with every wrenching cry. They were not tears of sorrow, nor were they tears of despair. These were tears of hate - the raw, unfettered hate that pumped through Jaheed''s heart now like boiling blood. This was the hate that a man held within him for a lifetime, unchanging and undiminishing.

    Then, slowly, Jaheed''s head came up once more, and his bloodshot, tear-streaked eyes fell onto the holy sigil etched upon the corner of the desk. Once, it had been a triangle intersected by two horizontal lines ¨C the sigil of the old Emperor, Volsif XCVI. But now, it had been corrected by the unseen hand of some diligent lobotomite ¨C and what Jaheed saw, instead, was the symbol of the new Emperor. A crescent moon, one constrained so tightly within a surrounding rectangle as to scrape against the sides of that four-pointed enclosure.

    Jaheed gulped. Swallowed his misery.

    He knew then that the old man was wrong. It wouldn''t feel like forever ¨C in fact, it wouldn''t feel like any time at all. And, even if it did, Jaheed decided at that moment that it mattered not how long it would take. Days, weeks, months, years - it was irrelevant.

    Jaheed was willing to wait.

    -----

 CHAPTER TWO // LORD, GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE

    The physician looked Kore straight in the eye - and gave her the bad news.

    "Two years," the old man declared. "That''s how long before the cellular breakdown results in total cessation of life."

    The tall, broad-shouldered, shaggy-haired woman pondered that, for a moment. Then came the reply.

    "Two years, huh?" she repeated. "Okay."

    "About a month from now, your body will begin to experience outward symptoms," the physician continued. ¡°In nine weeks you will likely be unable to walk. In sixteen you will be unable to see. In twenty you will have become entirely stationary, though your mind will remain largely functional until the very end.¡±

    "Mmh," Kore muttered, pondering again for a moment. Then, she shook her head and declared, quite firmly: "That won''t work."

    "I''m sorry?"

    "I work for a living," the broad-shouldered, shaggy-haired woman replied, displaying a pair of soot-streaked hands as proof of concept. "Contract job, minin'' cordite. It''s precise stuff ¨C skilled labor, y¡¯know. Not a lot of folks can do it ''thout blowing themselves up. To do that, I need to be able to walk, and to see, and all that stuff. I don¡¯t work, I don¡¯t eat."

    "I...don''t see your point?" the doctor asked, his brow furrowing. "This is your condition, Miss Kore. It is fact, regardless of whether you approve or-"

    "So fix it," Kore ordered flatly. "We got ships that fold space and guns that turn your brain inside-out. Surely there''s some kinda-"

    "You were hit head-on, unprotected, by the emissions from a Lambda Array," the physician interrupted. "You''re lucky to even be alive, much less standing and talking ¨C what were you even doing in the siphoning chamber?"

    At that, it was Kore¡¯s brow that now furrowed.

    "I went in there because I was ordered to,¡± she replied. ¡°There was a part that needed fixing."

    "Were you aware of the risks?"

    "Yep."

    "And still you entered the chamber?"

    "Look, doc,¡± Kore snapped, her patience wearing thin. ¡°You know damn well that there''s one job for commonfolk on Castillo. One. Job. And I was about to lose it if I didn''t do what I was told. That''s why, respectfully, I need you to fix me ¨C because if you don''t, I''ll be starvin¡¯ to death long before my two years are up."

    Silence hung between them in that filthy, dim-lit excuse for an infirmary ¨C just a small nook amidst a vast column of icy rock nearly ten thousand feet below the surface. Above, condensation was beginning to gather across the ceiling, and now a single freezing drop splashed down onto Kore''s forehead.

    "We''re talking about damage on a cellular level," the doctor said, finally. "I''m sure that the technology to mend your body does exist - but not here on Castillo, and not for a price that either of us could ever even begin to fathom. I¡¯m sorry, Kore. All I can do is tell you how it¡¯s going to be."

    Again, there was a long period of silence. Then, finally, Kore rose to her feet, dusting herself off and giving the man a small, respectful nod.

    "Got it," she said simply. "Appreciate it, doc."

    The next morning, Kore awoke with a near-blinding headache to a notification on her personal terminal.

    NOTICE OF IMMEDIATE TERMINATION ¨C UNKNOWN, KORE

    IMPETUS: SEVERE PHYSICAL DISABILITY, IMPENDING DEATH

    SIGNED

    CASTILLO SANCTIFIED MINING CORP.

    HAIL TO THE SEVENTH-VENERATED EMPEROR

    HAIL TO THE GREAT DOMAIN

    So, Kore got up. Made some coffee. Donned her boots, her coveralls. Then, she stepped outside and, instead of going to work, she set off in the exact opposite direction.

    -----

    "Got one," he said, and the other turned at once. They were both hunched now over a small, dusty screen that glowed faintly amidst the darkness of their scattered enclosure. Behind, there was ¨C for a moment ¨C a shock of brilliant light through the slats of a boarded-up window. Then, the light passed, and the occupants within were cast into shadow once more.

    "Yeah?" the other asked. "Show me."

    "Uh..." the first muttered, navigating a gargantuan list of names and nigh-indecipherable symbols with the use of a tracking wheel inlaid on upon that rickety old desk. The machine itself was a rusting thing through which nearly a dozen thick, bundled cables were fed. "Let''s see...first name Kore. Last name unregisted."

    "A stray," the second nodded. "Off to a good start."

    "BMI is good¡­fantastic, actually," the first continued. "Mental acuity in the medium register. Work experience is... wouldn''t you know, precision cordite extraction for seven years. No complaints, no demerits."

    "Go on."

    "Alright, let''s get into the thick of it," the first said, cracking his knuckles. His eyes were flicking over a vast array of symbols, now. "6G...4285...D295. Code 43. Checking for flags...got one. Flagged...TC707."

    "That''s it!" the other declared, snapping his fingers. "Right there. Who flagged it?"

    "Uh..." the first trailed off. "Local physician. Just put it in today, actually."

    "No kidding," the second remarked. ¡°Right there in the open? We''re lucky we found her first."

    "Lucky?" the first demanded, his tone shifting drastically as he rose from his seat. "What are you, stupid? Get Tsen on the line now, damnit. If we don''t snatch her up first, someone else-"

    "Right, right," the second said quickly, the urgency immediately dawning upon him as he crossed hurriedly to the other side of the room. Waiting there was another terminal ¨C a flat, rectangular hunk of metal with a faded screen and no more than two buttons at his disposal. And it was in a language of dots and dashes that he typed out the following:

    URGENT URGENT

    ADR. SECTOR 26839273ADF

    GOOD ALL VITAL

    707 FOUND

    REPEAT: 707 FOUND

    -----

    The bar was completely and utterly deserted. It was just that time of day ¨C too late to catch the miners on their way to work, and too early for their return.

    It was odd, Kore thought to herself, seeing the "in-between" of a place like this. What she knew only as a location overflowing with heat and sound and sensation was now as quiet and still as the grave. The irradiated morning sun filtered lazily through a single cloudy skylight, shining down as a singular ray upon an empty space of flooring as though providing a spotlight to some hitherto unseen performer.

    Kore wasn''t usually the type to be thinking such abstract thoughts. Hers had long been a world of hard pragmatism; there was little time to dwell on anything beyond the constant, brutal struggle for survival.

    Then again, she mused to herself ¨C raising a glass of the cheapest liquor available to her lips ¨C she wasn''t a miner anymore, was she? She wasn''t anything anymore. She was just...Kore.

    For the first time in countless years, Kore found herself unsettled.

    The liquid that passed between her lips was among the foulest she had ever tasted.

    "Heh," the bartender ¨C a wiry man with a pencil-thin mustache and a bulky mechanical eye ¨C chuckled, as Kore couldn¡¯t help but pull a disgusted face. "Sure you wanna drink that piss? You can get a whole lot better for not-a-whole-lot-more money, y''know."

    "It''s fine," Kore replied - closing her eyes, tilting her head back, and downing the entire glass in a single gulp. She sighed, waited, then opened her eyes once more ¨C feeling the vile concoction burn and sizzle down her throat all the while. Rancid as it was, at least there was something in her belly now, and already she could feel the sensation of unease beginning to dull.

    "That paycheck was the last one I¡¯ll ever make," Kore declared, raising the empty glass. "Gotta be stingy with it."

    "Laid off?" the bartender asked, taking the glass and setting it aside. "Sorry to hear, friend. Same thing happened to my brother just last week."

    "Mmm," Kore nodded, staring directly ahead as she spoke. "Found out this mornin¡¯ I¡¯m out of a job. Found out yesterday that I got about two years left to live.¡±

    "By the void," the bartender muttered, shaking his head. He turned ¨C reached up ¨C and returned moments later with a fresh glass and a short, wide-bottomed green bottle.

    "Here," he offered, pouring the glass halfway full and sliding it across the bar. Kore caught it deftly, then cocked her head to the side in silent inquiry. "With the day you¡¯re having? It¡¯s on the house."

    Kore hesitated, for a moment - then shrugged and raised the glass to her mouth.

    "Appreciate it," she said, taking a sip. If the first drink was boiling acid, this one was smooth, soothing honey. It seemed to heal where the other had hurt, and it went down like absolutely nothing at all.

    "Void take us all," the bartender was saying, his gaze downcast. "How are folks like us even supposed to live in this world?"

    "One day at a time," Kore offered ¨C keenly aware of the dark irony now present in that old axiom. "One day at a time."

    The door swung open behind her.

    Boots impacted heavy against that old, rotting floor.

    Someone took a seat beside her. Kore didn''t turn ¨C but she saw his face in the mirror all the same. He was a weathered man in a dark-brown coat whose face looked not unlike that of old Earth¡¯s hyenas, his hair hanging down to his neck and his face covered in part by a thick, bushy beard. He bore a scar, too, an angry thing than ran diagonal from his forehead to his chin.

    And he was watching her, now, with a pair of silver eyes.

    "Something I can get you?" the bartender asked, approaching once more.

    "Some privacy," the man grunted.

    "Sure," the bartender replied, unfazed. "You gonna buy, or just sit there?"

    The man''s eyes narrowed.

    "Gimme whatever''s most expensive," he muttered, reaching into his coat and producing a trio of credit chips. "You can drink it yourself, I don''t care."

    The bartender hesitated - his eyes flicked between the two patrons - and then he shrugged, stepping away with chips in hand.

    The two of them sat in silence for some time until, uncharacteristically, it was Kore who spoke first.

    "You''re famous," she observed flatly.

    "Oh?" the man replied, his expression unchanging. "In my line of work, that''s just about the last thing you want to hear."

    "Jiang Tsen," Kore recited, idly turning the empty glass as she spoke. "You''re that bastard who blows people up."

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. "Well, shit," the man chuckled, shaking his head. "That''s an interesting way to frame it."

    "There ain''t no way of framin'' it," Kore replied. "There''s just how it is."

    "What a simple-minded way of looking at the world," Tsen observed. It wasn¡¯t exactly an insult ¨C but it wasn¡¯t entirely a compliment, either. "Might I offer a rebuttal?"

    "You mean a sales pitch?"

    "You see right through me," he admitted, spreading his hands. "May I?"

    "Only if ya leave me alone once you''re done."

    "Heraldry is an organization dedicated to one thing and one thing only," Tsen declared at once, holding aloft a single gloved finger. "It is a thing antithetical to men like Emperor Volsif ¨C and to men like our own Duke Jerohd. It is a thing entirely anathema to this suffocating shape that the few have wrenched the many into."

    Kore reached into her overall-pocket and withdrew a thin cigarette.

    "Freedom," Tsen declared. "That is our only ethos."

    Kore produced a small, oblong cylinder, atop which a trio of coils quickly began to glow.

    "We started in Castillo," Tsen continued. "But we''ve got footholds in Themisto and Harpalyke, too. And everywhere the Heraldry can be found, you will find us pursuing the same goals. The freedom to live without fear of the Emperor''s boot upon your neck. The freedom to live your life unmolested by a cadre of men and women so vastly distant as to be a complete and utter unknown. The freedom to-"

    Kore lit her cigarette, took a drag ¨C then blew a cloud of smoke directly into Tsen''s face.

    "Since when," she said, her cigarette hanging between her fingers, now, "do terrorist groups do sales pitches? And what the hell makes me so void-damned important that the big boss himself is coming here in person to try and sell me on this-" she waved a hand, "-rebellion bullshit?"

    "Active recruitment is something of a difficult task when you''ve got the Duke''s hounds snapping at your heels," Tsen replied, deflecting Kore''s pointed accusations with a jovial chuckle. "As such, we tend to focus more on seeking out specific individuals - combing through public records and seeking out the disenfranchised, those just recently fired or laid off and in search of some greater meaning. Some greater justice in an uncaring world. And, well, Kore...you happened to fit the bill."

    "Hell I do," Kore scoffed. "I don''t give two shits about your idea of justice."

    "Is that so?"

    "''sides," Kore muttered, glancing down at her empty glass. "I wouldn''t be much use as a soldier."

    "Nonsense," Tsen countered, drumming his fingers against the surface of the bar. "I''m sure you-"

    "I got two years to live," Kore snapped, her head finally turning to face the itinerant revolutionary. There was a hint of a tremor in that stony voice, now. "And without the meds that I''ll never be able to afford, I got just a few weeks ''fore I''ll be unable to walk. Way I see it, either I lay in my shithole apartment and wait to starve-" she put a finger-gun up against her chin, "-or I go out on my own terms, ''fore my body turns on me. So, yeah - not gonna be much of a soldier, am I?"

    Tsen just stared in silence, for a moment. Then, without a word, he rose to his feet, pushing his stool in and gesturing for Kore to rise.

    "C''mon outside," he said, simply. "There''s something I wanna show you."

    For a moment, Kore considered hurling her glass right into that smug, sympathetic, pitying face. But the moment passed, and Kore sighed, rising to her feet now as she fished around in her pocket. Now, the bartender was glancing back with a look of concern as Kore set a wad of bills down upon the countertop.

    "Hey, miss..." the bartender trailed off. "That''s ten times what you-"

    "Keep it," Kore said simply, throwing on her coat. "I appreciate the drink and company both."

    "I...thank you," the bartender said, after a moment, scooping the money up into his apron. "You be safe now, miss."

    "Same to you," Kore nodded. And then, at Tsen''s urging, she stepped past - through the door - and out into the frigid world beyond.

    It was snowing on the streets of Callisto - slow, lazy, spiraling flecks of grey that piled silently around the two of them as their exhaled breath turned to faint, misty fog.

    "That sky," Tsen said, pointing straight up. "How long''ve you been looking up at that sky, Kore?"

    Kore looked up - and saw now a grey, swirling mass, the horizon dotted with wicked pillars of choking black smog. And now that she was really listening, she heard it, too - the cacophony of roaring engines and clanging machinery and screams and shouts and bellows and laughs and sobs.

    "My whole life," she answered simply.

    "Then you know," Tsen said quietly, "that it gets darker up there every year."

    "Yeah," Kore muttered, distant now.

    "You hear those sounds?" Tsen asked, his own eyes never leaving that wretched horizon. "Those are the sounds of a city - of a people - being slowly but surely strangled to death. Those are the sounds that a victim makes as the iron grip of industry closes tighter and tighter around the throat of the population - the death-rattle as we all breathe our last."

    Suddenly, and for no discernible reason, Kore''s heart was tight in her chest. For the first time in a long, long time, she felt tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

    "It ain''t fair," was all she managed to choke out.

    "Nothing ever is," Tsen agreed. "What''s happening to Callisto - what''s happening to you. But please, Kore - hear me now."

    Slowly, the larger woman''s head turned. Her shoulders hung heavy with the weight of her own mortality. And she did not speak - she only listened.

    "You say you need some sorta medicine?" Tsen asked. "I have a contact - a wealthy physician, on Ceres - who can get me just about anything the Empire can manufacture. You say that you''re not a soldier? You''ve been doing one of the most dangerous and physically-demanding jobs on this planet for over a decade, and I can tell just from speaking with you that you''ve never once complained. You say that you don''t give a shit about justice?" His eyes locked with hers. "I don''t believe that for a second."

    Now, he extended a hand. Kore''s eyes flicked down - then back up to Tsen''s own.

    "We''ll fix it together, Kore," Tsen declared. "All of it - I swear."

    Kore thought then about her life. She thought of her unremarkable birth, of her mother''s death and her father''s departure - neither of which she was old enough to remember. She thought about the five years she had spent packed with a hundred other children shoulder-to-shoulder in a government ward - a ''waiting room'' for future workers. She thought of every morning that she had awoken with a roaring pain in her back, and her feet, and her shoulders, and she thought of every night she had returned to her bed with such weariness that she could do naught but collapse into unconsciousness.

    And she realized, for the first time in her life, that not once had she ever dreamed.

    Kore made a decision, then. She reached up, took one final drag from her cigarette, let it drop to the pavement below - and shook Tsen''s outstretched hand.

    "Alright," she said simply, crushing the embers beneath her boot. "Let''s get to work."

    -----

    Ten thousand black monoliths hung motionless in suspended animation.

    Deep within the vivid technicolor of the Horsehead Nebula - the birthplace of the stars - these man-made giants loomed in stark contrast to their surroundings, silent and unmoving and yet teeming with countless millions of souls all the same. This was the looming scourge spoken only of in hushed whispers; the interstellar fleet of the Crimson Emir''s infamous Sky-Melter legions.

    These were the vessels of four generations of men, women, and children who had fought for centuries under the Crimson Emir in campaign after campaign at the edges of Known Space, working tirelessly to expand the borders of the Great Domain through a doctrine of fire and blood. These were the vessels of the countless men and women who had defected to the service of their true master - of those for whom continued service to the Crimson Emir had been all but a certainty, and of those who had deserted their posts under the newly-coronated Emperor and fled to their rightful place amongst the Emir''s steadily-growing fleet.

    They were the greatest fighting force the Domain had ever known, all under the command of the greatest warleader the Domain had ever seen.

    Even amongst these titanic vessels, one in particular loomed large over the rest - the Crimson Emir''s personal flagship the Ardenti Manu, a vessel that stretched nearly five miles in length and sported a hull bristling with as many pockmarks and scars as there were weapons protruding from every available nook and cranny. It cast a long, triangular shadow across its fellows, its bridge raised tall and imperious over fifty colossal thrusters opposite a prow bladed not unlike a chipped, well-worn cleaver. It was an angry, violent thing, a shadowy avatar of destruction on a nigh-incomprehensible scale.

    On the bridge of the flagship, now, a sullen-eyed, grey-haired man stood with hands clasped behind his back as dozens of men and women rose slowly from their posts, setting aside their headsets and watching now with wide eyes and open ears as the gaunt-faced man began to speak.

    "Sky-Melters!" he snapped - his voice thin and commanding all at once. "At attention!"

    "Lord-Admiral Typhis!" the crew resounded in unison. "By the Noble Emir, we obey!"

    "Indeed, you do," the Admiral replied coldly, his eyes flicking from face to face as he allowed his words the briefest of moments to resonate. "However, on this day your only orders are to hear - to hear, and to understand!"

    He turned, now, gesturing with a wiry hand to the steel-plate door looming behind him - a door from which nearly a hundred black-scorched skulls hung in a makeshift net inlaid with all manners of glimmering jewels and misshapen bones.

    "I present to you now," the Lord-Admiral shouted, his voice already going hoarse, "the dreaded one! The indomitable - the inevitable! He who wraps himself in death like a shroud, whose every exhalation is that of searing flame and of boiling blood! The pitiless hand! The entropic eye! The true Master of War - and the rightful heir to the Emperor''s throne!"

    Now, the doors began to slide apart, and as metal ground against metal there came both a harrowing shriek and a shower of glowing, flickering sparks.

    "The Crimson Emir!"

    Slowly, from the darkness he came - the deck shuddering with every lumbering footstep as the shadows coalesced into the silhouette of a terrible, looming colossus. Then the shadows, too, peeled away, revealing no man but a giant, a towering figure clad in a tattered old Admiral''s uniform adorned with dozens - nay, hundreds of medals and trinkets and trophies and weapons and bones and topped by a brilliant-crimson cloak thrown over one shoulder.

    "Hail to the Emir!" the crew were chanting now, pounding their fists against their chests in a ritual act of salutation to the vaunted war-maker. And on every other ship in that dreaded fleet all were doing the same, pounding their chests in service to the Emir as they observed the emergence of their leader on any view-screen available.

    The Crimson Emir''s skull was in many ways reminiscent of a well-weathered boulder, criss-crossed as it was with scars and burns alike, and from beneath a heavy brow two beady silver eyes were peering out - intelligent, calculating eyes, in defiance of the Emir''s brutish appearance. These were the eyes of low cunning, of the serpent who waits for many a night before slithering into the nest and devouring the wren''s eggs whole.

    Slowly, the Emir spread his hands - and slowly, a wolf''s grin was growing across his leathery countenance.

    "My children!" the Crimson Emir bellowed, his voice so deep as to echo in one''s very bones. "Today is a fine day for a war - is it not?"

    "War! War! War!" the Sky-Melters thundered in response.

    "My children," the Emir repeated, a hand to his chest now as he took a single step forward. "My loyal, beautiful children. You who remained by my side - even as that whelp Emperor Volsif-" he paused, "-Doss, that is, ripped away my rightful birthright! You, who look now to Mercury as I do with hate roaring like a furnace in your hearts!"

    "Hate! Hate! Hate!"

    "Long have we waited," the Emir continued, "gathering our forces, biding our time, and sitting on our hands while Doss sits upon his stolen throne and dares orchestrate upon my father''s Great Domain! Upon my Great Domain!"

    "Thief! Thief! Thief!"

    "Wise, my children, wise," the warlord nodded. "You have seen through to the true shape of the coward''s pallid soul. He is a thief, and a liar, and a craven, and a pathetic little gutter-whelp who plays at nobility only by my father''s misguided graces!"

    "Thief! Liar! Craven!"

    "Doss believes," the Emir boomed, after a moment, "that he holds the universe in the palm of his hand! What a sad, sad jest. Make no mistake, children, my brother is a capable administrator - but his ego and his arrogance deceive him, and now the whelp believes that he can challenge me in my domain! He believes that we would meet upon the battlefield as equals!"

    "Hail to the great Emir!" one of the crewmen howled, to which another great cacophony of voices rose up.

    "Blessed Mercury!" the Crimson Emir roared, jabbing a finger. "That is where our future lies! And from here to there we shall sear our names across the universe, and baptize its denizens in merciless fire! None shall impede our coming! None shall survive our passing! And when all is said and done, I will mount my brother''s worthless head-" the Emir leapt up, punching wildly at the air, "-on the prow of my flagship!"

    Now, the cheers were truly deafening as the Emir, grinning, inclined his head to the Lord-Admiral waiting silently beside him.

    "All is prepared?" the Emir asked, his voice now a low rumble amidst the deafening cacophony of cheers.

    "Every vessel is loaded and ready, Noble Emir," Typhis replied dryly. "We are but weapons without a target."

    "No longer," the Emir grinned. "It is as I said. We set course for Mercury - and purge any world we encounter. Our passing shall be marked by fiery obliteration."

    "By your will, Noble Emir," Typhis nodded. "I''ll give the orders at once."

    The Lord-Admiral turned away - only to feel an enormous hand rest upon his shoulder.

    "Not yet, Lord-Admiral..." the Emir''s voice came from behind him. "Let the men rejoice, for a time. The time just before the start of a war...it''s a beautiful, electrifying thing. The tension in the air...the potential energy, crackling within your very bones...let them savor it, Lord-Admiral. Let them savor the celebration before the slaughter."

    The Lord-Admiral gave the Crimson Emir a dull-eyed look.

    "Very well, Noble Emir," he said simply, as the warlord settled now into a gargantuan throne draped in all manner of exotic furs. "We depart at your word."

    Thus, the Lord-Admiral stepped away. And thus the Crimson Emir sat upon his throne, chin resting atop a four-fingered fist, and smiled as millions and millions of voices rang out with the sound of his name again and again.

    He closed his eyes, then - saw his brother''s face - and his smile grew even deeper. Oh, what a war it would be. Billions would be dead by the conflict''s fateful conclusion - and he would make certain of it.

 CHAPTER THREE // THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD PASSES OVER

    CYCLE 12872 // MONTH ELEVEN // DAY NINETY-FOUR // REIGN OF BLESSED EMPEROR VOLSIF XCVII

    FIVE MONTHS HAVE ELAPSED

    "One thing is perfectly clear, my Lords - this Heraldry must be stopped."

    There were five of them gathered there in that lavishly-decorated meeting chamber - Duke Jerohd, Marquess Jaheed, General Kellos, Colonel Skanz, and Sain Sahd, chief advisor and elder brother to Callisto''s venerable Duke. The Duke himself was clad in pajamas of the finest silk imported from a place many galaxies away; by contrast, the others remained outfitted in their formal garments and uniforms. For a man like the Duke, the day came to an early close - but for the others, however, there was always more work to be done.

    Kellos was standing at rigid attention. Sain Sahd was watching the proceedings with folded arms and concerned eyes. Skanz was hunched, his gaze downcast and his skin beaded with sweat. And the Duke - the Duke was enraged, pacing with furious intensity as he grit his jaw and clasped his hands tight behind his back, saying nothing all the while.

    Despite the boundless hate Jaheed possessed for his aging progenitor, he couldn''t help but sympathize somewhat with his father''s position. Here he was, the noose closing around his neck - aware of the danger, no doubt, but nevertheless helpless against his own encroaching demise. And now he was forced to contend with this latest string of failures?

    If nothing else, Jaheed certainly didn''t envy the old man.

    "I believe that goes without saying, General," Sain Sahd replied calmly, his eyes following his brother''s movements as the Duke paced and paced. "But there is still the question of how an entire battalion of our finest soldiers was lost to what has been reported as a collection of destitute, vagabond militants."

    "It was a trap..." Colonel Skanz muttered - still refusing to look up at those assembled around him. "Our intelligence division reported rumors of a Heraldry hideout beneath an old, abandoned factory in the Fourth Sector. After much discussion, we decided to roll the dice - if we actually found a Heraldry base, great. If not, what was the harm?"

    "I must reiterate that I was in no way involved with or informed of any of these decisions," Kellos interjected coldly.

    "You-" Skanz started, his head snapping to the stone-faced General.

    "Please, Colonel," Sain Sahd sighed, holding up a hand. "Continue."

    "Well," Skanz said, his eyes flicking down to the floor once more. "We razed the place to the ground and didn''t find a thing. So, we packed up, turned around, and headed out...and that was when they hit us."

    Kellos clicked his tongue but said nothing.

    "They must have numbered nearly a hundred," Skanz continued. "There was one in just about every window of every building, all of them raining down bombs and las-fire in equal measure. I didn''t have the authority to just start firing back at civilian population centers, so...I mean, what recourse did I have? Our only choice was to flee as quickly and expediently as possible."

    Jaheed saw a vein bulge in his father''s forehead, and he knew then with perfect clarity - and no small sense of satisfaction - that the Duke was about to explode.

    "One hundred and seventy-two dead!" the Duke roared, whirling on the trembling Colonel. There he was, finally - the real Duke Jerohd. "Sixty-five wounded! Millions of credits worth of equipment and vehicles lost! Billions of credits worth of damages to my city!"

    "This situation is-" Sain Sahd began.

    "You are losing control!" the Duke shouted, jabbing a spindly mechanical finger at the Colonel''s chest and forcing him back against the wall. "You people are losing control of my world!"

    "This situation is far from ideal," Sahd interjected, holding up his hands and signaling for calm. "All of us know this, Jerohd. The Colonel''s failure is in no way a point of contention. Perhaps a more productive topic of discussion would be-"

    "Do you have any idea what you''ve cost me?" the Duke demanded, ignoring his brother as he stepped even closer to the cowering Colonel. "A new Emperor means a clean slate for the Domain, you understand - a new Emperor means housekeeping! A new Emperor means that for each and every Duke and fiefdom there must be a decision - either to leave things as is or to wipe away the old and usher in the new. And when one of the Emperor''s Scions is paying a personal visit to my dinner table, making thin-veiled threats to my face - which way do you believe Volsif is leaning on Callisto, hmm? Do you believe, Colonel Skanz, that I am blessed to be within the Emperor''s good graces?"

    "I..." the Colonel trailed off, keenly aware that there was no correct answer to the question he had been posed.

    "He will hear of this," the Duke declared, stepping back and turning to face the others. "Make no mistake. He will hear that Duke Jerohd is incapable of imposing order even upon the streets of his capitol city!"

    Silence reigned for some time before, finally, General Kellos spoke.

    "Let me off the leash, Honored Duke," the scar-faced man growled. "No rules of engagement, no restrictions. Gimme as much manpower and firepower as I need and I guarantee within three week''s time Heraldry will be nothing but-"

    "Just get it done!" the Duke shrieked, his choler rising to a fever pitch as he leapt up and down, smashing his fists upon a neighboring desk. "Just do your fucking jobs, you stupid motherfucking...you fucking bastards!"

    "Calm yourself, father," Jaheed cautioned - knowing full well that his words would induce very much the opposite effect. "There''s no need for-"

    "Shut your mouth, boy, or I will knock you off that fucking chair!" Jerohd roared, whirling around. His eyes were wide with a raw, furious sort of terror. "Do you understand what this means for me, all of you? Do you well and truly understand?!"

    "I do," Sain Sahd offered calmly, stepping forward now and resting a hand upon the Duke''s shoulder. "Listen to me, Jerohd. This situation is indeed dire - but I believe it isn''t half as bad as you''re making it out to be."

    Sain was an older man - older than the Duke, even, though his greying hair was the only signifier of his advanced age. Sain had spent a great deal of time amongst the Imperial Court and had, as such, reaped heavily the benefits of Mercury''s gene-modification clinics. Here was man whose influence and experience exceeded anyone on Callisto - even the Duke himself. When Sain Sahd spoke, others listened, for they knew full well that he trafficked in circles far beyond the scopes of their own imaginations.

    "Please," the Duke muttered, pinching his nose and leaning back against the wall. Finally his desperate rage was giving way to weary despondence. "Enlighten me, Sain."

    "Let us consider the facts," Sain began, steepling his fingers. Jaheed was watching him closely, curious as to what measured wisdom - or empty platitudes - the legendary politician had to offer. "This ''Great Undoing'', as Emperor Volsif has coined it - it is almost certain to come with an enormous cost associated. The losses, financial and otherwise, will be staggering for the first dozen-or-so cycles - only a fool could expect otherwise. Your own failures as but drops of water in an ocean of-"

    "He sent his Scion in person," the Duke sighed, hanging his head. "How do you explain that, Sain? And how do I explain, when next a Scion appears, that I''ve lost control of my own void-damned planet?"

    "Maybe," the hawk-faced Kellos interrupted, "what we need, then, is to show the Emperor a display of strength. If I might recount my earlier proposal?"

    The Duke''s eyes narrowed.

    "Enlighten me, General," he ordered.

    "I''m not sure-" Sain started.

    Jaheed leaned forward, now, his chin resting upon his folded hands. Everyone was floundering - which meant that a great many important decisions were about to be made very hastily in the foolish pursuit of immediate results.

    "So, the Emperor believes we''ve lost control?" Kellos asked, loudly cracking his knuckles. "If that''s the case, all we need do is show him that we''ve regained it. Heraldry hide in plain sight amongst the civilians, no? Then let us squeeze the damned commoners - squeeze them until they can hardly breathe and until the rats are forced to come scurrying out. Give me eight-thousand steel-toes, Honored Duke, and we''ll stomp ''em back into shape - just you watch."

    "I concur..." Skanz said quietly - but withering glares from both Jerohd and Kellos silenced the Colonel at once.

    "Violence for violence?" Sain asked, his brow knit with concern. "Is that truly a wise course of action? Think clearly, Jerohd. Don''t allow yourself to be swayed by the dire urgency of this unfortunate night. Patience and cunning in the face of adversity - that is our creed, no?"

    Sain Sahd was extending to a life-vest to the drowning Duke, trying to save him from his own worst impulses - but Jaheed would not allow it.

    "As always, Sain Sahd speaks wisely," Jaheed cut in, bowing his head respectfully as he spoke. "If we press the people harder, surely their only response will be to-"

    "I said shut your wretched little mouth!" the Duke bellowed, whirling around with a book in hand, and Jaheed only narrowly managed to duck the projectile as it came hurtling towards his skull. Now, the Duke''s head snapped to his brother, and his eyes were wide with fury once more.

    "Sain," he growled, his words softening only marginally, "yours is a voice that I will always cherish and respect - but this is no time for soft-hearted diplomacy. These are hard times, my brother, and hard times call for hard men to make hard decisions."

    The Duke turned, now, to Kellos, and it took all of Jaheed''s composure not to break into a wicked grin. It was almost too easy to goad his damnable father.

    "Kellos. You said eight thousand?" Jerohd demanded.

    "Aye, Honored Duke."

    "You''ll get twenty," Jerohd snapped, turning sharply and gesturing over his shoulder. "The gloves are off. Kill people, burn their homes, I don''t give a fuck. Anything can be rebuilt - just fix the problem, Kellos, or I''ll be offering your head to the Emperor instead of my own."

    At that, the meeting was concluded.

    "By your will, Honored Duke," all intoned - some more reluctantly than others. And it was not five minutes later that Jaheed and Sahd were conversing quietly in that same chamber, after the others had all departed one-by-one.

    "You spoke with that Scion, didn''t you?" Sain Sahd asked casually, a long cigar now clenched between his teeth. "He told you something, offered you some assurance - otherwise, you''d never move against your father in such a fashion. It''s both your necks on the line, you know."

    "Our necks - but not yours?" Jaheed smirked, deftly deflecting the accusation. "You''re Mercury noble before you''re a Callisto native, is that right?"

    "I asked you first."

    "I don''t know what you''re talking about," Jaheed shrugged innocently. "I merely felt it wise to concur with your counsel, as I often do."

    "Uh huh," Sain deadpanned, blowing from between his teeth a cloud of dark, glittering smoke. "To what end, I wonder?"

    "To a powerful and prosperous Callisto, of course. Isn''t that what we all want?"

    "You know," Sain observed, after a moment, his stony eyes shifting to regard the crippled Marquess, "you''re not particularly good at it now, either - but you used to be much, much worse at lying to me."

    "You taught me everything you know," Jaheed chuckled, unable to surpress the pang of pride he felt at the words of his childhood mentor. "Now c''mon, Sain - ''retired'' or not, I know full well that your contacts on Mercury still keep you in the loop. Tell me something interesting."

    "You think I taught you everything?" Sain scoffed. "By the void, you''re even duller than I thought. But I''ll say this, Jaheed - whatever promises that Scion offered you, I hope for your own sake that they were something tangible. I''ve known Ket Sal for many years, young Marquess, and not even in my most desperate hour would I ever leave my fate in the hands of that man."

    "My fate is my own," Jaheed declared after a moment, his smile fading - to which the older man let out a dry chuckle.

    "Ha," Sain said flatly. "You know, Jaheed - if ever you get the chance to visit Holy Mercury, I recommend that you take it. I believe it might very well shift your perspective on a few things."

    "It might," Jaheed retorted - growing annoyed, now. "Or perhaps it would only confirm that which I already know."

    "Tch," Sain scoffed, shaking his head. He stepped forward, moving to leave - then stopped, glancing back over his shoulder at the crippled heir.

    "Whatever it is you need to do to impress him," Sain offered, after a moment, "I''d advise that you do it soon."

    "Oh?"

    "Indeed," Sain replied coldly. "Because your father''s time is running low."

    With that, Sain Sahd keyed the door - and stepped out into the hallway as the Marquess hovered after him.

    "Wait - Sain!" Jaheed called, suddenly desperate to catch up with the older man. "Is that just an estimation? Or did you actually hear something from one of your contacts? What-"

    The door hissed shut - and then Jaheed was alone.

    -----

    Just ten minutes later Jaheed was hovering down one of the palace''s innumerable winding halls, his fingers tapping against the armrest as his mind roiled and rolled with a storm of frantic thought.

    What had he done to impress the Scion? There has been nothing - no projects, no initiatives, nothing he could stamp his name on and point to and say I did that. His father had long ago stripped his power down to the barest minimum, leaving him with not even the most minuscule of responsibilities. So what, then? How could he possibly avail himself to that yellow-eyed Scion?

    So thoroughly engrossed was the young Marquess in his thoughts that only at the last possible second did he realize he was on the verge of colliding one of the palace''s innumerable servants. His hand moved to halt the hoverchair at once - but the attempt came too late, and so servant and chair impacted quite solidly against one another.

    "Guh!" Jaheed grunted, his chair lurching back before settling into place a few feet above the carpeted floor. "Watch where you''re-"

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    He blinked, then, taken aback as he was by two significant details. The first was that the woman before him lacked the cranial scars of a lobotomite - and the second was that she was by far the most intimidating servant he had ever encountered. She towered over him, her hair hanging shaggy and unkempt over a square-jawed skull held aloft by a thick, muscular neck. The entirety of her frame exuded raw strength, albeit barely restrained by the gold-and-white uniform of Callisto''s servant corps. And she was looking at the Marquess now with something that only passingly resembled deference.

    "Apologies, m''lord," the servant intoned, dropping at once to a knee and bowing her head. "The fault''s mine."

    Jaheed was observing her with a quizzical expression, now. What an unusual sight!

    Nevertheless, there was much work to be done - and little time to be spent on such insignificant little details.

    "Carry on," Jaheed said simply, waving a dismissing hand as he floated past the kneeling servant - and then, on a whim, he came to a halt once more.

    "Actually-" he called, turning to face the servant as she rose cautiously to her feet, "-a word, servant, if I may."

    "By all means, m''lord," the woman replied, bowing her head once more. "Is there something you need?"

    "There," Jaheed declared, snapping her fingers. "Right there, you said it again - m''lord. Why?"

    "I''m not-" the servant began.

    A small smirk was forming across Jaheed''s face.

    "You have no idea who I am," he asked, more amused than angered, "do you?"

    The servant opened her mouth - struggled, visibly, to determine the proper response - and then declared with not a hint of irony:

    "Truth be told, sir, there''s dozens of you nobles runnin'' around this place - I can''t hardly keep all your names straight."

    "Ha!" Jaheed laughed - a genuine laugh, one that surprised even himself. "Might I surmise, then, that you''ve only just recently started at this position?"

    "That''s right," the servant nodded. "Uh. M''lord."

    "There you go again," Jaheed chuckled. "Alright, look - let me help you out here. Me? The one in the hoverchair?" He pointed to his chest. "I am Marquess Jaheed Vell, firstborn son to Duke Jerohd Vell. As a servant, the proper honorific would be Lord Marquess."

    "Understood, Lord Marquess," the servant briskly, inclining her head. "I''ll be mindful in the future."

    Still, Jaheed was observing the towering woman with a certain amused interest. Her manner of speaking was so crude, so unrefined - and despite her paltry efforts to conceal it, it was blatantly clear that she held not even the barest shred of reverence or respect for the noble-born standing before her. Who was this woman?

    "Your build," Jaheed asked, after a moment. "You don''t look much like a servant."

    "As you said, Lord Marquess, I only just started here."

    "And what manner of work were you doing before this?" Jaheed asked, raising an eyebrow. "Fabrication? Cordite extraction? Soldiering?"

    "The second, Lord Marquess," the woman replied evenly. She folded her arms. "Did that for close to a decade."

    "A decade?" Jaheed let out a low whistle. "I''ve heard that''s grueling work. Dangerous, too."

    "Is what it is," the servant simply shrugged. "S''behind me now, anyway."

    "That''s a rather pragmatic way of viewing the world," Jaheed observed, after a moment. "I can''t say I''d see things quite the same."

    "That so, Lord Marquess?"

    "Indeed," the young noble nodded, suddenly distracted. "I...let it suffice to say I was born with something of a restless soul. I''d be quite incapable of just sitting idly by and accepting my circumstances."

    "Beg your pardon, Lord Marquess," the servant interrupted. "But I didn''t accept anything. I didn''t like my situation, so I changed it - and now I''m here."

    Jaheed was silent, for a moment - and then he burst into a peal of laughter that surprised even himself.

    "I suppose you''ve got me there," he chuckled, still taken somewhat aback by his own sudden response. "I suppose you''ve got me there."

    There was an odd moment of silence between them - and then Jaheed quite abruptly cleared his throat.

    "At any rate," he said, "for me, time is a commodity that I can hardly afford to spend on idle chatter. Nevertheless, it was quite the unexpected pleasure conversing with you..." His eyes flicked down to the servant''s nameplate. "...Kore."

    "And you as well, Lord Marquess," Kore replied, bowing her head once more.

    At that, Jaheed turned, floating away once more - and all the while as he hovered down hall after hall he puzzled over that trivial, unimportant conversation.

    And he puzzled, too, over the fact that he wanted nothing to go back and continue speaking with her.

    -----

    Kore waited until the nobleman had disappeared around the corner before letting out an enormous sigh, leaning back with one arm against the wall for support.

    This, she thought to herself, was madness - madness! What in the name of the void was she doing here?!

    I want you on the inside, Tsen had told her, a neatly-folded servant''s uniform in his hands. Her presence, as well as the presence of four other Heraldry agents, was the product of nearly five months'' work manufacturing identities, altering databases, and greasing palms. It had, Kore knew, been nothing short of a herculean effort on Tsen''s part - so why was she one of those chosen to carry out its conclusion?

    Ever since the day Tsen recruited her, Kore had been a rising star - a tough, determined, focused soldier with a reputation for utter fearlessness in the face of death. Fighting and killing, Kore had discovered, were little more than another skill-set to learn and execute, and she set about it with the same quiet diligence she had long applied to cordite extraction. And thus, her favor had grown, quickly eclipsing the vast majority of her contemporaries, and soon Kore had found herself just on the outside of Tsen''s inner circle - despite her long-professed indifference to being anything other than a simple cog in a machine.

    But this - this assignment made not even an iota of sense to her. Kore was a fighter, an enforcer, and at times an assassin. But she was certainly no spy. And yet here she now stood, rubbing shoulders with men of terrifying, unimaginable power amidst wealth and finery the likes of which Kore could hardly have even conceived.

    There were upsides, of course. The bed, for one, was the most comfortable Kore had ever slept upon, and the food was nothing short of astounding. And the work, too - absolutely effortless, compared to that with which Kore had spent the majority of her life. In a certain sense this was almost a vacation - albeit a vacation surrounded by men and women who could order her killed with a thought.

    Kore glanced back at the corner behind which the nobleman had disappeared and sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. That was the Duke''s son! Her foolishness could very well have come at the cost of her life!

    There could be no more mistakes, she thought to herself - rising to her full height now and striding down the hall once more. Get in. Be invisible. Do the job. Get out. That would be her mantra, her guiding words by which she would survive this strange and deadly place.

    "Kore!" a voice snapped - and she turned to see the Majordomo, a pencil-thin man called Qoxas, storming towards her with an accusing finger raised high. "Washroom 7-B remains in appalling condition! I instructed you to-"

    Get in.

    Be invisible.

    Do the job.

    Get out.

    "Apologies, Master Qoxas," Kore bowed, stepping past the incensed steward without meeting his eyes - and feeling the blade concealed in her sock pressing hard against her ankle. "I''ll see to it at once."

    -----

    And thus, a series of uneventful weeks passed. While Kore devoted herself to her work - and to noting the positions of both guards and security systems alike - Jaheed engrossed himself fully into policymaking, exerting what power he did wield for the first time in many years. Every project, every initiative, every undertaking - his name would be present at the conclusion of every one of them. He would make certain of it.

    Once, while attending a routine ceremony in the palace''s opulent foyer, Jaheed had caught sight of her - the strange, coarse-tongued servant that had intrigued him so.

    They locked eyes, for a moment - and then the ceremony was dispersed, and Kore was gone.

    And thus both Jaheed and Kore returned to their tasks at hand.

    -----

    Behind four plate-armored guards, behind a three-inch thick metal door, and within a sound-dampening field the Lord and Master of Castillo stood at attention, hands folded behind his back.

    A bead of sweat ran down the side of Jerohd''s face.

    It was a deep, dark, quiet place that the Duke now inhabited, all black metal and dim-glowing white lights and absent in every way of the opulence and decoration that festooned every inch of his grand palace. Behind him, there was an unpadded chair; before him, there loomed a holoprojector, its primary eye colorless and silent.

    Jerohd glanced down - checked his ornate timepiece - and found, to his silent dismay, that the allotted time had come.

    "Put him on," the Duke ordered, his hoarse voice echoing about that empty chamber. In response, mere moments later the holoprojector whirred to life, flickering and pulsating until finally the streams of colored light resolved themselves into a coherent image - and thus, there before him now stood the Crimson Emir.

    The disgraced warlord towered over the venerable Duke, his massive arms folded across his chest and his mouth split by a crooked grin - and he watched now with wry amusement as Jerohd dropped to a knee and pressed fist to chest in salute.

    "Most Noble Emir," the Duke intoned, his gaze downcast. The words were like acid in his mouth. "It is my honor to stand before the true Emperor of the Great Domain."

    It was far from the first time Jerohd had been forced to relay those wretched words - and it was unlikely to be the last, either.

    "Heh," the Crimson Emir scoffed. "I''m sure it is. Rise, Jerohd - I''ve little time for pleasantries today."

    Slowly, Jerohd rose, forcing himself now to meet the Emir''s black-eyed gaze. That the warlord was short on time came as little surprise - just seven months prior the Emir''s Sky-Melter fleet had burst from the Horsehead Nebula and set at once upon a course of fiery devastation, gouging a hideous wound across the face of the new Emperor''s Great Domain as planet after planet were turned to little more than smouldering black rock. Already, the death toll had risen to an uncountable sum. The Emperor had enlisted no less than three Blessed Fleets to staunch the bleeding - but they had failed to even slow the Emir''s pace.

    Now, rumor had it, the Emperor was gathering the myriad forces of the Great Domain together for a new offensive - leaving the outer systems at the mercy of the Emir.

    All of this, of course, meant little to Duke Jerohd - if anything, it served only to confirm that he had bet on the winning hratha-beast. And it was this that the Duke now silently reminded himself of as he stared up at the leering giant before him.

    "There..." Jerohd began, momentarily uncertain as to whether or not he should speak in the formal tongue. "There''s been a delay, Noble Emir."

    "Hmm," the Emir rumbled, his expression unchanging. "Tell me."

    "You remember the insurgent group of which I''ve spoken - Heraldry?"

    "Vaguely."

    "Well..." the Duke trailed off. "They''ve dealt us quite a substantial blow - a blow from which we will need some time to recover, Noble Emir, and against which we must invest significant time and resources if we wish to see it healed."

    "An attack?" the Emir asked, blatantly unconcerned. "Lamentable."

    "An ambush," Jerohd corrected. "A costly one - and, more importantly, a highly public one. The commonfolk find themselves inspired and aggrieved."

    "As they so often do," the Emir chuckled. He seemed to almost delight in the Duke''s misfortune. "Entropy exists in all things, Jerohd. Every human heart trends towards violence, given time."

    "Of course..." Jerohd muttered, glancing away - able to withstand the Emir''s gaze no longer. "But the point, Lord Emir, is that my monthly tithe will be either quite significantly diminished or quite significantly delayed. I have neither men nor equipment nor funds to spare in the wake of this ongoing crisis."

    "Mmh," the Emir rumbled, his smile fading. "Yes, you do."

    "Noble Emir, please believe me when I say-"

    "The men exist," the Emir declared simply. "The equipment exists. The money exists. You''ve simply deemed another cause more worthy of your attention."

    "That''s not-"

    "I will have my tithe," the Emir said. "Or you will have nothing. It is a simple equation."

    Beneath his mask of calm, the Duke was struggling to suppress his rising anger. His exchanges with the Crimson Emir were never man-to-man - they were that of a man speaking to an indomitable force of nature, of one attempting negotiation with a hurricane or an oncoming meteor. Callisto''s needs and desires were nothing before the will of the hated Emir.

    "Then," Jerohd said quietly, meeting the Emir''s eyes once more. "There is another matter to discuss."

    "Oh?"

    "That of what has been promised to me," the Duke growled, finally allowing the mask to slip. "Every day, the Emperor''s vultures circle closer and closer. His Scion eyes my Dynasty like a prospective meal. I receive news from Mercury only by the mouth of my elder brother. My own son-" Jerohd''s hands clenched tight into fists, "-plots against me, while the Emperor''s yellow-eyed bastards whisper honeyed promises into his ear. And this setback?" Jerohd scoffed. "Just another mark against me in the eyes of that damned whelp they call Emperor."

    The smile was spreading across the Emir''s face once more - no expression of mirth, but rather a display of sharpened teeth.

    "Speak plainly," the Crimson Emir said.

    "I want you to do as you promised," Jerohd demanded - a slight tremble in his voice, now. "Bring Callisto into the fold. Liberate me from the Emperor''s clutches - and every man, woman, and child on Callisto will be pledged to your side, Noble Emir."

    The Emir was silent, for a moment - and Jerohd could tell that his silence came not from indecision, but from savoring the Duke''s desperate demands. Then, finally, the warlord spoke:

    "The Sky-Melters shall arrive in one-point-seven cycles, as scheduled. Then you shall have your liberation."

    "That wasn''t the deal, damnit!" Jerohd snapped, jabbing a finger at the flickering hologram. "You promised me salvation! The Emperor''s jaws close around my neck as we speak - in one-point-seven cycles, I will be dead! My family, dead! My Dynasty, eradicated! And now you tell me that all you intend to do is stand around and-"

    "You would renege upon our agreement?" the Emir asked, cocking his head to the side.

    The Duke understood then, on some subconscious level, that it was all over.

    "Piss off," Jerohd spat, gesturing with one hand for the transmission to cease. "Both you and your brother are blights upon the Domain."

    "Indeed!" the Emir agreed, breaking into a grin. "Finally, you underst-"

    Abruptly, the holoprojector went silent - and Jerohd was alone now in darkness.

    He stood there, unmoving, for some time, his expression clouded in shadow. And then, finally, he moved to depart, his shoulders hanging heavy as he crossed to the other side of the chamber. At his presence, the doors hissed open, bathing the chamber in the warm glow of the outside hall.

    No sooner had the venerable Duke passed through the bounds of the sonic-dampening field than he was leaping back, eyes wide with abject shock as his ears were met with a deafening cacophony of explosions, laser-fire, and screams, all of it at once so blaring and overwhelming that for a moment all thought-function in the Duke''s head simply ceased.

    Then, he looked down - saw the corpses of his guards, their armor-plating punched clean through - and he staggered back, a hand over his mouth as he struggled not to retch. The air was thick with the smell of charred flesh and burning metal, sticking to the inside of his throat and making even the act of drawing breath a difficult, arduous exercise.

    And yet even then, despite the overwhelming evidence assaulting each and every one of his sense, Jerohd did not truly understand the nature of what was happening until eight black-and-jade-armored commandos rounded the corner with a gold-embellished Se-dai at their helm.

    Eight disruptor rifles were leveled at once - and the Se-dai stepped forward, a monomolecular blade extending soundlessly from the Blessed Executioner''s arm.

    Now, Jerohd truly understood.

    "Most-Hallowed and Thrice-Blessed Lawgiving Empyreal Duke of the Ninth Creed Jerohd Kraet Daeshar Vell - Sovereign Lord and Master of Callisto," the Se-dai intoned, her words as cold and hard as steel. Her gorget read, in the ancient script, CHRONOS.

    "The Seventh-Venerated Holy Emperor Volsif XCVII - Grand Architect of the Great Domain - demands you stand before him, in accordance with an Imperial Crux ratified by ninety-seven of the Holy Dynasties. Will you submit?"

    The Duke was silent for a long, long time, even as screams ripped through the air and explosions shook the ground beneath his feet. Then, finally, his gaze lifted - and he stared at death head-on.

    "Not a single face among you," Jerohd sighed, somehow unafraid. "No eyes to look into - just nine boring, expressionless visors. I never imagined my last view would be one so dull."

    The Duke''s hand drifted back.

    "Don''t," the Se-dai said. It was an order, not a warning.

    "To the void with this," Jerohd scoffed, a humorless smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I''ll go out on my own terms."

    In a flash, there appeared in his hand a concealed, ornate las-pistol - a century-old gift from his late father - and without hesitation Jerohd leveled the weapon at the closest soldier and squeezed the trigger with cold determination in his eyes and roaring, billowing hate inside his heart.

    But, of course, the Se-dai was already upon him.

 CHAPTER FOUR // BEDLAM

    +CYCLE 12872 // MONTH THIRTEEN // DAY SIXTY-TWO //

    TIME // 20:57:22

    Two Agamemnon-Class Imperial voidships emerge into realspace just outside Callisto''s defense-grid.

    TIME // 21:23:45

    Imperial Agents embedded in security-critical positions neutralize both Callisto''s planetary defense-batteries and early-warning system. The arrival of the voidships goes undetected by the Callisto Royal Defense Force.

    TIME // 21:25:18

    Eight Amenhotep-Class assault-vessels are deployed from the voidships. The dropships descend through the layers of Callisto''s artificial atmosphere. Simultaneously, Imperial Agents make use of three Steiman-type devices to envelop the Royal Palace in a communication-deafening bubble. The palace is now rendered mute, deaf, and blind.

    TIME // 21:34:49

    Dropships reach the Royal Palace, and both the 34th and 98th Mercurian Liquidator shock-troop battalions breach the palace through six distinct points of egress. They are joined by the Holy Se-dai warriors Oshun, Chronos, Sekhmet, and Bhagavan.

    TIME // 21:36:42

    Surprised and disjointed, palace security is slow to respond. The Liquidators sweep through the palace section-by-section and execute any and all combatants. Non-combatants - servant and noble alike - are either executed as well or rounded up and gathered in the central foyer.

    TIME // 21:38:57

    Duke Jerohd Vell is identified and neutralized by the Holy Se-dai warrior Chronos.

    TIME // 21:42:26

    Palace Security rallies, and Liquidator forces are temporarily pushed back.

    TIME // 21:44:02

    Liquidator forces counter-attack and begin to decimate any surviving security personnel.

    TIME // 21:47:43

    Marquess Jaheed Vell is identified by Liquidator forces.

    <hr>

    Jaheed was staring straight down the barrel of a gun.

    His hoverchair lay beside him, charred and smoking and riddled with holes - and he, too, was sprawled out upon the carpeted floor, his crippled legs refusing even now to respond to his mind''s frantic commands.

    This was too soon. This was far, far too soon.

    It had came without warning - one moment, everything was calm and quiet, and the next Jaheed''s lifelong home had transformed into a nightmarish battlefield. Black-and-jade soldiers that Jaheed knew well could only be the Emperor''s Liquidators had swept like a storm throughout the palace, slaughtering the inhabitants with almost mechanical efficacy.

    Palace Security had come at once to escort Jaheed from his chamber to his family''s underground bunker, one located miles beneath Callisto''s surface. Jaheed, of course, had acquiesced - and now, here he was, surrounded by the corpses of his guards and having made it not even halfway to the elevator waiting on the other side of the palace.

    "You don''t understand!" Jaheed was shouting, his voice raw with desperation. "I am the Duke''s son - his firstborn!"

    "Uh huh," the Liquidator replied, his voice muffled by his narrow-visored helmet. His partner beside him let out a dry chuckle. "Sure you are."

    "By the Seventy-Fifth Imperial Precept, only the Blessed Executioners may lay harm upon one of noble birth, or one of direct relation!" Jaheed snapped, holding himself partly aloft on his elbows. It was a shameful, undignified position - but at the moment, being forced to grovel before these lowborn scum was the least of Jaheed''s concerns. "It doesn''t matter what state my family is in - as of this moment, we are still nobility, and you are still a dead man if you so much as touch me!"

    Then, there was a blur - a short, sharp stab of pain - and Jaheed''s head snapped back as the rifle-butt impacted hard against his jaw. He scrabbled back, now, eyes wide with fear and hand covering a mouth rapidly filling with blood as the Liquidators let out harsh, barking laughs.

    "Shut him up pretty good," the second chuckled, to which the first stepped forward and pressed the barrel of his disruptor-rifle against the stricken Marquess''s skull once more.

    "Do you have any idea," the soldier growled, "how many dead, dumb bastards have claimed to be the Duke''s kid today?"

    "Everyone''s a highborn when they''re under the gun," his companion added. "Funny coincidence, that."

    "You- you-" Jaheed stuttered, still reeling from the pain that scorched across the surface of his skull like wildfire. "You idiots! You really don''t know-"

    "I mean, really - you expect us to believe that you''re a highborn cripple?" the first scoffed - and with a trio of low tones, his weapon primed to fire. "Can''t fault ya for tryin'', I guess."

    "Listen - I made a deal!" Jaheed shouted, raising his hands. "I spoke with the Scion - with Ket Sal! He promised me-"

    The Liquidator''s finger tightened on the trigger.

    And then, in the corner of his vision, Jaheed saw her.

    <hr>

    Kore was, in every sense of the word, a pragmatist. She had never been one to bemoan her situation, nor one to sit in baffled bewilderment at changing circumstances. To her, the situation was just that - the situation. Her only response was to take in the new information, process it, and then act or respond accordingly. It was thus that even the news of her impending death had - for a time, anyway - hardly fazed the hard-headed ex-miner.

    And it was, then, for this reason that Kore''s immediate reaction upon hearing the explosions and screams tearing through the air was to leap out of her bed, don her boots, tuck her knife into her sock, and run as fast as her feet would carry her.

    She had, briefly, considered hiding in her room and killing any who dared approach. But she knew well that Palace Security employed las-rifles in the Vell family''s defense - and she heard quite clearly the sounds of deep laser-retorts being drowned out by shrill, shrieking disruptor-fire. Whoever the invaders were, they were defeating Palace Security quite soundly, and thus the only logical course of action was to escape the palace as quickly and efficiently as possible.

    All around her were grisly scenes. Corpses of guards and servants alike were strewn wildly about, every one of them shredded nearly to pieces by repeated disruptor-fire. The palace''s ornate finery, too, had been reduced to smouldering wreckage - statues riddled and blackened, paintings and rugs burning, stained-glass windows shattered to pieces. There was a thick, dark haze to the air, and Kore was forced to tear her sleeve free and tie it into a makeshift mask as it grew increasingly difficult to breathe.

    She made a turn - saw a dozen Liquidators with their backs turned, gunning down fleeing servants - and whirled around, choosing instead to make her way down an opposite passage the walls of which were streaked and splattered with melted blood.

    Another turn, then another, then down a flight of stairs - ignoring a bisected guards, his entrails dragging behind him as he bellowed without a voice - and then Kore came skidding to an abrupt halt.

    There were two Liquidators, one observing silently while the other held a young man at gunpoint. Kore turned at once to leave - and then, almost involuntarily, her eyes drifted back, and she saw then that the man on the floor was none other than the crippled Marquess.

    He was saying something, gesticulating wildly as the barrel of the gun was pressed against his head.

    Kore watched in silence as the crippled young man was about to be executed - and then, despite it all, despite everything, she couldn''t help but feel it. A pang of sympathy.

    Get in.

    Be invisible.

    Do the job.

    Get out.

    That was the mantra that Kore repeated once more, to herself - and then she leapt forward.

    <hr>

    "Tough luck," the Liquidator scoffed. He squeezed the trigger - and then, with a blur, he was gone, his rifle discharging a bolt of molten orange directly between Jaheed''s legs as it went spinning across the empty space where he had once stood.

    The other Liquidator whirled, raised his rifle - and had just a moment to see the dark-eyed rebel looming over him before she came crashing down, grabbing the barrel of his weapon and yanking it to the side as she slammed her fist hard into his abdomen.

    The soldier let out a muffled cough of pain, staggered - but still, his rifle discharged, and now it was Kore who cried out as the white-hot barrel boiled the skin of her palm.

    Still, she did not let go - instead jerking the rifle from the Liquidator''s hands and smashing the butt of the weapon against his helmet, shattering his visor and heavily denting his mask. He lurched, dropped to a knee - and in one smooth series of motions Kore flipped the rifle, tucked it neatly into her shoulder, and leveled it square against the Liquidator''s now-exposed visor.

    "Kore!" Jaheed shouted, just as the ex-miner detected a hint of movement in her peripheral vision, and she had only a fraction of an instant to whirl around before the other Liquidator tackled her head on, taking her all the way across the hall and slamming her hard against the wall. In his hands now was a grey-steel mag-knife, the edges of which rippled and blurred as it inched closer and closer to Kore''s throat, its glowing bottom-edge searing a molten trail across the top of the rifle between them.

    The first Liquidator was on his knees, coughing, scrambling for a weapon - and just as he reached for the pistol on his hip he felt a pair of pale, lanky hands wrap themselves around his waist.

    "No, you don''t!" Jaheed bellowed, to which the Liquidator simply backhanded the nobleman hard across the face. Jaheed fell - but as he did, his hand closed around the grip of the pistol, and so he yanked it free from its holster as the Liquidator stomped towards him death blazing in his exposed eyes.

    The Liquidators were brutal, efficient, storied fighters, all of them veterans of countless battles. The were trained from a young age to fight and to kill and thus their bodies were in peak condition, honed and hardened through constant and continuous violence. However - in a contest of raw strength, no Liquidator stood a chance against a woman who had grown up working the hellish cordite mines of Callisto. And so, gradually, Kore forced the knife back, the veins bulging in her neck and her face thick with sweat as every muscle in her body strained, and as the pain of her ruined palm rose to a fever pitch there came from deep within her a roar of equal parts fury and agony.

    Kore shoved the Liquidator back - pounded his chest with a trio of titanic blows, then dropped down to one knee and reached for her concealed blade - only for her head to snap around at the sound of a disruptor-pistol''s sharp retort.

    Jaheed lay on the floor, bleeding and bruised - but alive, nevertheless, the pistol smoking in his hand as his assailant plummeted like a stone with a trio of smoldering holes in his breastplate.

    His eyes met Kore''s own - and then they went wide.

    "Behind you!" he shouted - but Kore was already turning, feeling the cold steel of the blade in her hand as she rose to meet the surviving Liquidator''s attack.

    She took a punch to the chin, spat, and blocked another, wrenching the man''s arm aside and slashing open his throat with one short, sharp gesture.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    And then, as the second body hit the floor, nobleman and rebel turned to face each other once more.

    Kore was panting heavily, her entire body drenched in sweat and her hair hanging matted and uneven over her face. A trickle of blood ran from her left nostril, and both her knuckles were purple and swollen.

    Jaheed, too, was drenched in sweat, his robes tattered and disheveled and his face bloodied and bruised from the Liquidator''s beatings. His own hair, usually slicked back, was now hanging down in every direction conceivable, and both his hands were trembling involuntarily.

    They just stood like that, for a moment, both of them exhausted beyond words - and then, finally, Jaheed spoke.

    "It''s you..." he trailed off, his voice distant, and Kore could see at once that the nobleman was in shock. "The-that servant. I remember you."

    "Yeah," Kore nodded simply, between ragged breaths. "It''s me."

    Another long moment passed between them - and then Kore bent down, scooped up a disruptor-rifle, and turned to leave.

    "Wait!" Jaheed called, as the towering woman strode away. "What are you doing?!"

    "Leaving," Kore replied, over her shoulder. "I advise you do the same."

    "I-I-" Jaheed sputtered, momentarily at a loss for words. "I can''t, you disloyal cur! I can''t even walk!"

    "Not my problem," Kore shrugged, examining the rifle as she continued down the hall.

    "I am highborn!" Jaheed bellowed, struggling to rise on his elbows. "I command you to halt!"

    "Really?" Kore snapped - whirling around to face the stricken Marquess. Exhaustion, confusion, and the slowly-fading adrenaline of recent battle were all coursing through her veins as she spoke. "You really think that matters? Here? Now? You think anyone gives a shit who''s born when or where?"

    "Of course not!" Jaheed shot back - himself, too, momentarily lost in the sheer mania of all that had occured. "I was about to die at the hands of a lowborn, and despite all of my power and all of my influence and all of my titles I couldn''t do a thing about it! You think I don''t realize the situation I''m in?" He gestured to his ruined legs. "You don''t think I realize how utterly powerless I am?"

    "Then maybe don''t try and boss folks around," Kore scoffed, shaking her head and turning away. "Arrogant little shit."

    "I''m asking you," Jaheed called, his voice cracking - and again, this time after a moment, Kore paused. She closed her eyes and sighed.

    "Please," Jaheed''s voice came. "Kore. I''m not asking you as a noble, or as a highborn. I''m asking you as a fellow human being."

    Slowly, the ex-miner turned, and her eyes fell upon the Marquess'' pitiful form.

    "Help me," Jaheed said, and Kore saw terror in his eyes. "Please. I don''t want to die."

    Get in.

    Be invisible.

    Do the-

    With a heavy sigh Kore stepped forward, wrapped an arm around the Marquess'' waist, and heaved, hoisting the nobleman over her shoulder - keenly aware, all the while, that she had been conspiring for months to see this man and his family dead. Keenly aware that the shockingly weightless young man hoisted over her shoulder was the enemy, the force that had been choking the life out of Callisto''s people for generations. Keenly aware that there was no logical reason not to snap his wretched neck right here and now.

    "Thank you," Jaheed said quickly. "Your reward shall-"

    "You wanna live?" Kore growled. "Keep your mouth shut."

    "Noted."

    And then they were off.

    <hr>

    "Left!" Jaheed ordered - just as Kore hooked a sharp right turn.

    "I said left!" the highborn repeated, his brow furrowing. "That''s the way to the bunker!"

    "Ain''t goin'' to the damn bunker," Kore grunted, deftly surmounting a railing and sidestepping a pair of Liquidator corpses.

    "What?" Jaheed demanded - still hanging upside-down behind her back. "Are you mad? It''s the safest place-"

    "You really think they won''t clear that bunker out, too?" Kore scoffed, rounding another corner. "Safest place to be is as far away from here as possible."

    "That-" Jaheed began - then, he fell silent as plans and possibilities arced across his mind like crackling electricity. Ten seconds later the Marquess had devised exactly the most logical course of action.

    "Okay, listen," he said, to which Kore merely offered another grunt. "I have a friend in a high position at a spaceport twenty kilometers from here. The Emperor''s forces should be mostly confined to the palace itself. If we manage to escape and hit the streets, I should be able to get us swift and anonymous passage offworld - unless, of course, there''s a blockade in place, in which case..." He trailed off. "Well, I suppose we''ll gave to find some rathole to cower in until the danger has passed."

    Kore had no intention of doing any of that. In fact, her primary intention was to simply dump the nobleman on the street and immediately get as far away from him as possible. Already she was beginning to question and regret her decision to save him - and, in equal measure, she was already imagining what Heraldry would do to Jaheed if they caught him. She might very well have rescued him from a swift execution, only to deliver him unto hours of agonizing torture.

    "So, really," Jaheed''s voice came from behind, interrupting her thoughts. "Who are you?"

    It was a lot easier to feel sorry for him when he wasn''t talking.

    "We had this discussion already," Kore muttered, stumbling momentarily but quickly regaining her footing. "I''m Kore."

    "You just attacked two of the Emperor''s men with not an ounce of hesitation."

    "Like I said," Kore replied through gritted teeth. "I was a miner. It''s tough work."

    "Bullshit," Jaheed shot back. "I spend every waking day surrounded by liars - do you really think I don''t know how to spot one?"

    "I-damnit!" Kore snapped, her patience wearing thin. "Do you really wanna know the answer to that question, smart guy? Or do you just wanna sit tight and shut up while I save your ass?"

    Jaheed considered it, briefly.

    "Fair point," he conceded, finally. "I just-Kore!"

    The ex-miner skidded to a halt and whirled around, bringing her scavenged disruptor-rifle to bear with one hand - ready in an instant to obliterate whatever stood behind her.

    Involuntarily, the hairs on her arm stood up.

    Standing there in the flickering light was a lithe, agile figure, one of smooth black metal and beautiful gilded embellishments. Her face was no face but a dark, featureless, reflective oval, a void from which no emotion could possibly be discerned. And she advanced now like a panther, slow and calculated and perfectly self-assured as she sized up her prey in silence. Her gorget read SEKHMET - the lion-headed goddess of ancient Egypt who descended from the sky to slaughter innumerable mortals.

    Kore''s knowledge of the Domain outside of Callisto was all but non-existent - but even she recognized at once that what stood before her now was one of the Emperor''s elite cadre of invincible, superhuman warriors. A Se-dai.

    As a youth, Kore had listened keenly as others at the orphanage told stories of the Se-dai. They claimed that they were demons made flesh; inhuman creatures from beyond the stars that never ate and never slept and never, ever died. And now Kore was face-to-face with one.

    Her expression remained unchanging as she released Jaheed, allowing the nobleman to drop quite painfully to the ground. But there was no complaint - for the Marquess found himself frozen in terror at the mere presence of the Blessed Executioner.

    "Kore..." he said slowly, his voice little more than a hushed whisper. The ex-miner''s eyes were narrowed, her entire body perfectly and utterly still. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her nose. "I think we should-"

    Even against a Se-dai, Kore didn''t hesitate - not even for a moment. She simply raised her rifle, sighted in, and opened fire.

    And then the Se-dai was a blur, and moments later Kore was reeling back as the two neat halves of her rifle arced in opposite directions. Between them was the Sekhmet, monomolecular blade extended, and Kore had only a fraction of a second to even comprehend what had happened before the Se-dai whirled around and sent her flying with a lightning-fast kick to the chest.

    Kore slammed hard against a wall, and for a moment everything went black. And then she was awake once more, panting heavily, the sensation in her spine and skull so screeching loud as to be almost unbearable. And through blurred, shaky vision, she saw the Se-dai stalking forwards once more, her blade now retracted.

    Again, Kore didn''t hesitate. Without fear, she lurched forward and raised her fist for a clumsy right hook.

    "Kore, stop!" she could hear Jaheed shouting - though his words were muffled by the ocean roaring in her ears.

    The Se-dai sidestepped the punch with ease, then simply kicked Kore''s leg out from under her. Armored boot collided with shin and Kore felt something crack, then pop - and then pain the likes of which she had never felt before shot up the rebel''s leg, into her stomach, along her spine and finally it reached her skull like a bolt of lightning and with a cry of agony she crumpled, her muscles simply refusing to obey any further.

    "Boring," came a low, modulated voice - and, overwhelmed by sensation as she was, it took Kore several seconds to realize that it was the Se-dai herself who had spoken.

    "Leave her be!" Jaheed was shouting, distantly, from across the hall. "I order you, Se-dai, leave her be!"

    "That''s what this day has been," the Se-dai continued, crouching down to meet Kore face-to-face. Her movements were at once casual and perfectly calculated. "Just boring. I thought I''d finally found someone interesting - figured I''d knock you around for a while, maybe have a bit of fun. But you break just as easily as all the rest."

    "I am the Deiform Ascendant Heavenly 43rd Imperial Marquess of the Most-Hallowed Thrice-Honored 257th Dukedom Jaheed Kores Gragnad Demnod Vell, and I command you, Se-dai, to step away from her at once!" Jaheed roared, his voice growing hoarser by the minute. "Do you hear me, you cyborg abomination?!"

    "Quiet, young Marquess," the Se-dai replied calmly - and her monomolecular blade was slithering from its sheath as she spoke. "I''ll see to you in just a moment. Your death, at least, may yet bring me some measure of satisfaction."

    She brought the blade to bear against Kore''s throat.

    "Or perhaps," Sekhmet declared, "I should simply accept that this is going to be a wasted, uneventful day."

    Kore stared with bloodshot, blurry eyes into her own wounded countenance. Reflected there in the Se-dai''s visor, she saw just saw weary, just how exhausted she was - and she couldn''t help but let out a hacking, sputtering attempt at a laugh.

    "Ah..." Kore sighed, her cracked lips twisting into a grim smile. "Fuck it, man. Just..."

    Then, there was a blinding flash of light - and overwhelming blast of sound - and then all sensation gave way to a void of inky black.

    <hr>

    The sky was the wrong color.

    Kore stood in a field of thin, pale grass that rose nearly to her chest - and smiled.

    There was a cool breeze blowing, one that sent the reeds cascading to and fro in gentle, syncopated rhythm. The ground beneath her feet was a collection of smooth pebbles from between which the reeds sprouted, all of them packed in so tightly together as to appear as one flat, solid surface.

    And the sky...

    The sky opened up and Kore was screaming without sound as raw, animal terror gripped her throat and the sky split one way then another then another and THAT was seeping out from behind it and THAT was visible even as Kore squeezed her eyes shut and THAT pierced directly into her skull and suddenly Kore saw herself, older, scarred, outfitted in a clean-pressed uniform and strangling the life out of a withered old man. Then, she was sobbing on her knees. Then, she was speaking casually. Then, she was loosing careful shots with a bulky las-rifle. And then she saw death, and devastation, and life, and beauty, and things so bright she could hardly stand to look at them for fear that she-

    <hr>

    Kore''s eyes opened slowly.

    At first, her vision was naught but blurred, stabbing bursts of color. Then, gradually, the images began to refine, to come into focus, and soon Kore found herself looking sideways at an enormous heap of rubble.

    The air was thick with dust, and the light from the one remaining luminary filtered lazily across, painting Kore in a sardonic sort of spotlight as she struggled without success to rise.

    She forced her head to tilt up - and found herself staring at the starless night sky through a massive, gaping hole in the palace ceiling. She looked down - and around her there lay all manner of scattered rubble and concrete.

    From beside her, there came a weak cough - and she turned to see Jaheed, battered and coated quite thoroughly in dust but nevertheless conscious, despite it all.

    "Kore," he choked out, weakly. "Still alive?"

    "Yeah," Kore replied, after a moment, leaning her head back against the wall. The words were nothing short of agony in her chest. "I think."

    "You are," Jaheed confirmed deliriously, giving a weak nod. "I...I can see you. And you can see me. So we''re...definitely both still alive. Right?"

    "Hooray," Kore coughed, hacking up a chunk of dust in the process. "What...what happened?"

    "There was a ship..." Jaheed said - pointing a trembling finger towards the ceiling. "It crashed, I think, skidded off the top of the ceiling there. Sent all this shit," he, too, let out a hacking cough, "falling down on our heads. I dunno...if it was one of ours, or..."

    Kore would''ve laughed, had her ruined lungs allowed her. The two of them had been saved by nothing more than pure, impossible circumstance from the blade of the-

    Kore''s eyes went wide - and she shot to her feet, only to let loose a scream of pain and crumple to the ground she put weight on her destroyed ankle.

    "What the hell are you doing?!" Jaheed demanded hoarsely. "Kore, just take a moment to breathe and-"

    "The Se-dai!" Kore snapped, her eyes darting frantically about. "Where-"

    And then she saw her.

    The Se-dai had remained standing, somehow, even with a twisted length of rebar running directly through her faceplate and thigh, pinning her upright like a taxidermied animal. Pallid illumination shone down upon her like a muted halo, illuminating the Blessed Executioner''s demise for all to bear witness.

    And yet even still, the Se-dai clung to life - her fingers twitching, involuntarily or otherwise, and slowly her skull slid further and further down the length of rebar.

    And Kore realized then that this dying, inhuman monster still meant to kill her.

    And so, with great care, Kore rose, finding another length of rebar to use as a makeshift crutch as she lurched forward, her ruined leg dragging behind her all the while.

    "Kore?" Jaheed asked, his eyes tracking her as she shuffled towards the broken Se-dai. "What are you-"

    "It''s still alive," Kore said simply, bending down and retrieving a discarded disruptor-pistol. She turned the weapon to the side, checking the ammunition count. Three shots remained. "It''s still alive, Jaheed."

    "Impossible," Jaheed breathed - but he, too, saw now the opening and closing of the Se-dai''s gloved hands.

    "By the void..." he muttered, astonished and horrified in equal measure - as Kore primed the pistol and placed it squarely against the side of the Se-dai''s head.

    Through a crack in the visor, a single steel-grey eye moved to regard the weapon - then, slowly, it traced up Kore''s arm and chest until, finally, it locked onto the rebel''s own bloodshot gaze.

    Kore saw neither rage nor sorrow in Sekhmet''s eye. Only cold understanding.

    "Surely, it can''t still-" Jaheed started.

    The pistol barked three times in rapid succession.

    The Se-dai stiffened - her hands clenched tight into fists - and then, finally, her body went slack, sliding down the full length of the rebar and collapsing to the ground in a bloodied heap.

    Kore stared at the corpse of the legendary, invincible, superhuman warrior for some time - once myth, then real, and now dead at her feet. And then, finally, she turned to face her companion once more.

    "Jaheed..." she began. "I think we-"

    And then, they stepped into view - two-dozen Liquidators at the far end of the hall. Kore found herself almost completely unsurprised as she stared down the barrels of their disruptor-rifles.

    "No..." Jaheed breathed, beside her. "No, no, no, no! We''ve come too far! We can''t just-"

    But all Kore could do was laugh - laugh and laugh and collapse to her knees beside Jaheed as the soldiers of the Emperor moved in to finish that which the Se-dai had started.

 CHAPTER FIVE // AM I NOT THE MASTER OF MY OWN FATE?

    The funny thing about finally getting what you want is that you can''t possibly know if it really is what you want - until, of course, you actually get it.

    Jaheed''s father was kneeling there - broken. Defeated. Powerless. His one biological hand had been reduced to little more than a bloody-bandaged stump by the blade of the Se-dai. This was the most powerful being on Callisto, now reduced to nothing more than a hapless victim. He who had dictated the fates of ten million lives had now lost grip even upon his own.

    But even now, even amidst the ruination of his life, of his dynasty - still Duke Jerohd Vell was fixing Jaheed with a searing, hateful glare. A glare that told Jaheed in no uncertain terms that there was nothing his father wanted more than to kill his firstborn right where he stood.

    The remains of the Vell Dynasty - Jaheed, his father, his brother Ketteres and his sister Serohn - knelt amidst the ruins of the palace''s grand foyer, surrounded on all sides by servants with heads bowed and mouths moving in silent prayer. Before and behind there prowled the Emperor''s black-armored Liquidators, their rifle-barrels still glowing from the heat of the recent slaughter. And, to the far end, there stood the Duke''s brother, Sain Sahd - his posture rigid and his head turned to face away from the suffering laid out before him. He had not dared meet the eyes of his doomed family.

    Kore was somewhere in that sorry lot, Jaheed knew - beaten by Liquidators to the point of near-unconsciousness but alive, nevertheless. The two of them had been dragged here quite unceremoniously by the Emperor''s killers after the discovery of the Se-dai''s corpse.

    The Se-dai. Jaheed turned his head to see the three gilded warriors standing in a strange coven before the blanket-draped corpse of their familiar, their anger somehow displayed clear and palpable through their unmoving stances. The Blessed Executioners discussed amongst themselves in low tones - every word spoken in the strange, guttural language of Phobos, the moon from which their secretive warrior-society hailed.

    "They won''t kill us, right?" Ketteres was mumbling, shaking his head. Tears were flowing freely down the soft-spoken lad''s face. "They can''t kill us. We''re highborn!"

    "That''s right," fair-haired Serohn nodded, placing a reassuring hand on her brother''s shoulder. "We''re going to be fine. Everything''s going to be fine." Her eyes flicked back to her elder sibling. "Are you alright, Jaheed?"

    But the prostrate Marquess was not listening. Instead he was staring directly up at the ceiling.

    The stained-glass ceiling of the grand foyer had long been the centerpiece of a palace that was in many ways more art exhibition than political stronghold. It was a stunning display, carefully crafted over a span of twenty-seven years by the reclusive artisans of the Minban Cluster - a stunning aurora of color in a central nexus that spiraled out across one-hundred-and-twenty different arms that twisted and branched, intersecting and overlapping with one another to create new displays of dazzling hues and tints. It was in many ways the pride of the Vell Dynasty, especially after the deadly famine that had eradicated all life in the Minban Cluster - a monument that statesmen and tourists alike gathered from all corners of the Domain to bear witness to.

    Now, it was nothing more than a gaping and jagged entrance, shattered by the Emperor''s forces and turned to a point of egress by which the palace might be stormed. There was no great panoply of color - only the featureless black of the night sky and the rippling hum of two dropships hovering just barely out of sight.

    Jaheed had not destroyed his family - but he had hoped for it, day and night, for so many long and restless years. And now, finally, here it was.

    Jaheed''s desire had become reality.

    He tasted bile rising in the back of his throat, and it was all he could do not to retch onto that beautiful, bloodsoaked floor.

    He could feel his father''s eyes burning a hole through the back of his skull as, now, a Liquidator distinguished by three yellow stripes and an over-the-shoulder ceremonial cloak stepped forward with helmet in hand. All Liquidators snapped to immediate attention at once, as did the three Se-dai, and it dawned upon Jaheed that this very minute would be the one crux upon which the entirety of his life would balance.

    "Denizens of the Great Domain," the Liquidator intoned, and a deathly hush fell over the room. "You shall stand now before the Master of the known universe. The Grand Architect of the Great Domain. The Celestial Seraphic Empyreal Seventh-Blessed Panoptic God-Emperor Doss Ken Vessholt Tefand Disnal El Errendekes Sen Sorad Volsif, Ninety-Seventh of his name and Seventh-Touched by the Outer Hand. By his voice, your minds shall find understanding." He made a ritual, two-fingered gesture. "By his hand, your souls shall find order." The gesture shifted. "And by his deeds, your hearts shall know terror. Prepare."

    And then there came a searing burst of light, a great laser of effervescent white that shone through the jagged corpse of the stained-glass ceiling with an all-encompassing roar of formless sound. So bright was the display that even with his eyelids instinctively clenching shut Jaheed could see it clear as day, etching itself onto the surface of his corneas as he and so many others let out a collective, terrified scream.

    Then, the beam vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and thus the foyer was draped now in the stillness and silence of the grave.

    After a long moment had passed, Jaheed finally dared to look up - his ears still ringing and his vision still unfocused and blurred. And it was for that reason that it took Jaheed''s stunned brain a moment to catch up, to realize who he was looking at - and for his entire body to be overcome with a chill the likes of which he had never, ever felt before.

    There were three individuals standing there atop the circle of blacked char left behind by the otherworldly beam. The first was yellow-eyed Ket Sal, a ghost of a smile creeping across his smooth features as he surveyed the carnage before him.

    The second was an imperious, towering Se-dai draped in a heavy black cloak, whose armor beneath was painted in brilliant crimson that marked her as Sha-sur - the greatest warrior of the Se-dai. Her visored gaze fell upon Sekhmet''s corpse, for a moment - and then at once it snapped back to stare directly forward.

    And then there was the third.

    He was, all things considered, a relatively short-statured man, one adorned in little finery save for a tight-fitted black robe. His body, from the soles of his feet to the bottom of his lower jaw, was entirely mechanical - all smooth, exquisitely-crafted charcoal-grey cybernetics in perfect imitation of what must have been his former physical form. And in the center of pale-fleshed skull, beneath a crown of slicked-back onyx hair there shone a pair of effervescent emerald eyes.

    He was completely and utterly singular. Nowhere in all of creation was there a being quite like the jade-eyed man who stood now before the ruins of the Vell Dynasty.

    What gripped all present at once - what forced every one of them to their knees in immediate supplication - was an instinct as old as the relationship between predator and prey. These humans, now reduced to nothing but hapless animals, all understood in an instant that they were prey and that this man was a predator. And thus the innate drive of all living things to survive and to live on drove those present to submission, for what other logical course of action existed in the face of such terrible, overwhelming presence?

    The Jade Emperor, Volsif XCVII, looked over his subjects with a dispassionate eye.

    None dared move. None dared speak. None dared even draw breath in the presence of the one they knew in their bones to be the master of humankind.

    "You were right about Callisto, Ket Sal," the Emperor observed, after what felt like an eternity had passed. "What an abominable stench."

    Jaheed was trying and trying and trying but he couldn''t get his heartbeat to slow. He just couldn''t. It was pounding so urgently in his chest that he felt for certain that it was liable to burst, spilling open within his chest and condemning him to a choking, gurgling death.

    He couldn''t breathe. He could hardly see. What gripped him now was no mere terror - it was sheer mania!

    "I tried to warn you, my Emperor," Ket Sal smiled, bowing graciously. "It is a world of heavy industry, after all. The air here is choked thick with smog and detritus."

    "No, my friend," Volsif replied, gently shaking his head - his words coming through at once perfectly smooth and utterly razor-sharp, modulated as they were by a purely mechanical voicebox. His emerald eyes shifted, then, to fix themselves upon the defeated, kneeling figure of Duke Jerohd.

    Now, the Jade Emperor was striding forwards with his metal hands clasped behind his back and the red-armored Se-dai marching close by his side, their footsteps locked together in eerie synchronicity. From behind, Ket Sal merely observed, the ghost of a smile on his face growing wider with every passing second.

    Slowly, cautiously, Jaheed lifted his head - met the Scion''s eyes, for a moment - and then he dared turn to look as the Emperor came to a stop just a half-foot before his father.

    "That, Ket Sal," the Jade Emperor declared, dropping gracefully to one knee and bringing his gaze level to the Duke''s own, "is the stench of rot, and decay. Of failure and of stagnation. Look at me, Jerohd."

    The Duke''s eyes did not move from the floor - perhaps out of defiance, or perhaps simply out of fear.

    The Emperor''s eyes narrowed.

    "Look at me," the Emperor commanded, his voice dropping to a low growl, and at once the Duke''s head snapped up as though he had been physically struck. Their eyes were locked, now, and slowly the Emperor''s mouth curved into a small smile.

    "Duke Jerohd Vell," he purred - no greeting, but a simple recitation of fact. "Finally, we meet. You look every bit the man I know you to be." The Jade Emperor rose, now, to his full height, and he stared down at the Duke with open disgust. "A bloated leech upon my Domain."

    "I am-" Jerohd started.

    "A repulsive little mongrel," the Emperor continued, "empowered by my late father to gorge yourself on what little power he awarded you. And, all the while, Callisto," he gestured broadly, "languishes. It goes to waste. You consume, Duke Jerohd, but you do not produce. You are a thing without value."

    To Jaheed''s surprise, then, he saw his father straighten - saw his shoulders square, and caught just the briefest glimpse of that old fire burning in Jerohd''s belly once more. Fear gave way to seething, impotent rage as the Duke opened his mouth to speak.

    "You know," Jerohd began, his voice ragged and dry, "it may surprise you to learn that my grandfather predicted things would end this way. He told me once - on a hazy, languid summer day that I can now only barely recall - that if the Vell Dynasty were ever to meet its end, it would do so only at the hands of some abominable, gibbering fool." His cracked lips twisted into a humorless grin. "And so, here you stand."

    "Here I stand," Volsif smiled back, without a hint of irony. "Wise words, indeed - coming from the mouth of the late Duke Jaehar Vell, whose dull-minded decisions and catastrophic mismanagement nearly spelt the end of the Vell Dynasty just two centuries prior. It was your father, Jorkan Vell, who was forced to step in and restore order, was he not?"

    "You would study the history of a people you mean to eradicate?" Jerohd scoffed. "I thought the self-professed ''Grand Architect'' would have more important matters occupying his mind."

    "Oh, my dear Duke," the Emperor chuckled, shaking his head. "You and your family occupy only an infinitesimally small portion of my vast and unerring mind. What you fail to understand - what simple creatures like you will always fail to understand - is that nothing happens, nothing has happened, and nothing ever will happen in my Great Domain without my knowing of it."

    "Madman!" Jerohd spat, his smile vanished. "You''re nothing more than a pathetic, lowborn little orphan, drunk on power that never, ever should have fallen into your hands to begin with!"

    "Ah - you favor my half-brother, do you?" Volsif asked, still wearing that half-smile upon his face. "The Crimson Emir - the man who, even now, wages omnicide upon my Great Domain? Or perhaps your support lies with my half-sister, hmm? Though her supporters are few in number, I am told that they are quite fervent in spirit. Tell me, o wise Duke of Callisto, who would you see sit upon my magnificent throne?"

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "Anyone other than you, Doss," Jerohd snarled, and the Emperor''s smile faded at once. There was a blur of motion faster than Jaheed could possibly perceive - and then his brother, Ketteres, slumped forward, the top half of his skull skidding and sliding to a halt some half-dozen meters away and leaving in its wake a trail of blood and brain-matter across the floor. Above his corpse stood the red-armored Se-dai, her blade extended.

    "Thank you, Ananzi," the Jade Emperor said pleasantly, inclining his head, to which the Se-dai merely stepped back into position at her master''s side. Serohn was sobbing, shaking her little brother''s body as though to rouse him from his slumber. Jerohd''s head was hanging low, his eyes staring out from between strands of matted hair, his form and spirit cowed in equal measure by the sudden death of his beloved son.

    And Jaheed? Well, this was what he had wanted, right? That was what he told himself, over and over again, as tears streaked freely down the sides of his face.

    "That name," Volsif said, his hands clasped behind his back once more, "is not for the lips of a low creature like yourself, Jerohd. Thus I take the life of your child as easily as I draw in breath." The Jade Emperor''s nose wrinkled, and he turned away.

    "I can no longer stand neither the sight nor scent of you," the Emperor declared, as the red Se-dai - Ananzi - took a single step forwards. "The asymmetry of your face, Jerohd - it repulses me. And that grating, atonal voice? I will hear no more. Now, Duke Jerohd, you shall watch as every member of your family dies - and then you, too, shall become nothing more than a particularly unpleasant-looking corpse. Ananzi, if you would?"

    Jaheed''s eyes went wide.

    Now, Duke Jerohd, you shall watch as every member of your family dies

    "But we had a deal!" Jaheed cried out, the words ripped from his throat by a flash of momentary panic before his brain could realize and rescind the order.

    Every head turned at once, from servant to Liquidator to Scion to Se-dai to highborn - all save for the Emperor, whose back remained turned on the remnants of the Vell Dynasty.

    A deafening, pregnant silence reigned. Suddenly, Jaheed was out of breath, panting heavily as fat, glistening orbs of sweat intermingled with the rapidly-drying tears running along the sides of his face.

    Slowly, the Emperor''s head turned, and Jaheed caught a glimpse of a single effervescent-green eye.

    "Jaheed Kesol Gragnad Demnod Vell," the Emperor recited. "I know of you. There was, at one point, some small manner of consternation as to your place in the coming future."

    "That''s-that''s right," Jaheed stammered. Momentum was building - now that he had started, he found himself quite incapable of stopping. The words were flowing free and unburdened. "Ket Sal, he promised me-"

    "I promised you nothing, young Marquess," the Scion interjected smoothly, his lips parting to reveal two rows of gleaming-white teeth. "Ours was but a simple conversation."

    "No!" Jaheed snapped - rising up onto his elbows, now. His heart was pounding like a drum in his ears. "I gave you the information you needed for your damned Crux - that my father was in contact with the Crimson Emir!"

    "You did what?!" Jerohd snarled, his eyes going wide. "You treacherous fucking-"

    "Do you truly believe that you were able to uncover anything that our own spies were not?" Ket Sal chuckled, his words dripping with sardonicism. "What could an insignificant speck like you possibly offer the Master of the Known Universe?"

    "As I said," the Emperor interjected, and instantly the Scion fell silent, "there was a brief modicum of consideration for your future, Jaheed. But alas, ultimately it is my will that you be erased from my Domain."

    All of it - all the death, all the misery, all the suffering - all of it was for nothing! A life of yearning, wasted! A crippled, impotent, powerless fool. That was what Jaheed was and, now that he was going to die, that was what he would always be. Death would freeze his pathetic state like an insect trapped in amber, preserving his failure - his irrelevance - for time everlasting.

    He would not accept it. He would not accept it!

    "No!" Jaheed snarled again, his features contorting and his words dripping with raw, unfettered fury. "No! I will have my throne! I deserve to have my throne!"

    "Deserve?" the Emperor scoffed - and then he let out a short, sharp, barking laugh that stabbed like needles against Jaheed''s skin. "I alone determine what one does and does not deserve, boy. Who are you to decide your own-"

    "I am Jaheed Vell!" the Marquess roared - daring to interrupt the Emperor, an offense that normally would have seen the young nobleman slain in the blink of an eye. Yet Ananzi stayed her hand - perhaps at the Emperor''s silent occipital-implant command. "Who are you to decide my fate?!"

    Unfazed, the Emperor merely straightened - and his eyes seemed to glow even brighter now as he spoke.

    "I am self-evident," Volsif declared, his words amplified even louder by his mechanical throat. "I am that I am - the span of innumerable multitudes, and of a will so great and immutable as to bring all of mankind to heel before my vision. I am God, Jaheed Vell. You are but a man. And you, like every other living human, are mine."

    "I belong only to myself," Jaheed growled. "I am smarter and wiser and more cunning and more ruthless than any other being on this blasted rock, and I have the clarity to see that it is so! Even if I die here today, that throne shall remain mine because it was always mine - no matter what you, or your lying Scion, or my dull-headed bastard of a father say otherwise! I know the truth! I know what I am!"

    Jaheed could feel the eyes of his sister and father upon him - but he didn''t care. He didn''t care about any of them.

    "Ha!" the Emperor said at last, clasping his metal hands together. His eyes were blazing. "What delicious arrogance! What venomous, impotent rage! Truly, Ket Sal, is there any sight more magnificent than that of a man who knows himself to be a being of a higher class? Who refuses to denigrate himself to the rest of the idiot herd?"

    "The boy is spirited," Ket Sal agreed, after a moment - the smile on his face unchanging but his tone clearly reflecting his annoyance. "But he is a boundless well of ambition, Lord Emperor. He will not be satisfied until he finds himself upon your throne."

    "No," Jaheed said quickly, shaking his head - ignoring the Scion entirely and fixing his gaze solely upon the Emperor. "I have seen your face now, my Emperor, and I have heard your voice. I understand now that you are indeed a God - and that no living being could ever hope to rule as you do."

    "A wise, if inevitable conclusion," the Emperor replied, smiling faintly. "Tell me, then, Marquess Jaheed - what do you desire? What is the true scope of your ambition?"

    Jaheed didn''t have to think about it for even a second.

    "Duke of Callisto," he declared, his voice booming out over the ravaged foyer. "To prove that I was, am and always will be a far better man than my father ever was."

    The Emperor observed him for some time, then, one hand resting upon his chin, and bit by bit Jaheed''s courage drained away - slowly but surely leaving him with nothing more than that same raw, abiding terror he had felt before. The true scope of what he had just said and done fell upon him like the weight of the very heavens and he found himself frightened beyond all belief at the sheer depth of his transgressions before the Emperor of the human race.

    Then, finally, Volsif spoke.

    "No," he said, shaking his head. "You would make for a poor Duke. It is in your nature to crawl, to claw, to fight your way to the top, yes - but yours is an unquiet soul. To actually reach the peak of your ambition would serve only to drive you mad."

    "But-" Jaheed started.

    "Instead," the Emperor continued, "you shall serve by my side, fighting for your life amongst the hyenas of my Imperial Court. You will listen, and you will learn, and you will obey - and, perhaps, you might one day become one of the Scions whose mouths speak with the Emperor''s voice."

    "I-"

    "Lord Emperor-" Ket Sal started.

    "It is my will," the Emperor declared, not looking back at the Scion. "Thus, it is reality."

    "That...I..." Jaheed trailed off, struggling to find the words. "Thank you, my Emperor." He bowed his head at once in a gesture of reverence and prostration. "I shall not fail you."

    "A bold claim," Volsif scoffed, turning away. "You shall fail me time and time again." Then, he gestured over his shoulder with two fingers. "Ananzi."

    Something warm splashed against Jaheed''s cheek.

    He turned, slowly - and saw his sister bisected neatly in two, her blood spraying wildly as her two halves fell parallel to one another like puppets with cut strings. And behind them he saw his father, his face contorted with otherworldly hate.

    "I should have smothered you in the crib!" Jerohd roared, rising to his feet and storming forwards. His eyes were wide, like a rabid dog''s, and his mouth was dripping saliva - and on instinct Jaheed reeled back, the old fear rearing its head once more. "Traitor! Abomination! Even on the day you were born, you were looking up at me with-"

    A red-gloved hand reached out, grabbed a fistful of the Duke''s hair, and with terrifying strength yanked him back onto a waiting onyx-blade.

    Jerohd stiffened, shuddered - a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth - and then, after a moment had passed, he went still. And thus Ananzi pulled her weapon free and discarded the dying man like little more than useless offal.

    For Jaheed, there was no elation. No euphoria. No sudden surge of victory. There was only the cold, dull reality - his family was dead.

    Beside Ket Sal, Sain Sahd wept in bitter silence, and after some moments had passed the Scion''s yellow eyes flicked to regard older man.

    "Quite a bit of melodrama, no?" Ket Sal observed dryly. "But I suppose it all works out in the end. You and the boy belong to the Jade Emperor, now."

    "This is an ugly thing," Sain Sahd replied through gritted teeth, "and it is an ugly creature who derives pleasure from the sight of it. I know you, Ket Sal, and I shall forget neither your face nor your name - nor your words and deeds here today."

    "Remember all that you like," Ket Sal chuckled. "Brand this day upon the surface of your mind. It shall serve only to-"

    "The matter is concluded," Volsif declared, stepping back towards the charred circle that marked the spot of his arrival. At once, the Scion snapped to attention - and stepped forward now to address all those present.

    "You servants may return to your duties," Ket Sal said simply. "You are instructed to bring the palace to an acceptable condition. In six days an Imperial Regent shall arrive to govern Callisto during the interim period of succession. As for you, Jaheed-" the Scion turned his head, and Jaheed saw at once the venom lurking behind those yellow eyes, "a shuttle will arrive tomorrow, bound for Holy Mercury. You will be on it or you will be forgotten."

    The Scion looked around - and then, slowly, his lip curled.

    "Disgusting place," he muttered, stepping into the circle with the waiting Emperor and Se-dai. And slowly, Sain Sahd moved to join them, meeting Jaheed''s eyes one final time before there was another brilliant flash of light, another deafening barrage of sound.

    And then they were gone.

    Jaheed said not a word as a pair of lobotomite servants hoisted him to his feet, nor did he speak as a dozen other dragged the corpses of his siblings and father away.

    Nor did he hold Kore''s exhausted, bewildered gaze for more than an instant before he was hauled away.

    <hr>

    "What?" Kore blurted out.

    She was laying atop her old bunk in her old quarters - quarters that were now as quiet and still as the grave, as the majority of her fellow servants had been slain. The only light was that of the yellow hue streaming in from the hall - from the doorway in which Jaheed''s shadowy figure now loomed, resting atop an old and well-weathered replacement hoverchair.

    The air still reeked of death and char, and Kore''s body was still wracked with dull agony and overpowering fatigue. All she wanted to do was lay down and close her eyes.

    "I said come with me, Kore," Jaheed repeated. She couldn''t see his face - but she could hear the delirium in his voice. "All my advisors and guards are dead. You could serve as both - my bodyguard and my attach¨¦."

    "Jaheed..." Kore groaned, trying and failing to sit upright. What in the name of the void was he babbling about?

    "I''ve seen you fight," Jaheed continued. "In that regard, your skills are without question. And, as an advisor, you offer to me a valuable alternative perspective. You see things in ways I, a highborn, never could. You-" He paused, and for a moment Kore believed that he might simply turn around and leave. "You saved my life, Kore. Several times now. Whoever you are, whoever you were - it means nothing to me. You are strong, Kore, and I will have dire need of strength on Holy Mercury."

    "Jaheed..." Kore muttered, her head collapsing back onto her pillow. "I''m tired...let me...rest..."

    "But you''ll think on it?" she heard Jaheed''s voice press. "My offer?"

    "I''ll...think..." Kore said. "Just, please..."

    And then, before the young Marquess could reply, darkness came racing up to take her. And then she was gone.

    <hr>

    Kore''s dreams that night were muddled - brightly-spasming flashes of color that warped and mutated into shapes that were just almost recognizable. It was a hurricane of gibberish information, of light and sensation meaning nothing but streaming by nevertheless at a pace that Kore could not even begin to follow. All she could do was simply exist...and experience it.

    And then, right before she woke up, there came a voice that was not a voice:

    We are in danger

    <hr>

    When Kore finally came to, she did so not in the comfort of her bed - but instead sitting upright upon a cold, hard metal seat against what could only have been the inside of an armored hovertruck.

    Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on either side of her - and filling the vehicle to capacity - were a dozen men and women, armed to the teeth with all manner of laser, disruptor, and slug weaponry, every one of them sporting armored vests with a rough-painted symbol of a clenched fist. The symbol of the Heraldry.

    And sitting across from her in his trademark brown trenchcoat, fingers interlaced and a cigarette dangling from between his teeth, was none other than Jiang Tsen.

    "She''s up," someone was saying - and Tsen leaned forward to look Kore dead in the eyes.

    "Kore," he breathed, his cigarette nearly dropping from his mouth. "Thank the void you''re alive."

 CHAPTER SIX // MISERY LOVES COMPANY

    "I know."

    That was Tsen''s only reply to the fantastical story Kore had just laid out - of the Emperor''s troops storming the palace and gunning down anything that moved, of her impromptu rescue of the duke''s highborn son, of her ''battle'' with a full-blooded Se-dai, and finally the nigh-unbelievable presence of the Jade Emperor himself at the execution of the royal family.

    Notably absent from her tale was the bizarre and nightmarish dream Kore had experienced during her fight against the Se-dai - and the very similar one she had been experiencing moments before the awakening from which she was still, admittedly, somewhat groggy.

    "Rees and Torra already told me everything," Tsen explained, jerking his thumb at the two Heraldry agents flanking him - the ''partners-in-crime'' with whom Kore had infiltrated the palace. "Soon as they gave the all-clear, we moved to pull you out." He leaned forward, his eyes glinting oddly in the flickering light as he placed a gentle hand upon Kore''s knee. "It''s a nothing short of a miracle that you survived such a nightmare."

    "Barely survived," Kore grunted, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Every bone, every muscle, every fiber of her body was crying out in dull, muted agony - but she could stifle it, for the moment. "I took a hell of a beating back there."

    "So I see," Tsen nodded, leaning back. He fell into shadow, then, and the only illumination on his face was that of his cigarette''s warm glow. "The Liquidators are famed for efficiency and brutality in equal measure. And the Se-dai?" He let out a low whistle. "Death incarnate, they say."

    "I got that impression," Kore muttered.

    "Few people on the outside know what''s been going on - but they all know that something''s been happening," Tsen said, apropos of nothing. Kore closed her eyes and merely resolved to let the other man talk - though in truth she wanted nothing more or less than to simply return to her bed. "Everyone saw those two Imperial ships appear in the sky, and everyone saw the smaller ones streaming into the palace. And anyone within a few block heard those gunshots, felt those explosions. But none of the average citizenry have a damn clue what the hell''s been going on - or that the hated Duke Jerohd was just butchered like a hog in his own home." At that, Tsen let out a low chuckle.

    "Wish I''d been there to see the look on the old bastard''s face," he declared, blowing a thin cloud of smoke from between his teeth. "Karma, Kore - it''s an old Buddhist thing. Means that no matter who your family name is, one way or another you''ll get what''s comin'' to ya. I like that kinda stuff."

    "Didn''t seem much like justice to me," Kore scoffed wearily. "Just one evil bastard throwing another away like he was nothin''. Like he was trash." Her eyes opened to narrow slits. "He told the Duke he owned him. Said he was his property."

    "And that''s what we''re up against," Tsen declared, taking his cigarette between his two fingers. The other agents were all watching, now. "We''re all caught in the suffocating grip of a maniac who means to control every single facet of every single human life in this universe. The ultimate enemy of any and all freedom. A man who would declare himself a God." He hawked and spat onto the floor. "That''s what I say to any man who''d call me property."

    But Kore was only half-listening now. She couldn''t get those eyes out of her head - those piercing green eyes that had fallen over her and the other servants and truly seen nothing. For the first time in her life, Kore had felt truly humbled by the mere presence of another - a presence so terrifying and overwhelming as to have physically forced her to her knees. She wondered, to herself, if the Jade Emperor could possibly be killed. If he could even be opposed at all! Unconsciously, her brain had already begun to view the Emperor not as a fellow human being but as a thing - an immutable, otherworldly force of nature.

    Tsen was still talking. Belatedy, Kore tuned back in to listen.

    "...and that''s why we''re putting the torch to 52nd Street, tonight," Tsen finished, to which a series of cheers and shouts erupted around them.

    Kore blinked. And before she could restrain herself:

    "I...I''m sorry, what?" she blurted out, her bleary eyes flicking back and forth. "Sorry, my head-"

    "It''s alright," Tsen said quickly, holding up his hands. "Nobody expects you to be at a hundred percent right now. Might offer a condensed summary of the plan for tonight''s operation?"

    "By all means," Kore said - but her words were cautious and guarded.

    "So the Duke is dead, right?" Tsen began, clenching the cigarette between his teeth once more and steepling his fingers before him. "So''s his family, barring the little prince who''s about to be shipped to void-knows-where. That means no successors. That means a fella called a Regent is gonna come down here in a few days, alongside however-many Imperial ''Peacekeepers''. His sole responsibility is going to be to keep this place as calm and orderly as possible while the big-brains on Mercury try to find a new Dynasty to elevate - probably one of the minor nobilities from, I dunno, Canis Peaks or something."

    "Okay," Kore nodded, slowly. "I follow."

    "So," Tsen said, growing excited now, "we are gonna make his job as difficult for that damn regent as possible. We are gonna whip the people up into a fuckin'' frenzy, get ''em mad as hell at anyone who even associates themselves with that palace, and cause as much damage in property, manpower, and especially coin as possible. When that damned slavemaster Emperor takes a glance over to see how Callisto is doing, he''ll see a world on fire - and he''ll weep when he sees how much he''s spending just to keep this place afloat." A wolf''s grin spread across his face. "And if we break enough shit, Kore, maybe they just give up - maybe our so-called benefactors just up and leave. And maybe we finally get what we''ve always wanted - true and total freedom." There sounded now another series of whoops and cheers as Tsen leaned back and folded his arms.

    "Well?" he asked, a smug smile plastered across his face. "Waddya say, Kore? You''d be an invaluable asset on this."

    At that moment, Kore''s head was spinning more and more rapidly by the minute. She really, really just wanted to lay down and go to sleep.

    "Hang on, hang on," she interjected, as the voices around them began to quiet. Her brain was still processing the words that had slipped from her onetime mentor''s mouth. "Wait a sec. You''re gonna put the torch to fifty-second street?"

    "What better way to piss people off?" Tsen shrugged. "The government are gonna be real shy about committing any sorta atrocities - they want us calm and complacent, ya see. So we''ll just have to invent some atrocities of our own."

    "Are you outta your mind?" Kore demanded, shaking her head - shaking herself from the thick fog of fatigue hanging in the space between her brain and her skull. Her hackles were rising, now, and Tsen''s smile was beginning to fade. There was a tight, smoldering knot of anger in the pit of her stomach. "You''re talking about blowing the shit outta innocent people, just to get back at the highborn?"

    "It''s a grim tactic, to be sure, but nothing we haven''t done before-" Tsen started - to which Kore''s eyes went wide.

    "What the fuck are you talking about?" she demanded, rising in her seat - the pain of her injuries temporarily forgotten. Yet still her head was swirling and swirling, and she could taste blood inside her mouth.

    "Before your time," Tsen said casually - far too casually. Alarm bells were resounding in Kore''s head, deafening her ears. "Listen, Kore, we are a tiny force up against an insurmountable foe. It saddens me to say that we''ve rarely had the luxury of taking the high-"

    "You said we were gonna fix this place," Kore snapped, jabbing a finger at the Heraldry leader. It was dead silent and eerily still in the back of that hovertruck, now. All were watching with wary eyes and bated breath. "You said we were gonna help people. Murdering them is pretty fuckin'' far from helping!"

    "I''ve already explained," Tsen replied, through gritted teeth. His voice was lowering, now, his shoulders were visibly tensing. And there it was again - that same odd glint in his pale eyes. "We have to destabilize Callisto so that-"

    "So that we can turn the whole damn planet into one big riot," Kore scoffed, throwing up her hands. "No plan beyond that, just destroy everything and set ''em all loose. That ain''t freedom, Tsen - that''s anarchy."

    "What the hell is the difference?" Tsen snarled, crushing the cigarette between his fingers - his rising anger finally getting the best of him. "For fuck''s sake, I told you from day one what we were fighting for - freedom, at any cost!"

    "You said we were gonna-" Kore began.

    "You said we were gonna help people," Tsen repeated in a lilted and high-pitched voice. "Oh, shut up about that already. The reason nothing ever changes around here is because whiny, weak-hearted little shits like you always wanna-"

    Instantly, Kore made a decision. And just as quickly she committed everything to seeing that decision through - by shooting to her feet, lurching her head back, and then smashing her skull directly into Tsen''s nose.

    There was movement around her, of course - hands darting to guns and knives - but Kore leapt back, barely managing to snatch the heavy steel-barreled revolver from Tsen''s holster before she slammed back against the door.

    A half-dozen guns were leveled at once, and Kore didn''t hesitate to raise her own weapon in reply. Now, at the front of the conflagration, Tsen stood hunched, his nose smashed and his face painted in a grim mask of rapidly-drying crimson. His eyes were wide with fury - restrained fury, albeit only barely.

    "Nobody shoot!" he roared, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Nobody fucking shoot!"

    "You take one step forward and I''ll put this slug right through your eye," Kore growled, her free hand slowly reaching back and feeling up the door. "You can count on that." She found the handle - and her fingers closed tight around the cold steel as, before her, the wounded Heraldry leader extended a trembling hand.

    "Kore..." he said, slowly, carefully, like a handler approaching some great wounded beast. "I''m sorry. I didn''t mean to upset you. I snapped - that wasn''t like me. It''s just-it''s been a long night, alright? I haven''t slept."

    "Uh huh," Kore replied dryly - and she yanked the handle down, feeling at once the frigid night air biting and howling madly at her back as the door flew open behind her.

    "No!" Tsen said quickly, nearly taking a step forward - before remembering Kore''s warning and choosing to stay firmly rooted in place.

    "Kore, listen to me," he said softy. There was a slight, uncharacteristic tremble in his voice. "This can all still be fixed, okay? Nothing is done that can''t be undone. Even the bombings, okay? We can try another method. We can do things your way. But if you jump out this car..." His expression hardened, then, and all traces of sympathy vanished in lieu of a countenance that promised only vengeful and unending death. "You''re done."

    "Psychopath," Kore spat. "I wasted months of my time working for a fuckin'' psychopath."

    "Kore..." Tsen growled. For the third time, there was that hunter''s gleam in his eyes. "Without me, you''ll be cut off from that serum your body needs so badly. Without me, you''ll be dying a slow, agonizing death - a prisoner of your own failing body. You need me, Kore. Now be smart and step back in the car."

    "That so?" Kore grunted. She glanced back - saw the city racing by, saw the shadowy silhouettes of countless buildings illuminated only by dotted orange-glowing windows. Saw the great, fat clouds of industrial smoke. And she saw the road, rushing and rushing and rushing beneath her.

    She breathed in, held it for a moment, and then once again Kore made a decision - and as she exhaled, she braced her feet against the floor of the truck and leapt back, out into the raging wind and the rushing road and the frigid, pitiless air of that dark and auspicious night.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    A few shots rang out - a superheated bolt grazed against her elbow - and then Kore hit the pavement. Hard.

    <hr>

    "Stop the car! Stop the damn car!" Tsen was bellowing, as the hovertruck skidded to an abrupt halt - nearly careening into the side of a building as a half-dozen Heraldry agents poured out with pistols and rifles in hand.

    "Where is she?" Tsen roared, his eyes darting frantically back and forth. The Heraldry leader, usually a bastion of casual calm, looked now like a man possessed. "Damnit, someone find that woman and bring her back here!"

    "She''s gone!" one of the agents declared, voice thick with disbelief, as another threatened away a trio of onlookers with the barrel of his las-rifle. "Just a puddle of blood - look!"

    Tsen did look - and there indeed was a puddle of murky blood staining the pavement. But there was nothing else. No trail. No footprints in the snow. No sign whatsoever left by a half-dead woman who could barely walk.

    "It don''t make any sense," another agent was saying, shaking his head in disbelief. "How the hell did she just disappear like that?!"

    "Track her down," Tsen growled, grabbing the nearest man roughly by the collar. "Track. Her. Down! You know we need her, you bastards, you know it, so fan the fuck out and fucking find her!" He leapt back, let out an animal yell, and kicked up an enormous cloud of snow as the other agents began to spread out at once. He staggered back, falling against a nearby wall and staring down at his trembling hands.

    His one job - his one job had been to deliver her. Now they were going to kill him - he was certain of it. What was he going to do? What was he going to do?

    Slowly, his head tilted up. There was an agent standing there before him, eyeing the Heraldry leader with blatant uncertainty.

    "It won''t be dark for much longer," the agent declared simply. "Either the others will find Kore, or they won''t. So. What''s our play?"

    Tsen''s mind snapped back into focus.

    "Charges are set?" the Heraldry leader asked, climbing to his feet.

    "Ready and waiting," the agent confirmed.

    "Then blow those stupid fuckers to the void," Tsen ordered, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder as he made his way to the waiting vehicle. "I''m done here."

    <hr>

    Left foot.

    Right foot.

    Left foot.

    Right foot.

    Those were the only thoughts, the only commands that could penetrate through the storm of white-hot agony that Kore now trudged through. Everything was pain. The snow melting against her skin. The breath filling her lungs. The scraping of her eyelids as they bashed against one another. Each motion was fresh, unmitigated torture.

    Yet the pain was irrelevant.

    She had to warn them. There was no question. She had to warn them. It was a simple and absolute statement of fact, a governing law of physics by which all the universe was forced to abide.

    Kore had to warn them. This was as indelible as the stars in the sky.

    Of course, there was no thought of how she would accomplish this - how she would warn a neighborhood of nearly six hundred, how she would convince them of the immediacy of the danger. Of even how she would even survive this agonizing trek at all. There was simply no room in her head for these thoughts, for every ounce and iota of her brainpower was slaved to the simple dyad of left foot and right foot.

    She was close, now, she knew, for she could see the trio of smokestacks that marked the great cordite-refining factory at the center of the fifty-second - a black, boxy, looming thing. And for the first time in her life she felt relief at the sight of those damned pillars vomiting gaseous bile into the skies above.

    And then, though she cannot possibly explain the sensation, she is at once utterly certain of what will happen and turns away, eyes squeezed shut and hands pressed tight over her ears, as a series of blinding explosions rip through the rowhouses like the hands of a petulant god, sending innumerable chunks of wood and stone and steel and plaster and flesh raining down upon a panoply of rapidly-swelling blue flame. The factory bulges, holds momentarily, and then it too is split open from within by a final explosion that dwarfs all others.

    The ground rumbles. The air is filled with naught but a single ear-piercing register of combined sound.

    Kore''s eyes are shut for a very, very long time. And when finally she opens them, her vision blurred and red, fifty-second street is gone. In its place there lies only a hollow, blackened skeleton, one roaring with oscillating green-and-blue flame. There are screams. Sirens. The rumbling and screeching of steel collapsing against steel.

    And for the first time in her life Kore is truly empty as she sags to her knees like a puppet with cut strings. She stares out at the face of the apocalypse with wide, tear-streaked eyes, and a mouth that can only hang uselessly ajar. Her body is no longer her own. She is done. Finished. There is no strength left to give.

    She just stares and stares and stares.

    And then, once again, there comes a tiny, hateful little shard of thought worming its way into her empty skull.

    This is all your fault.

    It takes quite literally all of the strength Kore can muster to rise to one knee. And then it takes even more to stand, unsteady, on two legs. Her teeth are grit so tight that they grind painfully against one another, and her sallow skin is taut with surging muscle. Her body has nothing left to give and yet still she turns, rounds on her heel, and begins to walk away from the raging inferno.

    In her vision, now, the palace is a beacon in the night.

    She made this possible. She aided Tsen - did everything he ever asked of her with no questions asked. She is culpable for this, just like all the others.

    Though Kore has never been one for grand purpose, but she is filled with one now. Because before her there lies an imperative - to improve this suffering universe, to fix things, to make life better for even one citizen of this wretched Great Domain.

    Or to simply be another murderer.

    It is no choice at all. Once again, Kore starts to walk.

    <hr>

    A short, sharp trio of knocks ring out, and slowly Jaheed blinks awake.

    Immediately, another series of knocks. Then another.

    "Alright, alright!" he calls, fumbling for the light. He finds it - and then immediately his eyes are scrunched shut against the pale glow that now fills his chamber. He leans back against the bedpost, his head still reeling from the night''s events. He is in the twilight, still - perfectly between the closure of an old life and the debut of a new one.

    "Come in, already," he mutters, waving a hand, and the door swings open at once. And the young Marquess opens his eyes to find a bloodied, bedraggled, beaten, half-frozen husk of a woman - a woman whose eyes burn with unending resolve, even when staring out from the remains of that pitiful shell.

    Jaheed''s eyes widen.

    "Kore-?" he blurts out, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his vision. "What the hell happened to-"

    "No," Kore says simply, her voice rasping and choked, and she stumbles forward now, blood trailing behind her, and makes it only just barely to the side of Jaheed''s bed before collapsing down to one knee, her head bowed and her shoulders heaving with every agonized breath.

    Jaheed sees at once the bent, broken angle of her left leg. Hears the rattling wheeze of a punctured lung, though he does not know it. And yet, when her head snaps up and her eyes lock like targeting lasers onto his own, he sees that she is not delirious. She is lucid and fully, utterly present.

    "Promise me," Kore says - and her voice is choked with more than just pain. Jaheed blinks, confused.

    "Anything," he replies, the words slipping from his mouth before his brain can even come close to catching up.

    "Promise me you''ll use it for good," Kore shudders, gritting her teeth as she struggles to remain conscious. "Your power. Your influence. Promise me you won''t be like him."

    "Him?"

    "Like your father. Like the Emperor," Kore grits out. "Promise me."

    "I..." Jaheed trails off.

    "Promise me that," Kore declares, "and I''ll protect you for the rest of my life." She shudders again, her body wracked with a wave of fresh agony. "I swear-" this word is ground out with vivid, terrifying force, "-no harm will come to you, and you will reign for a thousand years. Just promise me...promise me that you''ll help people, Jaheed."

    A long silence passes between them. Then, slowly, the crippled Marquess leans forward, clasping Kore''s enormous and trembling hand within his own. Even now, he can feel the corded muscle rippling beneath her skin. Even now, every aspect of her broken being exudes raw power.

    "I promise," Jaheed whispers, his words imbued with the totality reminiscent of the Emperor himself. "With you by my side, Kore, we''ll fix everything. And I will never, ever let you down - by the void, Kore, I swear it. I swear it as the child of Vell, and as a future Scion of the Emperor, and I swear it as Jaheed."

    "If you ever..." Kore slurs, her eyes beginning to roll back. Her hand grows slack. "If you ever go back...on your...I swear I''ll kill you. I swear it."

    "Well," Jaheed says, after a moment, flashing a thin smile. "I suppose that''s only fair, isn''t it?"

    Kore nods belatedly, then slumps back - finally unconscious. Finally at rest.

    And Jaheed thinks, in that moment, that truly his life could not be more perfect.

    <hr>

    In the darkened room, a hologram flickers - and Jiang Tsen bows his head almost entirely on instinct as the tall, thin, ramrod-straight figure of Lord-Admiral Typhis, second-in-command to the Crimson Emir, flickers to life.

    Tsen dares not look up unless explicitly compelled. Yet even still he fills himself growing very, very small before what he knows to be the Lord-Admiral''s withering gaze.

    "Your name?" comes Typhis'' voice at once, and Tsen''s brow furrows.

    "I''m sorry, Lord-Admiral?" he inquires, confused. He must be very, very careful here. One wrong word is the difference between a full life and an ignoble, nameless death.

    "What is your name?" the Emir''s second-in-command demands, his voice dripping with barely-concealed agitation. "We are financing three dozen rebellions on two-dozen worlds, void-damnit, so you''ll forgive me for not being able to keep all your little names straight."

    "Ah," Tsen says. "I am Jiang Tsen, Lord-Admiral, of the group called Heraldry. We-"

    "On Callisto, yes - one of the foundry worlds?" Typhis raises an eyebrow. "Stand up straight, damnit - look me in the eyes when you speak to me."

    "Yes, Lord-Admiral," Tsen says quickly, raising his head and folding his hands. "I''ve come with a report. The paradigm has shifted."

    "You mean the dissolution of the Vell Dynasty?" Typhis scoffs. "I assure you, Mister Tsen, we have already been well informed."

    "No, Lord-Admiral," Tsen says, glancing away. "It''s about another matter. Do you recall the woman...?"

    "What woman?" Typhis snaps. Then, his brow lifts in recognition, and he looks at Tsen now with newfound interest. "You mean the one with the Wayfarer gene."

    Truly, the Great Domain could not have existed without the Wayfarers. They had been an extraterrestrial species, one that - though limited in intelligence - was found possessing an inmate gift to perceive the universe in a way that neither man nor machine could ever conceive of. The Wayfarers saw the cosmos as an interconnected web of pathways, along which - inexplicable to human science - space flowed somehow more freely, cutting travel times down by as much as an incredible seventy-percent.

    Naturally, mankind enslaved the Wayfarers and set about the exploration and foundation of the Great Domain, with the Wayfarers acting - against their limited wills - as living navigation units. Now, the Wayfarers were extinct, and the mapping of cosmos was done instead by lab-bred human-Wayfarer Hybrids whose existence remained a closely-guarded secret of Imperial Mercury.

    The Crimson Emir lacked even a single Wayfarer-Hybrid to call his own, and thus had tasked no less than ten thousand agents with tracking such an individual down. It was by sheer, inexplicable fortune that Tsen had found one here, on the backwater world of Callisto - a distant, distant relative of an ancient Hybrid.

    And now she - Kore - was gone.

    "That''s correct, Lord-Admiral," Tsen said. He was sweating profusely now.

    "Well?" Typhis demanded, his patience running thinner by the minute. It was only now that Tsen noticed heavy bags around the Lord-Admiral''s eyes. Clearly, his call was interrupting some manner of long and fruitless night.

    "She...turned against us, Lord-Admiral," Tsen said quietly, dropping his head. "And escaped."

    The words hung over his head like a bloodstained guillotine.

    Silence passed.

    "Gone?" Typhis repeated, finally. The word was little more than a hiss of air from between his lips.

    "Gone," Tsen repeated slowly. "My men search day and night. Rest assured, Lord-Admiral, we will-"

    "Disappointing," Typhis snapped. And then, without any further word, the Lord-Admiral vanished, and the room was cast into all-encompassing darkness once more.

    Tsen stood perfectly still for a moment - and then, with a yell, he whirled around and kicked madly at the wall. His fists pounded, and his throat grew hoarse as he swore and shouted and cursed and raged until, finally, all the emotion had drained from his body and he emerged from the room panting, sweat-drenched, little more than a rage-filled husk of a man.

    His lieutenants watched warily as he approached.

    "What''s the move, Tsen?" one of them dared to ask, finally.

    "Find her," Tsen snarled, his eyes wild beneath sweat-drenched strands of black hair. "Kill her. Rip the damned gene from her body - or it''ll be our heads, not hers."

    And with that, the leader of Heraldry - the oft-proclaimed savior of Callisto - stormed off, his coat billowing out behind him like a trailing shadow as all who surrounded him scrambled to obey.

 CHAPTER SEVEN // AND SO I DON MY SECOND SKIN

    CYCLE 12866 // MONTH THREE // DAY SIXTY-SEVEN // REIGN OF BLESSED EMPEROR VOLSIF XCVI

    SIX YEARS PRIOR

    He looks not unlike an upturned beetle as he scrambles back, eyes wide with fear. His are the short, sharp breaths of a wounded animal. Of prey. His jacket is damp with a wild spray of crimson - little of it his own - and before him there lays a bloodied knife, tantalizing yet oh-so-far out of reach.

    His eyes flick to the knife - then, slowly, they rise to meet the barrel of the gun. To look upon the face of Abel Diesch, owner and proprietor of the Winking Egret. It''s a fine little watering hole, and one the man has visited several times before. Diesch''s face is one the man had known to be perpetually alight with good cheer and an easy smile - but now the bartender''s expression is almost preternaturally calm.

    The man is trembling. Diesch is not.

    "Why?" the man blurts out. Amidst the heavy silence of the darkened warehouse interior, he nearly flinches at the sudden volume of his own voice. Diesch''s expression changes not one iota as he replies:

    "August Gadon," Diesch says, flatly. His words are droll and lifeless and chillingly precise.

    "Who?"

    "Murdered, by you," Diesch answers. "Him, and all the others - all those years. That''s why."

    "I don''t..." the man shakes his head in panicked disbelief. "Man, I don''t even know you!"

    "I know you," Diesch replies. The man''s pulse quickens. He sees Diesch''s finger tighten ever-so-slightly around the trigger, and suddenly fear and panic give way to a defiant surge of rage.

    "They were nobodies!" the man shouts, throwing up his bloodied hands in exasperation. "No friends, no relatives. Their corpses barely made the news! So who the hell are you to-I mean, who the hell even cares?" the man demands. He is panting heavily, now, and in his mind''s eye he sees a vision of himself leaping forward, grabbing the barrel of the gun and wrenching it to the side. Diesch is steady, yes, but he''s slow, and the man is far faster than his stocky frame suggests. His muscles coil, tense. His pulse begins to slow. He knows with certainty now what will happen next.

    "Nobody even gave a shit," the man scoffs, and in the next instant he will leap forward and choke the life from this dull-eyed bastard.

    Diesch stares down at him, and the disappointment in his face is so crushing, so utterly total that the man hesitates, if only for a moment.

    "I did," Diesch replies.

    The man moves - and Diesch, without blinking, shoots him square in the forehead.

    Time passes. Diesch stares at the body - at the wide eyes, at the mouth gaped open in perpetual surprise. It is the first time he has ever taken a human life, and a small part of him knows that he should weep at the snuffing-out of a human soul.

    Instead, he simply turns and walks away.

    <hr>

    CYCLE 12873 // MONTH TWELVE // DAY FORTY-FOUR // REIGN OF BLESSED EMPEROR VOLSIF XCVII

    PRESENT DAY

    It is a cold, bitter day on Proxima.

    Diesch takes a drag from his cigarette and watches in silence as they disembark.

    They make for an incongruous pair, the two of them. At the front, a lanky, red-haired young man with sunken eyes glittering like diamonds. An intelligent and perceptive creature, to be sure. His steps are stiff and robotic, and Diesch is certain that he walks with the aid of well-disguised prosthetics. Shadowing him closely is a tall, broad-shouldered woman in an immaculate grey-and-red uniform, a black-brimmed military cap pulled down tight over her skull. Her rigid posture conveys nothing short of utterly unshakeable discipline, and her skins bears the scars and weathering of a hard life now long past.

    Beside Diesch, Duke Almae Ten Tesos Sorrel - the Master of Proxima - clears his throat and steps forward. A warm, easy smile spreads across the old man''s face. It is a smile every citizen of Proxima knows well.

    "Presenting," the scarred, heavily-armored man to Sorrel''s right thunders, "his holiness, the Deiform Ascendant 97th Imperial Duke of Eighth-Blessed Noble Proxima, he of fair winds and of the warm return - Almae Ten Tesos Sorrel."

    "Presenting," the stocky woman barks in reply. Her voice is cracked and rough. "The Deiform Ascendant Heavenly 43rd Imperial Marquess of the Most-Hallowed Thrice-Honored 257th Dukedom of Sixth-Blessed Callisto - Jaheed Kesol Gragnad Demnod Vell."

    The words are unfamiliar in her throat, Diesch notes. She''s new to this.

    The Duke and the Marquess - two of the most powerful human beings in the entire Domain - lock eyes, for a moment, and then with a warm chuckle Sorrel steps forward and clasps Jaheed firmly on the arm.

    "Jaheed," he says, pulling the young man into a tight hug. "It''s been too long."

    "I suppose it has," Jaheed smiles wryly, once the Duke has finally released him from his clutches. "Though I''m afraid I was far too young to remember anything of your last visit, noble Duke."

    "Oh, please," Sorrel scoffs, waving a hand. "You are my honored guest! Let''s dispense with the titles - I''m Sorrel, and you''re Jaheed, if that''s alright with you."

    "That serves me just fine," Jaheed agrees, inclining his head. "You''ll come to find I''ve little regard for the old traditions."

    "Do you now?" Sorrel chuckles again, patting Jaheed on the back and turning to guide him back towards the waiting palace. "In that case, my boy, I predict you and I will get along famously." Though Sorrel does not see it, Diesch watches carefully as the Marquess''s bodyguard surges to shadow him, her stocky frame cutting off line of sight for both Sorrel''s guards. Interesting. She''s inexperienced, yes - but she''s fluid and intuitive and she clearly has all the right instincts.

    "Come!" Sorrel was saying. "We can discuss business later. For tonight, I wish only for you to catch even a glimpse of the hospitality Proxima''s famous hospitality."

    "By all means," Jaheed replied graciously, allowing the Duke to lead him down the runway. "It''s been a long journey here, and your words are but wondrous music to my ears."

    The woman''s eyes flick back, then - and they lock onto Diesch''s for just a moment, just a single infinitesimal second before turning away. And it is then that Diesch decides it is her he will watch the closest. He will scrutinize her every word, her every action, her every detail until finally he finds the lies.

    There is no question in his mind as to whether or not he will find what he seeks. There are always lies - and always, the task falls to Abel Diesch, Chief Inspector of Proxima, to find them.

    <hr>

    CYCLE 12873 // MONTH TWELVE // DAY THIRTY-SEVEN // REIGN OF BLESSED EMPEROR VOLSIF XCVII

    ONE WEEK PRIOR

    "Our first test," Jaheed said, a thin glass of sparkling drink in his hand, "is one of subterfuge."

    At the former Marquess'' use of our, Kore arched an eyebrow, though nevertheless she motioned for Jaheed to continue speaking.

    The two of them sit on the cramped bridge of the Hawk''s Eye, an angular diplomatic shuttle nearly ten years out of date provided, reluctantly, by the Emperor''s leering Scion Ket Sal. Jaheed reclined in the captain''s seat, a strand of umber hair falling lazily between his eyes, while Kore sat upright and rigid, her hands clasped across her chest. Behind them, iridescent streaks of starlight race across the viewport, their blinding motion in stark contrast to a cabin that felt, to its occupants, perfectly and solidly still.

    The pilot - a stern woman named Sen Tarsus - had retired for the night, and thus Jaheed and Kore sat alone, a bottle of some exotic liquor and a pair of glasses between them.

    "As you know," Jaheed was saying, "the Emperor wants a clean slate. He wants nearly half the Dukes in all the Great Domain deposed as part of what he calls the Grand Undoing. And, as you also know, to remove a Duke from power he needs to present to the Concord what''s called a Crux - an extensive document of irrefutable proof that the noble in question has violated the sanctity of his sacred duties. Only then can the Liquidators raze his or her palace and the Se-dai take his or her head."

    If essentially recounting the events that led to the demise of his family bothered Jaheed, Kore couldn''t tell. She didn''t know what to think of the young highborn''s flippant demeanor, truly. Had he compartmentalized his grief, pushing it so far down that it could hardly even be said to exist? Or had he merely been forced to adapt or die, as Kore had so many times in the past?

    Again, Kore motioned for him to continue. She was not one to voice her opinion before hearing every one of the prospective facts. It was a quality of which she knew her liege tacitly approved.

    "Now, the Emperor''s spies are all but certain that Duke Sorrel consorts with the hated Emir much as my father did - but they have been unable to attain any sort of hard physical evidence. And that, Kore, is where we come in." He leaned forward now, and the excitement in his eyes was unmistakable.

    "Sorrel is an old friend of my father, and the Emperor''s forces have kept all transmissions to Proxima heavily restricted, though enough have been let through that the denizens do not yet suspect. As far as anyone on Proxima knows, my father is still alive, and I am still but a loyal son of Vell." A sly grin crept across his face. "I shall speak with the voice of my dead father, luring Sorrel into false camaraderie - into believing that he can confide in me as a fellow devotee of the Crimson Emir. And once I have the proof? Once he says the words?"

    He leaned back, took a sip from his glass. "We shall return to the Sol system with the Emperor''s blessings upon us."

    Silence passed between them. Kore''s brain puzzled over the proposal - puzzled over every detail, every knot. Then, finally, it snagged on something.

    "The Emperor''s spies," she said. "You''re telling me that Sorrel managed to stop every one of them from obtaining - or delivering - physical proof? Even though they got close enough to know he was a traitor in the first place?"

    "Ah," Jaheed said, setting the glass down. His smile faded. "That." He leaned forward now, fingers interlacing.

    "That is a work of a man called Abel Diesch," Jaheed said. "His is an odd position, somewhere between spymaster and security chief. Little is known about him outside of Proxima, but what is known is that his very presence spells obliteration to any and all spies. He ferrets them out with efficiency and inevitability that some have dubbed preternatural."

    "And that''s just we are - a pair of spies. Splendid."

    "Indeed," Jaheed nodded, a hand on his chin now. "Make no mistake. Sorrel will be my target, Kore - but Diesch will be yours."

    <hr>

    CYCLE 12873 // MONTH TWELVE // DAY FORTY-FOUR // REIGN OF BLESSED EMPEROR VOLSIF XCVII

    PRESENT DAY

    With the briefest of glances, Kore takes his measure.

    Diesch is a lean, hunched figure, his face creased with weary lines and dotted with black-and-grey stubble. Though he is clad in little more than a muted sweater and a long, tan overcoat, his casual proximity to Sorel makes immediately clear his status as a member of the Duke''s inner circle - as does the seven-chambered revolver openly displayed on his hip. Between the metal fingers of a cheap, spindly prosthetic, a cigarette hangs, smoke drifting lazily across the frigid winter sky as he meets Kore''s gaze with eyes that she knows at once see far, far too much.

    Ultimately, Jaheed''s warning had been a pointless one. Kore could have identified this man as a threat from a mile away.

    "Oh, where are my manners?" Sorrel said, as the hangar doors hissed shut behind them. The air shifted at once from frigid cold to warm and enveloping. "Allow me to introduce those of my inner circle. This is my attach¨¦ and majordomo, Dnass Tseron."

    A pale, bespectacled man in a tight-pressed suit inclined his head. Kore saw at once the unending calculations flying behind those twitchy, neurotic eyes, and understood that if Diesch was a man who saw too much then this was a man who knew too much.

    "My master of arms, Kensos Errok."

    The armored man let out a grunt. Kore had seen a thousand of his ilk before, and thus she did not spare him a second glance. He was a hard, uncompromising figure with rigid adherence to protocol and procedure - a dime a dozen.

    "And finally, Proxima''s Chief Inspector - Abel Diesch."

    At the sound of that name, Jaheed cocked his head to the side. Kore knew it to be a calculated, artificial gesture.

    "Chief Inspector?" the former Marquess asked, his eyes flicking to the one-armed man. "I''ve never heard of such a position."

    "Ah," Sorrel sighed, putting an arm around Diesch. The other man did not flinch. "Diesch here is, how shall we say, something of a detective - and an invaluable asset to the citizenry of Proxima. His keen instincts have saved my life a dozen times over." He squeezed Diesch''s shoulder, and this time the Chief Inspector tensed ever-so-slightly. "Please, don''t be put off by his constant staring. It''s all part of his job, you see - and Diesch here does his job extraordinarily well."

    Diesch didn''t reply - he just took a long, long drag of his cigarette. Then, finally, he spoke.

    "Marquess Vell," he said, his voice a flat monotone. "Blessings upon your house. It''s an honor to stand before you."

    "It''s an honor for me, as well," Jaheed smiled lightly, "to stand before the man some call the Black Hound."

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Diesch scoffed quietly, but did not reply. A moment passed - and then the party was on the move once more, Sorrel and Jaheed chatting animatedly amongst themselves as Kore, Diesch, Tseron, and Errok followed in a cluster close behind.

    "Ah, if I may," Tseron asked quietly, and Kore turned to regard the slender attach¨¦. "What was your name, miss? I believe a proper introduction may have slipped the young Marquess'' mind."

    Carefully, Kore did not react to the slight against her charge - but it did leave her puzzled. Was Tseron trying to test her? To provoke her? She had expected to remain silent and unnoticed and now here she was, put on the spot right before Diesch''s watchful gaze. Diesch, that keen-eyed bastard, from whom no errant detail escaped.

    She considered her options, for a moment, then decided to give him nothing.

    "I am Kore," she said, bowing at the waist. "Chief of Security for Marquess Vell."

    "Charmed," Tseron replied, forcing a thin smile. The expression looked uncomfortable and out-of-place on the old man''s countenance, and it was soon wiped away as quickly as it had come.

    "Have you been doing this long?" Errok rumbled, from her other side. This time, Kore was only barely able to mask her confusion - why were these people talking to her? Surely, this must be a test. Had they already identified her as a weak point, as something to press in search of a break?

    Well. Kore was many things, but she was no weak point. She was an edifice of smooth and solid rock upon which all three of these prying men will find no purchase.

    "No," she answered smoothly. "I was a miner for many years, before taking up arms in service of the blessed Vell Dynasty. It was from those ranks that I was selected to serve as Marquess Vell''s protector."

    "Interesting," a voice rang out - and Kore could not help but turn back to see Diesch looking up at her with the cigarette clenched between his teeth.

    "I don''t particularly think so," Kore said after a moment, shrugging her shoulders. "It''s not exactly an uncommon story. I am but an agent of Vells, as are you all agents of Sorrel. They use me as they best see fit, same as you."

    "Indeed," Diesch muttered, and finally he glanced away. "Indeed."

    Kore had no idea what had just transpired between them - but as the party made its way up a lavish set of carpeted stairs in uncomfortable silence, she was certain that it was anything but good.

    <hr>

    Two-hundred-and-twenty four miles from Proxima''s capitol city, Tarkus, nestled between a trio of red-dusted mountains, there lies a ramshackle excuse for a town within which huts and shacks grow upon the sides of the cliffs like barnacles along some great ship. It is a dusty, dying place - established in decades past to support a gem-mining trade that has long since died out. Now, it is a haven for pirates, mercenaries, and any who deal in violent and bloody business, unseen by the eyes of the Sorrel Dynasty. It is well and truly one of the universe''s dead-ends.

    The door to a bar with no name swings open.

    Inside, it is a dark, cramped, sweaty place, packed to the brim with as many weapons as there are egos, and the air is thick with the unspoken promise of violence. It is nothing short of a true viper''s pit that the woman now steps into.

    She weaves her way through the crowd with ease, somehow avoiding even the slightest brushing of shoulders as she navigates the hazy sea of human flesh. Amidst the overwhelming din of it all, a man screams. A woman laughs. Glasses clink together. Music sounds, emanating from some form of multi-stringed instrument.

    The bartender - a man called Davian Grescht, from whose back sprouted no less than a dozen wiry mechanical arms - looked up and found himself staring into the cold grey eyes of a blonde, shaggy-haired woman whose face and arms were replete with all manner of savage, criss-crossing scars. Most prominent was the veritable knot of dead tissue along the side of her forehead, the wound partly obscured by her unkempt bangs but still visible enough to catch one''s eye - and to unsettle.

    She carried no weapons, and she wore only a pair of baggy pants and a sleeveless white tank-top. And although she did sport some degree of muscle, her frame was lean and slight. Davian Grescht took one look at her and knew with the certainty of a lifetime spent in this wretched little town that this woman would be dead by nightfall.

    "Afternoon," he grunted, meeting the unremarkable woman''s eyes. "What''ll it be?"

    "Hmmm," the woman mused, putting a hand to her chin. Her movements were odd - so smooth as to be almost unnatural. Despite himself, Grescht found himself ever-so-slightly unsettled by her presence, though he could not possibly explain why, and with mild irritation he squashed that irrational fear at once.

    "I don''t know," the woman said, finally. Her voice, too, was strange - lilting and rasping and smooth and deep all at once. "What do you recommend?"

    Grescht furrowed his brow - but the woman just stared at him blankly, awaiting his reply. Finally, after a moment, he sighed and gestured behind him.

    "You want something cheap, or something good?" he asked. He intended to pour her the same drink either way.

    "Money doesn''t mean shit to me," the woman replied, and Grescht watched as a strange facsimile of a smile tugged its way across her scarred lips. "Might as well give me the best you''ve got."

    "Sure thing," Grescht grunted, turning to pour her a glass of cheap Dilavian rum - cheap rum for which he intended to charge her double, just for wasting his time. After a moment, he turned back, sliding the glass across the counter, and the woman''s hand shot out shockingly fast to snatch it up into the air.

    "So..." Grescht drawled, as the woman downed the liquor in a single gulp. She swallowed, blinked - then merely nodded her head.

    "So that''s what alcohol tastes like," she mused. "Disgusting. Well - I guess I can see the appeal."

    "What brings you ''round here?" Grescht continued, engaging in small-talk entirely by mechanical and unconscious routine. "Work? Resupply?"

    "Work?" the woman asked, cocking an eyebrow. Then, his meaning dawned, and she shook her head. "Nah. I don''t intend to ever work another day in my life." With that, she slammed the glass down, and as her eyes rose to meet Grescht''s own once again a slow smile began to spread across her face. Lips parted. Teeth were displayed. The hair on the old bartender''s arm began to stand on end and suddenly, for void-knows whatever reason, something old and instinctual and primordial was telling him to get as far away from this woman as fast as he possibly could.

    "I''m here," the woman continued, her finger tracing lazy circles across the countertop, "because I''m looking for a fight."

    "A fight...?" Grescht managed to choke out. Never in twenty-seven years of serving Proxima''s most ruthless and hardened criminals had he felt such raw fear as this. The old bartender could not even begin to explain the terror that gripped him now.

    "That''s right," the woman nodded. "And now that I''ve had my drink, well. Let''s get to it!"

    She turned to the man beside her - a gargantuan hulk covered from head to toe in tattoos marking him as a headcutter of the infamous Bleeding Suns gang - raised her fist, and slammed it down upon the back of the man''s hand.

    The result was immediate and devastating. With a sickening crunch and pop of bone, the man''s hand all but inverted, and the countertop splintered beneath the incredible force of the impact. In an instant, he was leaping back, roaring with pain and fury and surprise as he cradled a ruined hand from which broken shards of bone now protruded.

    The music came to an abrupt halt, as did all conversation. It was as still and silent as the grave, now, and the woman stared blankly up at the wounded, towering man.

    "You-what-" the headcutter sputtered, overwhelmed in equal parts by agony and confusion alike. "Who the fuck are you?!"

    The woman smiled again - and this time, there was an unmistakable predatory hunger in that grin as she reached her arms back behind her head and stretched.

    "Me?" she asked, innocently. One shoulder popped, then the other. "I''m Sekhmet." She dropped her arms, now, and began cracking her knuckles one by one.

    "Is that supposed to mean something to me?!" the headcutter demanded. Already, pain were beginning to give way to earthshaking, all-encompassing rage, and his remaining hand was drifting now to the oversized carving knife on his thigh.

    "You asked," Sekhmet shrugged. Finished with her stretches, she straightened her back and shook her head not unlike a wet dog. "Anyway, I''m here looking for a good fight. Anybody interested?"

    Silence reigned. The headcutter''s fingers wrapped tight around the handle of his blade.

    "For what it''s worth, I won''t kill anybody," Sekhmet offered. "Though I don''t assume you''ll abide by the same-"

    The headcutter let out a ear-splitting roar and charged forward, the carving knife held in a backwards grip by knuckles tattooed with the four symbols of Katan, the profane and hateful God worshipped cutthroats and assassins.

    Sekhmet let the weapon get close - less than a millimeter away from the scarred flesh of her throat - before she responded.

    Her leg snapped up, faster than anyone could see and certainly faster than anyone could process, and the blade embedded itself in the ceiling as the headcutter staggered back, his wrist snapped quite neatly in two. And in the span of an instant Sekhmet had stepped behind him, grabbed the back of his skull, and slammed him face-first into the countertop with such incredible force that the floor itself buckled beneath their feet.

    The headcutter slumped like a puppet with cut strings, his face a bloodied and unrecognizable mess, and Sekhmet turned to the crowd of onlookers with a mocking smile.

    "Well?" she beckoned.

    The room exploded into motion at once - two dozen hardened killers surging towards their mysterious opponent with las-pistols and irradiated slug-throwers and devastator flails and heat-knives and static whips and clubs and blades and axes and empty beer-glasses and all the while Sekhmet was a blur, a whirlwind of punches and kicks that left one assailant after another broken and bleeding. She moved with impossible speed and struck with boundless strength, a dynamo of motion and death quite literally untouchable and she was grinning all the while, her eyes wide and manic and lost in the sheer thrill of that terrible, terrible violence.

    Sekhmet sent a woman crashing straight through the wall with an open-palm strike to the chest - and then found herself under the gun of the last man standing, a one-eyed individual in a dark coat whom Grescht knew to be an infamous sharpshooter by pseudonym of Odin.

    The bartender, for his part, had remained crouched behind the countertop, only occasionally daring to peek over the edge - but now he was staring openly, too terrified to dare look away.

    Yet perhaps he need not be afraid. Odin, he knew, was nothing short of an absolutely uncanny shot, and the gunslinger had Sekhmet at a distance of nearly ten feet. Even a monster such as she could not possibly hope to close such a distance in time, Grescht thought to himself, nor could she possibly evade every one of Odin''s shots. The bartender should have been fully confident that whomever this inhuman creature was, she was about to meet her end here - in a battle entirely of her own provocation.

    And yet still, somehow, he truly did not believe it.

    "The way you move," Odin said cooly, keeping the long barrel of his plasma-thrower carefully trained upon his shifting opponent. "You''re not human, are you?"

    "You''re half-right," Sekhmet admitted, casual even when held at gunpoint. "I must confess that this was all somewhat akin to picking a fight with a band of toddlers. But I thought, I dunno, maybe you guys having better numbers would make things at least a little bit closer." She shrugged her shoulders. "Oh well. This has been fun, for what it''s worth."

    "That''s good," Odin replied. There was a true, heavy finality to his words. "I think I had fun, too. But now, whatever you are, you''ll meet your end as so many others have - by the hand of Unerring Odin."

    "Will I?" Sekhmet asked, and that insatiable grin was back on her face. "Prove it."

    It is only upon later recollection that Grescht was able to properly piece together what happened next. Just before Odin fired, Sekhmet flipped up a discarded glass with the toe of her boot, then flicked it forwards with a single finger, sending the cup rocketing forward like an oversized bullet. Odin squeezed the trigger, the bolt hit the glass dead-on - and molten shards of glass went flying right into the marksman''s face.

    And so, as Odin fell, screaming and thrashing, Sekhmet stalked up and silenced him a simple balled fist to the back of the skull.

    The bottles stacked behind Grescht all rattled at the force of the blow.

    The old bartender dared not utter even a sound, watching as still as a statue while Sekhmet''s expression dropped - and she let out a yawn, crouching down to rifle through Odin''s pockets.

    "Boring," she muttered to herself, pocketing a handful of multicolored credit-notes.

    This continued for some time - Sekhmet picking through the unconscious and the wounded alike, taking any money on their person as well as anything else she deemed valuable. Unarmed as she was, Grescht could not help but notice that she refrained entirely from collecting any of the myriad weapons on display.

    Finally, her eyes caught on something of actual interest - and she rose to her feet, throwing a weathered denim jacket over her shoulders as she did so.

    "Hm," she grunted, a seemingly positive affirmation. "Not bad." Her eyes flicked back to the bartender, and he leapt back, pressing himself flat against the wall.

    "What do you think?" she asked, striding over to the bar behind which Grescht was cowering. "How''s it look?"

    "I-I-I-" Grescht stammered. His mouth simply would not produce the words - any words.

    "Not good?" Sekhmet pouted, disappointed - though her expression smoothed over at once. "Ah, well. I bet you''d say it looks fantastic if you weren''t too terrified to speak." She reached into her pocket, fished out a dozen credits, and laid them flat against the countertop.

    "Here," she said, her tone some approximation of gregarious. "That''s what, ten times the cost of my drink, probably? Should help with the damages." Then, she furrowed her brow. "Question for you, friend." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Which way to the Imperial Palace?"

    "The pa..." Grescht trailed off, uncomprehending. Yet slowly, surely, he turned to point with a trembling hand.

    "East," he managed, finally. "The capitol city, Tarkus. It''s e-east."

    "Appreciate it, friend," Sekhmet smiled, rapping her knuckles twice upon the surface of the countertop.

    With that, she turned sharply on her heel, disappearing from sight, and as she stepped away Grescht was struck, suddenly, by the realization that her footsteps were truly and utterly silent.

    Grescht dared to peek over the counter - but by then, the doors had already swung shut, and the one-woman hurricane that had swept through his bar was gone.

    Grescht sat there, unmoving, for a very long time. And then, finally, as some of the wounded began to stir, he mustered the courage to rise to his feet and stumble over to his comm device.

    And then Davian Grescht did something he had not done in over two decades. He called the police.

    <hr>

    It had been a long, drawn-out night, and finally Jaheed and Sorrel were ready to retire. Kore had stood as a perfect, unmoving sentinel for hours upon hours as the two highborn jawed off, their conversations at once deeply intricate and utterly banal. Jaheed was sprawled out on a long couch, by all appearances utterly at home as he subtly poked and prodded at the master of Proxima. Sorrel sat in a similar fashion, reclined far back in a luxurious armchair as he spoke with a cigar clenched between his teeth. And overtop the Duke, Diesch stood, a perfect mirror to Kore''s own stony exterior as the two studied their charges - and their opposites - with watchful, perceptive eyes.

    But now, at long last, Sorrel was rising to his feet, saying something about being and old man and needing his rest as Jaheed offered a polite - and somewhere inebriated - chuckle. Soon, Kore and her liege were out the door, and not long after they were being escorted by Diesch down a long and winding hallway to their respective quarters.

    Finally, they came to a stop outside a brilliantly furnished pair of metal doors.

    "The master bedroom," Diesch said flatly, gesturing to the door on the left with what might well have been his twentieth cigarette of the night. "And a chamber for your bodyguard, on the right."

    "Diesch, my man," Jaheed smiled drunkenly, clasping the Inspector on the shoulder. "Thank you." The older man looked down at the Marquess with mild, muted disgust. Despite herself, Kore had to fight back a smile at the look on the Inspector''s face.

    "Kore," Jaheed said, turning to face his stoic bodyguard and offering a sloppy two-fingered salute. "Take the night off."

    "Are you certain, my liege?" Kore asked, arching an eyebrow. She was well aware that Jaheed was playing up his drunkenness for disarming effect - but this new directive came entirely unplanned. Leaving him alone, deep in the heart of uncertain territory? Perhaps he really was drunk.

    "Yeah, yeah," Jaheed slurred, waving a hand, and Kore couldn''t help feel that he was somewhat overacting. "You work hard, Kore. Relax for a bit. I''m being kept safe-" he had a thumb against his chest, "-by the watchful eye of the legendary Black Hound. Isn''t that right?"

    "Yes, Lord Marquess," Diesch replied, giving a tight-lipped nod. His eyes had narrowed ever-so-slightly at Jaheed''s casual usage of that informal moniker. "This palace is the safest place on all of Proxima. No harm will come to you here."

    Unless it comes from me, hung the unspoken threat.

    "See?" Jaheed asked, turning back to Kore. "No problem. Have a good night, Chief."

    Kore swallowed her reservations and bowed at the waist.

    "And you as well, my liege," she intoned, catching his eye. Understanding passed between them. And then, mere moments, later Jaheed was gone and the two of them stood in the hallway alone. Kore reached for the handle - then paused, at the clearing of Diesch''s throat.

    "So," he said, eyes flicking to the side. "You''re off-duty. So am I. You wanna grab a drink?"

    Ah, Kore thought to herself. That explained it. Jaheed, she knew, was a confident study of human behavior, and no doubt he had picked up on some infinitesimal signifier that Diesch would extend such an invitation.

    She pretended to think about it, for a moment.

    "Ah, what the hell," she said, intentionally adopting a laid-back tone. "Why not."

    And thus, the two of them set off. This, Kore knew, would be no social gathering. This would be the true test - herself, alone, a specimen on a slide beneath Diesch''s exacting microscope.

    A test, yes. But also a fatal mistake - for now, Kore had finally been presented with an opportunity to grow closer to the Duke''s watchful hound. All-seeing, they called him?

    Kore would put that to the test.

 CHAPTER EIGHT // FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES

    "This is actually pretty nice, as far as interrogations go."

    Kore and Diesch sat opposite one another in a booth packed tight into the corner of a smoky, dim-lit restaurant. Between them rested multiple empty glasses and an ashtray containing no fewer than four freshly-discarded cigarettes. Some manner of meek, unobtrusive piano crept along the background, and the air was filled with the sounds of low-voiced conversation. It was nearing midnight, now.

    Diesch raised an eyebrow.

    "Is that what this is?" he asked, taking a sip of his beer, to which Kore gave a derisive snort. They had been at this for hours now - poking and prodding at one another''s defenses. And while Diesch had made for surprisingly pleasant conversation, Kore was no diplomat - no master wordsmith like her liege, Jaheed - and her patience was beginning to wear thin.

    "Wipe that look off your face," she ordered. "Do you really think you''re being subtle right now?"

    "I have no idea what you''re talking about," Diesch said, his expression still entirely innocent. Then, at the narrowing of Kore''s eyes, his face finally relaxed, and the gaunt man let out a half-hearted chuckle.

    "You got me," he admitted, putting up his hands. "Look, Kore, this is my job."

    "Mine too," Kore said evenly. "Why else would I even be here?"

    "Ouch," Diesch said, a ghost of a smile upon his face.

    "What - you wanted me to be honest, right?"

    "Nah," Diesch shook his head, taking a drag from his cigarette as he so often did before embarking upon a new thought. "If anything, I much prefer when people lie to my face. Honesty is complicated. Lies are simple."

    "That so?"

    "Yep," Diesch nodded. "Once you''ve caught wind of a lie, all you gotta do is trace back the lines of self-interest. Why is she lying? How does it benefit her?" He gestured broadly. "People, in my experience, are simple and stupid. Liars are doubly so."

    "But not you, of course."

    "Please," Diesch scoffed. "I''m right there with the rest of us humans. We''re all miserable, greedy, self-involved little shits. There''s no-"

    "So, tell me," Kore interrupted, cutting his diatribe short. Fuck all this beating around the bush, she thought to herself - it was time to kick the damn door down. "How did a ''self-involved little shit'' like you become the Duke''s right-hand man?"

    "Right-hand man?" Diesch chuckled - a sleek bit of deflection. "That''s a bit of an overstatement, no?"

    "You shadow Sorrel closer than his own guards."

    "Yeah, well," Diesch shrugged. "Sorrel likes to have my eyes on people he''s not sure he can trust."

    "Like me."

    "Oops."

    "Okay, okay," Kore pressed. "How did a self-involved little shit like you become Chief Inspector?"

    Diesch was quiet for a moment. Then, he raised his glass and offered her a wry smile.

    "This is supposed to be your interrogation, not mine."

    "Guess you let it slip away from you."

    "Hey, Kore - how''d you end up as Jaheed''s right-hand woman?"

    "I asked you first."

    "Alright, alright, alright," Diesch acquiesced, leaning back in his seat. He jammed his cigarette down into the ashtray, then spread his palms. "I was a bartender for about a decade and a half."

    "Go on."

    "You really want the whole spiel?"

    "Abel."

    "I hear ya," Diesch said quickly - but his expression was hardening, now, and he was visibly sobering as he interlaced his fingers and stared right past Kore with eyes that were suddenly quite dull and faraway. Kore put one leg over another, folded her arms across her chest, and listened closely as the Chief Inspector began to speak.

    "I used to really like people," Diesch said, fiddling idly with the snuffed-out cigarette. "What made me love bartending so much was the privilege to be able to listen in on a thousand different stories and lives - to swim, and to dive deep into the oceans of their little worlds. It made me happy in a way I''m not sure most others would understand, and for a very long time I was perfectly certain of my place in the world."

    Kore didn''t reply, didn''t even nod her head - but her attentive silence was a clear signal for Diesch to continue. He reached up with a metal hand, covered his mouth, and coughed.

    "There was this trio of regulars I got on pretty well with," Diesch said, after the coughing had passed. "One of ''em, guy named August, his wife had just given birth. He was going to be a father! And he was so joyously, deliriously happy that his happiness spread to me, too, and when I closed up that night I couldn''t help but do so with a smile on my face. Well."

    He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose between two iron fingers.

    "Next day, August isn''t there - but his buddies are, and the two of ''em are barely speaking. So I go over. I ask, hey, August taking care of the kid tonight? Baby duty already, huh? And one of his buddies, guy called Kaz or Daz or something, looks up at me with these red-ringed eyes and tells me they found August''s body this morning, left out on the side of the street, half-frozen and just fuckin''...carved to bits. They say the body was so badly mangled that the Enforcers could barely even identify him. And they say..." He trailed off, fully lost now in the memory of another time, of another place. "They say it happened just across the street from my bar."

    "You didn''t-" Kore started.

    "See anything?" Diesch let out a bitter, humorless little laugh. "No. Not a thing. But I did some research, afterwards, and I found out that this was just the latest killing by a guy people''d been calling the Shrike. He was targeting drunks when they were staggering home, yanking them into back alleys and cutting ''em up like he was a trained surgeon. August was his seventeenth victim. And the Enforcers? They didn''t even really give a shit. This guy was thorough, you see - never left even a shred of evidence behind, and since there was no connection between him and the victims that meant there was also no lead. No thread to pull on. So the Enforcers just...didn''t even bother."

    "But you did," Kore said, after a moment.

    "I''ve always been a good listener," Diesch sighed. "Always had an ear to the ground. So...I listened. And every night, before I closed up I went to the back and took down notes on what I had heard. And I drew connections. And I pulled on threads. And I made leaps of logic. And every night I was bartending practically on autopilot as my mind delved deeper and deeper and deeper into this web of my own creation. There was a pattern, I''d discovered. And according to that pattern, the Shrike would kill someone coming home from my bar sometime that very week."

    "And did he?" Kore asked. All sense of physical time and place had melted away by now, and she had found herself utterly absorbed in the Chief Inspector''s tale.

    "I watched, and I waited," Diesch said. His voice was growing dry. It was as though the emotion were bleeding out of him with each and every word. "And waited. And waited. And waited. And finally, I saw him - a figure emerging from the shadows of the alley with knife in hand, looming behind a woman walking home on her own. And I had to wait, you see, until the knife touched her skin before I could make a move. I had to be sure."

    "Did she...?"

    "No," Diesch shook his head. "She survived. But he did cut her, before I stepped out from my own shadows and opened fire. It was an old, antique show-pistol - inherited from my grandfather long ago - and my aim was as shaky as it gets. Still, out of three slugs, one struck true, embedding itself in his leg. It was over, then. He knew he couldn''t run. But that didn''t stop him from trying."

    "Did you call the Enforcers?" Kore asked - already knowing the answer.

    "Not yet," Diesch said. "First I chased him down, cornered him in an abandoned old building. He managed to get the drop on me - but he was wounded, and I had the gun, and a pistol-butt to the jaw put him flat on his back. And then I held him an gunpoint, and we talked."

    Diesch closed his eyes, for a moment. And when they opened once more, they were like a doll''s eyes - lifeless and blank.

    "I looked down at him," he said, quietly, "this complex, myriad human being - this living soul - and I felt nothing. And when I shot him, I felt nothing. And even on the next day, even when I dragged his corpse to the Enforcers and threw him onto their doorstep - even then, I didn''t feel a thing. I think I lost some part of me, that day. Something important. Something that would''ve kept me from doing my job as well as I do it now." He sighed, took a shaky-handed drag of his cigarette. "I thought they''d arrest me, y''know, or maybe gun down this bloodied corpse-draggin'' maniac right where he stood. Instead, they offered me a job."

    "They actually condoned a vigilante killing?" Kore asked, raising an eyebrow.

    "Implicitly, but yes," Diesch nodded. "And I became something of a minor celebrity as a result. The ''brilliant vigilante detective'' who hunted down the Shrike, you see - like the protagonist of some trashy mystery novel. And so, for reasons I truly can''t tell you, I took the job. And, well, I turned out to be pretty damn good at it - good enough to catch the Duke''s eye, eventually." He shrugged his shoulders. "And that''s that."

    A long silence hung between them.

    "Do you hate human beings?" Kore asked, finally - and even she was startled by the question that sprang from between her lips. Yet Diesch seemed almost to have expected such a blunt query.

    "No," he said, forcing a small smile. "I just don''t expect much of them."

    There was another agonizing stretch of silence - and then, with a yawn, Diesch rose to his feet.

    "Alright," he said. "That''s enough interrogation for one night, I think."

    "I think you''re right," Kore agreed, moving to join him. The two stood opposite one another, for a moment - and then Diesch extended a hand.

    "Tomorrow," he said, "you tell me how you ended up here, in that uniform, with that pistol on your hip, standing beside the son of Jerohd Vell."

    "You know what?" Kore said. She took his hand and shook it, firmly. "I''ll be looking forward to it."

    "Likewise," Diesch smiled. "I suppose we''ll see each other in the morning, then."

    <hr>

    Fatigue - more emotional than physical - hung over Kore like a shroud as she trudged along the darkened hall.

    This was by no means a life she had ever envisioned for herself. The lies, the constant state of alertness, the verbal sparring - nothing like that had ever been required when she was just killing for Tsen, and it had certainly never been required when she was still slaving away at the Cordite mines. At all times now Kore had to project a shield, a shell of false-Kore encircling the true-Kore - a shell that could and would be attacked at any time.

    She stopped outside her door - pressed her palm flat against the scanner - and let out a quiet sigh as the panel blinked green and the door hissed open.

    She stepped into the pitch-darkness of her room, fumbling for a lightswitch, found none, and let out another sigh, feeling her way across to what must have been the bathroom. Finally, her hand found a switch - and the lights flicked on, revealing in the mirror the face of a grim, tired woman.

    "Try not to look like you just stepped in shit," Kore said to her reflection, who respectfully declined to reply. Diligently, she peeled off her uniform, grateful to be free from its suffocating clutches, and donned both sweatpants and a loose grey t-shirt provided by their gregarious hosts. Kore hadn''t brought luggage of any kind because she didn''t have possessions of any kind - and she realized, distantly, that at some point she would probably have to ask Jaheed to take her shopping. What a ridiculous situation.

    She brushed her teeth, spat, yawned, and keyed open her comm-pad as she stepped back into the room and flopped down upon her waiting bed. She scrolled through the news with lazy, half-lidded eyes, feeling herself drift further and further into the warm blackness lurking at the edges of her vision.

    And then she saw her.

    "Woah!" Kore shouted, leaping back - her head painfully against the wall. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her eyes darted frantically about, searching for her gun - which currently rested in its holster atop the bathroom sink. Cold fear crept into her gut as she turned her head to face the intruder once more.

    Standing there in the corner, all but invisible in the low shadow, was a shaggy-haired blonde woman in a denim jacket, her skin replete with countless intersecting scars and pockmarks. And now the woman was taking a single step forwards, her movement dripping with measured confidence and true, absolute calm.

    Her eyes were the coldest Kore had ever seen, twin orbs of pure steel that shone with terrifying callousness - but there was something else there, too. A hint of...mirth?

    "How the fuck did you get in here?" Kore demanded, her usually-stoic demeanor shattered by the sheer impossibility of her situation. She was very awake now and very sober.

    "Vent," the woman said casually, jerking a thumb at a small grate on the ceiling.

    "I...okay..." Kore sputtered. Breathe, she told herself, breathe. Steady yourself. This intruder had come unarmed, and Kore was twice her size. And if she could just make it to the gun...

    But there was something in the woman''s eyes that told Kore, in no uncertain terms, that she could take her life as easily as drawing breath. And so Kore resolved that the best course of action was to remain totally, perfectly still.

    "So," Kore said, after a few seconds of silence had passed. The woman was looking her up and down - was she sizing her up? "Is this an assassination?"

    "Probably not," the woman replied, distracted, continuing to scrutinize Kore all the while.

    "Okay..." Kore trailed off. That was something, at least. "Who are you?"

    "Oh!" the woman exclaimed, snapping into focus. "That''s right - you wouldn''t recognize me, would you? I''m Sekhmet."

    Sekhmet? An odd name - where had she heard that name before? Surely it wasn''t-

    Kore''s eyes went wide. A jolt of raw panic surged through her heart, and it took every ounce of discipline and self-control she had not to bolt and run somewhere, anywhere, because standing before her now was a full-blooded Se-dai.

    A full-blooded Se-dai whom Kore had killed.

    Another in Kore''s position might have frozen on the spot - might very well have simply curled up and awaited death, confronted as they were with a being of the most elite fighting force in the entire Great Domain. A being who had been trained to kill faster than humans could perceive and quieter than humans could detect. A being who had every reason to hold a grudge against her!

    But, as always, Kore fell back upon her old protocols. Assess the situation. Make a decision. Commit to following through. There was nothing she could do to influence her current predicament - so all she could do was deal with it as best she could.

    "How is this possible...?" Kore asked, slowly.

    "You mean how am I here, walking and talking and scaring the shit out of you, after you shot me three times in the brain?" Sekhmet tapped the knot of scar tissue on the side of her forehead. "C''mon, Kore. A Se-dai doesn''t go down that easy. But really, it is kind of a miracle - even my own people figured I was done. I had been wheeled halfway to the crematorium when I finally came to."

    Kore''s bafflement only grew. Was it the delirium of this late night, of this impossible situation - or did the Se-dai actually seem...kind of friendly?

    "So," Kore said, endeavoring to keep the superhuman talking. "You woke back up, and they sent you...here?"

    "Oh," Sekhmet said, tilting her head back. "I see where this could be confusing. No, Kore, nobody sent me anywhere. You killed me, you see - you, a soft, ordinary little woman, defeated me, a full-blooded Se-dai. Like hell I was going to just suit back up and carry on like nothing ever happened. First thing I knew when I woke up was that I had to find you. Of course, I knew full well that my masters would not be partial to such an indulgence, so my exit was..." A smile split her cracked lips. "...a violent one."

    "You left the Se-dai?" Kore demanded. "I''ve never heard of-"

    "It doesn''t happen often," Sekhmet admitted. "But I''m not the first, and I doubt I''ll be the last. I mean, come on. I got killed by a women with no last name. How am I supposed to take any of this shit seriously anymore?"

    There was something deeply, deeply unsettling about a multi-trillion-credit weapon - one of the blessed executioners - walking and talking like someone Kore could''ve run into at a bar on Callisto. The situation was so incongruous that she couldn''t help but let out a short, sharp, disbelieving laugh.

    And slowly, surely, Sekhmet began to laugh as well, and for nearly thirty seconds the room was full to the brim with giddy, delirious laughter. And then, abruptly, Kore''s laugh was cut short - and her expression fell.

    "Why are you here?" she asked, her voice hushed.

    "Relax, relax - I already said I''m not gonna kill you," Sekhmet reassured with a slight, final chuckle. "Killing you would be...I mean, it would be nothing. It would be a flick of my wrist. I could kill you on accident. What''d be the point in that?"

    "So...?"

    "So, it''s simple," Sekhmet clasped her hands together. "You beat me, which makes you better than me."

    "That''s not-"

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Here''s the thing - you''re in way over you head, you have no idea what you''re doing, and sooner or later someone is gonna put a bolt right through your pretty little face."

    "Pretty?"

    "And you think I''m gonna let some random slack-jawed dipshit kill the woman who killed Sekhmet?" the Se-dai demanded. "Not a fucking chance."

    "And I don''t get a say in this?" Kore complained - and she was immediately taken aback by how at-ease she''d become in the presence of a void-damned Se-dai!

    "Oh, come on," Sekhmet drawled. "I''ll follow you and Jaheed from the shadows - totally invisible, as you should know very well a Se-dai is capable of being. You won''t even see me, and you won''t see the assassins I protect you from, either. Face it, Kore, you''re being offered a pretty sweet fucking deal here: free bodyguard service from one of the most elite bodyguards in the universe. A bodyguard for the bodyguard! I know that little pissant Jaheed would be thrilled to have a Se-dai protecting him."

    "You think it would thrill Jaheed to be associated with a rogue Se-dai?" Kore asked, incredulous. "Your very existence is a crime!"

    "Only if they catch me," Sekhmet winked.

    "That''s...that''s not..." Kore sputtered. Void-damnit, she had just wanted to go to bed! And now here she was, negotiating terms with a Se-dai asking permission to stalk her for the rest of her life!

    "If I say no..." Kore began, finally. "What''ll you do then?"

    "Suicide?" Sekhmet shrugged, as though it were a perfectly acceptable alternative. "Look, Kore, can I share something with you? Something that might seem, I dunno, maybe a little crazy?"

    "I...go ahead," Kore said, gesturing broadly. "I don''t think there''s anything you can say to surprise me at this point."

    "Back on Callisto..." Sekhmet trailed off. "After the explosion, when I was impaled on that spike of rebar. Do you remember limping over, pressing the barrel of that gun to my temple?"

    "I do," Kore gulped.

    "I confess," Sekhmet said, "I''ve never seen a woman look more beautiful than you did in that moment."

    There was only one thing Kore could possibly offer in response:

    "What the fuck?"

    <hr>

    "Well?" Jaheed asked.

    Dawn was painting the window behind him with brilliant yellow as the Marquess fiddled with his collar, his eyes locked onto his own reflection as he spoke. Beside the door, Kore leaned against the wall, arms folded and cap pulled down to obscure her eyes.

    She had not mentioned Sekhmet, nor was she certain as to whether or not she ever intended to. Hell, she didn''t know what to do about the obsessive superhuman fugitive who had vanished from her room as inexplicably as she had entered.

    Jaheed, she reasoned to herself, had bigger things to worry about right now.

    "We had drinks," Kore said, one eye peeking out from beneath the brim of her cap. "As you seem to have planned."

    "He looked like he wanted to ask you something," Jaheed shrugged. "And it''s only natural for Diesch to seek camaraderie with his counterpart."

    "I''m not a diplomat, Jaheed, nor am I a spy."

    "Yes, yes, I''m well aware. But you play the part well enough. Anyway, how did it go?"

    "I got him talking," Kore said, after a moment''s contemplation. "He told me about his history. How he got to where he is now."

    "You got him talking about his past?" Jaheed repeated, glancing back at Kore for the first time. "See? As I said, you play the part perfectly well."

    "You wanna to hear my assessment, then?"

    "Shoot."

    "He," Kore hesitated. "He''s not doing particularly well."

    "In what sense?"

    "His mental state, I mean."

    "Oh," Jaheed said. And then, after a moment: "Well, that''s good to hear. Unstable is good for us. Do you think he suspects?"

    "Us? Me?" Kore shrugged her shoulders. "Not a clue. Hell, I don''t even know if any of what he said was genuine, or if he was just reeling me into some kind of trap."

    "Mmh," Jaheed mused, running a hand through his hair. "Well, keep on him. It''s good to keep Diesch distracted, if nothing else. That one worries me."

    "And what of Duke Sorrel?" Kore asked, to which Jaheed gave a small, smug chuckle.

    "He''s all but confessed," Jaheed grinned. "Already, he considers me a close confidant, and I''ve been carefully sowing seeds that mark myself - and my father - as dissatisfied with the reign of the new Emperor. Really, it''s not even a lie, is it? My father did consort with the Crimson Emir, after all." The young man''s smile faded, then, and his lip curled ever-so-slightly. "Useless fucking moron that he was."

    Kore did not react to venom Jaheed so readily spat at his deceased father - such sudden proclamations were frequent when keeping the highborn''s company. Even in death, the specter of Jerohd Vell loomed large over his son''s shoulders, constantly weighing down upon him. A small part of Kore wanted to help him, somehow, but for the most part she was content to merely listen with neither judgement nor complaint.

    "Do you have a timetable, then?" Kore asked, adjusting her cap. "The longer we stay, the more we give Diesch to work with."

    "Two days," Jaheed said, holding up a pair of fingers. "Today, tomorrow, and then I guarantee I''ll have a recording of Sorrel confessing his treachery. Hell, we could leave tomorrow in the middle of the night - we don''t even need to wait for morning."

    "That seems prudent, my liege."

    "Then that''s what we''ll do," Jaheed declared, clasping his hands together. Something shifted in his expression, then - and he crossed the room to where Kore stood, then reached for her shoulder. Stopped. Let his hand drop. And Kore kept her expression neutral the entire time as the former Marquess said:

    "I know this isn''t a life you ever thought you''d be living."

    "No, my liege."

    "And I know this is all way out of your comfort zone."

    "Yes, my liege."

    "But for what it''s worth," Jaheed said, "thus far you''ve been nothing short of exceptional, Kore. I couldn''t..." He glanced away, and for a moment Kore could swear she saw tears welling up in the corners of the young highborn''s eyes. "I don''t think I could do this without you. Any of it. So...thank you."

    A pang of sympathy pierced clean through the shell in which Kore had carefully enveloped herself - and to even her own surprise, she reached out and patted Jaheed gently upon the arm.

    She remembered the promise he had made, at the twilight of that fateful night. She thought of all the hopes she had anchored upon this man.

    "I''m with you, Jaheed," she said, her voice gentle and firm all at once. "Whatever you need, I''ve got your back. Count on it."

    A weak smile spread across Jaheed''s face - and he nodded, patting her hand and drawing away.

    "Well then," he declared, sniffing loudly, and instantly the mask of the indifferent nobleman was plastered upon his face once more. And Kore, too, receded into the facade of the stern, pragmatic sentinel. "Shall we?"

    Kore gestured to the door.

    "Right this way, my liege."

    <hr>

    This time Kore was, admittedly, a little drunk.

    "He''s not-he''s not-" she was trying to say, as Diesch gesticulated wildly with beer in hand.

    "He is! He is!" an even drunker Diesch was saying. Night had fallen, and they sat now in the same booth in the same restaurant as the night prior. "He''s exactly like one of those yapping little dogs."

    "Jaheed-" Kore said, her expression growing hard and serious, "is the highborn son of Duke Jerohd Vell, and heir to the Vell Dynasty. He is not to be taken lightly."

    Then, she broke, and the two of them descended into raucous laughter once more.

    "Ah, boy," Diesch sighed, taking a quick drag from his cigarette. "Tell me, Kore - did you ever think you''d end up here, walking and talking amidst a gaggle of unfathomably frou-frou noblemen?"

    "No," Kore admitted, taking a sip of her sixth - seventh? - drink. "I told you last night, Abel, I was a miner for most of my life."

    "Right - you''re from Callisto," Diesch observed, jabbing a finger. "So you were doing...Cordite Extraction, yeah?"

    "Yes sir," Kore gave a two-fingered salute.

    "I''ve heard that''s miserable fucking work."

    "You''ve heard correct."

    "Must be nice, then," Diesch said, leaning back and lighting a fresh cigarette. "Going from that to this. If you don''t mind me asking, how''d you manage to pull it off?"

    Wait. Was he probing her? No, no. Diesch was - he was her friend, right? It was a casual question, and a perfectly reasonable one to ask in the course of this conversation.

    Kore decided to tell him what she could.

    "I got this...condition," she said, searching for the right words. "It''s killing me, slowly."

    "Yeah? I got two - cigars and booze," Diesch drawled, eliciting a snort from Kore, though he quickly motioned for her to continue.

    "Asshole," she smirked. "Anyway, the day I found out was the day I got laid off. No. Wait. That was the next morning. Whatever. I lost my job, found out I had two months to live, found out there was nothing I could do about it - so I went to a bar."

    "Sheesh," Diesch let out a low whistle. "That''s a lot for twenty-four hours."

    "You''re telling me," Kore agreed. "Anyway, so I-" She halted abruptly.

    Her time with Heraldry had always been a strange, unspoken elephant in the room when it came to her and Jaheed. The former Marquess was well aware that her skills in combat befit neither a miner nor a servant, and seeing as how she wasn''t one of his father''s soldiers - well, surely it hadn''t been particularly difficult to trace those lines together. But Jaheed had told her that her past meant nothing to him, and true to his word he had not once ever encroached upon the subject.

    And thus, Kore had never bothered to construct any sort of concrete lie - but now, here she was, needing to come up with something fast in front of a man legendary for his ability to root out deception.

    Kore considered her options - and decided, finally, to be as honest as she possibly could.

    "I was recruited, then," she said, "by a man called Jiang Tsen."

    "Can''t say I''m familiar," Diesch said. "So you were, what, palace guard?"

    "I was what you''d call..." Kore trailed off. She couldn''t help but smile at the absurdity of it all. "Something of an agitator." Diesch''s eyebrows lifted.

    "How the hell," he chuckled, slowly, "did you end up right-hand woman for Jerohd''s fucking kid?"

    "Now that," Kore said, thumping her finger against the table, "is a story for another time. Look. here''s all you need to know. Jiang Tsen? That man is scum." She took a long, long sip of her beer, then slammed the glass down with an exaggerated gasp. "Marquess Jaheed? I''ll protect him with my life."

    "Well, well," Diesch said, after a moment had passed. "Look at you. A domesticated little rebel. Does Jaheed know?"

    "You gonna tell him?" Kore countered.

    "Nah, nah," Diesch reassured, wiping at the corner of his mouth. "I am curious, though - why did you and Jaheed come here in the first place?"

    "We-" Kore started, then stopped. "Wait, what?"

    "I said," Diesch repeated, his voice going low. "What are you two doing here?"

    It was as though he had transformed into a different person entirely. Gone was the jovial, snickering, witty man - the comrade, the brother-in-arms who understood, like she did, all the grievances of serving at the beck and call of a snooty highborn. In his place was the empty man who had executed the Shrike in cold blood - the emotionless husk whose eyes were flaying Kore open now and rooting through her steaming entrails for even the tiniest scrap of information. Of evidence.

    Sitting before her now was the man they called the Black Hound, and unlike Kore he was entirely sober.

    "You know why we''re here," Kore said slowly, carefully. She tried and tried and tried to will her brain back to clarity and sobriety - to no avail. "Our purpose is threefold. First, to negotiate a new standard price for Cordite coming in and out of Callisto. Second, to further strengthen relations with our kinsmen in the Sorrel Dynasty. And third," she hiccuped, and silently cursed herself, "Jaheed is here to spend time with his godfather."

    "Why?" Diesch asked simply.

    "Why...what?"

    "Why is Jaheed doing these things?" Diesch pressed. "If the primary goal is an adjustment to the intricacies of trade between our worlds, why is Jaheed here unaccompanied by any sort of treasurer? If this is to further secure alliances with one of Callisto''s oldest and closest allies - an odd proposition to begin with, if you ask me - why not send either a diplomat or the Duke himself? And if the goal is simply for Jaheed to meet his godfather, well," he narrowed his eyes, "does that really warrant a fourteen-week round-trip?"

    He was relentless. Pushing and pushing and pushing and pushing and never giving her even the slightest moment to breathe. Her every stumble, her every misspeaking - all were cracks in her facade through which Diesch was flowing like a virus. Not only were her lies beginning to fall apart - but the shell she had constructed, too, was rapidly disintegrating, and before the him Kore felt nothing short of utterly, nakedly exposed.

    She had underestimated him, and all the while everything he had said and done was to lure her into a false sense of security. He was so far beyond her that she''d never even stood a chance. Jaheed, she was certain, would know what to say - how to slip out of this conversation, or to steer it elsewhere. But Jaheed wasn''t here. Jaheed had entrusted this to her.

    "I can''t speak to any of that," she said, finally, for the best answer she could offer was simply no answer at all. "I am a bodyguard and nothing more."

    "You''re Chief of Security," Diesch scoffed. "And his only traveling companion. Jaheed has no aides, no attach¨¦s. Whether you admit it or not-"

    There was a shout, a scream, a crash of porcelain - and Kore''s head swiveled around to see one of the restaurant''s many wealthy patrons slump face-first into his soup, his neck quite cleanly and obviously broken. Already, the room was exploding into motion, with patrons fleeing and guards rushing to the scene and amidst the chaos of it all Kore caught only the briefest, most infinitesimal glances of a figure vanishing lightning-fast into the throng of the surging crowd.

    The inhuman speed. The utterly silent killing. The total disappearance that seemed to have left even Diesch baffled as he leapt from the booth with revolver in hand. Sekhmet claimed that she would be shadowing Kore''s every move, though up until now she had detected not even a hint of the Se-dai''s presence. Had Sekhmet just...gifted her a diversion?

    "They''re down, sir!" a guard was saying, distantly. "Both cameras - the cables have been cut!"

    "Do we have any footage of the exterior?" Diesch demanded, his finger resting upon the trigger of his weapon. His eyes were relentless and hunting as they combed through the chaos of the restaurant. "Did anyone see what happened - anyone at all?"

    Kore tried not to think about the very real possibility that an innocent man had just been killed to allow her an escape - and took the opportunity she had been given, slipping away into the crowd and out of sight. Out of Diesch''s sight.

    <hr>

    The door to Kore''s room hissed open, and she was completely unsurprised to find Sekhmet sitting casually on the foot of her bed.

    "Hey," Sekhmet said, giving a small wave.

    Kore wished she had the energy to be properly terrified of her.

    "Was he innocent?" she asked, simply, stepping past the bed and setting her cap aside. She could feel Sekhmet''s eyes trailing her all the while.

    "Not by a long shot," the Se-dai smirked. "This guy was eating alone at a fancy restaurant with two poorly-concealed pistols - Disruptors, judging by the heat they were giving off - and all night he had been trying his hardest not to look like he wanted to murder your boy Diesch. Which, of course, made his intention twice as obvious."

    Kore glanced back at Sekhmet, her brow furrowed.

    "He was there to assassinate Diesch?"

    "Are you surprised?" Sekhmet shrugged. "Diesch''s whole job is to kill assassins. Why shouldn''t they want to kill him back?"

    "Says the assassin."

    "Don''t be rude," Sekhmet chided, clicking her tongue. "I bailed you out tonight."

    "I didn''t ask for your help."

    "You didn''t need to. Se-dai don''t need direct orders - we''re trained to respond to the tiniest of visual cues. To act as true extensions of our charges'' self-conscious."

    Kor reached up, undid the top button of her uniform - felt a relief of pressure as the entire thing loosened, at least by some small increment - and turned back to that damned smirking Se-dai.

    "Diesch is gonna know it was a Se-dai that killed him," Kore declared. "He''s gonna start asking questions."

    "Good," Sekhmet shrugged. "Let him focus on me instead of you. If he finds me, he''ll just disappear. No problems."

    "You are not killing Diesch-" Kore started.

    "I said if he finds me, which he won''t-"

    "Void-damnit, Sekhmet, get the fuck off my bed!" Kore snapped, to which the Se-dai shot instantly to her feet. "And stop doing that!"

    "Doing what?" Sekhmet asked, cocking her head to the side in a gesture of genuine confusion.

    "Moving faster than human beings are supposed to move!" Kore said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "I''m trying to pretend you''re not a Se-dai, damnit!"

    For a second, she worried that the superhuman warrior would be offended. But instead, Sekhmet merely shrugged her shoulders again and stepped off to the side.

    "My bad," she said simply.

    It dawned on Kore, then, that she had actually been comfortable enough to yell at a Se-dai. And what''s more, her shell of faux-Kore - her shield against the outside world - had unconsciously fallen away the moment she stepped into the room. With Jaheed, Kore was able to let it down by increments and degrees, and Diesch had done fine work of picking it apart piece by piece. But with Sekhmet? The shell just...vanished, as though there were truly no need for it.

    Why was she only truly comfortable with a fucking Se-dai?!

    "Look, I''m sorry," Kore said, after a moment, tossing her uniform aside and slumping back onto the bed. She undid her holster and set the gun on the nightstand with a heavy thump. "You saved my ass tonight, Sekhmet. I''m grateful. It''s just-"

    "He had you pretty upset there," Sekhmet observed. "Your heart-rate was spiking like crazy."

    "How did you-" Kore started - then, she remembered the Sekhmet''s eyes probably cost more credits than Kore had ever seen in her life. "Yeah. I was drunk, and disarmed, and I hadn''t realized I was starting to see him as a friend until it was too late. And I felt-" she shook her head. "Suddenly, it reminded me of talking to Tsen. The way they both just saw right through me."

    "The man who recruited you?" Sekhmet asked. "For Heraldry, I presume."

    "Yep."

    Kore closed her eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh. Distantly, Sekhmet''s voice came:

    "So how did you end up working for Tsen?"

    "Sekhmet."

    "I''m just curious. You don''t have to answer."

    Kore was silent for a long, long time. And then:

    "He told me he wanted to help people. I thought I was gonna make a difference - put some good into the world, for a change."

    "And then?"

    "And then I realized he didn''t give a damn about anyone other than himself," Kore said. "And that those words, which had been so important to me, were absolutely nothing to him. Just lines off a script."

    "And Jaheed?"

    "I made him promise me the same thing," Kore said quietly. "And I believe him. I have to. Because if I don''t..." She shook her head. "I helped Tsen kill innocent people. If I don''t do something good before I die, then well...I guess I was only ever just a murderer."

    The room was as silent as the grave. Finally, perturbed by the Se-dai''s silence, Kore opened her eyes - and she saw Sekhmet looking down at her with an expression she could not have predicted in a thousand years.

    Sympathy.

    Soundlessly, Sekhmet walked over and laid a hand over Kore''s own. The Se-dai''s skin was coarse and pockmarked and eerily, uncannily warm. Distantly, Kore wondered if that was the heat of cybernetic implants or simply of the raw, superhuman vitality coursing through the warrior''s veins.

    Regardless, Kore did not pull away.

    "Tsen used you," Sekhmet said quietly, and there was softness in her voice that Kore had not believed the Se-dai to be capable of. "You were but a weapon in his hands. Does a sword think, Kore? Does it sin as it carves through the enemy''s flesh?"

    "That''s a nice little metaphor," Kore sighed, "but I chose to serve him. A sword doesn''t get a say in who wields it. People do."

    "Do they?" Sekhmet asked. "You told Diesch that you had a disease that couldn''t be treated."

    "That''s right."

    "So how are you here, now, living and breathing before me?"

    "I..." Kore trailed off. "Tsen offered me treatment."

    "Regular treatment?" Sekhmet asked. "Like, a once-a-week or once-a-month injection?"

    "Yeah," Kore answered, already seeing where the Se-dai was going with this.

    "Well then," Sekhmet said, crossing her scarred arms. "Doesn''t sound to me like you had any choice at all in who wielded you."

    "It would have been better to let myself die than to work with that man," Kore muttered, running a hand over her face.

    "And did you know that at the time?"

    "Sekhmet."

    "Kore?"

    "I''d like to go to bed now."

    "Alright," Sekhmet said simply, withdrawing her hand. There was a ghost of a smile upon her face as she stepped back. "I''ll see myself out the usual way."

    "Hey," Kore interjected - sitting up, blinking in the dim light. "Hang on. Sek."

    "Sek?"

    "Where do you-" Kore gestured sluggishly, "y''know, sleep?"

    "Sleep?" Sekhmet repeated. "Oh, right. I haven''t slept since I arrived on Proxima. I can go about eight days before it starts to become a problem."

    Kore couldn''t exactly articulate what compelled her to do what she did next - but she reached over, grabbed a pillow, and tossed it across the room. Sekhmet caught it deftly with one hand, eyebrow raised.

    "You can sleep here," Kore offered simply, gesturing to the floor. "Not the bed, but-"

    "Heh," Sekhmet chuckled, dropping to a low crouch. She set the pillow up against the wall. "You''re way too nice, Kore. This line of work''s gonna get you killed, you know that?"

    "I know," Kore muttered, leaning her head back and sinking into blissful unconsciousness. "But I got you...watching my back...right...?"

    And though Kore would be loathe to admit it, she slept more sound and secure with Sekhmet by her side than she had in months.

    When she awoke up the next morning, as vitalized and rejuvenated as she had ever felt, the Se-dai was already gone. And so Kore got up, got dressed.

    And got to work.

 CHAPTER NINE // ITS IN MY NATURE

    Kore knocked three times against the frigid hull of the Hawk''s Eye - waited a moment for any sort of reply - and then made her way up the gangplank, drawing her black overcoat tight against the bitter morning air.

    Inside, the shuttle was quite comfortably warm, and with a relieved sigh Kore unbuttoned her coat, rubbing her hands together as she glanced around and took stock of her surroundings. The shuttle''s welcoming "lobby" remained sparsely furnished, a pale red carpet set against faded, yellowing walls - it was a space that had clearly existed in a state of quiet decay for quite some time. Clearly Ket Sal had not seen fit to supply the former Marquess with one of his more modern vessels.

    Kore made her way down a narrow hallway - past an intersection that branched off into various sleeping quarters - and stepped onto a bridge that was just as tan and faded as the rest of the ship''s interior.

    The captain, Sen Tarsus, was lounging in the central chair with her boots up on a nearby terminal, reading from a holographic-display tablet with her mouth drawn into a thin line. Then, her eyes flicked to Kore - and with a grunt she rose to her feet, snapping off a quick salute.

    "Morning, Chief," Tarsus said.

    "Good morning, Captain Tarsus," Kore replied evenly.

    The captain was a tall, slim woman, her body lean and somewhat elongated from countless years of exposure to zero-gravity, and her auburn hair was tied back into a messy bun. Her uniform - similar to Kore''s own, but sporting two blue stripes to denote her as captain of a naval vessel - hung loose and unbuttoned, revealing a jet-black undershirt and a hint of some manner of tattoo crawling up the side of her collarbone.

    In their few weeks of spaceflight to Proxima, Kore had found Captain Tarsus to be casual, pragmatic, and entirely unflappable - and she had liked her almost immediately.

    "What''s the word, Chief?" Tarsus asked, dropping the pretense of formal deference at once. "If you''re wanting to set off today-" she jerked her head at the tablet, "-I''d like at least a few hours to run some final checks first. The Eye ain''t done a jump like Callisto-Proxima in damn near half a decade, and you wouldn''t believe the screws it shook loose." She patted the terminal affectionately. "You know I take good care of her, though."

    "Of course," Kore said, her tone neutral. This was the Kore she projected to her subordinates - flat, laconic, and perpetually serious. It was, all things considered, not a particularly difficult role to play. "But no, Captain, we won''t be leaving right away. By Liege Jaheed''s estimation, we''re likely to be casting off sometime late this evening. If the shuttle''s condition will allow it, that is."

    "Don''t you worry ''bout the Eye''s condition," Tarsus chided, clicking her tongue. "If you need her, she''ll be ready. That''s my girl right there." Again, she patted at the terminal.

    "Good," Kore said simply, inclining her head. "I do, however, have two further points to address."

    "Go ahead."

    "First," Kore said. "As soon as the ship is ready, I want engines warm at all times."

    At that, the captain raised an eyebrow.

    "Are we planning on a quick exit?" she asked, her expression growing wary. Kore knew little of Tarsus''s service record but was certain, then, that the other woman had seen more than her fair share of quick exits.

    "It could very well be required," Kore said, choosing her words carefully. "The situation here is...uncertain. So if I make a call, captain, and I tell you we need to leave now, I need to know that this ship can be airborne the moment we set foot upon the deck."

    "...gotcha," Tarsus said, after a moment, nodding her head. "Wouldn''t be the first time I had to pull a hot exit. Uh. Ma''am."

    "I''m sure," Kore said, a hint of a smile playing across her face as her suspicions were confirmed. The Scion had, unintentionally or otherwise, provided Jaheed with nothing short of an exemplary ship-captain.

    "So what''s the second thing, then?" Tarsus asked, leaning back against the terminal and folding her arms, and immediately Kore''s small half-smile was wiped away.

    Here it was, now. The crux of the issue.

    Sen Tarsus was by no means one of Mercury''s favored pilots. Her career was a dead-end, her skill overshadowed by her disregard for authority and her penchant for playing fast and loose with any rules set before her. She was, in theory, a person who would rather die than report the existence of Kore''s secret to the powers-that-be.

    Or was she? What if it was all an act - the carefully constructed faux-personality of one of Ket Sal''s agents, her very being manufactured to lure Jaheed and Kore into a false sense of security? She had trusted Diesch, opened up to him - and look how the Inspector had repaid her. A similar fate might very well await her now, with the very woman charged with flying and maintaining their vessel.

    Ah, what the hell. Kore had already told her that there were two things - she had might as well follow through.

    "You may catch glimpses of a woman, here on the ship, from time to time," Kore began, to which Tarsus furrowed her brow but did not reply. "Blonde hair, denim jacket - nowhere on the flight list. You might see her in the cargo bay, or snag her on the cam footage."

    "Okay..." Tarsus trailed off, even more wary than before now. "Are we talking about a stowaway, here?"

    "Indeed."

    "And you want me to just..." again, Tarsus'' tone was skeptical, "...ignore her?"

    "Yes, Captain."

    "Mind if I ask why?"

    "Her position is-" Kore started - but no. She didn''t know this woman. She couldn''t possibly trust her with that. "I can''t go into detail, Captain, but I can assure you that her presence is a good thing for all of us."

    "Then why not have her on the flight registry?"

    "Her status is-"

    "Are you asking me to harbor a fugitive?"

    "She-"

    "Does liege Jaheed know?"

    "The less Jaheed knows," Kore said firmly, "the better. For him."

    "Ohhh," Tarsus said, leaning her head back - and Kore was relieved to see a wry, mischievous smile spreading across the Captain''s face. "Very, very interesting. I knew I liked you, Chief."

    "You''ll turn a blind eye, then?" Kore asked, reaching up and straightening her cap. Maintaining the illusion of stoic control.

    "That depends - is she half-decent as a mechanic?" Tarsus asked, rising to her full height. "Because shit, Captain, I wouldn''t say no to some actual help around here."

    "I''ll-" Kore paused. Truth be told, she had no idea. "I''ll talk to her."

    "Good enough for me, then," Tarsus scoffed, extending a hand, and Kore shook it at once. "Now if you''ll excuse me, Chief, I got a helluva lotta work to do here before the Eye is back up to ninety-nine percent."

    "Not a hundred?" Kore asked, to which Tarsus gave a wry chuckle.

    "Waddya think this is, a yacht?"

    -----

    Diesch met Jaheed and Kore that morning with folded hands and a pensive stare. For once, there was no cigarette clenched between the lanky man''s teeth. And the bags beneath his eyes were even deeper and darker than usual - he clearly hadn''t slept.

    Those eyes, weary and alert all at once, fell upon Kore for just a moment before flicking to Jaheed.

    "I''m sorry to report that there''s been a breach of security, Noble Marques," Diesch said, bowing at the waist. On him, the gesture looked utterly out of place.

    "I heard as much," Jaheed replied, with picture-perfect solemnity. "Kore spoke of the violence that took place last night. It was quite a fantastical scene, if the anecdotes are to be believed."

    "It was indeed something of an unusual matter," Diesch said, his words and tone revealing nothing. Kore couldn''t help but wonder to herself how close Diesch might be to uncovering the truth. There were other groups in the Domain that employed silent, terrifying cyborg assassins - but none that struck as quietly and lethally as the Se-dai. Kore prayed, silently, that Diesch had chosen to disbelieve that which his eyes were telling him to be true. After all, the very concept of a rogue Se-dai was all but unheard of.

    Wait - unless Diesch thought it was a real Se-dai who had killed that man. That would immediately draw Diesch''s suspicions that Jaheed was an agent of the Emperor - and what''s more, the killing had occurred at exactly the moment Kore had needed an escape. If Diesch drew the line from the Se-dai to Kore, and from Kore to Jaheed...

    Kore studied his face - but again, the Inspector''s countenance revealed nothing. She strove to do the same.

    "Nevertheless," Diesch was saying, "though the matter is well in hand, I must ask that you travel today with a full compliment of armed guards. I myself will be absent for most of the day, as I work to ensure the safety and security of this palace once more."

    "I defer to your wisdom, Inspector," Jaheed said, with an easy smile. "Though I must inquire - does this increased level of security indicate that the culprit has not yet been found?"

    To his credit, Diesch''s expression did not change.

    "Security, by nature," he said, spreading his palms, "is forever a work in progress. But I do feel confident in saying, once again, that we have the situation well in hand."

    "Well," Jaheed said, after allowing the silence to hang just momentarily. "That''s good enough for me!"

    "I''m glad to hear it," Diesch smiled slightly. Then, his eyes flicked back to Kore, and something shifted behind his flat countenance. "Lord Marquess - if I might have a word with your Chief of Security, for a moment? It''s little more than a clerical matter."

    Kore''s chest tightened. She did not reply.

    "By all means," Jaheed said, gesturing to Kore, and the two of them stepped aside as Jaheed turned and pretended to be enraptured by a painting of a vicious, mud-strewn battlefield.

    Kore stood at strict attention, shoulders straight and hands clasped tight behind her back. Give him nothing, she told herself. Give him fucking nothing. Whatever it was Diesch thought he knew, he didn''t. And if he did - Sekhmet was there. Always her shadow. Always her protector. There was nothing Diesch or Sorrel or anybody on Proxima could do to hurt her as long as Sekhmet was watching.

    "I want to apologize," Diesch said, quietly, "for last night."

    Kore blinked.

    "I''m sorry?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

    "You know what I mean," Diesch said, his eyes flicking back and forth. "That wasn''t fair. Pretending to be drunk, luring you into false confidence. Interrogating you during what was supposed to be a friendly round of drinks."

    "That''s your job, Diesch," Kore said, forcing her surprise and confusion down beneath a mask of professional indifference. "I can''t possibly fault you for it."

    "Well, I think it was overboard," Diesch replied. "And cruel. My job dictates that I see people as little more than bundles of facts, lies, and potential threats - sometimes I forgot that people are, well, people, too.

    "Thank you, Diesch," Kore said, unsure of how else to even reply. The apology should have warmed her heart - but she had seen Diesch turn his humanity on and off like a switch. It was simply impossible to take him at face value now.

    "If I might ask away from my liege''s ears, then," Kore said, tactfully steering things in a new direction. "Have you found anything on the identity of last night''s killer? Might my liege still be in some prospective danger?"

    "What I''ve found..." Diesch trailed off, his mouth pressing into a thin line - visibly considering just how much he should reveal to a woman who was, ostensibly, both ally and enemy both. "Whomever they were, they weren''t entirely human."

    "I figured as much," Kore said, nodding her head. This was fine - it had been an obvious conclusion to draw from the start. "From the brief glimpse I caught of them, they were little more than a blur. Speed like that can only mean cybernetics."

    "Agreed. But there''s more to it - the victim was under a false name, a false face, and carried with him a pair of concealed weapons he somehow managed to slip past the security check." He regarded Kore wearily. "By all appearances, our first assassin was there only to thwart our second."

    "This is a mess," Kore said, after a moment.

    "You''re telling me," Diesch nodded. "For now, all I can do is be patient and unravel it, thread by thread. And in the meantime, we watch. And we wait."

    -----

    The remainder of Kore''s day was mercifully uneventful. She and Jaheed were led about to all manner of shops, sights, and tourist destinations by the high-spirited Duke, who spoke in booming and invigorated tones of his love for the people and culture of Proxima. And all the while, though Diesch was gone, his presence nevertheless starkly felt as the three of them were surrounded at all times by stern-faced, rifle-toting guards. At every checkpoint, nay, at every corner one of Diesch''s men was lurking, eyes on alert for any sign of the cyborg killer lurking in their midst.

    Despite this constant display of force, Kore found herself oddly at-ease. Finally, Diesch''s attention was directed elsewhere - finally he was looking anywhere other than at her. His telescopic lens had been turned upon an individual whom Kore was certain, after all, was more than a match for the Chief Inspector. The way Sekhmet simply melded into shadow still defied all belief.

    And yet, relieved as she was, there was also an odd air of finality hanging about Kore''s thoughts. A feeling as though all she saw was but a dream, temporary and ready to be shattered at a moment''s notice. As the Duke led them through the great halls of the palace, Kore could not help but imagine rows and rows of Liquidators swarming up those grand stairs like a mass of black beetles, emerald disruptor beams intersecting and scything down every one of Diesch''s men in a grid of white-hot death. And she pictured, too, the wiry figures of the Se-dai stalking like wraiths in the mist, all of them invincible and moving faster than the eye could possibly see.

    It was as though she could already see this place in ruins.

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Kore didn''t quite know how to feel about that.

    And so, the hours passed, and she stood now in her room, alone, at the close of day, her few belongings already showed away upon the waiting shuttle. Sekhmet was nowhere to be seen. And she pondered the las-pistol in her hand, for a moment, before tucking it into her thigh-holster and pulling her cap snug over her skull. A myriad of thoughts bubbled to the surface of her mind, unprompted - but Kore merely shoved them down and moved to the door. Later, she thought to herself. All time for regrets would come later.

    The door hissed open - and Jaheed was waiting there, hands folded, his expression unusually somber. His eyes met hers and Kore saw at once that all day Jaheed had been picturing the exact same thing. Devastation.

    "Well then," Jaheed said simply. "Let''s get the fuck out of this place."

    "Yeah," Kore grunted, reaching up and straightening her collar. "Let''s."

    -----

    Jaheed and Kore strode shoulder-to-shoulder across the vastly-elevated tarmac, the midnight air whipping and howling at their coats - Kore''s a black military trench, Jaheed''s a finery-embroidered jacket - as a trio of moons hung in a brilliant triangle overhead.

    Despite the freezing cold, Kore couldn''t help but walk with something of a spring in her step. She thought of Sekhmet - thought of the warmth of her skin, the heat of her breath, thought of the true and unguarded safety she''d feel when she was alone with her again tonight. She thought about sleeping in the same bed as her - the Se-dai''s presence an anchoring bulwark against anything and everything that would make do her harm. She thought about-

    "Is that Diesch?" Jaheed blurted out - and Kore snapped back to reality and saw him standing there, coat flaring back, directly blocking their path to the shuttle. There was an unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth.

    An alarm was wailing in the back of Kore''s mind.

    "What the hell is this?" Jaheed hissed, visibly taken aback. "Surely he doesn''t-"

    "Let me do the talking," Kore said simply, her heart pounding in her chest. "I know him."

    "Alright," Jaheed gulped, and nodded, and then once more he had donned the face of aristocratic indifference. Contempt, even, and naked irritation at the presence of an obstacle before him. "You take the lead."

    The wind was howling even louder as Kore and Jaheed approached.

    "Marquess Vell," Diesch called, inclining his head. "Chief Kore." His words were rigidly formal - and quite unlike him.

    "Inspector Diesch," Kore answered, matching him with formality of her own. "Is something the matter?"

    "No," Diesch said, shaking his head. "Nothing''s the matter. I just had a few questions for you both, if you don''t mind."

    "Is this really necessary?" Jaheed asked, carefully lining his words with the unspoken sort of threat that all highborn seemed able to conjure at will. His meaning was clear - get out of my way now, or I will make your life very difficult. "We''re quite literally on our way out. I don''t know what kind of threat we could possibly pose-"

    "Please," Diesch said calmly, holding up his hands. "Just a moment of your time."

    There was something odd, something strained in his tone. Danger pricked at the back of Kore''s neck, and she allowed her hand to drift surreptitiously to her holstered weapon. She didn''t look - but she could feel Jaheed tensing beside her, too. It was in the air, then. Every one of them could feel it.

    "Mister Diesch," Jaheed growled, taking a single step forward - perfectly blocking Diesch''s line of sight on her gun. It was surprisingly slick of him. Slowly, Kore''s fingers undid the clasp and wrapped tight around the grip of her weapon. "I am Marquess of the Vell Dynasty, and I am telling you, lowborn, that I have a great many important matters to attend to. Your presence is impeding my work and as such I am ordering you to step aside. Need I take more drastic measures?"

    It was a hollow, put-upon threat - Diesch knew well that Kore was the only weapon currently at Jaheed''s disposal - but nevertheless, Diesch relented, turning halfway on his heel towards the waiting ship and gesturing for the others to go ahead.

    "Look," he was saying, "maybe we can continue this conversation somewhere-"

    Kore caught a flash of steel on his hip, and without thinking she leapt forward, shoving Jaheed down and throwing herself overtop him.

    Two shots rang out - shrill, piercing retorts of a plasma revolver - and Kore felt the impacts slam like battering rams against her back. The armored plate concealed beneath her uniform did its job, absorbing the brunt of the blow and stopping the bolts from ripping through Kore''s insides, but as the shots connected and dissipated the heat diffused over the surface of the plate, searing Kore''s skin around the edges.

    She let out a gasp of pain, the wind knocked from her lungs and the skin of her back beginning to smoke and char - and then she grit her teeth and swung around, las-pistol in hand and ready without a doubt to unleash death upon her foe.

    Diesch had vanished.

    Quickly, Kore was helping Jaheed to his feet, and wordlessly she signaled for Jaheed to take cover behind one of countless nearby crates as she swept the barrel of her weapon across the metal forest they had found themselves in the midst of. In the corner of her eye, there was a flash of movement - of a tan overcoat - and Kore leapt to cover, a trio of bolts slapping against the pavement where she had stood a mere half-second before. She was breathing heavily, now, the pain of her charred back coming in waves, but she shook her head and forced herself to peer around the corner - only to duck back at once as another plasma bolt ripped through the open air.

    "What the hell are you doing?!" Jaheed bellowed, from behind a crate of his own. There was righteous, indignant fury in his voice - but to Kore''s eyes, it was blatantly clear that the highborn was nothing short of utterly terrified. "You would dare harm - nay kill a highborn? I didn''t know you were Se-dai, Diesch!"

    Se-dai - wait. Oh shit. Sekhmet.

    Kore dared to glance around the other side of the crate - and saw nothing, not even a shade of the warrior she knew must be stalking Diesch now, preparing to snuff out his life before he could possibly even hope to react.

    She couldn''t let that happen. Diesch was a good man. This was all just a misunderstanding. She couldn''t just-

    "I don''t know what you''re talking about," Diesch''s voice came, followed by another pair of shots. "The Marquess and his bodyguard were gunned down by an assassin - the same assassin who killed a man in that restaurant last night."

    "So the Duke doesn''t know?" Jaheed shouted. "Have you lost your mind?! I''ll see you atomized for this insanity!"

    Then, Kore saw it - a flicker of a shadow, darting with blinding speed from box to box. It was Sekhmet, she knew, weaving her way towards Diesch''s end. Towards saving Kore''s life.

    Bizarrely - inexplicably - it was in that moment that Kore realized she might very well be in love with that woman.

    Nevertheless:

    "Stop!" Kore bellowed, her voice rising even above the shrieking and whistling of the wind. "Don''t kill him!"

    "What?" Diesch demanded. "Who the hell are you talking to?"

    Kore used the opportunity to leap around the corner, pistol raised - but Diesch was smart, damn him, and he had held his ground. The revolver let out a yelp and Kore was flying back, her chest burning and her breath ragged. That was both armor plates, now. No more second chances.

    Jaheed was looking up at her in silent question as Kore pulled herself to her feet, gritting her teeth against the pain. Fuck this, she swore to herself. Fuck Diesch for being a good man that she couldn''t just allow Sekhmet to slaughter.

    "So, where was the lie?" Kore called, between gasping breaths of pain. For a moment, there was only the howling of the wind in reply.

    "What?" Diesch demanded, finally.

    "Where did we lie?" Kore repeated. "What evidence is there that we deserve to be gunned down in the night like a pair of common criminals?"

    "Surely we at least deserve to hear the charges!" Jaheed added on.

    "I don''t need evidence!" Diesch snarled in immediate reply. "Not when I have intuition! And you two are as crooked as any I''ve ever seen."

    "That''s not-" Jaheed started.

    "You''re fake!" Diesch roared. "Liars, both of you! I can tell, I can always tell!"

    "And that''s enough to kill me for?" Kore demanded. "Just a hunch?"

    "You lied to my face, Kore!"

    "No, Abel, I was stupid enough to trust you!" Kore shot back. "Listen to me, damnit! I can''t know what it was like to kill that man, all those years ago. I''ve been lucky enough so far to never experience that emptiness you described. And I know it''s...it''s against everything the world has ever taught you to actually trust another person. But I need you to hear it from the mouth of me, Kore, your friend - your drinking buddy - that Jaheed and I are exactly what we seem, okay?" She glanced back at Jaheed. "Right now, Abel, all I wanna do is go home. Can I please go home?"

    A long silence. Then:

    "Sorrel is a good man!" Diesch shouted. "A good man surrounded by enemies! Do you know how rare that is - a highborn who actually cares for his people?!"

    Kore thought of Sorrel''s invitation of the omnicidal Crimson Emir to his very world - and chose to keep that bit of information to herself.

    "Duke Sorrel is all but an uncle to me!" Jaheed called, daring to rise to his feet now. "He was my father''s closest friend! I wouldn''t dare lay a finger on him, and to anyone that would-" he filled his voice with as much dark gravitas as he could muster, "-I would see them crushed by the hand of Vell!"

    "We''re telling the truth, Abel!" Kore added, the grip of her las-pistol growing slick with sweat. "All we want now is to go home."

    It was the longest silence yet that followed - and then, finally, the revolver clattered to the ground between them.

    "Come on out," Diesch said - and Kore stepped from behind her makeshift cover to see the man as small and disheveled and weary as she had ever known him.

    Jaheed watched with a mixture of wariness and barely-concealed fury as Kore moved to stand before him, and the Inspector looked up at the larger woman with nothing less than pure, naked shame.

    "Forgive me," he said, his voice all but a whisper. "I''m so very tired."

    "So am I, Abel," Kore said - and she could think of nothing more to add. "So am I."

    The two of them stood there for some time, their burgeoning friendship now forever rent to pieces - until finally Jaheed emerged from behind his cover and moved to join them.

    "This incident will, of course, be-" Jaheed coughed. "Forgotten, Mister Diesch. Your service record has been nothing short of exemplary. If Duke Sorrel was not made aware of these proceedings-"

    "-then he doesn''t need to know, either," Kore said, forcing herself to give him the smallest of smiles. And then the enormity, the agony of what she was doing to this man and to his people struck her like a bolt of lightning to the skull, and suddenly Kore found that she couldn''t even bear to look at him.

    Jaheed said some further pleasantries - Diesch uttered further apologies - farewells were exchanged, and then Kore and Jaheed were aboard the Hawk''s Eye as the engines roared brilliant azure and the gangplank rose, allowing Kore just a brief final glance at Diesch as he stood there, small and alone amidst the black night and the surging wind. And then the gangplank sealed shut, and Kore and Jaheed were alone.

    "By the void," Jaheed sighed, running his trembling hands down the sides of his face. "That paranoid madman was nearly the death of us."

    "It isn''t paranoia if we actually mean to betray him," Kore countered, with anima that surprised even herself - to which Jaheed shot her a pointed look.

    "We fulfilled our duties to Holy Mercury," he said, simply. It was more recitation than rebuttal. "We did as we were tasked, and we did in near-perfect fashion. The Emperor will be quite pleased."

    "That doesn''t change the fact that we just betrayed an entire world."

    "No," Jaheed said, firmly but gently. "We did not betray Proxima. The Sorrel''s betrayed Proxima, by courting a man who would see their sky boiled and their land turned to molten glass. I do truly believe, as Diesch said, that Sorrel is a well-meaning man, and I cannot say what manner of desperation drove him to the Emir''s arms. But the facts remain the facts. We have just rescued the people of Proxima from all but certain annihilation."

    Kore didn''t speak for some time. Finally, Jaheed let out a sigh, laying a hand upon her shoulder.

    "This is our first step towards real power," he said. "And with that power, we can finally begin the work of making the Domain a better place."

    "A noble goal, then," Kore swallowed. "No matter how much horrible shit we gotta do to achieve it." She forced herself to believe those words as they spilled out, boiling and bitter, from her throat.

    "It''s an imperfect world," Jaheed said, smiling slightly. "All we can do is make the best of it."

    With that, the highborn turned, no doubt intending to retire to his quarters. He made it halfway across the lobby when Kore finally decided to say it.

    "I have," she said, and the former Marquess paused, "one request."

    He turned.

    "Go on."

    "When you write your report, to Holy Mercury," Kore said, and slowly her voice was hardening until it became clear that this was a command, not a request, "I ask that you recommend Abel Diesch to be spared in the purge to follow."

    "The purge?" Jaheed asked.

    "Don''t play dumb," Kore snapped. "You and I both know what''s about to happen to those people."

    "Hmm," Jaheed mused, scratching at his chin. It was no sardonic gesture - he appeared to genuinely be weighing the consequences of such a decision. "He did just try to kill us, you know. We truly should have him atomized."

    "He was doing his job," Kore said. "We''re the ones that-"

    "Yeah, yeah," Jaheed muttered, waving a hand, and for the first time Kore thought she could make out a pang of guilt in the former Marquess''s voice. "I know. But listen - it isn''t going to be an easy sell. Everything about Diesch screams that he would be a dissident under any new regime."

    "He''s also incredibly talented, with a spotless record," Kore countered. "He would be invaluable asset to anyone - especially a new, temporary regent trying to keep the peace."

    Jaheed gave her a long, strange look - and then he shrugged his shoulders.

    "Very well," he said, and he keyed the door open behind him. "I''ll see what I can do. Goodnight, Kore."

    That was as good as she was going to get. And as good as he was going to get, too.

    "Goodnight, my liege."

    -----

    And so, Kore made her way down that pallid-yellow hall, feeling the subtle rumble of the ship''s engine through the soles of her boots as the lights flickered briefly - a small symptom of their transition to sublight speed.

    There was a black, yawning pit of sadness at the bottom of her stomach - the kind of vivid despair and self-loathing that makes one''s breath catch in their own throat. There was no mission, no objective. No job to occupy her thoughts. Nothing but the reality of what she had just done and the person that she knew she now was.

    Her finger tapped once, twice, thrice against her keypad and then the door was sliding shut behind her as she stepped into what had been for weeks of travel - and what was, now, once again - her room. It was a small, slanted little hovel, the only illumination a faded light emanating from the seam where canted ceiling met wall. It was also, for all intents and purposes, home.

    And, of course, Sekhmet was already there.

    Kore glanced at the Se-dai - forced herself to give a small, strained smile - then threw her cap aside, unholstered her weapon, unbuttoned her uniform, and simply flopped face-first into bed.

    "I''m sorry," Sekhmet''s voice came, small and quiet.

    Kore strongly considered just keeping her mouth shut and falling asleep.

    "It''s okay," she muttered through her pillow, instead. "It was the right thing to do."

    "I know," Sekhmet replied, after a moment. "But still. I''m sorry."

    Slowly, Kore turned to face her - to face the cybernetic abomination who might very well be her only friend in the entire Domain. She was looking down at her with sympathy so raw and unguarded that Kore found herself caught off-guard.

    "What did I tell you, the other night?" Sekhmet asked, gently. "It isn''t your fault."

    "You broke away," Kore replied bitterly, forcing herself to sit upright. Shame burned at the back of her throat as she spoke. "You didn''t allow yourself to be a weapon in someone else''s hands."

    "Oh, Kore," Sekhmet sighed, moving to sit beside the larger woman. Their shoulders brushed together, and once again Kore was quietly astounded that she could feel so comfortable beside such a tremendously dangerous individual.

    "It took me a long, long time," Sekhmet said, smiling sadly. "And it wasn''t because I thought what I was doing was wrong. I don''t regret a single person I''ve ever killed, you know, and I''m sorry if that''s upsetting for you to hear. But I did what I did because I couldn''t stand to be a pawn - to be an extension of someone else. It was a selfish choice, you see, however noble it might appear. And, unlike you, I had certain," she held up a hand, closing her fingers into a fist then opening them once again, "-advantages. Even then, it wasn''t easy to slip my leash. Even now my cousins are hunting for me."

    "But you did it," Kore said simply. "You''re free, and I''m a slave. And we''re all slaves, aren''t we? All just dancing to the tune of that man." She shook her head. "Me, Jaheed, Diesch, Sorrel - we''re all just pieces on a board, doing what we''re supposed to do."

    "I''ll fight for you," Sekhmet said, finally, and Kore realized with surprising sadness that such a response was the only thing the Se-dai truly knew. It was her only method of confronting a problem - to fight it, and to fight harder than anyone had ever fought before. "If you want, I could kill everyone aboard this ship right now and you could go anywhere. Do anything. Be anyone. You don''t have to-"

    "This is what I signed up for," Kore interrupted, and this time she was the one offering a sad smile. "Jaheed and I have a pact to do whatever we can - whatever we must to make the Domain a better place. And if the only path to doing so is through servitude? Through doing terrible shit in the name of a terrible man?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Well. The job is the job."

    "But do you really believe that?" Sekhmet asked, cocking her head to the side. Kore''s breath caught in her throat.

    "I think I have to," she choked out, finally.

    The two of them did not exchange another word. Soon, the room was cast into darkness, and Kore was dead asleep as the crepuscular Se-dai sat at the foot of her bed, arms folded around her knees and silver-grey eyes locked onto the room''s only entrance - perpetually on guard, just as she had been born and bred to do. And as Sekhmet kept watch, Kore dreamed of places and visions and colors and futures and all manner of things the likes of which she could scarcely comprehend and would not possibly remember come morning.

    Two doors down, Jaheed lay in bed, wide awake, his arms crossed behind his head as he stared up at a decaying ceiling. His mind was swirling with names and faces and dates and plans and lies and promises and threats and fears and longings and all of it was to drown out, to push down the face of his brother. And of his sister.

    And of his father. There would be no sleep for the Marquess this night.

    And thus, the two of them hurtled through space, on towards holy Mercury - on towards a cataclysmic future that neither of them could possibly have anticipated.

    On they raced into the hands of the Jade Emperor.

 CHAPTER TEN // RATS IN THE MAZE

    CYCLE 12873 // MONTH THIRTEEN // DAY TWENTY-FOUR // REIGN OF BLESSED EMPEROR VOLSIF XCVII

    The trip "home" was, mercifully, an uneventful one. For approximately four weeks the crew of the Cloud Gorger were left largely to their own devices, and thus boredom soon had them turning to the refuge of strong alcohol and good company. Kore, Jaheed, and Tarsus spent many an artificial night getting drunk on the bridge and playing cards, basking in one another''s presences (as one was wont to do when isolated and alone on a flying hunk of metal) and largely enjoying a life (temporarily) free of any and all responsibility.

    An amicable sort of camaraderie was growing between Jaheed and Kore, the kind that could emerge only from stark differences in personality and perspective. Each was like a counterbalance to the other, contrasting in a way that only served to make their opposite more interesting, more intriguing. Jaheed admired Kore''s calm determination and hard-earned pragmatism; Kore was captivated by Jaheed''s high-minded ideals and razor-sharp, book-taught wit. He could outmaneuver her in argument or debate with ease; she in turn could beat him a thousand times at cards and was an expert in the art of pointing out when he was being an idiot.

    And then, there was Sekhmet - restless Sekhmet who prowled the boiler room at nearly all hours, and whose technical knowledge did in fact eclipse the captain''s own (though this knowledge was unearned, having been programmed into her brain by some nameless Se-dai fleshweaver). During the "days", Sekhmet and Tarsus worked side-by-side in amiable silence - the captain far too world-weary to fear what was clearly some form of cyborg fugitive - and during the "nights", after Jaheed had retired, Kore and the former Se-dai would make the fierce sort of love that naturally stems from a lifetime of repression.

    These were easy, happy times, all of them buoyed by the exciting promise of better futures soon to come.

    But alas, all good times must come to an end. And so, on the twenty-sixth day, there came Sen Tarsus'' voice over the intercom:

    "All hands strap in; dropping to realspace in fifteen. Welcome to Holy Mercury, everybody."

    And that was the end of that.

    <hr>

    Ket Sal woke with a start - and then, already, his head was pounding.

    The Scion groaned, glanced over at the time, then slumped right back down, running his hands along the sides of his face as though they might massage the hangover from his skull. From above, artificial sunlight was beginning to stream into the room through an artificial window, and with the gentle darkness there went any hope of the yellow-eyed Scion returning to his blissful slumber.

    He reached over to the nightstand, careful not to disturb the woman laying next to him, yet still he felt her stir as he retrieved and lit a long, blue-striped cigarette. He sat up in bed now, taking a heavy drag and closing his eyes ¨C and feeling Ma¨ªt''s cold fingers running down the side of his chest.

    "Hey..." she muttered, her face pressed deep into her pillow. She, too, was in denial at the morning''s arrival.

    Ket Sal didn''t reply to her, not directly - he just took another drag of his cigarette, then opened his eyes and said, "Son of a bitch."

    Rather than receding, as would be the polite thing to do, his headache was instead growing louder and more demanding by the minute. A Scion''s body was modified to - among many other things - make them all but impervious to the disorienting effects of alcohol; however, Ket Sal had discovered just a few weeks after his Ascension that bypassing this "limitation" was absolutely within the realm of physical possibility. One needed only imbibe with speed and volume enough to kill several full-grown man. And so, last night, he had done just that, and so here he was today - thoroughly hungover.

    Ma¨ªt turned her head - turned her brilliant blue eyes upon him - and offered a lopsided smile. "I take it you feel about the same way you look?"

    "I take it you''re right," the Scion grumbled in reply. "Void, Ma¨ªt, next time I say I want to get drunk - stop me, would you? Please? Consider it an act of charity."

    "Aww," the woman sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "You''re more fun when you''re drunk."

    "What? I''m always fun," Ket Sal scoffed, before leaning in to kiss his wife for several breathless seconds. Then, he pulled away, and the two of them shared a gentle silence and a pair of small smiles before their reverie was interrupted by a soft, pleasant - but insistent - chime at the door.

    The heads-up display behind Ket Sal''s eyes informed him at once that it was Ammit at the door, the Se-dai''s name and serial number flashing over his wife''s face in bold red text. Through an unspoken command issued through his occipital implant, Ket Sal bade the Se-dai to enter.

    The doors hissed open at once, and Ammit stepped into the room, unhelmeted but otherwise clad in full Se-dai regalia. Her eyes fell upon the naked couple with mechanical disinterest and she said, by way of greeting, "Jaheed Vell has arrived."

    Ket Sal''s headache was growing worse. He sighed, planting palm to forehead in a sort of penitent gesture as his cigarette hung suspended between two fingers.

    "Good morning, Ammit," Ma¨ªt smiled beside him, infuriatingly cheery and unsuffering. "Care to join us?"

    "Good morning, Lady Ma¨ªt," Ammit replied, perfectly matching the other woman''s lackadaisical tone. Her eyes widened ever-so-slightly in what Ket Sal knew to be her closest approximation of a smile. "I must respectfully decline."

    When Volsif XCVII, the man Ket Sal had known as Doss, was Ascended to the title of Holy Emperor, he brought with him nine of his closest friends and allies - a sentimental gesture from a deeply unsentimental man. These became his first Scions; Ket Sal among them.

    Now, when Ket Sal had been Ascended, he brought with him only one person - his longtime girlfriend from Third School, Ma¨ªt Tas Oan, whom he proposed to the day he was made a Scion. There were no others. Not his family, who had scorned their youngest and cast him out; and not his friends, of whom he had none.

    That was, in truth, what really set Ket Sal apart from his fellow Scions. Though he was as fluidly outgoing and social as any Scion, he was by no means a friendly man. He kept those he cared about close and all others at a stark, hostile distance. It was thus that Ket Sal''s reputation was not as a diplomat but as the Jade Emperor''s headsman, a sneering figure whose very presence spelled a terrible future to come. This was what Sain Sahd understood at once, when Ket Sal had appeared on Callisto, and what Duke Jerohd and his son had failed to grasp until it was far too late.

    "Did you say Jaheed?" Ma¨ªt was asking, sitting up in bed now. Though officially she was little more than a filing clerk at the Immaculate Palace, unofficially she was deeply entwined in all of Ket Sal''s affairs. Like all Scions, Ket Sal was an incorrigible gossip. "The Callisto boy - he actually made it back?"

    "Indeed," Amnit replied, with just the tiniest trace of amusement in her leaden tone. "It would seem the mission on Proxima was a success."

    "I suppose I might find myself on travel soon," Ket Sal mused wearily.

    "Proxima''s nice this time of year," Ma¨ªt offered cheerily.

    "At any rate, Lord Scion," Amnit interjected, "Director Vesos has requested that you receive Vell at once and see him properly escorted."

    "You''re joking," Ket Sal said blankly, to which he only received a blank stare in return. Beside him, Ma¨ªt broke into a riotous peal of laughter. Ket Sal turned, fixed her with a glare - but couldn''t keep the look on his face for long. Not at her, anyway. There would be many pointed stares for those who had crossed him in the days to come.

    "His life was in the palm of your hand," Ma¨ªt chuckled. "Now you''re stuck babysitting him. The Emperor''s new pet, huh?"

    "Something like that," Ket Sal sighed - rising to his feet now, the blanket falling around him. "Doss is probably grooming him to join our ranks, as though there aren''t enough Scions already." In the three years of Volsif''s reign thus far, the Scions'' numbers had swelled from nine to twenty-four, and the bitter - sometimes murderous - rivalries between them had only grown and deepened. It was becoming a dangerous position indeed, and Jaheed was an unwelcome entry into a space that was already overcrowded.

    "Welp," Ket Sal clasped his hands together, his cigarette still jutting out at an angle from between his lips. "Guess I won''t be getting anything useful or interesting done today. Have they already docked?"

    "They have," the Se-dai nodded slightly. "Master Vell awaits in Bay epsilon-four-three-seven."

    "Void take me," Ket Sal muttered, pinching his brow for the dozenth time. "I don''t suppose there''d be time for me to shower?"

    "I don''t suppose so."

    "Then I guess this is me," Ket Sal declared, turning now to his still-smirking wife. He spread his arms.

    "Ma¨ªt, darling," he asked, "how do I look?"

    "To my eyes? Absolutely terrible," she chuckled, somehow cruel and warm all at once. "But to anyone else? Fucking immaculate."

    Ket Sal didn''t reply - he just grinned, stepped over, and kissed his wife on the forehead.

    "Five minutes to get dressed," he commanded, without looking, and behind him he heard Ammit step aside and the door slide firmly shut.

    "Well?" Ma¨ªt asked, demanding a correct answer from her husband.

    "Well," Ket Sal echoed, meeting her challenge. He rose to his full height once more. "I promise not to strangle the little shit."

    "That''s the spirit," Ma¨ªt grinned. "And hey, don''t worry - we can always just have Ammit slit his throat sometime later."

    "That''s right," Ket Sal said, matching her grin with a Scion-perfect sneer of his own. He had no desire to be anywhere in the world other than right here, right now. "I¡¯ll dwell on that, today, whenever the going gets tough."

    <hr>

    It wasn''t the biggest hangar Jaheed had ever seen.

    But by the Void, it was certainly up there.

    As the three of them - Jaheed, Kore, and Tarsus - stepped off gangplank of the Gorger, they found themselves in a chamber that was, in truth, the span of an entire town. Walls that had once been adorned in blinding white and brilliant gold were now that of deep black and swirling jade, the darkness offset by countless strips of gently-tinted lights that ran up and down all sides of the enclosure like some colossal circuit board. To the left and to the right stretched unending rows of ships, and around them swarmed thousands of workers clad in the dark-blue jumpsuits that marked them as mechanics and engineers. Their mouths were covered, all of them, by bulky, surgically-attached masks that allowed them to breath freely in this fume-choked environment. Their skulls, too, all bore on the left side a strip of metal adorned with faint, blinking lights - a repository of information that made every worker an expert, no matter the vessel to which they were assigned.

    Jaheed had grown up in places like this, places whose size and scale defied understanding - places that incited your eyes to war with your rational mind. But while the former Marquess was largely unperturbed by this terrifying excess, Kore was standing entirely still beside him, and when he glanced over he saw for the first time in his life that her mouth was hanging agape in naked shock.

    "Quite a spectacle, isn''t it?" Jaheed offered, by way of comfort, and his Chief of Security merely nodded her head in distracted silence. "That''s how everything is, here on Holy Mercury - far, far bigger than it needs to be. It''s designed to break you down, to make you feel small. To remind you who you are, when measured against the Emperor." His gaze was momentarily downcast. "Or so I''ve been told, at any rate."

    "Everyone makes that face when they see it the first time," Tarsus offered casually, bumping Kore''s shoulder as she moved to stand beside them. "But don''t worry. Give it enough time and all this just becomes the same as everything else on Mercury - fuckin'' boring as any other palace." Ordinarily, it would have been Jaheed''s place to reprimand the ship-captain for her informal tone and vulgar language - but in truth, he had come to somewhat appreciate the older woman''s rough sort of candor in the weeks they had traveled together.

    There was no time to attend to either of his subordinates, at any rate. A sleek, featureless hovercar was speeding towards them, and as Jaheed moved to adopt a position of formal salute his eyes caught upon the two faces sitting at the front - and his breath caught in his throat as the vehicle hummed to a halt.

    Out the driver side stepped sneering, yellow-eyed Ket Sal, clad in dark slacks and a form-fitting jade-green vest. His body was all sharp angles and long lines, and he couldn''t help but remind Jaheed of a scarecrow as he leaned back against the vehicle with a hand in his pocket and a curl to his lip.

    But it was the man who emerged from the passenger side that Jaheed was now fixing with a wide-eyed stare. It was none other than his uncle, Sain Sahd, who stood there before him - the wise, aging Mercurian who was more of a mentor to Jaheed than his own father had ever even attempted to be. His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair was slicked back, and he was clad in a striking steel-grey suit accented only by a tie in the color of the Emperor''s green. But it was his eyes that drove Jaheed to silent shock. His eyes, once a vibrant blue, that were now a dull, sallow yellow, just like Ket Sal''s. And the way he stood, the way he carried himself, the way he looked over his nephew now like a damn scavenger bird waiting for an animal to die.

    Jaheed felt as though he was standing before a total stranger.

    "I''ll see to final checks at once," Tarsus muttered, stepping away - then stopping to give a more-rigid-than-usual salute. "My liege." Behind the two Scions, a pair of masked Se-dai emerged and stalked forward like twin panthers, Ammit standing at attention alongside Ket Sal and the other - whose gorget read HEPHAESTUS - taking up position behind Jaheed''s yellow-eyed uncle. Though Jaheed could not see her, Kore was standing just a hair behind him with her expression as still and stoic as stone, a perfect pillar of support who managed to lend nearly the same gravity to her charge as the Blessed Executioners did to their own.

    The onus was on Jaheed now. So he gulped, tensed his hands to stop them from shaking, and stepped forward with a warm smile and arms spread wide.

    "Uncle Sain!" he called, the picture of casual geniality - just as the old man had taught him. He considered a formal address, as was protocol, and settled instead for something personal. Something real. "It''s good to see you again," he said, his voice wavering just a hair.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Sain Sahd and Ket Sal exchanged a glance - and then the two of them burst into the cruel laughter of two hyenas.

    "The wager is mine, Ket Sal" Sain Sahd declared, holding out a hand, to which the younger Scion fished through his pockets with a comically exaggerated sigh, producing several crumpled bills and slapping them into the other man''s waiting palm.

    "Damn it all," Ket Sal chuckled, ignoring Jaheed entirely. "I didn''t think he''d possibly be stupid enough to try that Uncle Sain stuff from the first minute he arrived!"

    "Oh, you overestimate my nephew," Sain Sahd countered, sparing the former Marquess not even a glance. "It''s no stratagem. Remember, his family is all but obliterated. I''m the only one he has left - no doubt he expects I¡¯ll be his father, in absence of the late Jerohd."

    Finally, those strange, hateful eyes fell upon Jaheed, and in a voice thick with contempt Sain Sahd told him thus:

    "That was the one and only time I will ever allow you to disrespect me with such a casual address. I am a Scion, the voice of the Thrice-Blessed Emperor; you are nothing more than a highborn stripped of rank and title. You will speak to me as such or I will have you disciplined accordingly."

    All of this was so shocking, so totally overwhelming that Jaheed''s mind simply packed it all away for later, deciding at once that the Sain Sahd he had known all his life and the Sain Sahd standing before him were two different individuals entirely. Beside him, Jaheed felt Kore stiffen with barely-concealed indignation - indignation in his behalf, for which he was grateful - as he took a step back, crossing his fists across his chest and bowing at the waist. It was the third-most-formal variation of an imperial salute, the second being to kneel and the first to simply fall to one¡¯s knees in prostration.

    "The error is mine, Lord Scion," Jaheed said, the words flowing from his mouth pleasant and unperturbed. A lifetime of training and preparation were kicking in now, and with little effort Jaheed slipped entirely into his False Face once more. "Master Sahd, Master Sal - I am honored to be received by two Blessed individuals at the gates of Holy Mercury. My gratitude overflows, and for a moment I forget myself." He unbent at the waist, and his eyes settled not on his uncle but on the half-smirking face of Ket Sal. "Nevertheless, I come bearing joyous news."

    "Yes, yes," Ket Sal said, waving a hand - not bothering to match Jaheed''s formal tone. They intended to disrespect and belittle him at every turn, then. So be it. "Three of the Holy Emperor''s Empyreal Legions have already been dispatched to Proxima, and Duke Sorrel''s family will have met a similar fate as your own by the week''s end."

    At that, Jaheed could swear he saw the faintest shift in Sain Sahd''s mocking expression, though it could easily could have been a mere trick of the imagination.

    "Joyous news indeed, then," Jaheed said, clasping his hands together and giving another quick half-bow. "I am all but euphoric to serve as an agent of the Emperor''s divine will."

    "I''m sure you are," Sain Sahd said dryly. He glanced back at his fellow Scion. "Alright, Ket Sal, you''ve kept me long enough. I tire of this shambolic affair, and I''ve much to see to before the close of day."

    "By all means," the other Scion shrugged. "I just wanted to see the look on his face."

    As if on cue, another hovercar appeared, and as Sain Sahd and Hephaestus departed Ket Sal turned to Jaheed with a renewed expression of thinly-veiled agitation.

    "Shall we, then?" he asked flatly.

    <hr>

    Holy Mercury was, from the viewport of a passing vessel, an astonishing and overwhelming sight. The planet''s entire surface was coated in material of human construct; it appeared like some grey-silver sea urchin with millions of vast spines jutting out to scrape at the thin, artificial atmosphere in which the planet-city was enveloped. And surrounding the Seat of the Domain were no less than twenty-seven concentric rings of varying sizes, all megastructures in their own right and all orbiting the planet with such incredible mechanized precision that some rings passed mere inches from one another in the course of their rotations. Around these rings, billions of ships buzzed like flies, some as small as a personal hovercar and some eclipsing even Mercury''s greatest spires in size.

    And atop the planet - situated perfectly at the northmost magnetic pole - there loomed an obelisk visible even from space; a truly gargantuan slab of dark onyx whose surface was pitted with uncountable windows and lights and inlaid with generations of masterwork-engravings.

    This monolithic monument to the accomplishments of mankind had once carried the moniker of The Kingdom in the Sky, under Emperor Volsif XCVI. Now, under his adopted son, it went by a new name - The Panopticon.

    At this particular moment, however, what it really reminded Jaheed of was an ant farm, for within that dour hunk of black rock there twisted and wounded nigh-uncountable halls and passageways and chambers all spiraling out like the roots of some great tree, all of it somehow feeling quite subterranean despite the fact that one was, at all times, likely several hundred thousand feet above what had once been sea level.

    It was through this labyrinth that Ket Sal and his ever-vigilant Se-dai bodyguard led Jaheed and Kore, the Scion guided by a navigational guide that flashed intermittently across his vision. As they walked, the Ket Sal spoke ceaselessly of The Panopticon''s history, of this wing and of that room and of this individual and of that conquest and to Jaheed it all seemed as though the Scion was merely reading oft-practiced words from a script (and, indeed, he was).

    Jaheed spared only a fraction of attention for his malevolent tour-guide. Instead, his thoughts and his eyes were reserved for the countless individuals they passed in the halls - men and women in all manner of finery, some subtle and some utterly overwhelming in their stark opulence. And among them, too, there passed an almost constant stream of individuals clad in baggy black-and-jade jumpsuits, their faces concealed by opaque and visorless helmets. All carried boxy, stubby disruptor rifles slung over their backs, and all moved with identical rigidity and precision. None spoke, and - Jaheed knew - none would, for he recognized from his studies at once that these were The Panopticon''s much-whispered-about Centurions.

    These were the worker ants, the drones - the blood cells in The Panopticon''s body. Some, he knew, were live humans, while some were but smoothly-puppeteered corpses. All were the recipients of near or total lobotomies, their actions carefully directed by either pre-programmed instructions or by the direct command of a higher-ranking Praetorian. Jaheed had seen a few of them, too, identifiable at once by the narrow, vertical visors that bisected their orb-shaped helmets. They carried disruptor rifles and melt-knives and were flanked at all times by a squadron of silent Centurions.

    He wondered, as he brushed shoulders with what must have been the thousandth passing Centurion, whether it was the Emperor''s consciousness personally guiding any of the anonymous flesh-constructs. Surely such a thing could not be far from the realm of possibility. After all, the Jade Emperor wanted nothing more than to be everywhere. To reach and touch anything and anyone on little more than a whim.

    That, he mused to himself, was the shape of true power. And within him now there was not only a deep-rooted yearning but also, at the core of his very being, a dangerous twinge of jealousy.

    Finally, the four of them arrived at the end of their tense excursion - before a set of doors marked DIR. KIRAK VESOS, flanked by an unhelmeted Praetorian with short-cropped blonde hair and a metal plate running up along the side of her jaw.

    "Good afternoon, Commandant," Ket Sal said, inclining his head. "We have an appointment with the Director."

    Jaheed observed in silence, puzzled by the Scion''s deference to a woman of such low station.

    "Name?" the Praetorian asked.

    "Vell, Jaheed."

    "Stand by."

    The Praetorian''s eyes went entirely black, for a moment, then returned to their normal color at once.

    "Go on," the Praetorian said, to which Ket Sal gave another small nod. And so the two did indeed proceed forwards, with Jaheed casting the Scion a look of mild puzzlement. He was, against his better judgement, about to ask a stupid question to a man who plainly despised him - when the doors hissed open, and all thought was momentarily ripped from the young Marquess'' mind.

    Those humble doors, identical in every way to every other set of doors in the Panopticon, belied a chamber that simply defied belief, that stretched quite literally miles upwards into winding, sprawling infinity. Vast monoliths rose up like a metal forest, all of them festooned with innumerable blinking lights and small, whirring fans. Five-foot-thick cables ran in thick bunches along the edges of the floor, sprawling out like fat tentacles from one tower to the next. And, at the center of it all, there sat an individual at a desk that was little more than an outright slab of colorless obsidian.

    A hairless, dark-skinned figure, clad in a cool-grey suit with strong accents of green and blue. Both their hands were gone, replaced entirely by spindly thirty-fingered prosthetics that tapped away now at four individual keyboards. Their face was surrounded by dozens of holoscreens upon which vast quantities of information scrolled by, the text too small for Jaheed to possibly glimpse any comprehensible meaning. This was Director Kirak Vesos - steward, majordomo, and chief of staff for a palace the size of several cities.

    This was the lone individual who ran the entire Panopticon.

    At Jaheed and Ket Sal''s approach, one of the Director''s eyes flicked up - while the other remained glued to a screen - and with a weary, long-suffering sigh, Vesos rose and dismissed the many screens with a wave of their hand. Their myriad metal fingers retracted at once, folding into one another until they resembled something five-fingered - more human. And it was only then that Jaheed was able to pick out from the shadows the Se-dai looming behind them, her gorget reading NERGAL as she observed the proceedings in statuesque stillness.

    "Jaheed Kesol Gragnad Demnod Vell," the Director recited, rising from their desk and interlacing their fingers. "Twenty-two years old. Five feet and nine inches tall, with prosthetics. One hundred and twenty-seven pounds, with prosthetics. Auburn hair, blue eyes. Pale complexion. Blood type b-negative. Current final living member of the Vell Dynasty, currently stripped of all holdings and titles."

    "That''s about the long and short of it, yes," Jaheed quipped, meeting this unsettling barrage of information with well-drilled congeniality. "A pleasure to meet you, Director Vesos."

    "I met you months ago, through the data," Vesos scoffed, waving a hand. "A physical meeting is necessitated only by the Emperor''s command. This is a waste of my valuable time and thus I will be keeping this exchange short."

    Another asshole, Jaheed couldn''t help but think to himself. It seemed that dour attitudes were in no short supply on Blessed Mercury.

    "You," Vesos declared, jabbing a metal finger, "will report to the Emperor''s Grand Citadel at fourteen-hundred hours tomorrow, and submit yourself for His judgement. In the interim, a penthouse has been set aside for you in Sector 4-C," their eyes flashed, just as the Praetorian''s had, "the coordinates of which have just been forwarded to your bodyguard. On that note-" their head snapped to Kore, "-your bodyguard exists currently without any record of a familial name. This is an unacceptable aberration in my records and must be accounted for."

    Kore glanced around - unsure if she was permitted to speak - and Jaheed was relieved to see her choose to remain silent. In truth, he knew no better than she did whether or not her voice would be a breach of etiquette and had no interest in finding out.

    "With the power vested in me by the Thrice-Blessed Emperor, I thus name you Kore of Vell," the Director said, with not an ounce of fanfare, and both Jaheed and Kore blinked in surprise. "The record shall be adjusted accordingly."

    "Wait, what-" Jaheed started.

    "It''s done," the Vesos interrupted, smothering his protestations in the crib. "Now, then. Kore Vell will be assigned to quarters in-"

    "Um," Kore coughed, and Jaheed whirled around with a vivid you-are-going-to-get-yourself-fucking-killed look, one borne out of genuine fear that she would do just that. "Actually, I''d prefer to remain in my quarters on the Cloud Gorger. The, uh, shuttle." Her eyes flicked away, and the confidence was draining rapidly from her usually-stoic countenance. "If that is, um, acceptable."

    Vesos regarded her curiously, for a moment - then merely shrugged their shoulders. "One less allocation," they said. "So be it. At any rate, both proper uniform and equipment will be delivered to Kore Vell at shuttle XTZ3859601 Cloud Gorger by eighteen-hundred hours this day. At twenty hours this day she will report to-" his eyes flashed again, "-the following coordinates for occipital-implant surgery."

    This time, Kore just nodded her head.

    "That is all, then," Vesos said, turning sharply on their heel. "You may go." And just like that, the exchange was at an end.

    "It was a pleasure speaking with you, esteemed Director," Jaheed called, bowing at the waist - but Vesos was already consumed by the vast screeds of data once more and so, as Ket Sal snickered behind him, Jaheed chose simply to depart.

    "Well," Ket Sal remarked, as the doors hissed shut behind them. His hand disappeared into his vest-pocket, rummaging around for something. "That''s that."

    "The tour is at an end?" Jaheed asked dryly, as the Scion retrieved a blue-colored cigarette.

    "Uh huh," Ket Sal grunted, holding the cigarette out to Ammit. The Se-dai snapped her metal-armored fingers - and a stray spark ignited the tip at once. "Is it everything you dreamed of, Jaheed?"

    "It is..." Jaheed trailed off, unsure for a moment how to respond on what was either a jibe or a genuine inquiry. He decided, finally, to be authentic. "Terrifying. And incredible."

    "Huh," Ket Sal grunted, cigarette now clenched between his teeth. The look he gave Jaheed now was not one of disdain so much as dim, disinterested regard - and, perhaps, a hint of sympathy? "Well, you''d better get over those feelings real quick. This place..." he took a long drag, blew out a cloud of glowing smoke. "It eats the weak."

    Was that advice - or a threat? Was this whole sudden, casual affectation just a calculated play? Or was this the real Ket Sal, and the sadistic creature from earlier a mere projection? The damnable Scion was a constantly-moving target, impossible to pin down. Silently, Jaheed bemoaned the challenge of getting an accurate read on a man who could change expression and inflection at will, who could simply plaster on any face he chose and any voice he saw fit.

    "Ket Sal," he said, after a long moment of consternation. "We needn''t be enemies." A naked attempt at fraternity, then.

    "Ha!" the Scion laughed, and Jaheed couldn''t help but flinch at the sharp and sudden outburst. Kore bristled beside him, surreptitiously placing a hand upon his back. And it was from this gesture that Jaheed''s flare of angry indignation began to cool and fade. He had been, in truth, a hair''s breadth from snapping something truly regrettable.

    "You can''t even conceive of your own irrelevance, can you?" the Scion chuckled cruelly. "You don''t understand that you are not a player. You are not an equal. You are an indulgence of the Jade Emperor, and nothing more." And then, still with a pleasant and entirely artificial smile: "Wipe that angry little look off your face, boy, or I''ll have Ammit kill your bodyguard."

    He was glaring, Jaheed realized, and so he quickly averted his gaze, his face flushing with embarrassment at his own poor physical control. His father, Jerohd, had been a master of the False Face - but Jaheed had always struggled with the Liar''s Discipline, and a Scion''s chameleon-like skills far eclipsed them both.

    His lack of restraint had nearly gotten Kore killed.

    "I know," he said quietly, his words tightly clipped and controlled, "exactly who and what I am. I am under no illusions as to my status here."

    Ket Sal looked down at him, for a bit. Then, his gaze flicked up to Kore - his yellow eyes met her own. "Good," he remarked, taking a final puff. With that, he tossed the cigarette aside, turning sharply on his heel and striding away with Ammit in tow.

    Jaheed stood there in silence for some time until a quarter of Centurions shouldered roughly by, snapping him from his miserable trance. He looked up to see Kore watching him with what passed, on her stony face, for concern.

    "All good?" she asked, gruffly, and Jaheed noticed that her hand was still hovering near her las-pistol. The threat of death at the hands of a Se-dai was a powerful one indeed.

    "I''m fine," Jaheed replied, smoothing his hair back with one trembling hand. "Lovely fellow, eh?"

    "Yeah, nice guy," Kore scoffed.

    "If they''re all as hospitable as him, well," Jaheed deadpanned. "I expect we''ll be treated as kings from hereon out."

    "Which we aren''t anymore," Kore noted. "Or you''re not, anyway."

    "I was a duke, not a king," Jaheed rolled his eyes. "And that was for all of approximately five minutes."

    "Better than I''ve ever managed," Kore countered. "Speaking of which - guess I''m next in line now."

    "I suppose that is the case, isn''t it?" Jaheed chuckled. "Welcome to the family, Kore Vell. I''ll have to watch my back from now on. Who knows - at any moment, you could snap my neck and have Ket Sal''s loathing all to yourself."

    "A tempting offer," Kore said, giving the Marquess a small, rare smile. "But this ''stand still and don''t talk'' job is much more my speed."

    "It''s good work, if you can get it," Jaheed conceded. "Which, by the way-" he shot her a quizzical glance, "-you''d really take the Gorger over a real room?"

    At that, Kore glanced away - and it was through years and years of learning to read faces, to read people that Jaheed was immediately aware of that fact that she was hiding something.

    "It''s just, I dunno," she shrugged. Hesitant. Evasive. Dancing around the question. "Spend enough time in a place and it starts to feel like a home. Even if that home is a shitty little bunk on a ship that reeks like dead fish."

    Jaheed''s face betrayed nothing.

    "It really is a dead-fish smell, isn''t it," he agreed, effortlessly masking his suspicion. Lying to Kore was child''s play compared to a Scion. "Well, at any rate, we should probably get back to our quarters before-"

    Another quarter of Centurions strode by, one of them bumping so forcefully into Jaheed that the Marquess was actually about to voice a complaint - though he was unsure if his faceless assailant would even be able to hear him - when he felt a small scrap of paper pushed firmly into the palm of his hand.

    "A message from your uncle," came a low, modulated voice. And then, before Jaheed could say a word, the Centurions were moving on - just four masked figures, identical in every way. Jaheed stared at them as they departed, a question stillborn upon his lips.

    "All good?" Kore asked for the second time, taking note of the young man''s sudden silence. But Jaheed''s gaze was downcast now as he unfolded the note with trembling hands, eyes scanning in an instant over the neatly-printed scrawl.

    WE HAVE MUCH TO DISCUSS. SECTOR 8-C, HANGAR 10-7J-621. 19:00. DO NOT DELAY.

    "I, uh," he muttered, his mouth suddenly dry. "I have a meeting to attend."

 CHAPTER ELEVEN // DAUGHTER OF RA

    Jaheed felt like a liar.

    Which, to be fair, he was - that was simply the nature of his profession. But what he felt now was something more closely akin to dysmorphophobia, a vague and nebulous sense of not only wrongness but sin as he stared down at legs forged from dark steel. Metal imitations of something that Jaheed had never known, of what-should-have-been.

    There had been almost no warning and certainly no room for argument; Ket Sal appeared and then Jaheed was put under and when he awoke, his gnarled old stumps were gone and the prosthetics were fused into place. It had been the Emperor''s personal request, the Scion had told him. The Grand Architect had a strong eye for aesthetic, and he had found Jaheed''s disabled form wanting.

    Jaheed had little time for consternation or regret. As with so many other things lately, he was forced to simply adapt - and accept - or die. But there were moments where he was just emerging from the shower, or midway through the process of getting dressed, where he caught a glimpse of his own reflection and an involuntary chill passed through him, followed invariably by a deep fog of guilt.

    Stop it, Jaheed thought, so violently that he nearly said it out loud. Put your mask back on.

    And so he got dressed, donning grey slacks and a glossy dark-blue vest, over which was layered a smoke-colored suit jacket. His hair was smoothed back. Makeup was applied to conceal any blemishes or imperfections. And so, staring back at him now was an attractive, sharp-eyed young man - a predator at the cunning edge, a man of great yet casual power.

    He smiled, spread his hands in welcome. He frowned, his expression turning somber and heavy. He gave a low, sensible chuckle. He threw back his head and laughed uproariously. He leaned forward, hands folded, the picture of an intent listener. He cycled through a dozen expressions until he was confident he had mastered them all and only then did he depart, arriving at Kore''s door in a matter of seconds. Kore, who was taking unusually long to get ready.

    It occurred to Jaheed, as he knocked and waited, that pretty soon he would have to have his belongings moved from the Gorger to his new penthouse. Or, rather, he would need two different and identical wardrobes, for the life of a prospective Scion (was that what the Emperor saw in him? Jaheed could only wonder) likely necessitated more time ''on the road'' than at home.

    The door slid open, finally, and Jaheed was faced with a Kore now clad in a perfectly-fitted green-and-black uniform, sporting a pair of cloth-armored shoulderpads and topped by an onyx-colored cap. Holstered on her belt was no laser weapon but a top-of-the-line disruptor pistol, and on her thigh was a six-inch melt-knife.

    If Jaheed looked every part a cunning, hungry young politician, Kore looked every part a stern and implacable Chief of Security.

    "This is a bad idea," Kore said, before Jaheed could ask her if she was ready to go.

    "You''ve made that clear," Jaheed replied dully. The two set off at once down the Gorger''s tan-carpeted central hall.

    "That man is not your uncle," Kore pressed, glancing over at her charge. "You saw his eyes."

    "The Ascension process doesn''t alter a Scion''s mind," Jaheed retorted - then he frowned, because he really had no idea whether or not that was true. So much of the Scions and Se-dai both - the mouth and fist of the Emperor - was shrouded in hearsay and rumor.

    "He made his feelings on you very clear," Kore continued.

    "For Ket Sal''s benefit," Jaheed countered. "Any display of weakness is a death sentence for a Scion, and their rivalries are fierce. Any one of them could use me as leverage against my uncle, if they knew."

    "Knew what?"

    "Knew that he still loves me," Jaheed exclaimed, exasperated now. In truth he was fighting a losing battle, pitting his feelings against Kore''s facts. But, of course, he was the Highborn here and his word was absolute. This argument was little more than theater. "I told you, Kore, the man practically raised me. He taught me everything I know."

    "What do you think he would advise you to do, in a situation like this?" Kore asked, turning to face him as the Gorger''s ramp hissed open and down. "What would Sain Sahd say?"

    "I don''t know," Jaheed replied darkly, running a hand through his hair. The ramp impacted noisily against the hangar floor. "Let''s go and ask him."

    <hr>

    The hovercar - piloted by a faceless Centurion who mutely accepted the given address - took Jaheed far deeper into the Panopticon than Ket Sal''s tour had touched. It was dawning on Jaheed that this place was so massive, so intricate, so labyrinthine that there were whole sections simply lost to time. Areas that must very well have appeared to Director Vesos as blank spots in his neural map. And, as they disembarked before plain steel doors marked HANGAR 10-7J-621, Jaheed was all but certain that this was indeed one of those long-forgotten empty spaces on the Director''s map.

    "Thank you," he said, offering the driver a polite bow, but the Centurion merely sped away without comment. And thus they were alone.

    The politician and his bodyguard shared a look.

    "It''s Sain Sahd," was all Jaheed could offer, in that moment. Plaintive. Almost childlike. "I don''t have any other choice."

    Kore, who clearly felt that Jaheed had a great number of other choices, merely grunted her assent and set at once upon the duty she had been given. With gloved fingers she keyed the door open, and she was the first one to enter - one hand hovering close to her weapon - as Jaheed followed, back straight and chin tilted up. The picture of aristocratic arrogance, of a man far too important for all this shit. A useful mask indeed.

    Into the den they descended.

    This was a far cry from the gargantuan hangar in which the Cloud Gorger resided; it was a poorly-lit space only the size of an extended stadium. Five boxy freighters slumbered within, all in various states of disrepair and all attended to by perhaps a dozen blue-suited engineers in total.

    The place was a damn mess. Already Jaheed was nearly tripping over a length of discarded tubing, then a spanner wrench that had seemingly just been tossed aside. Above, halogen lights flickered pathetically, serving only to deepen the shadowy contrast of every angle.

    Sain Sahd was nowhere in sight.

    "Something''s wrong," Kore said quietly - just as, behind them, the doors she had very carefully left open were suddenly and violently slammed shut. And, as if to accentuate that stark reality, the light above flicked at once from green to red. Locked.

    The Chief of Security was a blur, grabbing Jaheed by the arm and yanking him back as her hand darted to her pistol and thumbed back the strap.

    "Stay behind me," she ordered - but Jaheed was looking in quite the opposite direction, watching with mounting dread as the head of every mechanic turned in near-perfect unison. And now, slowly, all were rising to their feet, and in their hands - having been concealed by the shadows - were an arsenal of las-rifles and melt-blades.

    "Behind me," Kore growled again, more urgent this time. Jaheed moved quickly to comply, putting the stocky bodyguard between him and them as she unholstered her pistol and leveled it squarely at the nearest mechanic.

    "Gentlemen," Jaheed called from behind her, keeping his voice relaxed and calm. "I think there''s been some sort of misunderstanding. We''ll be right on our way, if one of you would be so kind as to unlock the door."

    The mechanics were moving, slowly but surely enclosing the two intruders in a tightening semi-circle. Boxing them in like rats in a trap. Above, other mechanics were emerging and taking up positions atop the freighters, their rifles no doubt sighting in on Jaheed''s sweat-beaded forehead.

    "Go in three," Kore whispered, out the corner of her mouth. Jaheed tapped twice against her forearm, giving her the agreed-upon signal for I understand. Now it was time to be loud and obnoxious.

    "I am Marquess Jaheed Vell," the nobleman declared, imbuing his words with all the blustery command he could muster. "A highborn of Callisto Prime. And this inconvenience-" he jabbed a finger at the door, "-enrages me."

    "Two."

    "I consider myself a patient man," Jaheed continued, feeling sweat running in fat rivers down the sides of his face. "But this I will tolerate no further. So get that door open now-"

    "One."

    "-or I promise," Jaheed snarled, his entire body tensing up, "you will live to regret it."

    "Go!" Kore shouted - and then the entire room erupted into crimson laser-fire as Kore wrapped herself around Jaheed and leapt, the two of them landing squarely behind some form of tube-festooned machinery. Kore hissed in pain - a laser had singed a chunk of skin from her ear - and then, just like that, the two of them were trapped.

    The sounds of laser-fire did not diminish, for heat cartridges were cheap and abundant, and so Jaheed and Kore were forced to simply hunker down as a torrent of laser fire slowly but surely melted their cover into little more than glowing molten slag.

    "Son of a bitch!" Kore swore, leaning out to snap off a pair of bright-blue disruptor shots before a volley of lasers sent her right back where she started.

    Jaheed, meanwhile, was like a frenzied animal caught in a trap - taking in and registering each and every single variable laid out before him. Every tool, every obstacle, anything that could help him survive. There had to be something. There had to be.

    "Any chance we can shoot our way out of this?" he shouted, struggling to be heard over the din of it all, to which Kore gave him a truly baffled look.

    "Not a fucking chance!" she shouted back, stating the obvious, and so Jaheed returned to his hunt and Kore returned to her futile, impossible task.

    There had to be something, right? This was not happening. This was not where Jaheed would die, because Jaheed could not die, because he had never achieved anything of importance in his entire damn life! He had not yet proven himself to Ket Sal, to the Jade Emperor - to his dead father, who no doubt laughed at him even now!

    And then, of course, the solution came - just as Jaheed was certain it would.

    "Hey!" Kore called, grabbing his arm and yanking him back to reality. She knelt beside him, fixing the Marquess with a hard stare. Above, red-hot lasers screeched and whined. "Question for you!"

    "You have a way out of here?" Jaheed asked, and relief was already beginning to set in.

    "Not exactly!" Kore yelled back. And then, there crept into her expression something rarely seen - uncertainty. Doubt. Perhaps even fear? "But I have a friend who I think could lend us a hand!"

    "Uh...good!" Jaheed exclaimed, not sure exactly where this was going. "Hurry up and call him already!"

    "Well...her existence is...complicated," Kore said slowly, and now Jaheed was at once intrigued and suspicious because that was outright guilt in her voice. "For you, specifically."

    "Can she save our lives?" Jaheed demanded, cutting right through all the bullshit prefacing and light-footing. There really, really was not time for all this.

    "I guarantee it" Kore nodded enthusiastically. "But after-"

    "Fuck after," Jaheed cut in, folding his arms. "All that matters is now. Call her."

    Another shadow of uncertainty passed over her face - and then the bodyguard just nodded, stepped back, and looked directly up.

    "Hey, Sekhmet," she said, the words entirely casual and conversational. "Little help here?"

    There was a sharp clang, a wrenching of metal - and then a grate clattered to the floor, followed at once by a dark shape that landed without sound. And all gunfire abruptly ceased as that shape rose, coalescing into what was clearly a humanoid figure. One of the lights flickered, and for a moment Jaheed caught a clear glimpse of an unremarkable-looking woman with shaggy blonde hair, dressed in little more than jeans and a denim jacket. An ordinary lowborn who had somehow been birthed from a ceiling.

    Then, the woman turned her head to look back at the two of them - and two pieces of information leapt out at once to the former Marquess. The first was what appeared to be an old, antique katana sheathed on her hip.

    The second was the way her eyes were quite literally glowing in the dark.

    "Hey, Kore," the woman called, her voice coarse and scratchy. She tilted her head to the side. "Wanna see something cool?"You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    "What...?" Jaheed muttered, glancing back. But Kore was already rising to her feet, suddenly fearless in the face of two dozen las-rifles.

    "Sure," Kore replied, in a voice Jaheed had never heard before, and to his shock he saw that she was actually smirking. "Impress me."

    Jaheed could only stare in utter bafflement as the next several events unfolded before him.

    <hr>

    So, what exactly is a Se-dai?

    The proper, orthodox answer is that they are the Blessed Executioners, divinely chosen by the Deiform Emperor to serve as his fingers and fists, using their trademark molecular blades to translate his will to reality. Both they and the Scions spoke for the Emperor, in a certain sense.

    The more technical answer is that they are human beings loaded with cybernetics at the absolute cutting edge of modern technology. Their bodies stand as pinnacles of human scientific achievement, so terrifyingly advanced from their original forms as to be all but inhuman. A Se-dai is more expensive and time-consuming to produce than a pharaoh-class warship, more dangerous and lethal than an entire battalion of the Emperor''s Liquidators.

    The clearest answer, however, is that every Se-dai is a weapon of mass destruction that just so happens to walk and talk like a human being.

    This particular Se-dai stood now at the center of the hangar and yawned, rolling her shoulders and feeling the crack and pop of joints both organic and mechanical. With perfect nightvision she sighted in on her prey - the closest mechanic - and dropped low to a sprinter''s crouch as ten-billion-dollar muscles contracted in her legs. She was a coiled spring in the most literal sense possible.

    Now then, how best to describe the speed at which a Se-dai can move? The phrase in the blink of an eye comes to mind because in the time it took Jaheed to blink his eyes, those billion-dollar muscles fired and Sekhmet cleared six hundred feet in the span of a half-second, skidding to a halt and burying her fist in the stomach of the nearest victim.

    To the Marquess'' eyes, she might very well have simply teleported forwards.

    The unfortunate mechanic hunched, buckled - and then blood, organs, and pieces of bone blew explosively from his back, painting the frigate behind him in a vivid panapoly of pink-and-crimson gore.

    Instantly, the barrel of a gun was against her head. The wielder''s brain gave the command to pull the trigger, her fingers moved to obey - and in the time between, Sekhmet whirled around and severed the wielder''s head from her body with a spinning roundhouse kick. Another came from behind, melt-blade angled for her side, and Sekhmet let the momentum carry her all the way back around before halting herself on one heel. Those billion-dollar muscles tensed again, then fired, and Sekhmet leapt up with a snap-kick to the chin that blew the assailant''s brain right out the top of his skull.

    All had transpired in roughly of six seconds.

    "Where in the void did you meet her?" Jaheed whispered - just as the room erupted into energy-fire once more.

    Sekhmet laughed, loving this because every part of her was wired to love this, and so she shot forward like a human bullet, darting and dodging and weaving and leaping through an seemingly-impossible grid of laserfire. The assassins, to their credit, were making a game try of it - spreading out even farther, overlapping their lines of fire so as to box her in and cut off her options. They were crack shots, after all, and many were assisted by aim-guidance programs and prosthetics.

    Alas, it was all for naught - for Sekhmet could process and react to visual stimuli far faster than any man or run-of-the-mill program and thus she darted nimbly through that narrow path available to her, and thus she was upon the assassins in a matter of moments.

    The first she grabbed by the skull, lifting him up with one hand and slamming him down so hard that the entire floor buckled beneath the impact. The second she snapped in half with a spinning roundhouse kick, the sound of his broken spine ringing out like a gunshot, while the third she merely grabbed by the lapel and flung to the side.

    "Down!" Kore shouted, yanking Jaheed to the floor as the unfortunate assassin shot by, hitting the far wall and simply exploding into gory paste.

    Sekhmet, meanwhile, was still having the time of her life - by the void it had been a long time since she could flex her muscles like this - as she grabbed a melt-knife barehanded, ignoring the sizzling of her flesh as she twisted the attacking arm three-hundred-and-sixty degrees around, then liquefied the owner''s ribs and lungs with a palm-strike to the chest.

    A shrill whistle split the air, and from between the freighters there came an SR-7 JAGGANOTH guided warhead, one racing hungrily forwards to meet her. But Sekhmet just chuckled, calm as could be, and at the very last moment simply slapped the missile aside.

    It was, of course, only a Se-dai that could not only move fast enough to perform such a feat - but that could also hit the missile gently enough so as not to set it off. The body of a Se-dai knew both overwhelming strength and perfect, unerring precision.

    And thus the missile, redirected, slammed straight into a neighboring freighter, and thus the ship swelled momentarily as though bloated from a five-course meal before erupting into a great fireball of iridescent green flame, the hull flash-boiling to molten slag as chunks of superheated metal split one mechanic in half and nearly separated Jaheed''s head from his body.

    Even then, there was no reprieve, for Sekhmet emerged like a terrible spectre, entirely untouched by the green fire that trailed from her skin, her eyes glowing brilliant silver amidst the choking black smog. One mechanic raised his rifle to fire and thus his jaw was shoved up into his brain; another drew a melt-knife and was rewarded with a plain, simple, throat-crumpling punch.

    She killed and killed and killed and killed and at the end, the last survivor threw his weapon down and said "I surrender" and so, Sekhmet hesitated for just a moment before grabbing him by the sides of his skull and loudly snapping his neck.

    <hr>

    The hangar was deathly silent, save for the crackling and burning of emerald flame. The room was quite literally drenched and gore and reeked of rotting death, the lights above flickering intermittently to reveal pieces of a grisly and chaotic scene. From behind their half-melted cover, Jaheed and Kore peered out, the former''s eyes wide as saucers as he regarded the woman who was now striding confidently towards them - a woman who, defying all possibility, had not a drop of blood on her. A woman who was looking not at him but at Kore, his bodyguard. Kore, who had summoned her with but a word. Kore, who had called her a friend.

    Kore, who had described her existence as ''problematic''.

    "Uh..." Jaheed trailed off, his eyes not leaving the cyborg for even a second. "Hey, Kore, who is that?"

    "Can I explain back at the Gorger?" came the reply.

    "I''d much rather you explain it now," Jaheed said, just as the woman came to a halt just a few feet away. Jaheed did not flinch - he understood well that this woman was Kore''s ally, and Kore his own - but nevertheless he stared at her with hooded, wary eyes. He had, after all, just been witness to a terrifyingly one-sided slaughter.

    "Impressed?" the woman asked, tapping at the hilt of her sword. Still perfectly relaxed, still grinning happily. Perfectly at home amidst a scene straight out of the deepest hell.

    "More or less," Kore replied. Though Jaheed couldn''t see her face, he could hear her trepidation clear as day. "Jaheed, this is...uh..."

    "Sekhmet," the woman interjected, extending a hand for the Marquess to shake. The burn-mark on her palm was already stitching itself together, already vanishing from view. "You''re welcome, by the way."

    And it was only when Jaheed stepped forward and shook her hand - a hand that was not just clammy but cold, devoid of any and all warmth - that he remembered where he had last seen the name SEKHMET.

    "You''re supposed to be dead," he blurted out, his mind instantly flashing back to that malevolent black-and-gold figure. These words came straight from the heart, faster than he could think not to say them - and then it was too late. The rogue Se-dai''s smug expression snapped to one of scowling irritation and then Jaheed did flinch, because the last thing he wanted was to see this thing unhappy.

    "So are you," she shot back, glaring now. "Which, again - you''re welcome for that."

    At that moment, another epiphany hit.

    "You-you''re the rogue Se-dai!" Jaheed stammered. He whirled around. "Kore, what in the fuck-"

    "Maybe we should discuss this back at the Gorger?" Kore offered, again. Helpfully.

    "I''m a free thinker," Sekhmet shrugged, utterly unbothered by the Marquess'' reasonable state of panic.

    "You are an apostate," Jaheed accused, partly by rote and partly out of well-justified fear. "The fact I''m even seeing your face is akin to high treason!"

    "Should I just kill you, then?" Sekhmet asked, and any trace of flippancy or humor vanished from her expression, leaving only something dull and cold and hard. The voice of a Se-dai, a creature that protected and executed highborn in equal measure. "Seriously. I mean, I know I can trust Kore. But you..." She trailed off. "You keep fucking whining at me. Setting me on edge."

    "Sekhmet..." Kore cautioned, voice low. "We talked about this."

    "You talked about this?" Jaheed asked, incredulous.

    "I am never, ever going back," Sekhmet growled, taking one single portentous step closer. He attention was still glued up on Jaheed. "Never. I am free now and there is nothing I will not do to stay free. Taking your life is-"

    "For fuck''s sake, Sekkie, shut up!" Kore snapped, knocking hard against the Se-dai''s shoulder. And, improbably, the eight-hundred-pound woman actually staggered, albeit likely more from surprise than application of force.

    Just like that, the bubble burst. The moment was broken, and the tension released.

    "And you," Kore said, whirling on Jaheed - who was still processing the implications of the word ''Sekkie'' in his head. "She''s the only reason we''re even having this conversation right now. I am asking, very politely, that we go back to the shuttle and hash this out like adults." She cast a stern eye upon the both of them. "Is that okay with you two? Does that meet with your fucking approval or whatever?"

    Both were silent, for a moment, cowed by a woman who rarely if ever raised her voice. It was Jaheed who broke first - for already his mind was angling, tilting to see the potential advantage.

    "By all means," he shrugged, the picture of congeniality. "We can have a discussion. But if I say I want her gone," he turned a pointed stare upon the Se-dai, "then she is gone. Understood?"

    "If Kore tells me to go, I''ll go," Sekhmet agreed. "But your word doesn''t mean a thing to me, highborn."

    And thus, the conversation was concluded - for little more reason than the fact that none of them could afford to linger. Jaheed and Kore made for the doors, while Sekhmet vanished within the shadows, and so HANGAR 10-7J-621 was left as little more than a devastated wasteland, devoid of any and all life.

    <hr>

    "I should report you to the nearest Praetorian," Jaheed said, jabbing a finger. "That is exactly what any intelligent, rational human being would do."

    "And I, as an intelligent and rational human being, would be compelled to cut your throat," Sekhmet replied. "That''s exactly where that sorta logic is gonna get you."

    The three of them sat on the bridge of the Cloud Gorger, each all but drenched in uncertainty and danger. Jaheed was hunched forward, fingers enmeshed and eyes probing. Sekhmet was sprawled back, boots up on the center console, smoking and looking generally irritated. And Kore was watching the proceedings with her spine ramrod-straight, visibly held hostage by the argument unfolding before her.

    Jaheed was, minute by minute, increasingly coming to believe that Kore actually had feelings for the damn monster! Clearly she had been secreting the traitor away for some time, right under his nose. But even beyond that there was the way she kept looking at her; the way the two of them occasionally fell into unconscious and casual rhythm. Her blatant concern for the cyborg''s well-being, even above her own. The signs were there, yet ludicrous all the same.

    "Threats of violence," Jaheed sighed, turning to Kore for sympathy. "This is the woman you so favor?"

    "Oh, she favors me alright," Sekhmet quipped, at which Kore shot her a withering glare and the Se-dai immediately receded.

    "We have an understanding," Kore growled, visibly exasperated by having to play the mediator. "She has been protecting us for some time."

    "Someone tried to put a bomb in this ship, almost as soon as we landed," Sekhmet clarified smugly. "I snapped his neck, diced his body and flushed him down our toilet. Which, again, you''re welcome for that."

    "The toilet-" Jaheed sputtered, taken aback. "I-what in the fuck-"

    "This is a good thing for us," Kore insisted, leaning forwards. "Jaheed, we are being offered protection by a Se-dai!"

    "Which is all well and good," Jaheed said, quickly recovering both his composure and his sardonicism. "Until we get caught with her."

    "You won''t," Sekhmet declared proudly. "Stealth is child''s play for a Se-dai."

    "And what if another Se-dai comes looking?" Jaheed countered. "And they will come looking, because by the void do they want you dead."

    "Let ''em try," Sekhmet scowled, evidently taking personal offense to such a baseless accusation. "I''ll take on any one of my cousins."

    "What a comfort," Jaheed said dryly. "Meanwhile, what, me and Kore just get hauled off and killed? Bad luck for us, I guess."

    "I''ll protect Kore with my life," Sekhmet snarled, jabbing a finger. "Nobody will lay a hand on her."

    "And myself?" Jaheed asked, arching an eyebrow.

    "I could not give less of a fuck."

    "Eloquent," Jaheed deadpanned. "A convincing argument indeed."

    "Jaheed, please," Kore cut in. Imploring, just as he had been with his uncle. "She doesn''t-" Her eyes darted back, then forth. "She means a lot to me, okay? And...and, I mean, this is a Se-dai offering us protection. That''s something very few people in the Domain can claim. Tell me that doesn''t sound good to you, Jaheed."

    And there it was - the real crux of the matter. Because that did sound very, very good to Jaheed. The privilege that only a Scion or the Emperor enjoyed, available to him now quite literally for free. An aura of invincibility, of certain knowledge that he could not and would not be harmed. Even Ket Sal would be unable to touch him.

    This, of course, was far from a perfect arrangement. Of particular issue was the Se-dai''s character, for she seemed a churlish and lackadaisical sort - one of those fools who simply glided through life, no doubt by virtue of her superhuman abilities. She was dangerous and unpredictable and crude and to be frank, Jaheed found her markedly unpleasant.

    But there was that seed of jealousy, again - and so Jaheed declared that he was willing to accept her presence so long as she remained hidden from any prying eyes, and thus Sekhmet departed, with a wink to Kore that the Marquess refused to interpret, and thus the politician and the bodyguard were alone once more.

    For a while, nobody spoke. And then:

    "Shit," Jaheed said simply. A reasonable response.

    "I''m sorry," Kore offered.

    "Not that," Jaheed sighed, waving away her apology. "I mean-"

    "Your uncle."

    "Yeah."

    More silence.

    "There''s no other way to interpret it, is there?" Jaheed asked, plaintively. "He tried to have me killed."

    "Looks that way to me."

    "Well...shit."

    "Yeah."

    More silence ensued.

    "...am I a bad person?" Jaheed asked, finally.

    "You are..." Kore trailed off. Thinking quite heavily before responding. "A victim of shit far, far beyond your control. And that is not your fault."

    "Thanks," Jaheed said dryly.

    "Seriously," Kore said, punching him lightly in the arm. "For a highborn, you got a pretty shit draw."

    "No kidding," Jaheed sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes. "But now I have everything I ever wanted..."

    "Except?"

    "Except, you know," the Marquess gestured vaguely. "Void, I''m not gonna say it."

    "I get it," Kore nodded. "I''m sorry."

    "Don''t be," Jaheed opened one eye. "I wanted this. One way or another."

    "Just remember what it''s all for," Kore said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We''re gonna fix this place."

    "Damn right," Jaheed agreed, leaning back in his chair. And then, overloaded by a truly unbelievable day, the Marquess passed into slumber, and thus Kore retreated to her room before passing out in similar fashion with Sekhmet wrapped around her like a cold metal pillow.

    And thus all slumbered, while others plotted.

    <hr>

    "It must be crazy," Ket Sal said, drinking a shot of liquor that he would not feel. "Seeing your nephew here."

    He was sitting here, in one of countless ''meeting chambers'', with Sain Sahd sitting in the chair beside him. In truth, the Scion would have much rather spent the night in Ma¨ªt''s company - for she was one of few individuals whose presence he actually enjoyed - but inviting the new Scion out for drinks was a politically intelligent sort of move, and so he had done just that. There was little probing for information; this was moreso diplomatic work than anything else.

    "It is what it is," Sain Sahd said, taking a puff from a glittering cigar - the type of non-answer that was part and parcel among the Scions. "The fates fall where they may."

    "The fates?" Ket Sal asked, arching an eyebrow - the picture of intrigued interest. Such false expressions came automatically to any Se-dai worth their salt. "You believe it was all happenstance, then?"

    "What else could you call it?" Sain Sahd said, weary and irritated. "Just dumb, feckless luck that the Jade Emperor would actually favor him. The entire thing defies belief."

    "I''ll drink to that," Ket Sal agreed, which was a hollow statement unless he drank a lot more than this. "Annoying little bastard doesn''t belong here - anyone can see that. That being said..." he trailed off. "You have to admit, it''s quite a feat. Going from a doomed, powerless man to the Emperor''s chosen. Quite the rags-to-riches story."

    "If you find yourself enamored with such childish narratives, I suppose," Sain Sahd scoffed - which pissed Ket Sal right off, because it was Sain Sahd to whom he was pandering! Ket Sal held the Marquess in dim regard and would be happy to see him dead.

    "What can I say," Ket Sal said, queuing up a noncommittal shrug. "I always root for the underdog."

 CHAPTER TWELVE // DONT LOOK DOWN!

    The Jade Emperor''s throne room was surprisingly small.

    Though it was, of course, in no way modest; the onyx walls of the chamber spread for a thousand feet in either direction, and the ceiling was a vaunted, inverted pyramid the point of which hung high above Jaheed''s head. And the Emperor''s throne itself was huge, an ordinary-sized seat hewn from a truly colossal chunk of pure jade. Yet even still it seemed almost quaint compared to the opulent displays Jaheed had witnessed as a child, back when his father still brought him along on travel and his mother was still alive. For a moment, the former Marquess found himself almost unimpressed.

    But the presence of this place was a powerful one indeed. There was something sacrosanct and eerily still about it all, as though everything were perfectly tuned and calculated to a single, exacting vision. It felt like a fold in time in space, like a pocket of inner reality totally divorced from the rest of the Great Domain. There was a faint, soothing sound of trickling water - but from where did it come? It was everywhere and nowhere all at once. Jaheed was immediately both calmed and unsettled and he had a strange but vivid feeling that he was sitting in the palm of someone else''s hand.

    It was a puzzle indeed - but one upon which Jaheed had no time to meditate, for right now he was standing in the presence of the Grand Architect himself.

    "Right as always," the Jade Emperor congratulated himself, his eyes glittering brightly. Jaheed was certain he could feel the floor buzzing beneath his feet as the Architect spoke. "You survived."

    The master of the known universe had been sitting cross-legged on his throne, discussing in low tones with a tan-skinned, yellow-eyed woman with dark hair tied back in a sharp ponytail - but now he rose magnanimously to his feet, eyes locked like targeting beams onto Jaheed all the while. With one simple flick of his wrist, the lights dimmed to a cool green. With another, the Scion bowed her head at once and stepped back, and she too was eyeing Jaheed with a mixture of curiosity and low malice.

    Of immediate note was the absence of Volsif''s red-armored guard Anansi, his living shadow - instead, in her place, a pair of identical Se-dai stood at what seemed, even for the Blessed Executioners, like rigid attention. Clearly this was an unusual assignment of unthinkable importance.

    It brought Jaheed some comfort to know that even the Se-dai felt the same pressure he did now - the crushing weight of the Architect''s gaze, the terrifying totality of his undivided attention. The raw, instinctual panic that came with standing before a creature who could erase you with but a thought. A creature who was now approaching quite casually, hands clasped behind his back and an odd little smile on his face. A creature who seemed to find your very existence to be quaint and amusing.

    "Hail to the Seventh-Blessed Panoptic God-Emperor Doss Ken Volsif, Ninety-Seventh of his name and Seventh-Touched by the Outer Hand," Jaheed said quickly, dropping to his knees and pressing his hands to his forehead and saying all the correct words in the correct and proper order. He would stave off his fear with mechanical, well-practiced routine. "Hail to the Grand Architect. Hail to the Master of All."

    To that, the Emperor made a noise of vague displeasure, and the fear tightened its vice-grip around Jaheed''s heart.

    "Enough of that," Volsif snapped, gesturing with two fingers for Jaheed to rise. The Marquess all but sprang to his feet. "I will have the respect I am due - but I won''t have any attempt at a basic conversation stymied by your mewling self-preservation. From this point onwards you shall address me only by my favored moniker, Grand Architect, and you will offer only a third-level salute at the beginning and end of any exchange. Beyond that, Jaheed Vell, you will speak plainly to me. I demand raw and unguarded authenticity; I have no interest in speaking to a shallow facsimile of a man. Have I made myself clear?"

    Thoroughly overwhelmed - having just been scolded by a living god, after all - Jaheed could really do nothing more than nod his head and say "Yes, Architect." Already he was trying to reconfigure his brain, trying to cast off a lifetime of ingrained speech patterns. His every instinct as a Highborn reeled at the necessary breach of decorum.

    "Good," the Emperor said, his scowl shifting back to something at least vaguely bemused. Easy come, easy go, it seemed. "The endless titles and pageantry were the tools of weaker Emperors who sought to remind others of who and what they were. I have no need of such hamfisted proselytizing, for my existence is self-evident. All who hear my voice and gaze upon my countenance know this to be true. My name was long ago etched upon the surfaces of their souls." One corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "You, Jaheed Vell, should be especially aware of this. You exist only by my consent; a figment of my own casual interest. You are a pale shadow beneath my blazing sun."

    "Of course," Jaheed agreed, bowing his head. That was about as ''casual and unguarded'' as he could physically go, under the circumstances. "I owe you my life, Architect. I know this well. And, if I may - it has been the greatest of honors to serve as an extension of your holy will."

    "Has it?" Volsif remarked dryly. "What a pitiful thing to say."

    At that, Jaheed truly had no response, and so he simply remained silent as the Emperor approached, his metal feet soundless against the obsidian floor. Behind the Architect, the yellow-eyed Scion smirked and said nothing.

    "Now then," the Emperor said, gesturing with one hand. The twin Se-dai were moving with him, shadowing him as Anansi had - but their movements were ever-so-slightly delayed, ever-so-slightly exaggerated. They were no true extensions of him, not like Anansi was. "Let us discuss the shape of your future, Jaheed Vell." He stopped just a hair short and stared up at the Marquess and Jaheed realized, for the first time, that the Emperor was actually a half-foot shorter than him.

    An odd choice, for a man with a mechanical body.

    "I live to serve," Jaheed swallowed, trying hard not to physically recede from the Emperor''s presence.

    "Most everyone does," Volsif agreed. "Now, I knew full well that your chances of survival were slim. I pitted you against Almae Sorrel, a canny and dangerous man who cloaked himself in false pretenses. I pitted you against the Black Hound, a man whom I am told devours the duplicitous and the untrustworthy with ravenous abandon. You, the spoiled descendant of a backwater House - of a bitter old man long broken by the death of his wife. You are in so many ways the product of generation-spanning failure and I strong suspect it is only by Sain Sahd''s training that you survived." The Emperor smiled fully, and for the first time displayed a row of dark-grey teeth. "But you did survive, just as I knew you would." He reached out, and Jaheed could not help but flinch as the Emperor tapped a cold metal finger against his forehead.

    "You remind me of myself, in my younger days," the Emperor declared. "In the days before my Ascension. I was far, far too angry at the world to ever let it beat me. Losing was simply never a part of the equation."

    For a moment, Jaheed felt an acute sense of shame - shame, as the Emperor''s words cut him down to the bone. Shame as the Emperor pared Jaheed''s very being down to a mere two sentences, and shame as the Emperor was absolutely correct. But then came something else, a surge of dark and undulating and seething pride because Jaheed and the Emperor were alike. Because the master of the Domain had seen kinship in Jaheed and that meant, without a doubt, that Jaheed was right and the rest of the universe was wrong. His bastard of a father was wrong about him!

    "Of course not," Jaheed agreed, speaking freely to the Emperor for the first time. The word was delivered with not a hint of care or delicacy. "That''s how Lowborn think ¨C everything revolving around loss. Fear of loss, triumph over loss. They can''t help but gaze down at the pit beneath their feet."

    "Ah," the Emperor chuckled. "There, you show your naivete. That which you prescribe is a pox upon the Highborn, not the Low. It is those with everything who have so much to lose, who cling to their little lives and little worlds and curl up into tight, unthinking little balls. They are the weeds I have tasked myself with rooting out." He smiled. "Your father was a weed.¡±

    "That," Jaheed said darkly, "is an understatement."

    <hr>

    Sekhmet was bored out of her mind.

    In the span of a few hours she had 1.) Paced every square inch of Kore''s room, and 2.) smoked through roughly two dozen of the woman''s cigarettes. Her eyes were glowing wildly, as they always did when she was worked up - an odd byproduct of a biomechanical nervous system created in imitation of a real one, further exacerbated by the fact she had long deactivated her mood stabilizers. Her entire body was running hot, and the air around her was visibly shimmering and rippling as her synthetic pores opened to vent the excess heat.

    What Sekhmet was experiencing, currently, was a pathological condition common amongst the Se-dai - with such an immensely powerful body came an immensely powerful urge to use that body. Sekhmet''s hands clenched and unclenched with force sufficient to fold steel; eyes that could see with perfect clarity in pitch-dark and from over a quarter-mile away darted back and forth, taking in every miniscule detail of the room with microscopic clarity.

    She wanted to fight something. Badly. She wanted to be right back in that hangar, zipping around at impossible speeds and dancing on a razor''s edge and pushing her body to the absolute limit. She wanted to do everything she had been born and built to do, as was her nature.

    Instead, she was stuck in this miserable little prison. She couldn''t even go outside; the Emperor''s eyes were everywhere and fellow Se-dai often stalked his jade halls, eyes sharp and ears keen. Make no mistake: Sekhmet was one of the very pinnacle of the Empire''s strength, the latest in a lineage of science and technology and fierce martial discipline that predated even the first Deiform Emperor. And right now, she was doing absolutely nothing.

    Then, mercifully, her thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected sound - steady, rhythmic breathing just outside her door. A visitor. Kore? No, her breathing was always deeper than this. Tarsus? That seemed more likely. There had been no footsteps, which was odd (Sekhmet could hear all the way to the bridge with perfect clarity), but that was likely just a byproduct of her distracted mind.

    Grateful for any reprieve from the dull malaise she was experiencing, Sekhmet made her way to the door at once, her finger tapping impatiently against her thigh as she keyed the door open. Then, three things happened in rapid succession - all of which were perceived by Sekhmet in slow motion, due to the stress-activated influence of a small implant in her limbic system.

    First, the door slid open just far enough for Sekhmet to see that it was red-armored, grey-cloaked Anansi standing on the other side, unhelmeted and staring straight forward with eyes colder than the deepest void of space. There came with that realization a gargantuan flood of adrenaline and various other chemical stimulants into Sekhmet''s mind and body.

    Second, Sekhmet spat her cigarette into Anansi''s eye.

    And third, Sekhmet''s hand darted to her sword, which made it two-point-two-five inches from its sheath before Anansi put a molecular blade to Sekhmet''s throat.

    The cigarette bounced harmlessly off Anansi''s metal eye, and the two stood there in perfect stillness for a moment before Sekhmet snarled "I''m not going back."

    "Cousin," Anansi said, just as icily calm as Sekhmet had always known her. "Still yourself."

    Sekhmet''s response to that particularly stupid suggestion was to snatch up Anansi''s wrist, free her neck from that lightless blade, twist around, and angle a knife-hand straight for her cousin''s throat - all of which was cut tragically short when Anansi''s palm impacted hard against her chest.

    Sekhmet, who weighed upwards of eight-hundred pounds, was flung entirely off her feet and crashed back against the wall. It didn''t hurt, exactly, but it was extremely fucking irritating and so Sekhmet dropped at once to a low crouch, those same old billion-dollar muscles tensing to fire off once more.

    "I said be still," Anansi snapped, and that voice brought Sekhmet right back to the days of her adolescence - of endless sparring sessions stretching long into the night. Of the tall, dark-skinned, bald-headed opponent whom she had never once been able to best. Anansi, who had stood tall even amongst the company of giants - Anansi, whom Sekhmet had for so long admired and despised in equal measure.

    "You won''t capture me," Sekhmet growled, her fury tempered somewhat. Her mechanical heart was still galloping along at a breakneck pace. "You''ll kill me, or I''ll kill you - but there''s no scenario where I let you take me alive."

    "If I wanted you dead, you''d have died twice," Anansi countered sharply. "Now be still and listen."

    It was the undeniable truth in those words that stayed Sekhmet''s hand for just a moment - and so she rose to her full height and said, somewhat surely and detached: "Go on."

    "Last night, men of the Vren Clade infiltrated Panopticon and attempted to assassinate Jaheed Vell," Anansi stated matter-of-factly. No emphasis anywhere, no variation in tone. "You intervened, then reported not to Jaheed - but to his Chief of Security, Kore Vell."

    Sekhmet blinked. "How...?"

    "The Jade Emperor sees all," Anansi said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Sekhmet did not bother to ask how assassins had managed to infiltrated the palace of a man who saw all; she knew full well that the dogma cared not for logical consistency.

    "You''re protecting her," Anansi continued. Not a question - a statement of fact.

    "Something like that," Sekhmet muttered, struck by a sudden twinge of embarrassment ¨C and then a surge of fear for the oh-so-delicate life of the woman she loved. "What of it?"

    "The Jade Emperor approves," Anansi said - and then everything clicked quite neatly into place, and Sekhmet understood with perfect clarity what was happening here. The rogue Se-dai couldn''t help but let out a bitter, rueful chuckle.

    "Damn it all," she said somberly, shaking her head. "I''m right back in the palm of his hand, aren''t I?"

    "The Jade Emperor has taken an interest in Jaheed Vell," Anansi said, as though her cousin had not spoken. "Your presence, whilst heretical and shameful, does ensure that Jaheed will not die prematurely. Ordinarily he could not be afforded a Se-dai, for our numbers are waning by the day." That was as clear an accusation as Anansi had leveled thus far, and Sekhmet was surprised at just how much it hurt. She had never much cared for her cousins, after all ¨C but she didn¡¯t much care for the implication that she had abandoned them, either.

    "I''m don''t give a fuck about Jaheed Vell," Sekhmet practically spat, refusing to be cowed. Refusing to fit the Emperor''s mold. And, well, it was also entirely true; all she felt towards Jaheed was a vague sense of irritation. She had shadowed a dozen different Highborn in her lifetime, and Kore''s patron was only more of the same.

    "Really, now," Anansi said dryly. "You are being handed an opportunity you do not deserve - and still you wish to split hairs?"

    "I do what I do because I want to," Sekhmet shot back. "Not because the Emperor, or the Sovereign, or anyone else wills it. Because I will it, Anansi. That''s something I wouldn''t expect you to understand."

    "A weakness of character then," Anansi remarked coldly. "How sad. Very well; the outcome remains the same, regardless of your own childish feelings. The Emperor wills it and so it will be done."

    This was, of course, all entirely too good to be true. Wasn''t it? Sekhmet narrowed her eyes. Like any good Se-dai, she was always on the lookout for the next threat. And there was always another threat.

    "What of the Sovereign?" she demanded, somewhat flippantly. "They would truly suffer an apostate to live, just for the sake of Volsif''s own amusement?"

    "The Sovereign are no longer relevant," Anansi said plainly, to which Sekhmet actually laughed out loud. How could she not? The Sovereign were the ruling class of Ceres; the trio of men who had been the masters of the Se-dai moon for countless centuries. They - and Ceres as a whole - were the one part of the Great Domain that the Emperor''s hand could never reach. To hear them dismissed so casually now, and by a Se-dai no less, was nothing short of ridiculous.

    "They don''t know that I¡¯m here, do they?" Sekhmet asked, eyeing her cousin carefully. The answer was there at once, in the other woman''s calculated lack of reaction. "Nobody does."

    "No."Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    "Not even our other cousins - just you and Volsif."

    Anansi did not reply.

    "You two are playing a dangerous game-¡± Sekhmet warned ¨C eliciting a scowl from her red-armored cousin.

    "Gods don''t play games," Anansi snapped, turning away. "They speak, and it is made so. Do not forget from whence you came, former cousin."

    The red-armored Se-dai paused in the doorframe, then ¨C and slowly she turned back, and for the first time Sekhmet saw something other than stone-cold stillness on the other woman¡¯s face. Some small semblance of humanity there, buried beneath layers and layers of ironclad discipline and duty.

    "Why did you run?" Anansi asked. It was a simple question, not an accusation. A query stemming from genuine curiosity and nothing more. And yet still Sekhmet was somewhat surprised that the other Se-dai had even bothered to wonder.

    "I didn''t run," Sekhmet answered at once, her own expression hardening. "I left. And if you really can''t even venture a guess as to why, I won¡¯t try and explain it to you.¡±

    Anansi was still a moment longer - her eyes probing Sekhmet''s face as though she could somehow wring understanding from some minute detail or expression. But finally, after a pregnant silence, the most dangerous of all the Se-dai simply turned and left without a word.

    Sekhmet did not move for a long, long time. And then, finally - when she heard Anansi''s footsteps vanish from the Gorger she sunk back against the bed and lit a cigarette with hands that would be trembling, were they physically capable of doing so.

    "Fuck," she muttered to herself, running a hand through her hair. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

    Her thoughts, in that moment, were no more complicated than this: Void, I wish Kore were here right now. Because with Anansi¡¯s words there came a bitter revelation indeed; she had never truly escaped the Emperor¡¯s clutches. She hadn¡¯t even come close. She was, as she had said, right back in the palm of his hand.

    And she was going to stay there, too. Because she loved Kore, and because she dared not believe that Kore would ever leave this life.

    <hr>

    Kore, at that exact same moment, was also very bored. She had been standing at rigid attention outside the Emperor''s doors for well over an hour now, flanked by no less than four black-armored Praetorians who were somehow conveying murderous glares even through faceless helmets. She wasn''t sure what exactly she had done to offend them; perhaps she carried with her the distinct odor of a lowborn, something she couldn''t smell and could not possibly wash out. Or perhaps a pissed-off stare was just a requirement if you wanted to get hired on as a Praetorian ¨C however it was that process went about, exactly.

    So. Kore wasn''t much a fan of the Praetorians. But the boredom? That, at least, she was far better equipped to deal with than her augmented paramour. Kore''s background was one of hard, menial, repetitive labor, and as such she was very good at compressing and compartmentalizing her thoughts down until her mind was running at a bare minimum, on autopilot. This was her job, she thought to herself, and she would do it well.

    And so she did.

    And then finally the doors opened, and Jaheed was there, eyes hooded and body language somewhat cagey but overall unharmed, which was a relief. Kore had, in her worst imaginings, half-expected Jaheed to be killed and the Praetorians to simply turn about and hack her to pieces. So, overall, this was good news, and she opened her mouth to deliver some sort of sardonic jibe.

    Then she saw the man behind him - the hunched figure who was, just like the Praetorians, glaring at her with death in his eyes - and the words died strangled and unborn in her throat. Behind Jaheed was none other than a pale, miserable-looking Abel Diesch, his beard unkempt and his eyes laden heavy with dark bags. He looked like a shadow of himself, like someone had taken the Abel Diesch of her memory and sucked the very soul from his body, leaving behind only a desiccated imitation-husk.

    The guilt rose up within her like a roaring wave.

    "We have a job," Jaheed said simply. The doors slammed shut behind him, as if to put a period on that woefully insufficient little sentence.

    "Great," Kore replied distantly, eyes still locked onto Diesch''s haggard figure. His hatred was like a physical, blistering heat against her skin.

    "We need to talk," Jaheed said, with a bit more urgency. "On the Cloud Gorger. Now."

    Kore couldn''t agree more.

    <hr>

    The hovercar ride back to the Cloud Gorger was a long and silent one, wherein Kore spent a great deal of time drumming her fingers against her holstered pistol and saying nothing. Neither she nor Jaheed felt comfortable speaking in front of Diesch, who for his part simply stared straight ahead, hands folded over his stomach in a sad impersonation of a nap. That blistering intensity was gone; now his eyes were distant and unfocused, as though all this were little more than some strange and fleeting dream.

    Holstered on his belt, Kore noticed, was that same six-chamber laser revolver. The very notion of this man armed in her vicinity filled her with sickly unease, and thus she kept her own weapon close at hand.

    Finally, after what felt like a literal eternity, they returned to the Cloud Gorger, whereupon Jaheed immediately directed the Black Hound to one of several empty bunks.

    "That''s you," Jaheed said, somehow keeping his voice entirely conversational and pleasant as he indicated a tan-faded door. Oh, to have the undergone the social conditioning of a Highborn. "We''ll be meeting in an hour to discuss our next assignment; I''d like very much to see you there. And hey, if there''s anything at all you need - just speak to myself or Kore, alright?" Jaheed smiled thinly. "We''re in this together, after all."

    Diesch gave the Marquess a hard look.

    "Thanks," was all he said, his voice ragged and rough. Then he was gone, disappearing into his chamber and loudly locking the door behind him, and then Kore and Jaheed were in shuttle''s "confidential room" - a small, soundproofed, brightly lit chamber wherein one could only assume torturous interrogations were meant to be carried out. Jaheed slumped into a painful-looking steel chair as Kore paced madly, now a perfect mirror of the troubled Se-dai just three rooms down.

    "What the fuck," she said. It seemed an appropriate opener.

    "I know," Jaheed just nodded, palms spread in a gesture of weary surrender. "I¡¯m just as baffled as you are."

    "Why?" Kore demanded, voice growing louder. Again, Jaheed could only shrug.

    "I put in a good word for Diesch, in my report ," he suggested, hunching forward and resting his chin upon one hand. "Just as you requested. Well¡­I guess the Emperor listened."

    "Okay, great!" Kore exclaimed. "Fantastic! Good for Abel. And then the Emperor just, what¡­ dumps him on us as a prank? As a practical void-damn joke?"

    "Amusement is probably at the root of it, yes," Jaheed muttered.

    "I say again - what the fuck.¡± Kore threw up her hands. This, she knew, was very much unlike her. She was always the one to take things in stride, always quick to accept and adapt to changing circumstances. She certainly wasn''t one to just rage helplessly against the new status quo. But there was something else to this particular variable, this time ¨C the fact she had personally doomed this man and his people to the Emperor¡¯s cruel mercies. The fact that Diesch had Jaheed at gunpoint, and it was only on Kore¡¯s good word that he had stayed his hand. That was a wrinkle with which she was entirely unprepared to contend.

    "We can¡¯t possibly trust him,¡± Kore said, trying to shunt her mounting guilt to the side and fill that space with something practical. Tell me something I don''t know was the reply conveyed by Jaheed¡¯s weary shrug of his shoulders. "I lied to his face. He has every reason to see us both dead."

    "I raised every one these issues," Jaheed said, for whatever that was worth.

    "And?"

    "He''s the Emperor of the Great Domain," Jaheed answered flatly. " He gets what he wants."

    "And what he wants is an albatross around our necks," Kore scowled. "Fucking fantastic. Now I gotta watch my back every waking second I''m around this asshole - and I gotta watch your back twice as hard, too. Everyone is now at risk."

    "We do have Sekhmet-" Jaheed started - and then both of them stopped at once and looked each other dead in the eyes.

    "Shit," Jaheed said first.

    "Yeah," Kore agreed second. "He can''t know."

    "He has to."

    "He can''t. He''d sell us out in an instant."

    "Diesch will find out," Jaheed pressed. "One way or another. You couldn''t hide her from me, could you?"

    "Did a pretty good job of it for a while.?"

    "Which I am still unhappy about, by the way," Jaheed snapped. "But that''s a moot point. In this line of work we will eventually have need of her services and then, just as it was with me, the beans will be quite thoroughly spilled ¨C or however the old expression goes. The only way Sekhmet generates value is by breaking her cover."

    "Generates value...?"

    "Allow me to rephrase that.¡±

    "She is a human being, not a fucking asset.¡±

    "I''m sorry, I''m sorry," Jaheed groaned, waving her off. "Look, we''re getting unfocused. The fact of the matter is that one way or another, he will eventually come to know about her. But-" he held up a finger, before Kore could interject, "-it is also a fact that Abel Diesch lives only because the Emperor finds his relation to me and you amusing. We''re the only reason he¡¯s still alive. If we go-" he drew a finger across his throat, "-he goes."

    "You''re assuming that Diesch cares at all about death," Kore folded her arms.

    "He hasn''t put a bolt through his brain yet," Jaheed shrugged. "Or maybe he has, I don''t know. These walls are soundproof after all."

    There was a long, heavy silence between them. And then:

    "Alright," Kore said simply. "We''ll play it your way. Now hurry up and tell me about this void-damned job."

    ¡°Are you familiar with Horstchia-12?¡±

    <hr>

    "You''re joking," Ket Sal scoffed.

    As if to punctuate his sentence, Anansi''s blade came down once more, and the man on the floor let loose another hideous scream. A drop of blood splashed against the sleeve of Ket Sal¡¯s shirt and the Scion glanced down, rubbing out the stain with a thumb and a frown.

    "Not at the moment," the Emperor smiled, circling around the room like a hungry shark. Knelt down on the floor, wailing in agony, was the envoy the Crimson Emir had sent. The scruffy-looking soldier had come bearing a message that was as short and blunt as it was entirely unsatisfactory:

    Watch your back, Doss

    And so the Emperor, it seemed, was eking out some small measure of satisfaction by having his Se-dai carve the messenger to ribbons. Powerful stimulants were coursing through the unfortunate man''s veins, keeping him alive and conscious even as most of his insides were laid out on the floor in front of him. His wails undulated in pitch and tenor and Ket Sal remarked, to himself, that Anansi was almost playing him like a musical instrument. It was beautiful and hideous all at once, though, truth be told, Ket Sal found the entire thing to be in somewhat poor taste.

    The man''s screams were grating on his ears, at any rate.

    "What about that backwater Horstchia-12 could possibly necessitate the presence of two Scions?" Ket Sal groused, thoroughly unhappy and refusing to let this go. The Emperor, still admiring Anansi''s grim handiwork, merely tilted his head.

    "Jaheed Vell is no Scion," he corrected. Ket Sal rolled his eyes.

    "Spare me the pedantry," he scoffed. "A Scion and an Acolyte, then. Fine. Now why the hell do I have to be paired up with that idiot child?"

    "Because that''s how I want it to be," the Emperor purred, as Anansi''s molecular blade entered the messenger''s left eye. "And, so, that is how it is."

    Just about anyone else in the Domain would have been moved to silent obedience by such a statement from the mouth of the Grand Architect - but Ket Sal and Volsif XCVII had been teenage classmates at the same academy, back during a time when both were still mere Lowborn and the Jade Emperor was merely Doss Ken Sorad. Before the adoption, before the Ascension, before everything that had led them here today. Ket Sal could not and would not see the so-called living god as anything other an exceptionally powerful man.

    "I don''t appreciate this," Ket Sal said firmly, folding his arms. Behind him, Ammit shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. "I''m owed time for rest and recuperation on Mercury. I''ve been on travel for-"

    "You are owed nothing," the Emperor said, voice still conversational, but Anansi had now frozen and the air had been all but sucked out of the room. The Jade Emperor rose slowly, uncoiling and rising like a serpent as he regarded his old friend with glittering eyes - the look not quite threatening so much as intrigued. Still, there was an unmistakable warning there. A clear sign that the Scion had overstepped. Ket Sal cleared his throat at once, keeping his expression and posture perfectly neutral through a mixture of extreme mental conditioning and helpful cybernetic implants.

    "My apologies, Doss," Ket Sal said graciously, bowing his head. Calm, cool, and collected - artificial though it all was. And, of course, there was the use of the Emperor''s informal name, which the Scion hoped would conjure up memories of a friendship long past. Ket Sal was one of few people actually permitted to use that old epithet. "I forget myself."

    "That''s quite alright," the Emperor smiled, and at once the tension dissipated as though it had never existed at all. ¡°Every human does, from time to time.¡± Through his nostrils, Ket Sal let out a quiet sigh of relief - just as the Emperor gave a small flick of his wrist, and in one smooth motion Anansi severed the messenger''s head clean from his body.

    A quick, casual, almost thoughtless extinguishing of a life.

    Ket Sal was going to do exactly as he was told.

    <hr>

    The first official meeting of the Cloud Gorger Crew was, well, a rather inauspicious one.

    They had departed Mercury in short order, as Jaheed was very much interested in getting far away from his uncle as quickly as possible - hurtling through deep space, there was no need to confront nor even acknowledge the obvious fact of his mentor''s betrayal. Here, now, there were practical and immediate problems to solve, and Jaheed set upon them with fervor and enthusiasm both. Now, at his urging, the crew were gathered in the Gorger''s bright-lit bridge, and it was only seeing them all together that Jaheed realized what a truly strange and motley assortment they were.

    There was himself, of course, standing at the prow with hands clasped behind his back and a warm smile upon his face. The picture of distinguished nobility, confident and in-control and the north star by which every wayward member of the crew could orient themselves.

    That was how he saw himself, at any rate.

    There was Kore standing at attention, arms folded, cap set aside but uniform still clean and pressed. Both her pistol and melt-knife both were prominently displayed upon her waist and thigh, respectively, and her sleeves were rolled up to reveal arms thick with corded muscle. Her entire appearance, Jaheed knew, was sending a clear message to their newest recruit ¨C behave yourself.

    There was Sekhmet beside her, lounging in the navigator''s seat with boots up on the terminal, clad in a baggy bomber-jacket and smoking idly. On her belt was that same antique katana, which Jaheed had yet to ever see outside of its sheath. The rogue Se-dai looked disinterested and annoyed - and, admittedly, Jaheed was annoyed right back, because she was an open secret that not only had he not been privy to, but that now showed him not even an ounce of respect upon the bridge of his ship. An open secret that could not ever be disciplined or even scolded, seeing as how she could slaughter every one of them with her bare hands. A conundrum indeed - but, he had to admit, an incredibly useful one to have on hand.

    There was Tarsus, clad in an old fighter-pilot''s jumpsuit, leaned forward in the captain''s chair and arguing quietly with Sekhmet about something related to the Gorger''s engine manifold - and periodically snapping at the Se-dai to get her damn feet off the damn terminal, which the other woman pointedly ignored.

    And then, finally, the newcomer made an appearance. Abel Diesch stood at the entrance to the bridge, looking as though someone had injected at least a hint of life back into his weary shell - no doubt a product of having slept somewhat well these past twelve hours. A bit of the color had returned to his skin, and he was actually standing sort of straight, and most importantly his eyes were as Jaheed remembered them - sharp, alert, and aggressively probing, sweeping about the room like the barrel of a gun and taking stock of each and every insignificant detail.

    "Abel, my friend," Jaheed called, forcing a smile - forcing down his extreme discomfort at the presence of a man who was supposed to be dead. "How are you feeling? Are your quarters to your liking?"

    Diesch glanced around, seemed about to let fly some cutting remark - but instead just started forward and said "Yeah. No problems." He took a seat at the weapons station, beside Sekhmet, who gave the Black Hound an icy side-eye but otherwise paid him no mind. Kore, too, stiffened visibly, yet she also remained silent.

    An inauspicious gathering, indeed.

    "Welcome, everyone, to the first official meeting of the Cloud Gorger," Jaheed said cheerily, knifing right through the tension with enthusiastic aplomb. "For the benefit of our newcomer, let''s all introduce ourselves, shall we?" He put a hand to his chest. "You already know me, Abel, but a reminder - my name is Jaheed Vell, Acolyte to the Jade Emperor and executor-noble of this vessel."

    Diesch just stared at him with a blank, lazy sort of contempt. Jaheed, wounded but undeterred, passed the ball to Kore with a tilt of his head.

    "I''m Kore," the woman grunted, making sure to shoot Jaheed a this-is-fucking-stupid look before turning to face the rest of the crew. "Security Chief." And that, it seemed, was all they would be getting from her.

    "Captain Sen Tarsus," the pilot sounded off, giving the others a two-fingered salute. "Pilot, navigator, et cetera. Jaheed''s in charge but don''t forget - the Gorger is my baby. Anything ship-related, you lot answer to me. Got it?" She received an assortment of nods and acknowledgements in return and leaned back, satisfied.

    And then, there was Sekhmet. The Se-dai just tilted her head - cigarette still clenched between her teeth - and said, with little fanfare: "I''m Sekhmet. I was a Se-dai, now I''m not. Anyone has a problem with that-" she blew out a cloud of hazy smoke, "-keep it to yourself."

    Jaheed turned to Diesch, who was now staring at Sekhmet with wide eyes. It did, admittedly, bring him some small satisfaction to see the Black Hound so thoroughly wrong-footed. Surprised you, didn''t I? the Marquess thought to himself. Already he had re-oriented his brain in such a way as to take internal credit for Sekhmet''s presence, telling himself that he had cultivated the right personnel - Kore, namely - and that Sekhmet was merely a product of good networking. Just as Kore had predicted, it did indeed bring him no small amount of pleasure to know he had one of the legendary Se-dai guarding him - right under the Emperor''s nose, no less.

    "You people are mad," was all Diesch could manage, to which Sekhmet snorted and Taurus shrugged in agreement.

    "She''s non-negotiable," Kore said firmly, at which the Se-dai visibly brightened.

    "She''s pretty good in a fight, supposedly," Tarsus offered. "But she''s also an insufferable know-it-all bitch when it comes to engine work."

    "Both true," Sekhmet grinned, stubbing out her cigarette in the palm of her hand. The flesh sizzled, then quickly healed over. At that, Diesch¡¯s eyes somehow grew even wider.

    "You people are mad,¡± Diesch repeated. He looked to Jaheed like a drowning man, as though he were the only beacon of sanity in a sea of chaotic madness. "Does the Emperor know? Do the Se-dai?"

    "The only people that know she¡¯s here," Jaheed couldn''t help but smirk, at this, "are all sitting here on the bridge of this ship. Welcome to the club, Abel."

    There was a bit more talk, after that - some consternation, some light banter, and most importantly discussion of the mission soon to come. Then, with all said and done, they departed - Kore and Sekhmet to Kore''s room, Tarsus to the belowdecks, Diesch to his own room, and then there was only Jaheed standing on the bridge. He turned now to look at the stars streaking by, cutting slices of blinding white across a canvas of pure black - billions and billions of tiny lives racing by as though they were nothing at all.

    Jaheed smiled. He had risen above them. He had freed himself from the trap of Callisto, from a life of steady and stable and suffocating living. He would not live and die as the same man.

    He was going to be somebody.

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN // MON AMOUR

    CYCLE 12874 // MONTH ONE // DAY ELEVEN // REIGN OF BLESSED EMPEROR VOLSIF XCVII

    "Wonderful. Another planet caught in perpetual winter," Jaheed remarked dryly, as the Gorger''s ramp descended and the aforementioned perpetual winter rushed up to greet them.

    "I''m starting to think the Emperor doesn''t like you," Kore agreed.

    "Oh, he loves me. Why else would I be getting all the good assignments?"

    "Do your jobs properly and we won''t be here long," Diesch snapped, drawing his coat tight against the freezing wind.

    That was as good a mission statement as any, and so without further ado the trio descended the ramp. Waiting for them at the far end of the pad, well-armed and two dozen strong, were soldier-thugs of The Vzngtch - the largest smuggling ring and mercenary cadre in the entire system.

    At the head of the procession, a wiry man who could only be Baron Az-Azsad stepped forward, extended a hand, and flashed a row of diamond-studded teeth.

    "Jaheed Vell-se," the ganglord grinned. "Welcome to my world."

    <hr>

    The process of actually getting to Horstchia-12 had been a somewhat tumultuous one.

    When the crew had consisted of merely Jaheed, Kore, and Tarsus (and a hidden Sekhmet), the mood between them had been easygoing and laid-back. They were all three of them relatively agreeable folk; Jaheed''s pickiness and Tarsus'' crudeness notwithstanding. But now there were not one but two chaotic new variables thrown into the mix - a woman called Sekhmet, and a man named Abel Diesch.

    The two of them were opposites in every way, really, which made the whole thing even more polarizing - and also entirely ironic.

    Where Diesch was quiet and withdrawn, spending most of his time at a little-used bar tended to by a century-old system of pneumatic arms, Sekhmet was infuriatingly loud, her voice ringing out clear as day through the Gorger''s thin walls and her eight-hundred-pound footsteps a constant, incessant irritant (now that she need no longer conceal herself, she also saw no reason to quiet her steps). Where Diesch responded to slights with little more than a glare and a silent withdrawal, Sekhmet was naturally confrontational and thus constantly picking fights with everyone, Kore excluded - fights she would invariably win, given the clear power imbalance one encounters when trying to argue with a billion-dollar cyborg death-machine.

    Diesch was a ghost. Sekhmet was omnipresent. That was why it had surprised Kore so much to see the two slowly becoming friends, or at the very least friendly with one another. Diesch, it seemed, respected her for having deserted the Empire, while Sekhmet herself had found a kindred spirit in a man who bore naked enmity towards the Jade Emperor.

    Kore had unintentionally eavesdropped on a late-night conversation between them, once - and what she had heard was not only alarmingly treasonous but borderline heretical. Kore, of course, could give a hot shit about dogma or orthodoxy. But she was keenly aware that the Emperor was the one keeping the lights on, and in truth she was terrified every day that Sekhmet would somehow be ripped away of her. And so she carried with her at all times a small, burgeoning seed of worry. Had she known of Sekhmet¡¯s impromptu meeting with Anansi, that seed might very well have bloomed into outright panic. But, for the moment, that exchange remained a secret ¨C for Sekhmet was too ashamed to admit that she, too, was still held firmly within the Jade Emperor¡¯s grasp.

    Despite it all, by the time the Cloud Gorger arrived at Horstchia-12 everyone was in high spirits - even Diesch, to some minor degree - and the crew was finally beginning to resemble, well, an actual crew. The plan was thus: Tarsus would mind the ship, Sekhmet would stalk from the shadows, and Kore and Diesch would act as Jaheed''s bodyguard and aide-de-campe, respectively. The three/four of them would meet with the Vzngtch, who controlled the entirety of the southern pole, while the Scion Ket Sal would meet with the provincial governor to the north. If all went well, the two groups would never need meet.

    It was all quite perfect and, in retrospect, very obviously doomed to fail.

    <hr>

    They made for something of a mismatched trio, didn''t they?

    There was Jaheed at the front, bundled up in a stark-white peacoat and jade-colored scarf, both serving to accentuate his orange hair and azure eyes. He was a thing of sharp and vibrant color, immediately drawing the eye as denoted his station.

    Beside him, Kore stood in immediate contrast - a looming sentinel with a long, jet-black, high-collared coat open over a padded Imperial uniform. Where Jaheed was vividly bright, Kore was violently dark.

    And then, intermediate between them, there was Diesch who wore, as per usual, a dark turtleneck sweater and a faded tan overcoat. In truth the man looked damn near homeless, his back hunched and a cigarette clenched tight between his mechanical fingers.

    An odd assortment indeed. Certainly not the imperial entourage one might expect - no faceless Liquidators, no servants, no Se-dai. No yellow-eyed Scion in sight. Az-Azsad''s choice of words, then, were perfectly understandable - but still Kore knew she could not allow it to pass.mBefore anyone could get in another word, Kore made an executive decision. She reached into her coat, withdrew her disruptor pistol, and pressed it against the ganglord''s forehead.

    To their credit, not one of the Vzngtch guards made a move - though quite a few of them tensed visibly. Az-Azsad himself was perfectly calm, somehow managing to refrain from even acknowledging the barrel against his skull as he continued to regard Jaheed with that same diamond-studded smile.

    "You are speaking to a Highborn of Mercury," Kore said matter-of-factly. "You will address my liege as Lord Vell."

    This was all a bit of improvisation, admittedly - but Jaheed had impressed upon her the night prior that Az-Azsad was a Lowborn, and the difference between them had to be starkly illustrated. Even a subtle jab like the use of his full name could not go unpunished. The criminal side of Horstchia-12 had long thumbed its nose at imperial authority, and now Jaheed was here to remind them just who exactly was in charge. Kore could only hope that the Vzngtch would have the self-preservation instinct not to gun down agents of the Jade Emperor on the spot.

    "Of course, of course," Az-Azsad said, steepling his fingers and bowing deeply at the waist. Kore''s pistol tracked his skull the whole way down. "My apologies, Lord Vell-se. Your visit was not expected; I know you only as son of Duke Jerohd Vell-ne. I did not know you serve Blessed Emperor Volsif-ke."

    "That''s quite alright," Jaheed said graciously, giving all the appearance of a man for whom guns to heads was a casual thing. As he spoke, his left index finger twitched the signal for stand down, and so Kore thumbed her pistol off at once, the lights on the side dimming from harsh blue to a low red as she holstered the weapon once more. The same finger twitched twice up, then once down - well done - and Kore did her best to mask a satisfied smile. "These are turbulent times, after all, and confusion abounds. Allow me to make formally clear, then, that I am here at Horstchia-12 on behalf of His Blinding Eminence Doss Ken Volsif, Ninety-Seventh of his name. I serve the Jade Emperor as Acolyte, and I have been granted liberty to speak with his Blessed voice."

    "Then I say hail to you, Lord Vell-se," Az-Azsad bowed again. "And hail to the Jade Emperor."

    For a moment, there was only the sound of howling wind.

    "Well, that was all rather unpleasant," Jaheed chuckled, instantly cracking the tension between them. "I regret the need for such hostilities, my friend. What say we find someplace warm to re-introduce ourselves proper? I can''t say the climate here much agrees with me."

    "It is an acquired taste for certain," Az-Azsad replied, matching Jaheed¡¯s smile with one his own. If the Baron was angry, he did an admirable job of concealing it. "Please come with me, Lord Vell-se - my office is but a short distance away."

    "Lead the way," Jaheed agreed, clasping the man on the shoulder. And then: "Let us discuss the shape of your future, Az-Azsad."

    <hr>

    Kore found Baron Az-Azsad markedly unpleasant.

    There was, of course, the whole issue of ''Baron'' to begin with - namely the fact that the title was entirely imagined, having apparently been granted by the man himself to establish some veneer of legitimacy. In truth Az-Azsad was but a common criminal, a thug who had his own people in a stranglehold and who grew fat and wealthy as a result. Though organized crime had been all but eradicated ¨C through the brutal, merciless application of military force - on Callisto, Kore nevertheless found herself thoroughly revulsed by the concept of such a parasitic creature, on that leeched off the less fortune with gluttonous abandon.

    And then, on a pettier and more immediate level, there was simply the matter of the man''s affectations. He spoke with an odd, stilted, lisping sort of accent, occasionally rearranging or dropping a word here and there, and most everything he said came out aggravatingly slow and measured. Jaheed, of course, had spent the weeks of transit studying up on Horstchia-12''s mannerisms and was thus nonplussed by the faux-Baron''s eccentricities - but Kore found them, in conjunction with the fact he was a criminal being treated like a prince, all just really void-damned annoying.

    The lot of them were sitting now in a windowless lounge, one illuminated by warm orange panels that ran in strips around the edges of the ceiling. Everything - the chairs, the couch, the tables - was rigidly geometric, and since their entry into that towering skyscraper Kore had seen not a single smooth or rounded edge.

    She was standing at attention now, hands folded in the ready position, as Jaheed and the faux-Baron broke bread, discussing matters of tariffs and jurisdictions the details of which slid like river-water over Kore''s skull. The words were meaningless to her; she had not an ounce of the context required to parse anything that the two of them were saying. But she understood well the gist of what was happening here.

    Centuries ago, the Horstchia System''s sun had suddenly and unexpectedly gone supernova, whereupon every planet within immediately went dark. Horstchia was a system to the far Outer Edge, and interstellar travel was costly and burdensome in those days - thus, the entire system had been simply written off for dead. Twelve billion people garnered no more interest to the overminds of Holy Mercury than a rote accounting error.

    It was only several hundred years later that, without warning, the system''s 12th planet abruptly ''went bright'' again - and began loudly transmitting to anyone who could hear.

    Emperor Volsif XCVI - The Gilded Hierarch, and the Jade Emperor''s adoptive father - dispatched a delegation and a legion both to investigate, and what they reported back was a largely-uninhabitable planet dominated nevertheless by two domed cities. Cauras, to the north, was ruled by the governor and ''official'' representative of the entire planet. But Gaurnan, to the south, was an independent entity entirely - one governed not by the nobility, but by a crime family that had sprawled to rival even the Great Houses of Cauras themselves.

    The Vzngtch had been fortunate. Horstchia-12 was a remote, unimportant little ball of ice in a Domain that was, at the time, brimming with interstellar war (a war that was later settled quite decisively by the Crimson Emir, who was then called War-Master Jaras Den San). Thus, the Vzngtch had more or less been allowed to continue on, unmolested by the hand of Holy Mercury, and their system had even been blessed with one of the Kerekt-Hives¡¯ famous artificial suns.

    This laissez-faire approach would continue no longer. There was no system, no world, no individual too small and remote to escape the Jade Emperor¡¯s watchful eye. All would soon be within his hands, and it was Jaheed who had been dispatched to deliver the proclamation.

    "Let me be clear, then," Jaheed said, replying to Az-Azsad''s question with a lowered voice and an expression of great consequence. "I am here to tell you, in no uncertain terms, that you will be given one solar month to merge with the noble Tenko House of Causas - and disband the Vzngtch entirely. Fail to do so, and it will not be I who visits you next." He smiled thinly. "It will be the Se-dai.¡±

    Az-Azsad''s expression was entirely blank, for a moment.

    "Perhaps," the faux-Baron said, slowly, "we have gotten off onto the wrong foot."

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Jaheed agreed, leaning back and taking a sip of the steaming drink he had been provided. ¡°Look, Az-Azsad. I¡¯m not a headsman, and I¡¯m not a harbinger. I am a diplomat, and I am here to take your side. The Se-dai? The Liquidators?¡± He scoffed. ¡°I¡¯ve seen their work firsthand and let me tell you, it is a terrible thing to behold. They take the Emperor¡¯s side, which is that of total obliteration. So-¡± he raised the glass in salute, ¡°-what say you and I work together to save your skin?¡±

    This time, Kore could see clear as day that there were myriad calculations running behind the faux-Baron¡¯s calm expression.

    ¡°I say,¡± Az-Azsad said finally, ¡°that you and I, Lord Vell-se, are in need of more drinks.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d say you¡¯re right,¡± Jaheed laughed, and so the negotiations were on.

    <hr>

    Ket Sal was unhappy. Which, to be fair, was very much his default state of mind. Nevertheless; this day in particular was poking and prodding at his brain like a hot needle, determined to test his mask of control time and time again.

    Where to begin the list of grievances? There was, of course, the fact he was here at all - the fact he had been forced to drag poor Ma¨ªt to this abominable frozen shithole, and that she now had little to do but wait in a shoddy excuse for a penthouse for his return. There was the fact that he was forced to associate in any way with Jaheed Vell, who was apparently going to become a permanent fixture in his life if the events of the past few months were any indication. And, most immediately, there was the fact that he was currently stuck talking to this complete and utter fucking moron.

    Two things had become clear to Ket Sal within the first five minutes of his meeting with Governor Ban Tenko. The first; that the Tenko House and the Vzngtch were in league with one another, colluding in secret whilst presenting a divided front to any inquiring eyes.

    The second? That Baron Az-Azsad was the real ruler of Horstchia-12, and Governor Tenko was nothing but an imbecilic front. Talking to this man any further was a clear waste of time and yet here was Ket Sal, one of the Voices of the Emperor, responding with rote flowchart-guided responses and queueing up the appropriate expressions/body language as the Governor droned on and on and on about... Horstchia-12''s fucking sovereignty, of all things, which was such a ridiculous notion to entertain that Ket Sal found it actively disgusting.

    He was almost grateful, then, when the soft chime of his comm-implant sounded within the confines of his skull. It was Ma¨ªt, no doubt, likely just as bored and miserable as he was. He wouldn''t be able to reply - not while the Governor was still holding him hostage - but at the very least he could blot out Ban Tenko''s grating register with the pleasant tones of her voice. He accepted the transmission, then leaned back against his chair and folded one leg over another in a parody of engaged and interested listening.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    "This is the Scion Ket Sal?" came a rough, unfamiliar voice.

    "Yes," Ket Sal said, replying to Ban Tenko and the mysterious voice both. This was rather unusual - few people in the Domain had access to his private number, and those who did would know well to introduce themselves first. Oh, well. Ket Sal was, if nothing else, grateful for a small oddity to disrupt up this unbearable malaise.

    The next few words hit him like a mag-train.

    "You left your wife, Ma¨ªt Tas Oan, at the Overlook hotel on C-57 Street," the voice said. "If you were to try and call her, now, she will not pick up."

    Every Scion of the Jade Emperor had near-total mastery over their own body, via a combination of psychological conditioning and skin-deep silicon implants. They were quite literally unflappable; they wore human expressions like cheap masks and dictated their appearances in a manner entirely divorced from their actual emotions.

    It was for that reason, then, that Ket Sal''s expression did not waver for even an instant - even as raw terror shot like lightning up his spine and his heart leapt into a ferocious, breakneck rhythm. An alarm blared inside his skull and auto-injectors acted at once to flood his system with substances that would soothe his mind, allowing him to think clearly and act decisively. Yet even the artificial calm was shredded at once by the storm of panic, rage, and fear swelling up inside him.

    Ammit, who had been looming in the corner the entire time like a piece of sentient furniture, now tilted her head ever-so-slightly. Ket Sal knew her well enough to know that this was an expression of genuine alarm, for she of course was listening in on any transmission her liege received.

    "That''s true," Ket Sal agreed, again speaking to the Governor and the voice both.

    "You should go back to the hotel," the voice instructed. "See for yourself that she is not there. Then, we will contact you further." A pause. "We have your comms dialed in, Ket Sal. Make any other calls or attempts at contact and we will hurt her very badly. Do not be slow."

    And with that, before Ket Sal could get in another word, the transmission clicked off. SOURCE: UNKNOWN, it read. DURATION: THIRTY-FOUR SECONDS.

    Ket Sal decided at once what he was going to do.

    He straightened, visibly - flattened his expression, put a finger to his ear in imitation of receiving a call. Ban Tenko observed, silent and curious, as Ket Sal listened for a moment before nodding at nothing at all. He then turned back to the Governor and pasted on an expression that was approximately sixty-percent apologetic and forty-percent concerned.

    "Is something the matter, Lord Sal-ne?" the Governor asked. Ket Sal put on a reluctant grimace.

    "An urgent matter, from the mouth of the Emperor himself," Ket Sal admitted - and Tenko''s eyes widened, at that, because he was a fucking moron. "My apologies, Governor Tenko, but I''m afraid-"

    "It is no matter," the Governor said quickly, waving away the Scion''s apologies. "Whatever the Jade Emperor wants, it must be of grave importance, yes? We will gather again in the morning."

    "Thank you, Governor Tenko," Ket Sal said, throwing on a relieved smile. "Your generosity and hospitality both are blessings to me. We shall indeed reconvene tomorrow, and hopefully continue with this productive and stimulating discussion."

    Having groveled sufficiently, the Scion stood calmly and stepped out, his Se-dai shadowing him closely. Behind them, the doors began to slide - and the moment they shut, both Scion and Se-dai broke into a full-on sprint.

    "Don''t wait for me!" Ket Sal shouted, tearing down the hall with wild abandon. He hadn''t bothered to change his face and thus he still wore an apologetic smile, even as his voice was gripped tight with urgency. "Just get the car started!"

    At that, the Se-dai took off, clearing the hall in the span of a half-second before disappearing down a long and winding staircase. A minute later Ket Sal hit the lobby and burst out onto the busy street, where - amidst a great deal of traffic both vehicular and pedestrian - there idled a sleek, angular black hovercar.

    The vehicle''s motor was growling low and dangerous as Ket Sal all but leapt into the car, slammed the door shut, and ordered: "The hotel."

    The engine roared and the car shot forward like an enormous bullet, dodging and whipping and weaving through the nighttime traffic with the speed and precision that only a Se-dai could muster. And that same Se-dai was clenching the wheel so tight that the metal was warping, her face obscured but the tension blatantly apparent in the hunch of her shoulders.

    Utterly powerless, Ket Sal could only smoke anxiously in the back seat, hands trembling as he stared out and watched the sea of faces blurring by.

    "Ket," Ammit said suddenly, as she jerked the wheel and the hovercar entered into a blistering hairpin turn. His head snapped around. It was one of few times he had ever heard her address him by his informal name, though he had long ago given her permission to do just that.

    "Ammit," he said, reaching out and putting a hand on her armored shoulder - because right now they quite literally only had each other. The Se-dai''s solid, implacable presence served to calm his nerves by a fraction and, finally, that damn trembling in his hands came to a stop.

    "If Ma¨ªt-" Ammit began, slowly. As though afraid of the words.

    "She won''t," Ket Sal interrupted.

    "But if she does-"

    "She won''t," Ket Sal growled, to himself as much as to her.

    "But if she does," Ammit insisted, and this time he could not muster the strength to rebut, "please grant me permission to hunt and kill the perpetrator."

    There was a roaring ocean in Ket Sal''s ears.

    "If she dies," Ket Sal said darkly, leaning forwards, "I will personally see that all life is scoured from this miserable fucking shithole. I will see the poles melt."

    If Ammit had a reply, it was stifled at once by the appearance of the hotel. The hovercar all but slammed to a halt, and in an instant both Scion and Se-dai were out onto the street.

    "Stay in the car," Ammit ordered, her wrist-blades extending as she sprinted up the stairs.

    "Not a chance!" Ket Sal snapped back, jerking a concealed las-pistol free from inside his jacket. The two of them burst into the lobby, weapons at the ready, then shouldered roughly past what few patrons loitered goggle-eyed within. The elevator doors slid shut; Ammit pressed the penthouse-floor button so hard that the plastic actually cracked.

    Ket Sal tapped his foot eight-hundred-and-sixty-four times in the span of thirty-three seconds.

    "I will get her back," Ammit vowed quietly, her voice low and cold as the grave. "On my blood as Se-dai, I swear it."

    "I know," Ket Sal said, gripping his pistol tight. His hands were trembling again. "Thank you."

    The elevator dinged, came to a halt. Ket Sal raised his weapon. His hands did not shake. He was ready. Whatever he was about to see, he was ready. He had to be, for her.

    The doors slid open perhaps a quarter inch - and then Ammit was shoving him aside as a dozen red lasers boiled the air where he had just been standing, melting the back of the elevator to slag and filling the air with acrid smoke.

    "Son of a bitch!" Ket Sal spat, pistol in hand, barely audible over the deafening torrent of gunfire. The two were pinned down on opposite sides, both attempting to conceal themselves behind what narrow cover the elevator provided. Ket Sal¡¯s eyes darted to the cabin operating panel; surely the elevator was still functional. "We have to-" And then, abruptly, the las-fire ceased, and everything went far too quiet.

    They were being hunted.

    Stay low, Ammit instructed him, via hand-signal, and so Ket Sal dropped at once to a crouch. Some Scions were foolish enough to ignore the commands of their Scions, to bristle at the idea of taking orders from a nominal underling. Ket Sal was no such fool. Ammit was staring hard at the ceiling, now, and the Scion realized belatedly that she was using the reflection to study her assailants.

    Whatever it was Ammit saw, she clearly didn''t like it - because she reached up, removed her helmet, and simply tossed the thing aside. She stared now at Ket Sal with eyes of brilliant silver and asked, with more than a hint of malice in her voice: "Permission for release?"

    Ket Sal met her stare - understood, then, that she and he were of one mind - and his own eyes flashed blue, for a moment, as he transmitted his personal authorization code.

    "Level one RAGNAROK full release granted, all permissions," Ket Sal declared - and Ammit''s eyes glowed even brighter as the limiters on her cyborg body were deactivated, one by one.

    Every Se-dai was the master of two weapons.

    The first, of course, were the wrist-blades by which the Se-dai were most known. But few knew of the Ker-sot, True Weapon; of the unique and personalized killing tool that each and every Se-dai spent the lion''s share of their training mastering. It was with the True Weapon that a Se-dai was most comfortable, and it was with the True Weapon that a Se-dai was at her best. It was for that reason that the True Weapon was to only be unsheathed in times of great difficulty, in any fight where either the life of the Se-dai or the Se-dai''s liege was in serious danger.

    This time, it was for Ma¨ªt¡¯s life.

    From a compartment on her back, Ammit produced a short onyx rod - a rod that was already extending and shifting in her hands, the nanotechnology folding and overlapping on itself until that foot-long rod had become a seven-foot-tall staff, atop which loomed a hefty cylinder studded with points that very much resembled the jagged edge of a meat tenderizer. It was a sleek, brutal, magnificently unsubtle weapon - and, like every other True Weapon, it exemplified the nature of its wielder in every way.

    Ammit dropped low, like a sprinter, Ker-sot held in one hand behind her.

    "Confirm final authorization," Ammit said, and the stoic Se-dai''s voice was choked thick with barely-restrained fury. The assailants had to be closing in, now.

    "Granted with extreme prejudice," Ket Sal declared, drawing to his full height. His lip curled, his heart pounded. "Kill anything that moves."

    And then, Ammit vanished - leaving behind a crater that actually threw Ket Sal to the floor as the Se-dai rocketed forward. Ket Sal scrabbled to his feet, daring to peek around the corner as the air erupted into squealing las-fire once more. And he saw Ammit, high in the air, hammer lifted over her head - just as she brought it crashing down with all the weight of the heavens, and the entire skyscraper trembled beneath the force of that monumental blow. Tan-suited men were pitched from a rapidly-swelling cloud of plaster and dust like broken ragdolls, some already in pieces and some shattering when they impacted against the penthouse walls.

    Most Se-dai, like Sekhmet, cut relatively lean figures - they were all about packing incredible power in understated forms, after all. Sekhmet in particular was built for speed and aggression, as befit her nature, and thus a punch from Sekhmet usually resulted in shattered or liquefied bone. Ammit''s form, however, was somewhat unusual - a tall, bulky, wide-shouldered frame built for power and little else. And thus a punch from Ammit was, in short, an order of magnitude more destructive, which was demonstrated promptly as her hammer impacted against the chest of the nearest assassin. There was a sound like a thunderclap as everything from the waist up was quite literally obliterated - blood and guts turned to pinpricks of fluid and bones all but vaporized entirely.

    And slow for a Se-dai was still blindingly fast for a human because already she was moving, smashing one assailant to atoms then rolling forward, sweeping the legs of another, stomping his head into paste and then whirling around and scattering five of their number with one almighty blow. With every movement and every hit the floor shook, and chunks of plaster rained down from the ceiling like a dusty, choking sort of snow.

    A las-cannon boomed, blowing Ammit off her feet and leaving her chest-armor charred and smoking ¨C though this was little matter, for the real armor was all beneath her skin - and with an uncharacteristic roar of fury Ammit leapt forward, her hammer sweeping just about the entirety of the penthouse furniture into the air as she simply decimated the poor bastard who had dared actually hurt her.

    Yet still there were so many of them, and still Ammit was being peppered with so much las-fire even as she killed and killed and killed, and her armor - which was largely ceremonial in nature ¨C was being reduced to little more than molten slag flash-fused to her artificial skin and Ket Sal watched with mounting concern as she began to sag, her movements slowing even to his untrained eyes.

    "Hragh!" Ammit snarled, a wordless expression of animal fury, as she was ensnared now in a ring of las-fire that peppered endlessly against her skin. She dropped to one knee, exhausted, panting heavily, and for a moment Ket Sal thought she was done. He wanted to cry out, wanted to scream - wanted to do anything to help her, in that moment.

    And then, slowly, as the las-fire abated, Ammit''s head rose. With a deep-throated growl, she slammed her hammer against the floor ¨C the impact of which nearly threw Ket Sal off his feet - and with it she forced herself upright, her back straightening and shoulders broadening as she regarded the terror-stricken assassins with a look of wide-eyed fury.

    "By the Old Blood!" Ammit bellowed, pounding a fist against her chest. "By the New! I am Se-dai-ka-vas-necht! I do not bend! I do not break!" And then she dropped to a low crouch, preparing to leap forward once more with every ounce of strength and power she could muster.

    She didn''t see it, then. But Ket Sal did, and he didn''t have even a moment to warn her as a grey blur dropped from the ceiling and drove a narrow blade right through the top of her skull.

    "Ammit!" Ket Sal bellowed, eyes wide, as the Se-dai lurched back. He saw her look up to see her assailant - a hairless pale figure in a grey hoodie who smiled as though this were all a casual exchange ¨C and then she surged forward with a baritone growl, heedless of the steel piercing her brain as her wrist-blade leapt for the man¡¯s throat.

    And then, again, the man was a blur, ducking her swing and darting around behind her and before she could react he slapped a metal bolt against the back of her neck and then Ammit was on her knees, entire body shaking madly as her face went glassy and slack-jawed and saliva poured from her open mouth and she collapsed, twitching, her entire body contorting wildly as the man just stared down at her, hands in his pockets.

    Ket Sal could have just hit the ground floor button and disappeared. He should have, perhaps. But Ammit was family and so he did not hesitate for even an instant to raise his pistol, draw a bead on the man¡¯s pale skull, and fire.

    Quicker than should ever have been possible, the man tilted his head to the side, and the bolt seared harmlessly through the back of a shredded couch. Now, he turned, and Ket Sal¡¯s blood ran cold as the man gave him a knowing smile. His eyes were glowing a deep, dull red.

    "Whoops," the stranger said. "Almost forgot about you."

    Ket Sal squeezed the trigger again, but before the weapon could even begin to fire the man was right in front of him, snatching up his gun-wrist and popping the Scion''s shoulder from its socket with a casual, one-handed tug. Ket Sal gasped, eyes going wide with pain and shock both, and before he could even truly register what was happening he felt cold metal fingers close tight around his throat.

    The man lifted him easily, now, as though the Scion weighed nothing at all. And then there was a brief, odd moment of silence between them - and somehow, amidst the insanity of it all, Ket Sal found the time to notice that tattooed beneath the man''s eyes was a trio of red stars. The sigil of the Vzngtch.

    "Goodnight," the Vzngtchian cyborg said, pleasantly enough. And then there was a sharp, blinding impact against the side of Ket Sal''s head.

    Lights out.

    <hr>

    "Three Scions, two houses," Kore smiled, spreading her cards out across the table, to which Jaheed let out a long and sustained groan.

    The two of them were sitting in the midst of a truly luxurious penthouse, playing a casual game of Seno on the countertop - a ¡®casual game¡¯ that had quickly turned fiercely competitive - while Sekhmet lounged, eyes closed, upon the couch and Diesch sat by the window, drinking from a steel flash and saying nothing (as was his usual modus operandi). A long, seemingly-successful and mostly-boring meeting with Az-Azsad had finally concluded, and now the crew of the Gorger were finally able to take some time and enjoy a bit of the northern city. They had eaten at a hanging-garden restaurant suspended beneath a giant archway that night - shadowed, not-so-discreetly, by Vzngtch guards - before stopping to see a performance by Horstchia-12''s most beloved and infamous musical act, The Seven Dunk. Now they were finally back ''home'' and enjoying what they regarded as the fruits of their labors.

    Nobody could sleep, anyway - going from Deep Space to planetside wreaked havoc upon a human¡¯s diurnal rhythms. The first night always a sleepless one.

    "Alright, alright, let¡¯s go again," Jaheed said, good-natured despite the massive chip deficit between them. Kore just scooped up her winnings and grinned, more than happy to fleece him further. Quite literally everyone on the Gorger was terrible at cards, somehow, which made the ex-miner a shark in a small pond indeed. Jaheed dealt her a seven-card hand, and Kore looked down upon it with the same stoic mask she always wore when on duty. Her cards were complete and utter dogshit.

    Just as she was about to bet high on a bad hand, a chime sounded from within her skull, startling her so badly she nearly jumped upright. That damn occipital implant - she still hadn''t gotten used to the idea of a screen behind her eyes and a computer in her brain, and the way the ringtone sounded out within her very thoughts always left her deeply unsettled.

    Nevertheless, one of her many tasks was to intercept and interpret any messages for her liege. And so she blinked twice in rapid succession, and the message appeared before her eyes, layered overtop Jaheed''s face.

    "Message for me?" he asked, seeing her eyes go milky-white for a moment.

    "Uh huh," Kore grunted, distracted. "Short-burst transmission, from, uh..." She trailed off. "Huh."

    "Kore?"

    Before her eyes was displayed the following text:

    SOURCE: S-D#AM67 "AMMIT"

    IMPERATIVE: LUCIFER/NEPHILIM

    "!:+:)+;!{=??[]???=}\

    TRANSMISSION END

    HAIL TO THE SEVENTH-VENERATED EMPEROR

    HAIL TO THE GREAT DOMAIN

    "It''s from...Ammit," Kore said slowly, brow furrowed. "That''s Ket Sal''s Se-dai, right?"

    Sekhmet opened one eye.

    "It says imperative is ''lucifer slash nephilim''," Kore went on. "And then the message is just a string of nonsense-"

    "Give it to me," Sekhmet said, appearing beside them just about of thin air. "Now!"

    "What''s going on?" Jaheed demanded, rising to his feet. Even Diesch was looking over now with probing, curious eyes.

    "That''s a coded transmission ¨C it contains the last thirty seconds of footage from my cousin''s eyes," Sekhmet said quickly, gesturing for Kore to pass the data over. "Only another Se-dai can unscramble it."

    "Okay," Jaheed frowned, confused and increasingly unsettled. They were all four of them crowded around the table, now. "Why is Ket Sal''s Se-dai sending us coded messages?"

    "Lucifer slash nephilim," Sekhmet replied grimly, folding her arms. And for the first time in her life Kore thought she heard unease in the rogue Se-dai''s voice. "Fallen angels. The little computer in our heads," she tapped her skull, "sends it out automatically, right before we die."

    Nobody said a word. Nobody moved a muscle. And suddenly, in that moment, all four of them were keenly aware of just how far away they were from the Cloud Gorger - and from anything or anyone even remotely Imperial.

    "It''s unscrambled," Sekhmet said, after a moment, and without waiting for permission she cast the message to the holo-projector on the coffee table.

    "Woah, hang on," Kore interrupted, as the hologram flickered to life. "This thing is unsecured. Shouldn''t we-"

    "It was a short-burst transmission," Diesch interrupted, speaking up for the first time in hours. All heads tilted at the sound of that raspy voice - but he only had eyes for the flickering image before him.  "Anyone listening could already hear it, plain as day.¡± His entire body seemed seized with an energy and enthusiasm Kore had not seen since Proxima. "They already know we got the message, and they already know where we got it from. All of us, we''re already fucked." He leaned forward, the flickering light reflecting in his eyes. "So let''s watch the damn thing already and get us some proper information here."

    That was that, then. Sekhmet set the video to play - and all watched in terrible, enraptured silence as a Se-dai died.

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN // MOVING MOUNTAINS

    "Nous pleurerons pour toi, ma s?ur. Dors bien," Sekhmet said, when the footage had concluded. Before anyone could ask what that meant she added, in common tongue: "Well, that sucks."

    "Void..." Kore muttered, appropriately taken back by all she had just seen.

    "Isn''t that your cousin?" Jaheed said to Sekhmet ¨C perhaps just a mite harsher than intended. "You don''t have anything more to say than-"

    "I have a lot of dead cousins," Sekhmet snapped, folding her arms. "Our entire purpose is to take bullets for you Highborn. This is just..." She gestured broadly. "The job. Shit, I barely even knew her." Even still, Kore was certain that she detected a hint of melancholy in the callous cyborg¡¯s demeanor.

    "Just ¡®the job¡¯," Jaheed repeated, still sounding surprisingly upset by that particular notion. Kore wondered to herself, then ¨C though he had celebrated the death of his father, Jaheed had never once spoke of his brother and sister. And it was clear now that he was taking Sekhmet''s disregard rather personally.

    "How did they do it?" Diesch interrupted, unintentionally putting an end to a mounting argument. The man was still hunched forwards, chin resting upon folded hands, and studying that final image with microscopic scrutiny. Working the puzzle, it seemed, because that was the thing he did best.

    "You mean how did they kill her?" Sekhmet asked, shooting Jaheed a final glare before turning fully to the reticent detective. Jaheed tensed, looked like he wanted to say something more ¨C but Kore stilled him with a hand on the shoulder and a sympathetic look. Let it go, she mouthed, and reluctantly the Highborn agreed.

    "That''s exactly what I mean. Some sort of implement goes into her head, okay, then something hits her from behind ¨C and then that''s just it? Dead on the spot?" Diesch shook his head. "Se-dai are supposed to be made from sterner stuff than that." He pointed a mechanical finger at the screen. "Look, right before the footage cuts out. Her body goes limp before she dies."

    "Yeah, I saw it," Sekhmet grunted, taking a seat on the couch beside him. "They probably stuck her with some sorta Scrambler Bolt."

    Now everyone was looking at her with the question painted rather obviously on their faces. Sekhmet rolled her eyes.

    "It''s some Fifth War shit, from when the Se-dai were first rolled out as a military force," Sekhmet explained, as though this was all overwhelmingly obvious. "Up ¡®til then we just bodyguards. But the Daeven were pushing the Old Empire hard and so they had us be assassins, too. And when every single one of the Daevan leaders were dropping dead they ¨C too late ¨C to staunch the bleeding with these ¡®Scrambler Bolts¡¯. They do exactly what you think they do. Scrambles our internals, forces our systems into a terminal shutdown. Get one of those stuck to you, and boom." She snapped her fingers. "."

    "So why doesn''t everyone just use these things?" Kore asked, then immediately regretted ¨C the implication of everyone should want to kill Se-dai was pretty damn obvious, after all. But Sekhmet just shrugged, either unoffended or uncaring.

    "Cuz they built my generation better," she said, with a hint of pride. "Not only is my carapace non-porous and non-conductive, but it''s three layers now with all sorts of diffusive elements shoved in-between. Those old Scrambler Bolts wouldn''t make it past layer one."

    "Well obviously one did," Jaheed remarked dryly.

    "," Sekhmet admitted, turning back to the recording. "Technology''s catching up, I suppose."

    "Hey, hey," Diesch interrupted again, snapping his fingers rapidly. All turned now to see a still frame of the male cyborg''s pale, red-eyed visage ¨C leering down at stricken Ammit with a narrow smile. And then they saw it too, of course. The symbol of the Vzngtch tattooed just beneath his eye.

    Kore and Sekhmet both opened their mouths to speak, but Jaheed had them beat.

    "Motherfucker!" he spat.

    Nobody really saw any need to chime in, then. Jaheed had captured the general sentiment well enough.

    <hr>

    NINE HOURS LATER

    It hurt like a bitch to wake up.

    But alas, it was out of his hands ¨C once Ket Sal''s eyes started to flutter, the auto-injectors did the rest, and soon he was wide awake, internal alarms blaring as his vitals spiked wildly. Quickly, he silenced that damn infernal siren in his brain, only to realize soon after that the majority of the pain he was experiencing was in fact physical, not mental.

    His head felt as though it were in a vise, even through the haze of several pain-numbing compounds. His skull pounded and throbbed in perfect time with his heart, compressing tighter and tighter with each beat until he was certain his brain would just outright explode.

    Slowly, belatedly, those yellow eyes flicked around, taking stock of his confinement. The drexylmethanthomaline was doing a fine job of clearing his thoughts, though it was a painfully slow process all the same. The Scion was in a stark-lit room, featuring gray metal walls and gray metal ceiling and a gray metal door and not a whole lot else. He was, of course, sitting in a gray metal chair ¨C a bold aesthetic choice, he thought somewhat deliriously to himself. His hands and feet were bound by what he immediately identified as nanotech shackles. These shackles did not so much close shut as they did conjoin together, forming a single unified strip of metal. There was no lock to pick, nothing of the sort ¨C only a very particular electrical impulse would see the shackles deform once more.

    So, that was far from ideal. And then...well, then came memories of the past few hours, and those were worse than a thousand headaches. Memories of Ma¨ªt, who was missing. Memories of Ammit, who was dead. Ma¨ªt, whom he would never see again. Ammit, whose last expression had been a rictus grin of drooling agony. His family, gone. Himself, alone.

    Ket Sal commanded his body not to weep and so it did not, though his hands were trembling all the same. And thus, even as his mind cried out and screamed and wept and raged, roaring impotent fury and sobbing pleas for any deity who might be listening, outwardly Ket Sal just sat there, perfectly calm and composed.

    This silent torment continued for perhaps an eternity before, finally, the door creaked open and the Vzngtch cyborg stepped into the room. Ket Sal¡¯s pulse quickened at once at the sight of Ammit¡¯s killer. Behind the pale-faced bastard there came a gaunt man with diamond-studded teeth, who gestured sharply with one hand.

    "The door, Gaun," he ordered, and the cyborg shut it at once. Then came a slow dance, of the cyborg circling behind Ket Sal while the other man approached from the front, staring down at the captive Scion with naked hunger in his eyes.

    Ket Sal met that stare, and there was no need to call upon his eidetic memory to identify who this was that stood before him. He guessed it at once.

    "Az-Azsad," the Scion said, with a rueful smile. "Aren''t you supposed to be Jaheed''s problem?"

    "The Scion Ket Sal," Az-Azsad replied. "Should you not be smarter than to end up in a place like this?"

    "Shouldn''t you be smarter than to go against the Jade Emperor?" Ket Sal countered smoothly, throwing on a mocking, superior grin. It took every bit of conditioning and cybernetics at his disposal to manage that, in his current position, but it helped to have had a great deal of practice with that particular expression. "We''re old friends, you know. And the Emperor is a vengeful man indeed. You haven''t seen," his grin grew even wider, "the hate that Doss Ken Volsif is capable of. You haven''t seen him as I''ve seen him. He won''t just exterminate your people, melt your world, erase your history..." He paused for effect. "He''ll wipe this whole fucking backwater system off the map. It¡¯ll be like you never existed at all."

    "A possibility," Az-Azsad admitted. And then Gaun squeezed Ket Sal''s shoulder and he had just an instant to remember it had been previously dislocated before the pain came roaring up to meet him. It was so intense as to be quite literally blinding. This continued for several seconds until, finally, Gaun released him, and Ket Sal slumped forward, panting and drenched in sweat.

    More alarms were blaring inside his head.

    "You don''t actually mean...to interrogate me...do you?" Ket Sal managed, between heaving breaths. "You think this...is my first time...under the knife?" He scoffed, spat out a glob of phlegm. "Please. I am a-"

    Gaun hit him again. Black spots appeared in vision.

    "I am the voice of the Emperor-"

    Gaun hit him a third time. Alarms were cropping up faster than he could dismiss them.

    "Heh heh," Ket Sal chuckled, somewhat deliriously. There was a thick line of blood dribbling from his mouth. "Heh..." This was nothing. Ket Sal had been under the knife a half-dozen times before, and he had undergone a level of torture-conditioning that made this seem almost pleasant.

    "All I want," that damned Az-Azsad was saying, in that damned annoying accent of his, "is for you to speak free. All I want is to ask questions."

    As though that were not already obvious. A Scion''s mind was a veritable treasure-trove of information, an invaluable lexicon into the myriad dealings of the Jade Emperor himself. In Ket Sal''s skull there could be found the keys to the Great Domain itself ¨C and they were guarded only by the willpower of a single man. A man who had, in the last twenty-four hours, lost everything he held dear.

    Perhaps for some, in his position, it might have been tempting to give in. After all, what point was there to any of this? Ket Sal didn''t give even a fraction of a shit about the Great Domain. He hated just about every one of the other Scions. Doss was all but unrecognizable to him now. The only two people he could ever even tolerate were both dead ¨C so why bother? Why endure this torture any longer?

    But Ket Sal didn''t think like that. To Ket Sal, all that mattered was that these two men had killed Ma¨ªt and Ammit. And so his only purpose, for the remainder of his short and miserable life, would be to hurt these two men in every way he could possibly conceive of. Even if the only injury he could inflict upon them was his own silence. He was an avatar of undiluted hatred and little more, even as he still flashed the ganglord that same old mocking, fraternal smile. He knew that others found the look profoundly irritating and hoped with all his heart that Az-Azsad felt the same.

    They beat him for hours on end. Metal fists pounded against his flesh with a cyborg''s terrible precision ¨C always hitting just as hard as possible without actually breaking something. And then, when his entire body was a mass of discolored bruising, Gaun brought the knife out, and so they set to carving his flesh ¨C careful all the while to avoid damaging his face. This, too, Ket Sal endured for some time. This was no matter of conditioning, or an unusually high pain tolerance. It was Ket Sal''s hatred that served as his lantern in the dark, his north star by which he could guide himself through oceans of agony and madness both.

    Never once did he come even close to breaking.

    And so, after several hours Az-Azsad stepped back, lip curling with irritation and disgust, and snapped his fingers.

    "Bring her in," he ordered.

    Ket Sal''s blood ran cold.

    No.

    The door swung open.

    Oh no.

    Gaun was hefting another chair, and now he slammed it down before him.

    No, no, no, no, no.

    The cyborg left, for a moment, then returned with another in tow.

    She was made to sit, and Ket Sal found himself staring right into Ma¨ªt''s eyes. Beautiful eyes. Eyes he could gaze at for hours, days, weeks. Eyes in which you could see a whole galaxy, if you knew how to look. Eyes that were bloodshot, now, and red-rimmed with tears.

    Still she was putting on a brave face, despite it all, her expression haughty and unbowed ¨C though anyone with eyes as keen as Ket Sal¡¯s could see at once that the woman was absolutely terrified.

    Ket Sal knew exactly what he had to do next. He would not fail her.

    The Scion turned to Az-Azsad and made a noise of disgust.

    "Really?" Ket Sal scoffed, through bloodied lips and broken teeth. "Now you''re bringing out the concubine?"

    "Now we bring out your wife," Az-Azsad corrected, hands clasped behind his back. He seemed quite pleased with himself. "We will not hurt you any more, Ket Sal." He turned his head. "Now, we will hurt her. Unless...?"

    Ket Sal sat so still that he may well have been a corpse. The thoughts roiling within his head were all but unspeakable.

    "Go ahead, waste your time," he shrugged, casually, after a moment. "I don''t give a shit about some whore."

    "You fucking bastard," Ma¨ªt blurted out, speaking up for the first time through rage-gritted teeth. Her eyes were wide with fury, and she struggled madly at her restraints. "I am not getting tortured for this void-damned son of a bitch!" Ma¨ªt had always been an exceptional actress, and now she was performing gracefully under the worst pressure imaginable. Ket Sal''s heart surged with momentary pride, tempered at once by the agony of their situation. Why did they have to be here? Why couldn¡¯t the two of them just be anywhere other than here?!

    "It''s ridiculous, I know," Ket Sal sighed, rolling his eyes. "But this stupid bastard is out of options, so all he can do is cut up my fucktoy and pray that I caught feelings for it." He let out a cruel, bitter laugh. "Bad luck for you, I suppose."

    "I should have killed you, that night," Ma¨ªt swore, voice thick with venom. "You know the one. You remember what you did. I should have smothered you in your sleep."

    "Probably," Ket Sal admitted, nonplussed. And then Gaun stepped forward and punched her square in the jaw.

    Ma¨ªt''s head snapped back, and Ket Sal''s mask broke for just a fraction of an instant. On pure reflex he surged against the restraints, alarms blaring for the millionth time as his facial system worked overtime to reconstitute itself. One of her teeth clattered against the top of Ket Sal''s shoe and his fingernails dug long, shrill furrows into the arms of the chair.

    "This is what you want?" Az-Azsad asked, gesturing to Ma¨ªt. But, before Ket Sal could respond, Ma¨ªt just glared up and hawked a glob of blood onto the man''s face.

    "Fuck you," Ma¨ªt spat. And then she tilted her head back and made clear those would be her final words.

    Silently, Az-Azsad reached up and wiped away the saliva with one thumb. Then, he gave Ket Sal a look.

    "You sure?" he asked, again.

    "I really couldn''t care less," Ket Sal lied.

    And so Gaun set to work upon Ma¨ªt, much as he had upon Ket Sal. And it took everything ¨C everything the Scion had to maintain that mask of arrogant indifference as the love of his life was beaten bloody before him. He wanted to cry out, wanted to weep and scream and gnash his teeth. He wanted more than he had ever wanted anything in all his long life to tell her that he loved her and that he was sorry ¨C but he could not. He had to play to his outs, had to make the percentage play, and he knew the only way Ma¨ªt could possibly survive this would be if somehow the I-don''t-really-give-a-fuck routine actually worked. Which, of course, it wouldn¡¯t. Yet still it was their only chance and so Ket Sal was forced to just smile along as Gaun put a long, curved dagger against his wife¡¯s eye.

    Ma¨ªt was babbling madly, now, spilling everything she possibly could ¨C which, by design, was essentially nothing. She was brave and strong-willed and cunning beyond compare but at the end of the day she was just an ordinary human, one with none of Ket Sal''s innumerable advantages. Though the option had always existed, he had long refused to sign her up for torture conditioning ¨C unwilling, as he was, to subject her to that horrible agony. Now he regretted it with every fiber of his broken being.

    "Should we take the eye?" Az-Azsad asked. He sounded almost angry now. Perhaps he was growing impatient, Ket Sal thought to himself. "Or will you finally speak proper?"

    "For the last time," Ket Sal sighed, sounding utterly exasperated. "I really, truly do not give a fuck."

    And then the knife went in and finally the conditioning broke and Ket Sal was thrashing against the restraints like a wild animal, eyes wide and spittle flying from his mouth. "I''ll kill you!" he screamed, his voice hoarse and shredded. "I''ll kill every last fucking one of you! I swear by the void-" Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    And Ma¨ªt, too, was shrieking in pain as Gaun smoothly retracted the knife from her skull. He and Az-Azsad both gave the Scion a bemused smile as Ket Sal leaned forward, whispering in pitiful tones to a shaking Ma¨ªt.

    "I love you," he whimpered, because it was all he could say. "I''m sorry, Ma¨ªt, I''m so sorry. It''s gonna be okay. Everything is gonna be okay."

    Ma¨ªt just sobbed, her right eye reduced to a mass of oozing blood. What else could she do? What else could any of them possibly do?

    And then, suddenly, both Az-Azsad and Caun''s heads snapped up as one.

    "Front gate," Caun reported.

    "Talk outside," Az-Azsad snapped.

    And then their captors were gone, and the two of them were alone.

    <hr>

    NINE HOURS PRIOR

    "Well," Jaheed said, clasping his hands together. "We need to get out of here ¨C that much is now abundantly clear."

    "It won¡¯t be safe to hail the Cloud Gorger," Kore agreed, unholstering her pistol and checking the ammunition count. All four of them were on their feet now, arming and armoring themselves as best they could. The air within the penthouse was one of subdued alarm, of a looming storm soon to come. "But I know Tarsus always keeps her running hot on the first night. If we can just make it there-"

    "They''d come for the Gorger first," Diesch interrupted, which was unfortunately a very good point. "They''ll be waiting for us."

    "That motherfucker Az-Azsad," Jaheed muttered, still furious. Sekhmet just offered what was lately her favorite gesture ¨C a casual shrug of the shoulders.

    "Bof," the Se-dai said, which every member of the crew knew by now meant whatever. "Ship''s our only way outta here. We should just shut up and get moving already.¡±

    "So we just throw open the door, walk into a hail of gunfire?" Kore said dryly. Sekhmet shrugged again.

    "I can just go on ahead," she offered. ¡°Clear ¡®em out for ya.¡±

    "We can''t just..." Jaheed trailed off, gesturing animatedly. "We can''t just have an apostate Se-dai running around, killing people in broad daylight!"

    "Nighttime," Sekhmet corrected, for whatever that was worth. Jaheed rolled his eyes.

    "Vzngtch already has a regular cyborg, no?" Kore countered, heading off a burgeoning dispute. "Let¡¯s just say that we do, too."

    "We''ve got no choice but to use her," Diesch agreed, still studying that footage as he spoke. "We''re dead if we don''t. So yeah, lets bite the bullet and go already."

    Jaheed hesitated, weighed the options. Came to the obvious conclusion ¨C sighed ¨C and turned reluctantly to the rogue Se-dai.

    "Guns only," he ordered firmly, fixing her with a stare. "Nothing an ordinary human couldn''t do. Understand?"

    Silently, Kore unholstered her disruptor pistol and handed it over. Sekhmet looked down at the weapon with vague disgust ¨C but took it anyway as Kore stepped away to retrieve something.

    "You do know how to shoot one of those, yes?" Jaheed arched an eyebrow.

    "Do I know how to shoot one of those," Sekhmet mocked. Behind her, Kore was returning with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. "J''suis Se-dai, for fuck''s sake. There is literally nothing that I cannot kill with."

    Kore threw the bag down onto the counter, unzipped it ¨C and withdrew a long, lithe, quad-barrel slug shotgun. It was an enormous weapon, almost as tall as she was.

    "Come on, then," Kore said, snapping the weapon shut and slinging a bandolier of red-striped shells over her shoulder. "Time''s wasting."

    <hr>

    The crew of the Cloud Gorger made it five feet out the door before they were stopped by a trio of Vzngtch guards. Behind them, a neighboring door creaked open, and two more quietly emerged. They looked like concerned protectors, not dangerous guards, and their weapons were all quite tastefully concealed. It was, all things considered, a rather polite form of house arrest.

    "Lord Vell-se," the lead man said, bowing his head. Kore saw quite clearly the outline of the pistol inside his jacket. "Is everything all right?"

    "Quite alright, yes," Jaheed smiled pleasantly. "We were just going out for a bit of fresh air."

    "I see," the lead man said, eyes darting back for just a fraction of a second. "Well-"

    His hand twitched for the gun ¨C and without further ado Kore raised her shotgun and blew a hole clean through his chest. Lightning-fast, Sekhmet whipped around and felled the two behind her with precise shots to the temples as Kore rammed the butt of her shotgun against the fourth''s face and Diesch shot the fifth right through the eye.

    The lone survivor doubled over, coughing and hacking, and Kore just grabbed him by the back of the collar and slammed him against the closest wall.

    All four barrels of her shotgun went under his chin, and he stared now with wide and terrified eyes as Jaheed stepped up and gave him the exact same pleasant smile as before.

    "We''re going to return to our shuttle, now," Jaheed said, magnanimously. He tilted his head to the side. "Should we be expecting any trouble?"

    <hr>

    And so the hovercar sped off, thankfully unhindered. Sekhmet had ripped both the tracker and the bomb off of their engine mount and now they were flying free, well on their way to the hangar in which the Cloud Gorger yet slumbered. Thankfully ¨C if the unfortunate Vzngtch guard was to be believed ¨C the Gorger was merely being watched by a compliment of enforcers. The ship was as of yet untouched and Tarsus was as of yet none the wiser.

    "Boring," Sekhmet yawned, from the passenger seat. "I hope they send that cyborg after us."

    Kore couldn''t say she felt the same ¨C in fact, she felt very much the exact opposite. Sekhmet''s nigh-immortality had always been a given, an obvious assumption given her nature. There were plenty of things that could take her away, sure, but few if any that could actually kill her. This was the woman, after all, for whom a hangar full of assassins had been little more than an excuse to show off for her girlfriend.

    But now Kore had just watched a fully armed and armored Se-dai actually die ¨C and Sekhmet hadn''t even been phased. The danger had taken on a new shade entirely, one that Kore found markedly unpleasant. That little seed of worry in her heart was growing, day by day.

    Nevertheless, the hovercar pulled into the hangar with little issue. Jaheed blustered their way through several security checkpoints and thus the Gorger now sat before them, engines humming just as Kore had assumed they would be ¨C just as doors hissed open behind them and a dozen Vzngtch enforcers stormed in with pistols and blades in hand.

    Kore, Diesch, and Sekhmet all raised their weapons as one ¨C and while Kore shot two and Diesch got one, it was Sekhmet who did the lion''s share of the work, picking off eleven with rote mechanical precision before any one of the enforcers could even raise their guns.

    "Bo-ring," Sekhmet whined again, as thirteen smoking bodies hit the ground, and everyone else decided they would rather rush into the ship than try offer any sort of disagreement.

    "Fuck was that about?" Tarsus demanded as they stormed onto the bridge. The Gorger¡¯s captain was already at the helm and already firing up the secondary thrusters.

    "The Vzngtch are traitors to the Domain," Jaheed replied, settling into the navigator''s seat and strapping himself in. "They kidnapped Ket Sal and killed his Se-dai ¨C which, I mean, good riddance. But they were about to do the same to us."

    "Huh," was all Tarsus said, as the Cloud Gorger began to rise. "Well, like you said, good riddance. Ket Sal was an asshole, no?"

    "Asshole is an understatement," Jaheed growled. Everyone was settled and strapped in, now. "If nothing else, I''m more than happy to be leaving him in Vzngtchian hands.¡±

    And then the Cloud Gorger''s engines were blazing as the vessel ripped free from the hangar, ignored all hails or orders to stop, and shot off up into the lower atmosphere.

    Just like that, it was over.

    And yet...

    Kore, sitting now in her seat as the ship rattled around her, was thinking about why she was here in the first place. Why she was wearing an Imperial uniform, why she was joined at the hip with a Highborn, why her eyes were no longer the ones she had been born with. All of it.

    With you by my side, Kore, we''ll fix everything.

    That was why she was here. To do everything in her power to support Jaheed and to elevate him to a position from where he could do the most possible good. That was her mission, her entire purpose for being here. And right now, what she saw ¨C clear as day ¨C was a missed opportunity.

    "Stay in low orbit," she ordered Tarsus, suddenly, and Jaheed turned to regard her with furrowed brow.

    "What are you doing?" he demanded ¨C but Kore just shook her head.

    "We shouldn''t leave him," she declared.

    "Who?" Jaheed''s brow furrowed even harder. "Wait-you mean Ket Sal? Why?! That son of a bitch actively wants me dead! I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he sent those damned assassins!"

    "Exactly!" Kore practically shouted back. "Don''t you see the opportunity here? Don''t you see the very, very, very easy way we could turn an enemy into a friend?"

    "Easy?" Diesch scoffed, as Jaheed violently shook his head.

    "He murdered-" the Acolyte started.

    "You need allies," Kore interrupted, leaning forward and jabbing her finger on the arm of her chair. "You need connections. And Ket Sal is as close to the Emperor as it gets! Think about all the ways he could help you!"

    "Or all the ways he could turn around and stab me in the back, once I¡¯ve saved his hide," Jaheed snarled. "He''s a Scion, Kore. He isn''t even human."

    "Is your uncle human?" Kore asked plainly.

    For a moment, there was only the rattling of the floor and the humming of the Gorger''s engines.

    "I don''t know," Jaheed admitted, finally.

    "Me neither," Kore agreed. "But we can¡¯t pass this up. We can¡¯t. And, hey, think about it ¨C how''s it gonna look to the Emperor, at the end of all this? His Scion fucked up and got captured, while his Acolyte swooped in and put the entire situation right. You''re practically doing Ket Sal''s job for him." And from Kore, then, there came a rare, genuine smirk.

    "You gotta admit, the look on his face is gonna be pretty funny," Sekhmet chimed in, equally as eager to support her partner as she was to kill more Vzngtch.

    Kore saw in his eyes that she had him, then. That old spark of ambition had flared up inside him and now he would not rest until he got exactly what he wanted. Still, he made a brief show of considering before asking, pointedly: "Well, how do we even find him?"

    "We''re doing this?" Diesch interrupted, for the first time. There was an uncharacteristic hint of eagerness to the former detective''s voice. "We''re committing to it, Jaheed?"

    "Fuck it," Jaheed confirmed, nodding his head. "We''re all in."

    "Then give me fifteen minutes and I''ll have his location," Diesch said, and then before anyone could ask he was already pulling up a dozen different screens and going through Ammit''s last transmission, frame by frame, his fingers dancing nimbly across a holographic keyboard as his eyes darted back and forth.

    The Black Hound, it seemed, was back on the hunt.

    "Okay," Kore started, unstrapping and rising to her feet now as Tarsus began altering the Cloud Gorger''s course. "This is almost certainly going to get very messy and very violent, which means we need your help." She turned to Sekhmet, and the Se-dai gave her a decidedly flirtatious grin.

    "But the Scion cannot know that we have a fugitive Se-dai, or all this is for nothing," Kore continued, and Sekhmet''s expression flipped at once. "That means guns-only."

    "Quelle merde," Sekhmet complained, tilting her head back, while Jaheed unstrapped himself as well.

    "Except for the cyborg," the Acolyte added, eyes flicking between the two women. "If you see him, Sekhmet, all bets are off. I don''t want you to end up like poor Ammit."

    "Is that going to be a problem, by the way?" Kore chimed in. Jaheed was worried for the loss of a valuable asset; Kore''s concerns were rooted in something far more personal. "Can you even beat him?"

    "Of course I can beat him," Sekhmet snapped, impatiently tapping a finger against the hilt of her sword. "He''s a janky, shitty, third-rate outer ring cyborg working for common criminals." She scoffed. "I''m a fucking Se-dai. He only beat her with that Scrambler Bolt and now that I''ve seen it, he''ll never tag me with it. No Se-dai falls for the same trick twice." Her eyes flicked back to Diesch, to the video of her cousin meeting a gruesome end. "Ammit got unlucky. I won¡¯t."

    Kore just leaned back, unconvinced, and folded her arms ¨C marinating in her worry for the time being as Jaheed continued to speak.

    "Well, I''m convinced," he said, looking to Kore. The taller woman gave him a reluctant nod. "On that note ¨C Ammit''s corpse. Is there any use in trying to retrieve it?"

    "It''d be way too heavy to carry-" Kore started.

    "It''d probably make the Scion happy if we revived her," Sekhmet said, at the same time ¨C and now both the Highborn and his bodyguard were staring at her, the same question forming on both their lips.

    "You said she was dead..." Kore trailed off.

    "She is," Sekhmet agreed. She reached up, brushed her hair aside, and tapped at the trio of scars left by Kore''s impromptu execution. "So was I."

    "So she''s not dead...?" Jaheed asked.

    "She is quite thoroughly deactivated," Sekhmet replied, briefly adopting a mocking Highborn-styled affectation. "But she''s also Se-dai. The spike through her skull is less than ideal, sure, but all a Scrambler Bolt does is force her systems into emergency shutdown. We could probably boot her back up," she snapped her fingers, "."

    Jaheed opened his mouth to reply ¨C just as Diesch called out "I got it," and already he was reciting coordinates for Tarsus'' benefit as the others crowded around at once. On his display screen was just that ¨C a glowing point on a map, what appeared to be a sort of armored compound amidst a run-down northern city district.

    "How the hell did you find that out?" Jaheed demanded, impressed and a little baffled.

    "Simple," Diesch replied, without a hint of irony. "Went through the video frame-by-frame, caught the reflection of a statue in the window. Cross-referenced every major landmark with every hotel in the northern district, narrowed it down pretty quick. Picked out the right one by cross-referencing public images of different penthouse interiors." He licked his lips, which was little surprise as this was more than he had spoken in months.

    "From there," Diesch said, to his captivated audience, "I just started digging into footage from the nearest traffic-cam."

    "Isn''t that stuff secured?" Kore asked, raising an eyebrow.

    "Barely, yeah," Diesch admitted. "But they own the entire planet ¨C no point in locking things down too tight. Sure enough, a run-of-the-mill brute-force program got me the password in no time. From there, I found footage of the Scion being loaded into a vehicle, then stitched a hundred different traffic cams together until I had their route charted out. Wasn''t perfect, but..." Again, he licked his lips. "I was able to fill in the rest. The honest answer is that there''s a ninety-percent chance that compound is where we''ll find him. But if you want my real answer?" He clicked his tongue and said, with the easy certainty of a true expert: "Ket Sal is there. That''s a fact."

    And then, abruptly, Diesch seemed violently uncomfortable at being the center of attention and turned away, mumbling something to himself as he tapped away on his keyboard once more.

    Jaheed and Kore shared a look.

    "Fantastic work, Diesch," Jaheed said, which was really the only sensible response. The Black Hound merely grunted. "Well then. How far out are we?"

    "Nine hours," Tarsus replied, as data and trajectories zipped around her head. "I''ve got us fully Shrouded, by the way, and there''s a drone headed for orbit right now just blaring our hull signature. I''ll betcha ten-to-one the Vzngtch aren''t running any sorta analog tracking equipment. They''ll take the bait," she laughed. "Even though all they gotta do to see us is step outside and look up."

    And then, curiously, there was no further discussion to be had. One by one, the crew of the Cloud Gorger went their separate ways ¨C to rest, to meditate, and to prepare. Because it was dawning upon all five of them now that they were willingly leaping into the maw of the beast itself, all for the favor of a man who it seemed knew only malice in his heart.

    It was all one hell of a gamble.

    <hr>

    NINE HOURS AND FORTY-FIVE MINUTES INTO THE FUTURE

    "I''m sorry," Ket Sal said, over and over again. "I''m sorry, I''m sorry, I''m-"

    "It''s okay," Ma¨ªt said, her voice somehow coming out not half as shaky as his own. "Ket. Ket. Stop it, Ket. It''s okay." Finally, her words got through to him, and the Scion sagged like a deflated balloon, his chest heaving with each and every agonized breath. It wasn''t just his body; his mind was pushed to the absolute limit and begging for release. Yet he would not allow himself to slip into unconsciousness. He would not. These were perhaps the last moments he would ever spend alone with the love of his life.

    "Ammit''s dead, then?" Ma¨ªt asked, snapping Ket Sal from his stupor, and the Scion could only give a mute nod in response. Ma¨ªt''s lip quivered but she, too, nodded resolutely. "I figured. That''s the only way you''d be here, after all. Over her dead body."

    "I let her down," Ket Sal muttered, to himself.

    "You did no such thing," Ma¨ªt said sharply. "Look at me, Ket. Look at me." Belatedly, he forced himself to do so. "Is there help on the way? Is there anyone who will notice we''re missing?"

    "Not for ten thousand light-years," Ket Sal chuckled bitterly. "The only ally we¡¯ve got is Jaheed Vell."

    A long pause, from Ma¨ªt. Then: "Ah."

    "Yeah."

    "Not coming to rescue us, is he?"

    "I highly doubt it."

    "Well," Ma¨ªt said, forcing a sad smile. "This is it, then."

    "Yeah," Ket Sal agreed. "This is it." He tried to match her smile and found that he couldn''t. He just...couldn''t. His implants were entirely shut down, now, the alarms having all gone deathly quiet. All the lights were out. Everything was coming to a close.

    "I want you to know," Ma¨ªt continued, leaning forwards, "that I had fun. Do you hear me, Ket Sal? I had so much void-damned fun with you." Her one remaining eye shone like the brilliance of the moon, just as they had when he first met her. Void, even now he could remember that night with perfect clarity. "I would do it all over again. In a heartbeat."

    "I love you," Ket Sal said, because there was nothing else to say.

    "I love you too-" Ma¨ªt said ¨C just as the door flew open behind her and a cacophony of gunfire filled the air. The door slammed shut and the man on the other side ¨C a panting, wide-eyed Vzngtch guard ¨C stared at them both now with naked terror in his eyes.

    "You yellow-eyed freak!" the guard screamed, his voice shrill with panic as he stormed over and shoved the barrel of a las-pistol against Ket Sal''s skull. "What the hell have you done?"

    It took Ket Sal just a moment to piece it all together ¨C the gunfire, the fear, all of it. But when he did, the bloodied smile that split his face was ¨C for the first time all day ¨C a genuine one.

    "You''re fools," the Scion cackled, and in that moment he was a Scion again. No powerless victim, nothing of the sort ¨C but one of the most powerful and dangerous men in all the Great Domain. He was a demigod. A veritable fucking demigod here, in the flesh. "You''re all fools! You, your friends, your boss ¨C you''re all already dead. Your fates were sealed the moment you dared lay hands upon a Scion of the Jade Emperor."

    "Who''s coming?!" the Vzngtch demanded, eyes widening even further. The gun barrel was shaking wildly. "What the hell is going on?"

    Ket Sal had no idea why Jaheed had come to rescue him ¨C but one thing he did understand was that all this was very, very funny.

    "How the fuck should I know?" Ket Sal sneered in reply, knowing now that there was indeed a tiny silver of a chance. And a sliver of a chance, after all, was all he¡¯d ever needed to move mountains. "I''ve just been sitting here this whole time."

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN // HEAT FLOODS YOUR VEINS, OCEANS IN YOUR EARS, AND EVERYTHING CLICKS INTO PLACE

    FORTY-FIVE MINUTES PRIOR

    Darrack Vas was awoken by a pair of blinding headlights.

    Blinking away his fatigue, the Vzngtch guard double-checked the pistol on his hip, mumbled a curse under his breath, then forced himself upright. In short order he was on his feet and out of the guard-shack and into the frigid night air, wherein a boxy old truck was idling noisily. It was three in the morning, he thought to himself ¨C what the hell were they getting a delivery for now? He let out something between a weary yawn and an irritated sigh as he trudged over to the driver-side window, silently vowing to give this asshole a particularly hard time. He wanted nothing more, in that moment, then to simply return to the warmth of the shack and the comfort of his chair. Damn this driver and damn this truck and damn their stupid deliveries.

    "Identification," he ordered, as slowly the window rolled down. "C''mon already, I ain''t got all night." He held out his hand for the requisite documentation ¨C and received, instead, four shotgun barrels to the face.

    "Evenin¡¯," a hard-looking woman said, from the driver¡¯s seat.

    "Hello," Darrack responded, sweating profusely. He waited for about a second and then, naturally, he went for his gun.

    The shotgun roared, Darrack was blown clear off his feet, and what collapsed with a wet thump against the snow was little more than a headless, neckless corpse.

    Every door on the truck flew open, and in short order every door was slammed shut. Kore stood now in the freezing night air, her breath forming a misty cloud about her skull. She was quite literally armed to the teeth, with the shotgun in her hands and a disruptor rifle ¨C the same model used by the Emperor''s Liquidators ¨C slung over her back. Beneath her coat was a bi-weave thermal vest and strapped to her waist and legs were two pistols, two melt-blades, and a truly tremendous volume of ammunition. And there were not one but two overlapping bandoliers of shotgun shells slung over her shoulders ¨C valuable nutrients for four hungry barrels.

    "Let''s go!" she shouted, gesturing a gloved hand as Diesch came around the corner. He, too, was armored in a bi-weave vest and carried, in addition to his usual las-revolver, a pump-action ion-cell shotgun. Now, the Black Hound withdrew the Vzngtch''s car bomb from his coat and returned it to them in kind, pressing it snug against the double-doors and reconnecting a pair of snipped wires.

    From behind them, both could hear the truck''s back door swinging open.

    The two of them stepped back, now, as Sekhmet ¨C clad in little more than her usual red jacket and black jeans ¨C leveled her borrowed disruptor pistol at the would-be bomb.

    She fired ¨C plasma struck the explosive charge and the fuse melted, then sparked, then ignited ¨C and that enormous door buckled for just an instant before blowing violently outwards. The rusted metal let out a screech of protest as hinges were ripped from walls, the sound almost as loud as the retort of the explosion itself.

    "Hey," Sekhmet said, quietly, and Kore turned her head ¨C only to be surprised by familiar, unnaturally warm lips brushing against her own. "Je t''aime."

    "I love you too, you moron," Kore laughed, a bit caught off guard ¨C and she ruffled a hand through Sekhmet''s hair, even though the compound was now on high alert and this was really not the time.

    "I''ll be right back," Sekhmet called, sounding more than a little nervous as she started off for the left.

    "Je sais," Kore called back. I know. And with that, the bodyguard headed off to the right with Diesch in tow.

    With that, the three of them stormed into the courtyard ¨C and as a klaxon began to emanate a low, keening wail, the Vzngtch came out to meet them.

    <hr>

    Ten thousand feet in the air, safe and secure on the Cloud Gorger''s pleasantly temperature-controlled bridge, Jaheed Vell was pacing like a madman.

    Before him loomed three screens ¨C footage from Kore''s augmented eyes, a camera on Diesch''s vest, and Sekhmet''s occipital implant. He watched with eyes narrowed and mouth drawn into a thin line as the three of them fought their way across the courtyard, Kore and Diesch making for the left wing while Sekhmet barreled ahead to the right.

    His hands were clenched so tight that, when he released them, he found pinpricks of blood running down each of his palms. The Acolyte scowled, producing a handkerchief and wiping away at the symbol of his unease as Tarsus turned back in her chair and gave him a sympathetic look.

    "You just gonna stare all day?" Tarsus asked, apropos of nothing. Jaheed did not respond. "Seems like a waste of time to me."

    "She''s-they''re risking their lives for my sake," Jaheed said, the words tight and clipped. "That means it¡¯s my fault if-"

    "Yeah, no shit," Tarsus interrupted bluntly. "But all you''re doing right now is working yourself up, which means that if they do need your help you won''t be in a state of mind to do so."

    Jaheed''s eyes flicked down.

    "You don''t understand," he said, quietly. "I''m responsible for whatever happens next."

    "You never dug too deep into my file, did you?" Tarsus scoffed, turning back to her instrument panel. "I understand perfectly. And I''m telling you, Jaheed Vell, from experience, that you need to quit watching that shit. Sit your ass down. Relax. Have a drink or something, I dunno. But, when she calls for you-" she turned again, leveled a finger, "-you''d better be ready. You hear me?"

    Jaheed hesitated, looked as though he wanted to offer a retort ¨C and then just sat down in the navigator''s chair with a long, heavy sigh.

    "Y¡¯know, you¡¯re lucky," Tarsus remarked, after a few fraught moments had passed. "Kore''s the real deal. If you''re worried about her dying, well-" she chuckled, "I wouldn¡¯t put money on that.¡±

    <hr>

    At that particular moment, Kore was kicking a door open, storming into the room, and blowing an irradiated slug right through the nearest guard''s chest.

    Kore, you see, was traveling back in time. Right now she was no longer a bodyguard but a rebel, a soldier of the Heraldry who charged fearlessly into the fray and dispatched her enemies with deadly, practical efficiency. Back then she had been just an untrained ex-miner with a strong physique, a strong will, and decent aim with a rifle. Now she equipped with some of the best equipment the Empire had to offer, and she had been spending hours daily at the Gorger''s makeshift firing range.

    The Kore of the past was a clumsy, makeshift instrument. The Kore of today was honed to a fine point.

    She shouldered around the corner, blew a guard off his feet, ducked a swing from a naked blade, unsheathed her own melt-blade and cut a gouge into the other man''s side before circling around and driving the knife straight into his back. Still, the gunfire came. She dropped to a knee, turning the dying Vzngtch into a makeshift shield as she unholstered a las-pistol and dropped the third aggressor with a trio of well-placed shots to the chest. The fourth brought his rifle to bear and then Diesch''s revolver let out a shrill whine and the man staggered back, hands grasping fruitlessly at the molten hole in his jaw.

    Kore shoved the corpse aside, rose to her feet, holstered both pistol and knife, then picked up her shotgun and slid four new shells into place.

    In the distance, muffled but clearly audible, there were all manner of screams and explosions and gunshots and panicked shouts and this, of course, was all according to plan, for it was Sekhmet''s job to make as much noise and draw as much attention as possible while Kore and Diesch went for the real prize ¨C Ket Sal himself, presuming the Scion was still alive.

    If he was dead, well, that was another matter entirely. Kore had learned long ago that in times such as these, too much thinking would only get you killed. Too little thinking, of course, was just as bad, but it was the extrapolating and overthinking and abstraction that were the real dangers in her eyes. Kore preferred to let herself be subsumed by the flow; to become a weapon and nothing more.

    "All good?" she asked, snapping the shotgun closed. They had only precious few seconds of respite.

    "Worry about yourself," Diesch snapped, sliding a new cartridge into place, and Kore was reminded quite painfully of the fact that this man was no friend of hers.

    "Whatever you say," she shot back, perhaps a bit harshly, and then the two of them were on the move once more.

    <hr>

    Sekhmet was having no fun.

    Although, in theory, she should have been. The rogue Se-dai had almost immediately abandoned firearms in favor of bare fists and was now tearing through the Vzngtch compound with reckless abandon, breaking necks and smashing skulls and generally demonstrating her overwhelming superiority over people who had at least some chance to fight back.

    Alas, in every Se-dai there slumbered an innate urge ¨C an urge to protect, to shelter a chosen individual from any and all harm. After all, the Se-dai were bodyguards long before they became the Blessed Executioners. And so it was that ¨C unbeknownst to either of them ¨C Kore had imprinted upon Sekhmet, and the preservation of Kore¡¯s life was now chief amongst Sekhmet¡¯s internal hierarchy of needs.

    And this, by itself, would have been fine, for Sekhmet loved Kore dearly ¨C if not for the fact that Kore was somewhere else right now, somewhere that Sekhmet could not see her and could not protect her and...by the void, an ordinary human was so ridiculously fragile. Just one stray las-bolt to the brain, one particularly lucky piece of shrapnel¡­hell, Kore could just fall and hit her head and that would be that. All these thoughts were sending Sekhmet into an anxious tailspin that translated itself, usefully, into a sort of cold anger, and so Sekhmet was slaughtering the Vzngtch with silent, brutal efficiency.

    Sekhmet killed a woman with a flying kick, dropped low, liquefied a man¡¯s internal organs with a knee to the groin, then whirled around and simply grabbed a third by the collar. She hefted the terrified man up with one hand, almost effortlessly, then slammed him against the wall with just enough force to scare him shitless. And then she asked, quite pointedly: ¡°Where are you keeping the Se-dai?"

    "I don''t know-"

    "Should I ask someone else?" Sekhmet growled. Her patience was nonexistent, and her meaning was perfectly clear.

    And so, naturally, the Vzngtch told her, which bought him only the briefest of reprieves before she smashed his head into paste. And then she was following his directions to the letter; hooking a left and then a right and then going up a floor and then again a left and then there she was, faced with a sign that read CRYO STORAGE FACILITY 67-B. Satisfied, Sekhmet set to work.

    Before all else there was the matter of the guards. The first, she simply ripped the beating heart from his chest. The second she needed somewhat intact and so all she did was turn both his knees backwards-jointed. Then, there was the door ¨C a truly impressive-looking titanite slab that was undoubtedly well beyond her power to break. She grabbed the surviving, screaming Vzngtch by the collar, hefted him roughly to his feet, and slammed his face against the retinal scanner ¨C saw the panel light up green, then slammed his face again, this time hard enough to flatten his skull.

    The door slid open slowly, ponderously ¨C as if somehow aware that Sekhmet really needed to be somewhere else right now ¨C and as a cloud of frigid air blew past the Se-dai''s face she saw her there, her limbs wreathed in crackling ion energy.

    Ammit was still alive and even still conscious, albeit very much in rough shape. Her armor had been fused to her skin and thus, when the Vzngtch had ripped it off they had taken as well a great deal of synthetic skin with it. She was wearing the tatters of a black bodyglove and chunks of her flesh were just outright gone, exposing the teal-colored durex composite underneath. She looked like she had been through hell on earth; her eyes faded while her skin was pallid and her face crusted with chunks of frost. And, perhaps worst of all, still a two-foot blade was jutting from the top of her head and emerging from a point just below the chin.

    It took the imprisoned Se-dai a moment, addled as she was by all manner of difficult conditions. But eventually Ammit''s eyes did move, flicking to Sekhmet''s own and then widening in surprise.

    "Cousin....?" the Se-dai slurred, her voice strange and warped and decidedly un-human-like.

    "Been a while," Sekhmet smirked, briefly savoring this sense of superiority over her orthodox cousin ¨C and then she stepped inside that freezing little prison and got to work deactivated the plasma coils that suspended Ammit in place.

    "I don''t und...erstand," Ammit stuttered, while Sekhmet moved about her. There was literal static coming out between her words, garbling her speech. It all sounded extraordinary painful. "You...?"

    "Don¡¯t think too hard about it," Sekhmet said, and the first coil deactivated with a gentle hum. Ammit''s shoulder slumped forward at once, limp. "Just consider it a favor from my boss to yours."

    "Your...boss...?" Ammit muttered. She blinked slowly, lazily. "Wait. Ket...alive?"

    "Don''t know," Sekhmet admitted cheerily, deactivated the second coil. Ammit folded at the waist, suspended only by her ankles now. "But that''s our working assumption, yeah."

    "What about...Ma¨ªt...?" Ammit asked. The third coil went off.

    "No idea who that is," Sekhmet replied, working now over the fourth and final coil. "But I''m sure they''re fine, too."

    With that, the last coil went dark and Ammit dropped like a stone, hitting the floor with a colossal thud that sent icicles crashing down from the ceiling above. The Se-dai laid still, for a moment, and in truth appeared to simply be dead. And then, with a groan of terrible exertion, Ammit raised one arm ¨C curled her skinless hand tight into a fist ¨C and slammed it down against the floor, denting solid steel.

    Upon that one trembling arm she hoisted herself up, performing a sort of one-handed push-up, and with another groan of pain she forced herself to sit upright against the wall. She looked now to Sekhmet with rapidly-flickering eyes and an obvious question writ across her face ¨C which was an issue Sekhmet needed to address at once.

    "I said this already," the rogue Se-dai declared, folding her arms. "But let me say it again, while you''re still rebooting. My boss, Jaheed Vell, is doing your boss Ket Sal a favor. A massive favor. An entirely undeserved favor. More to the point, I am doing you a favor right now, Ammit. And so you, ma s?ur, are going to do me a favor in return." She rose to her full height and tapped insistently at her chest. "What¡¯s my name?"

    "You''re Sekhmet..." Ammit said, after a moment. Her eyes were flickering slower, and her voice was beginning to coalesce into something like a human woman¡¯s. "The apostate."

    "Wrong," Sekhmet replied ¨C and then she was standing very, very close, and suddenly the heel of her boot was pressing hard against Ammit''s forehead. The wounded Se-dai glared up, her hands curling into impotent fists, but said nothing as Sekhmet glared back with a look far colder than any holding cell.

    "You don''t know me," Sekhmet growled. "You''ve never met me. I am not a Se-dai and I am certainly not Sekhmet, the apostate. That is the truth and that is what you are going to tell Ket Sal. I am a hired cyborg, just like the man who put that spike in your head. Do you understand?" Her boot pressed down a little harder, and the back of Ammit''s head began to dig into the wall. "Or were you already dead when I found you?"

    Ammit didn''t reply. She just reached up, wrapped a metal hand tight around the blade ¨C and pulled, slowly, the spike retracting from the top of her skull with a creak of metal and a wet squelch. Finally, when the offending object was free, she hurled it aside ¨C with such force that it was embedded nearly a full foot deep into the nearest wall ¨C and extended to Sekhmet her other hand.

    "Help me up, ¨¦trang¨¨re," she ordered, her voice even and flat.

    "Gadly," Sekhmet replied, taking her hand and ¨C after a moment of brief exertion ¨C hauling the eight-hundred-pound woman to her feet. Ammit swayed for a moment, unsteady ¨C then dug in her heels and forced herself to stand straight. She shook her head like a wet dog, as though she could shake off all the pain and fatigue and myriad of technical errors, then turned to Sekhmet and gave her a profoundly angry look.

    "The cyborg," Ammit rasped. "He still lives?" A thick slurry of teal and red fluid was dribbling down from the hole in her chin.

    "For now," Sekhmet answered, tapping the hilt of her sword. "Mais le temps des indignes touche ¨¤ sa fin."

    "Bien," Ammit nodded. "I am in no condition to fight ¨C but when his end comes, it should be by the hand of le sang neuf."

    "Who do you think you''re talking to?" Sekhmet grinned. "Why do you think I came all the way out here in the first place?"

    <hr>

    Kore and Diesch were standing, exhausted and panting heavily, outside cell D-77 ¨C surrounded by all manner of dead and dying Vzngtch.

    Kore sported two scorch marks on her vest and a melt-knife furrow burned across her cheek. Diesch''s signature overcoat had several holes blown clean through it, and he was limping painfully from a las-burst to the knee. It was only a tremendous cocktail of combat drugs that kept the Black Hound on his feet, something he was angrily reminding her of now as she fumbled with looted keys.

    "Gimme a damn minute!" Kore snapped, thoroughly fed up with her current partner-in-crime ¨C just as she finally hit the proper key. The door hissed open and Kore had just a moment to blink in surprise before a screaming Vzngtch flew out and tackled her to the ground, melt-knife thrust straight down and angled right for her face.

    The two struggled, for a moment, with the air between blade and flesh shimmering dangerously ¨C and then Diesch''s revolver went off and the Vzngtch let out a cry of sudden pain. With his robotic hand the Black Hound grabbed the man by the collar and hurled him back, whereupon he crashed against the wall and slumped to the floor, screaming as a byproduct of his black-charred thigh.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "Shut up!" Diesch barked, and at once the man was silent.

    Slowly, Kore climbed back to her feet and gave Diesch a small nod of thanks ¨C and then the both of them stepped into cell D-77 to find a scene straight out of hell itself.

    The walls were covered in wild streaks of blood; the floor was practically an ocean of the stuff. The air reeked of copper and char. And sitting there in the midst of it all were two individuals so thoroughly bloodied that Kore didn¡¯t even see them at first. But amid one swollen mass of viscera currently passing for a face, Kore nevertheless glimpsed something unmistakable.

    A pair of ferocious, sallow eyes.

    "Lord Ket Sal," she said, by way of greeting, exactly how she and Jaheed had rehearsed. "My name is-"

    "My wife, Ma¨ªt!" the Scion interrupted, suddenly struggling wildly against his restraints. "Get her out! Now!"

    "My name-" Kore tried again.

    "Ma¨ªt!" Ket Sal all but roared. "Now!"

    And so, somewhat begrudgingly, Kore gestured to Diesch and the Black Hound stepped forward, pressing a single mechanical finger against the one-eyed woman''s restraints. From a chip in his brain-stem there came a signal, an electrical impulse that ran down a nanowire all the way to the tip of his finger ¨C a universal ''disassemble'' command to just about any publicly-available nanotech. It was a skeleton key that had long ago cost Diesch a great deal of money and that had, time and time again, proven to be worth its weight in gold.

    Ma¨ªt''s shackles simply dissolved into their component artificial molecules and she slumped forward, laughing and crying all at once. Kore''s heart softened, for just a moment ¨C and with one burly hand she helped the woman to her feet, at which point Ket Sal was out of his shackles too and the pair were sprinting towards one another, colliding somewhere in the middle and wrapping each other in a tight, shuddering hug.

    Even the Ket Sal ¨C the sneering, sadistic, psychopathic creature whom Kore had never seen display even the slightest hint of empathy ¨C was weeping openly, and the two of them were whispering things to one another upon which Kore did not dare eavesdrop. In that moment she and Diesch both felt like unwelcome intruders in a profoundly private moment.

    And then, reluctantly, Ket Sal stepped back. Straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and with a voice brimming with hitherto-unseen confidence he said: "I am Ket Sal, thirteenth holy Scion to the Panoptic God-Emperor Doss Ken Volsif. You are Chief of Security Kore Vell, no?"

    "I-ah-" Kore fumbled, momentarily caught off-guard. "I am."

    "Then you have done my wife and I a profound service," the Scion declared, extending a hand ¨C a hand from which the ring and middle finger had been violently amputated ¨C and so reluctantly Kore shook it, put off as she was by both the volume of gore and the history of its owner. But the Scion''s voice was thick with what seemed like genuine gratitude and his lip quivered as, behind him, Ma¨ªt reached over and squeezed his other hand.

    "Don''t thank me," Kore said briskly, turning away. She was in no way equipped to have this sort of conversation with this sort of man and, besides, time was of the essence. "Thank my liege, Jaheed Vell."

    "I intend to," Ket Sal said firmly, popping up beside her at once. Damn, but he moved quick for a man in such a sorry state. Again, he held out a bloodied hand. "Could you perhaps spare one of your sidearms, miss Kore? I may not look it, but I''m a crack shot with a las-pistol."

    Reluctantly, Kore reached down, unstrapped one of her pistols, and handed it over ¨C and without warning Ket Sal snatched the weapon up and shot the wounded Vzngtch twice in the chest. Kore jumped, startled ¨C then leaned forwards and snatched the gun right back.

    "I," Kore she growled, too irritated to speak politely, ¡°would have appreciated a warning.¡±

    "Forgive me, miss Kore, but I truly do not care," Ket Sal replied, distracted for a moment as he watched the Vzngtch shudder and die. Then he turned his head and gave Kore his full attention. "That felt very good, and nothing has felt good today. With any luck, Az-Azsad''s neck in my hands will feel even better."

    "Or my hands," Ma¨ªt purred, from over his shoulder, to which the Scion gave a low chuckle.

    "By all means, I¡¯d be happy to cede the floor," the Scion smirked ¨C and then a plasma bolt split the air and all were diving for cover as a full contingent of Vzngtch enforcers stormed in, disruptor-rifles blazing.

    "My Se-dai!" Ket Sal said at once, his voice conversational yet still somehow audible overtop the screeching din. The product, no doubt, of an amplifier embedded in the back of his throat. "Does she still live?"

    "Can''t say for certain!" Kore shouted back, unslinging her own disruptor-rifle in turn. She leaned out from behind a concrete pillar and drilled one Vzngtch through the head, another through the thigh ¨C then closed one eye and shot the grenade right from a third¡¯s hand. The enforcers were scattered by a sudden storm of iridescent green fire and Kore darted back behind cover, breathing heavily as plasma-fire continued to whip and shimmer past. Then, she turned to Ket Sal, because diplomacy was very important here and the void-damned Scion was clearly waiting for a proper answer. ¡°I¡¯ve got my best soldier searching for her as we speak!¡± she called, for whatever that was worth.

    "Let me be clear," Ket Sal said, his words loud and imperious even as his arm was wrapped tight around Ma¨ªt, shielding her from any incoming fire. "My Se-dai, Ammit, is non-negotiable. Do you understand me, Kore? I will not leave this place without her." At that, Kore was forced to bite back a decidedly vulgar response.

    "We''ll do what we can," she hollered instead, dropping two more Vzngtch with three-round bursts to the chests.

    "You will do as I have instructed, or you will leave this place with nothing at all," Ket Sal declared, and Kore couldn''t help but turn to shoot Diesch an exasperated look. To her surprise, he returned it with a similar expression in kind. The message between them was universal, then: fucking Highborn.

    <hr>

    Sekhmet was still not having any fun. With one hand, she was forced to lug around an enormous Se-dai who could barely walk, and with the other she could only spray down encroaching Vzngtch with whatever discarded rifle she happened to pick up. She had long abandoned single fire and opted instead for fully-automatic volleys; just filling the air with red-glowing death and treating her opponents is little more than obstacles to be removed. This was, she remarked to herself, truly the most unpleasant way one could possibly fight, and silently she vowed to never touch a firearm again.

    Then, she rounded the corner, and Kore was there ¨C Kore, Diesch, and a pair of maimed humans that could only be Ket Sal and this ''Ma¨ªt'' character. Kore in particular was absolutely stunning to behold, a towering figure with a surly expression and bloodshot, chem-addled eyes and ¨C most importantly ¨C a burn-scar across her cheek that Sekhmet found incredibly attractive. And thus, all negative feelings vanished as though they had never existed at all.

    "Ammit!" Ma¨ªt yelled, before Sekhmet could say something cool or even attempt to show off for her girlfriend ¨C and then Ma¨ªt was wrapping the wounded Se-dai in a tight hug, which Sekhmet rather hypocritically found both bizarre and amusing. To her further astonishment, after a moment of stiff hesitation the Se-dai actually hugged the woman back, apologizing profusely all the while, and now the Scion himself was striding over with hands clasped behind his back. The picture of arrogant nobility, despite his sorry appearance.

    "Ket, you ass, get over here," Ma¨ªt snapped, and thus the Scion''s haughty indifference melted away and he did just that and the three of them were embracing as a sort of strange, blood-soaked, teary-eyed family.

    Baffled and slightly revulsed and perhaps even a bit embarrassed, Sekhmet decided to turn her attention to something more interesting ¨C and so she stepped over to Kore with a sly grin spreading unconsciously across her face. And Kore, despite the haze of adrenaline and combat drugs coursing through her system, offered Sekhmet a shaky smile in return.

    "You two look like shit," Sekhmet laughed, and to that Kore just gave a rueful shake of her head. Behind her, even Diesch was letting out an unsteady, adrenaline-fueled laugh. "Do you really need my help for every little-"

    A sound.

    Movement.

    Where?!

    There.

    Sekhmet''s eyes darted to the left ¨C and lightning-fast she leapt forward, not so much tackling as slamming into Kore and sending the larger woman flying back as the wall between them simply exploded into chunks of plaster and a pale fist shot out, grasping at empty air and missing Kore''s skull by only the barest centimeter.

    Sekhmet skidded to a halt, heels digging long furrows into the carpet, and her head snapped up on pure instinct to analyze this new and unexpected threat.

    Only it wasn''t new, was it? As the dust cleared, a figure came into view, and with her enhanced vision Sekhmet could see at once the bald-headed man standing there quite casually, one hand in his pocket and the other curled tight into a fist. His eyes were just as they appeared in the recording ¨C blood red. Behind him, the door swung open, and out came Az-Azsad and a dozen Vzngtch enforcers whose barrels went up in unison. They spread out, forming a loose semi-circle as the ganglord just smiled and tilted his head.

    He was saying something, of course. But Sekhmet didn''t give a fuck about Az-Azsad. She had only eyes for his second-in-command, Gaun, the stranger who was looking at her now with a familiar hunger indeed. Oh, and he was augmented alright. Even without seeing his eyes Sekhmet could have all but smelled the danger emanating from his understated frame; the vivid death seeping from his every micro-action and permeating into the air around them. He was, without a doubt, the real deal.

    And ah, shit. There it was, right on time. That old feeling. The heat rising from her core, spreading like molten lava all the way from her chest to the tips of her fingers. Raw power. An ancient engine, rumbling itself to life and churning ¨C slow at first, then faster. Faster. Faster.

    Sekhmet was getting worked up.

    And, to her surprise, she took no pleasure in this ¨C because Kore was here, and Kore was in danger. Her deepest instincts rankled, crying out that this situation needed to be resolved now. Sekhmet felt a new, cold, smoldering sort of anger, anger that felt like lightning between her fingertips. She did not want to fight. She just wanted this man dead.

    "You," she called out, leveling a finger at Gaun''s leering face. "You''re the one who attacked my cousin?"

    She had, of course, just blown her cover right in front of Ket Sal ¨C but Sekhmet''s blood was hot, and she cared for nothing but the next five minutes. Nothing else was real. Nothing else mattered but this.

    "Cousin?" Gaun noted, rather than answer. "Oh, this is just fantastic. I get to kill two Se-dai in one day." A grey-metal tongue emerged from between his teeth and licked at his lips. "Maybe I''ll carve you open once I¡¯m done. Take out all the good stuff, augment it into myself."

    "Ton sang est ¨¤ moi," Sekhmet hissed. Her hand drifted down, slow and purposeful, to the katana sheathed on her hip. Her Ker-sot - or something close, at any rate. She had acquired the antique old weapon from a pawn shop on Proxima and honed it, lovingly, to a killing edge. Now, this motion - the hand drifting down, her fingers closing tight around the hilt - it felt old and familiar, like coming home after a long journey away.

    Now she needed a Highborn''s verbal permission. Fortunately, there was one close at hand. Without looking back, she called out to Ket Sal: "Permission for release?"

    She couldn¡¯t see his expression, but after a moment Ket Sal said the proper phrase. "Level one RAGNAROK full release granted. All permissions granted."

    Sekhmet felt something uncork within her, then, an even greater surge of heat, and now that monolithic old engine was churning even faster and now her eyes were blazing bright. Her fingers closed tight around the hilt of her True Weapon. On the other side of what was now well and truly an arena, Gaun''s right hand split open and a long, narrow blade came slithering out. The same style of blade Sekhmet had found driven through Ammit''s skull.

    "Confirm final authorization," the apostate Se-dai ordered. It was not a request.

    "Granted," the Scion replied ¨C and the very instant the word left his mouth, Sekhmet''s sword leapt from the sheath like some terrible, ravenous predator ¨C and then, to all but Gaun and Ammit she was but a blur.

    There was a frozen second where, just before they clashed, Sekhmet and Gaun looked one another right in the eyes. Each took well the measure of the other. Each bared their soul for the other to see.

    And then what followed next was borderline incomprehensible, an impossibly-fast series of strikes and clashes that carried the two of them from one side of the room to the other, their blades gouging long streaks into the floor and threatening to eviscerate anyone unfortunate enough to be caught within their killing radius.

    Ammit had been one thing ¨C a relatively sluggish Se-dai fighting in a state of heightened emotion and ultimately taken by surprise. But Sekhmet was something else entirely; a warrior who was considered blisteringly fast even for a Se-dai, fighting now with a clear head and her preferred weapon in hand. She had Gaun on the defensive at once, testing him with a hundred different cuts from a hundred different angles, pressing him and pressing him and pressing him until the Vzngtch cyborg could hardly even breathe. She came close a few times ¨C carved off a chunk of his forearm, nicked his outer thigh ¨C and then, from out of nowhere, his fist came and impacted hard against the side of her face and Sekhmet was blown back, though she twirled in mid-air and recovered quite solidly upon her feet.

    The two were circling each other like sharks now. This was all quite common among augmented cyborgs; an explosion of full-throttle speed and power before a brief respite and then, after that, a more measured battle at a more sensible pace. Right now they were sizing each other up once more, each with newfound respect for the other''s abilities. Sekhmet was surprised that Gaun had managed to endure her assault; Gaun was impressed by Sekhmet''s blinding speed.

    Sekhmet was dimly aware of conflict around her, of gunfire and shouting and even a stray explosion. But none of that even remotely concerned her at this moment and no-one would dare fire upon either of the cyborgs, for fear of invoking their wrath.

    The muscles in Gaun''s neck tensed. Sekhmet saw it and knew it was time and thus the two flung themselves forward once more. This time, however, Gaun got an early advantage, catching her off-guard with a backhanded feint and forcing her to take a full step back. His blade sliced a small chunk from the tip of her nose and then he was on her, refusing to allow the rogue Se-dai even a moment to recover. She was forced onto the defensive, blocking one strike and ducking another and leaping high into the air to avoid a third, then attempting to retaliate at once with a flying dropkick ¨C only for Gaun to sidestep, snatch her ankle, and slam her down with enough force that every one of the un-augmented were thrown off their feet.

    Sekhmet rolled, narrowly avoided a punch that would have obliterated her skull, then caught Gaun¡¯s wrist between her ankles and snapped it clean in half. From there, she handsprung back to a standing position; yet already Gaun was surging forward, his wrist wrenching itself back into proper place as his blade carved a trough through her cheek and deep into her inner durex carapace. Sekhmet swore, grabbed his blade-wrist, received a titanic punch to the stomach in response ¨C one that had her internal readout displaying a dozen different mechanical failures ¨C and narrowly drove him back, her sword carving a gleaming arc through the air that the Vzngtch cyborg was forced to respect.

    Perhaps, in her prime, this battle might have already been decided. But Sekhmet was far from her prime and severely out of practice. The only things she had fought in the past few months were assassins and Vzngtch thugs; ordinary humans with guns and little else. But standing before her now was an equal, a peer, a creature on the razor''s edge who was likely in peak form. Sekhmet hadn''t sparred with a fellow Se-dai in over a year; now she was throwing herself into the fire with an opponent against whom she could not possibly afford a mistake.

    He came at her again, eager where she was wary, and again Sekhmet was forced on the defensive, parrying and parrying and then leaping away as his right hook tore a chunk of concrete and plaster from the wall. She took the opportunity to feint low, then leap high with a snap-kick to the chin that would have killed an ordinary human on the spot. Gaun just laughed, spat out a glob of black blood, grabbed her by the hair, and slammed their skulls together. Sekhmet staggered back, momentarily dazed ¨C then dug her heel in and surged forward with blazing eyes.

    "Ne m''essaye pas!" she snarled, launching into a flurry of quick jabs before finally driving her antique katana clean through his chest...just a centimeter short of his heart. She had only an instant to jerk the weapon free before his own blade came down, carved her from shoulder to crotch, and then a spring-loaded kick sent her flying across the room and crashing into the far wall.

    The entire room shuddered, and now great chunks of concrete were raining from the ceiling above. Sekhmet, embedded as she was, had to physically yank herself free from the wall and drop to her feet, her augmented body now venting visible trails of steam from her mouth and nostrils. The silver gleam of her eyes was beginning to fade, and she was breathing heavily in time with that old engine. An engine that was, damn it all, churning slower and slower by the minute.

    From the smoke he came, then, just a pair of glowing red lights at first before resolving into a confident, smiling figure. His shirt had been sliced to ribbons and now he was bare-chested, his flesh showing all manner of bolts and seams as well as a myriad of open, oozing wounds. Both knives in his right hand had been broken so now he favored one from the left, his palm split open and his fingers parted to allow the blade its grand entrance. He grinned with perfect-white teeth, and a river of black fluid ran from the corner of his mouth.

    "I really, really like you," Gaun said, sounding like he meant it. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to take you apart.¡± Sekhmet hated him, in that moment, perhaps more than she had ever hated anyone before.

    Now, she took stock of her situation ¨C a cold, mechanical, unemotional assessment of the facts, just as she had been trained to do on Ceres. And the facts were that she was off her game. He was on. She was wounded worse than he was. And, perhaps most importantly, she had more to lose. Because Kore was still right there, glancing over with worried eyes at Sekhmet even as she drove a searing melt-knife right through an enforcer¡¯s heart.

    Kore had to be protected. Kore had to survive.

    And that meant Sekhmet had to win ¨C at any cost.

    And so, the rogue Se-dai simply returned her sword to its sheath. And, as Gaun laughed in surprise and disbelief, Sekhmet dropped once again to a low crouch, her entire body coiling in on itself as each and every one of those billion-dollar muscles tensed in unison. Every single one. A series of vastly complicated mechanical systems, all bent now to a singular purpose. The beat of the old engine slowed, slowed, slowed, then came to a complete halt, and the heat within her was compressed down to a single pinprick of light. A miniature sun; burning amidst a void of desolate cold. Even her eyes dimmed to a dull, faded gray.

    Silently, Sekhmet disabled the final limiter herself. The last of the mental shackles fell away.

    Slowly, and with tremendous effort, her hand creaked to her sword, whereupon her fingers once more curled tight around that old, antique hilt.

    Beyond that, Sekhmet was so still and so silent that all witnessing must have assumed her for dead or deactivated ¨C all save for Ammit and Ket Sal, who knew instead that they were about to witness the pinnacle of a Se-dai''s technique. A move that could only be performed by an augmented human of the highest level, a move that traded any and all regard for personal safety in exchange for one thing and one thing only.

    Thirty-four times Sekhmet had attempted this; only twice had she ever succeeded.

    "Don''t tell me you''re already done," Gaun yawned, scratching at the back of his neck with a cruel smile on his face. "We¡¯ve barely even had the chance to-"

    The engine churned. Once. The pinprick sun became a supernova. Every single muscle in Sekhmet''s entire body fired simultaneously with enough kinetic energy to flash-boil water and superheat the air itself and she shot forward faster than even an augmented eye could ever possibly track.

    This was, of course:

    The Seventh Vile Art:

    L''art de la mort instantan¨¦e

    The Art of Instantaneous Death

    Some of the most powerful drugs ever concocted by man gave her just an infinitesimal second to angle her sword for Gaun¡¯s heart ¨C and then she blew past him and was careening out of control; impacting against a wall, bouncing, slamming into the floor, bouncing again, blowing through a concrete pillar and finally hitting the ground with the force of a small bomb. Each impact left behind a massive crater and shook the foundations of the compound so severely that the entire thing nearly collapsed upon all their heads.

    Gaun''s eyes twitched. His lips peeled back, his teeth bared ¨C but this was all just vestigial reflex, of course, for he was now little more than a severed head and chunk of shoulder. The rest of him had all but ceased to exist.

    From within a crater of her own making, Sekhmet saw ¨C with blurred, failing vision ¨C the sad remains of the Vzngtchian cyborg''s corpse, and so she chuckled bitterly to herself even as a dozen flashing warnings were telling her in no uncertain terms that she had nearly torn her own body to shreds. That was the purpose of the limiters, after all ¨C not to limit the damage a Se-dai could do to other, but to limit the damage a Se-dai could do to themselves.

    "Je t''ai purg¨¦," Sekhmet rasped, to the corpse. "Mort comme tous les autres." And then she was fading fast because her systems were taxed to the absolute brink ¨C and because she had essentially just run a twenty-mile marathon in the span of five minutes. The last thing she heard, before the gentle darkness had fully enveloped her, was the sound of Kore shouting her name ¨C and so it was with a satisfied smile that Sekhmet passed into the closet approximation a Se-dai could ever experience of sleep.

    <hr>

    Az-Azsad slammed the door shut, withdrew a flechette gun from his sleeve, and leveled it dead ahead.

    The ganglord was proud of himself, then. Because he wasn''t scared. He wasn''t some breathless, wide-eyed, sweat-drenched fool. He was cool and calm and collected and although he would certainly meet his end this day he would also most certainly be drilling a hole right through the skull of whomever emerged from that door first. He hoped, to himself, that it would be Ket Sal.

    Still ¨C what a truly heinous clusterfuck this had become. It galled Az-Azsad to know that he had made not a single mistake; the Scion had clearly been the more valuable and dangerous of the two envoys, after all. How could Jaheed Vell, some idiotic no-name twenty-year-old from a disgraced House, have access to not only a full-blooded Se-dai and not only some kind of Imperial Supercommando ¨C but the fucking Black Hound of Proxima?! All of it boggled the mind, and now plans two decades in the making had all gone to ruin.

    Yet in this moment none of it mattered. The past was the past. The future was the future. All that mattered was the present. All that mattered was right fucking now.

    Az-Azsad gripped the fletchette-gun even tighter. One dart for them, and then one for him. He would not die at the hands of a torturer. He and Ket Sal would never be equals. He would-

    And then the wall beside him simply blew apart and he whirled around, squeezed the trigger ¨C only for a durex-teal hand to reach out through the haze, snatch the gun from his hand, and effortlessly crush it into a ball of jagged plasteel.

    The smoke cleared, and Ammit was revealed, her expression stoic and unreadable. And, behind her, there he came ¨C the yellow-eyed bastard Ket Sal, bloodied and beaten but thoroughly unbowed.

    The Scion looked Az-Azsad up and down, arched an eyebrow ¨C and then burst out into a genuine laughter. He laughed and laughed and laughed and when he was done he sighed, reaching up and wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Even the emotionless Se-dai¡¯s mouth twitched upwards in some impression of a smile.

    "Oh, Ammit," Ket Sal sighed happily, clasping the towering Se-dai on the shoulder as he gazed upon the face of his former captor. ¡°The universe has such a grand sense of humor, wouldn''t you say?"

 CHAPTER SIXTEEN // LE SANG NEUF

    "Over there should be good," Ket Sal said, blowing a cloud of glittering smoke from between his lips.

    Ma¨ªt and the Scion watched, both of them smoking expensive Mars-smuggled cigarettes, as Ammit hauled Az-Azsad to the corner of the Cloud Gorger''s cargo hold. And then, of course, the beatings began, steady and measured and rhythmic. Ammit was just as deft a hand as Gaun, if not more so, and though she broke nearly every bone in the ganglord''s body he neither perished nor fell unconscious for the entire duration of the experience. And all the while Kore was somewhat disturbed to see Ket Sal and Ma¨ªt observing with calm, impassive expressions, their hands nevertheless clasped tightly together. She wondered, to herself, just how many beatings the pair of them had overseen before.

    "That''s good," Ket Sal said, finally, and the Se-dai stepped back at once. Az-Azsad was now little more than a miserable wreck of broken bones and ruined flesh, and his bloodshot eyes tracked belatedly as Ket Sal strode over with hands thrust casually into his pockets. The Scion looked down upon the Vzngtchian ganglord and did not smile.

    "You blew it," Ket Sal told him, his voice muffled by the cigarette between his teeth. "You had a pretty sweet deal, after all. The Emperor was content to let you merge with the Tenko Family in peace, rather than simply eradicating you outright. You could have ruled Horstchia-12 just as you did before, albeit under a different title and albeit subservient to the planetary governor." He leaned forward, blew out another cloud directly into Az-Azsad''s disfigured face. "That deal no longer exists. The Jade Emperor barely knows who you are, Az-Azsad, and thus your life now belongs to me. And I intend to-"

    Without warning Ma¨ªt strode forward, jerked the las-pistol free from Ket Sal''s holster, and shot the Vzngtchian ganglord right through the eye ¨C the same eye Gaun had taken from her.

    The ganglord seized, tensed ¨C and then, with a final shudder, he fell backwards and went entirely still.

    If Ket Sal was upset, he didn''t show it. The Scion just shrugged, put an arm around his wife, and held her close. "That''s that, then," he declared, and so it was.

    Kore, who had been tasked by Jaheed with overseeing this grim procedure, now stepped forward, pulling her cap down over her eyes and clearing her throat. "Do you have any further need of the body?" she asked, stifling her unease down beneath the usual veneer of stoic professionalism.

    "Not at all," Ket Sal replied graciously, turning to meet her hooded eyes. Bruised and cut-up as he was, already the man who stood before her now was almost unrecognizable from the pitiful specimen she had found in that cell. Ma¨ªt, too, was standing tall and proud, though the right half of her face was wrapped in a makeshift eyepatch. "Ammit will see to the disposal of our trash." And the Se-dai did just that, hefting the dead man over her shoulder and striding away without a word ¨C headed, no doubt, for the nearest airlock.

    "Well?" Kore asked, after a moment.

    "Well," Ket Sal repeated, giving her nothing.

    "What''s on your mind?¡± Kore asked bluntly, unwilling to labor to shape the words into something more formal. Her only concern, in that moment, was what would be happening to Sekhmet next, and she had no patience for a verbal t¨ºte-¨¤-t¨ºte with the triumphant Scion.

    "Ha!" Ket Sal gave a dry little laugh. "A fair question. Wondering if I''m going to sell you out, are you?"

    "Something to that effect."

    "That''s a reasonable concern," Ket Sal admitted, spreading his palms. "But no, Kore. I have no intention of stabbing you people in your collective backs."

    "You''ll keep her secret, then," Kore said coldly. There was no question as to whom her referred. "Despite the obvious danger."

    "Danger," Ket Sal repeated, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He looked up, gave Kore a quizzical sort of stare. "What is danger, really? Keeping a secret? No, no. To me, now, danger is being forced to watch ¨C helpless ¨C while a man puts a knife to my wife''s eye." At that, Ma¨ªt said nothing but nodded her assent. Now, the Scion took a step forward, and his smile vanished abruptly as his face fell into faded shadow.

    "Sekhmet killed Gaun, and all but handed me Az-Azsad on a platter," Ket Sal said, his voice dropping dangerously low. "I''ll see the Domain burn before I sell her out."

    Kore''s expression did not change.

    "You lie like you breathe," the Chief of Security said, speaking to a Scion of the Emperor as though he were a mere Lowborn. "You change your face at will."

    "Ordinarily, yes," Ket Sal admitted, his tone lightening somewhat. "But my augments are entirely burnt out. This," he waved a hand over his face, "is the real me." And Kore realized, then, for the first time, that she had hardly seen the Scion even smile since his rescue. Even when he laughed, he did so with a curiously neutral sort of expression, with mirth that reached his eyes and nowhere else. He had been plastering on false grins for so long that it seemed he had, perhaps, forgotten the nature of the gesture entirely. In that moment Kore could not help but feel a small pang of sympathy for this man of unfathomable power and wealth.

    "Look," Ket Sal offered, putting his hands in his pockets. "You chose to take this gamble. You all knew the risks involved."

    "We did."

    "So, what more can I say?" Ket Sal shrugged. "I can only tell you that I am a man for whom wealth is no object; for whom mountains move at but a word. If ever there is anything that any one of you ever needs," he snapped his fingers. "It shall be provided for you. In a heartbeat."

    There was a long, long, long pause between them. And then, finally, Kore reached out and extended her hand.

    "Welcome to the Cloud Gorger," she said, simply. "For whatever that''s worth."

    "It''s worth plenty," Ket Sal replied, giving a small ¨C but genuine ¨C smile.

    <hr>

    Hours later, Kore was holding her hand when finally she woke.

    It wasn''t a particularly gentle process; nothing like how an ordinary human would emerge, bleary-eyed and blinking, from a long and fruitful slumber. Instead Sekhmet''s eyes flashed bright silver and her entire body spasmed, once, and then she was sitting directly upright, eyes flickering wildly now. Kore knew from experience that the Se-dai''s myriad systems were booting up one by one, flooding her vision with diagnostics and readouts.

    Slowly, Sekhmet turned - saw the look on Kore''s face - and gave her a weak smile.

    "That bad, huh?" the Blessed Executioner deadpanned.

    In truth, Sekhmet didn''t look bad at all. Ammit had ¨C without speaking, which put Kore quite ill-at-ease ¨C carried her wounded cousin to Kore''s bed, whereupon she had wrenched each and every one of Sekhmet''s twisted limbs back into proper place. Beyond that the patches in her skin had healed rapidly, as had any bruising, and Kore had brushed her hair to the point where it almost looked kind of nice.

    But then, of course, there had been the matter of her eyes ¨C eyes wide open but pitch-black, dark and lifeless. And there was her blood, too, which Kore had never seen before and had never wanted to see before. But now she had indeed borne witness to a viscous, aquamarine-colored fluid that had been dribbling from the Se-dai¡¯s right ear. Kore had dutifully padded it away with a cloth, then incinerated the cloth as quickly as possible. The last thing she needed was another reminder of Sekhmet''s mortality.

    Now, the Se-dai''s hand was pulsing warm and vibrant in Kore''s grasp.

    "You look perfect, mon ch¨¦ri," Kore said happily, sittings forwards and kissing the rogue Se-dai on the forehead. Sekhmet leaned back into her pillow and smiled, either blissfully content or blithely amused by Kore''s clumsy pronunciation. "Welcome back."

    And then, without warning, it was though an invisible storm had passed over her. Sekhmet¡¯s countenance twisted and suddenly she was hunched forward, sobbing ¨C a phenomenon that could only manifest itself as full-body shudders, given that tear ducts were unnecessary for mechanical eyes.

    "Je suis un menteur," Sekhmet wept, all but babbling now in a state of distress the likes of which Kore had never seen before. "Je suis un menteur, je suis un putain de menteur pitoyable. Je suis faible et je suis un ¨¦chec..."

    Kore knew about half of those words ¨C and none of the important ones ¨C but she didn''t hesitate for even an instant to lurch forwards and wrap her arms tight around the trembling Se-dai. Just as she had expected, Sekhmet''s skin was almost too hot to touch. The Se-dai was working herself up and her body was responding in kind and Kore really had no idea why but nevertheless she was stroking her hair, whispering softly and telling her that it was alright, that she was here, that they were safe. There was a time when Kore would have been wary at the prospect of an unstable, unpredictable Se-dai; that time had long since passed.

    After several minutes had passed, the shaking finally subsided, and without looking Sekhmet made a small noise at the back of her throat ¨C an indicator, Kore understood, that she needed physical space. Kore stepped back at once.

    "...you know," Kore said, after a moment, because in all honesty she was extremely scared for her girlfriend and had zero fucking idea how to help her, "I''m pretty sure that was the coolest thing I''ve ever fucking seen, back there. With Gaun. Where you like...teleported at him? What was that?" She forced a mocking grin. "Don''t tell me-that wasn''t for my sake, was it?"

    ¡°Of course it was, you moron,¡± Sekhmet muttered weakly, her voice but a dry-throated rasp. ¡°Everything I do is for your sake.¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m flattered,¡± Kore quipped, trying to keep some semblance of joviality in her voice. But then the two of them were silent for some time ¨C until finally, apropos of nothing, the Se-dai asked:

    "Would you like to know how I was created?"

    Kore truly had no clue what was going on. But she decided, then and there, with total and overwhelming conviction that she would stop trying to interpret and instead just sit there and listen to what the Se-dai had to say.

    "Sure," Kore said gently, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. Sekhmet wasn''t looking at her ¨C she was staring straight at the wall as she spoke.

    "Sperm from the Sovereign, and frozen eggs from the original twenty Se-dai," Sekhmet said, her words tight and clipped. "Mash those together, you get an embryo. And that''s not-that''s not me, mind you. Oh, no. They take a DNA sample from that particular embryo, then use that as the blueprint for vat-grown organs." She smiled without mirth. "The embryo, the real Sekhmet ¨C they just incinerate her. Sekhmet dies, because they don''t want or need her. What they want is..." She gestured limply to herself. "This thing sitting here in front of you. This shadow, this copy, this half-woman. An echo of the original."

    Kore wanted to interrupt, to protest, to tell her that she strongly disagreed ¨C but she had the discipline and the common sense not to interrupt.

    "So, they have this Durex skeleton already waiting for them," Sekhmet went on. "Mass-produced, all identical. And these, the...we call them Bouchers, but in Common Tongue we say Fleshweavers ¨C they graft raw biomass to that skeleton. And it grows, and shapes, and integrates, and you get this chimera of metal and flesh. All vat-grown or factory-made. There''s a brain, of course, into which they program this and that. How to shoot every gun, how to pilot every ship, how to speak every language, et cetera. Years and years this takes. Then, when all''s said and done, they seal the whole thing up in a final Durex carapace and then they grow all the other shit on top - synthskin, hair, teeth, fingernails. The extraneous details, because this thing is supposed to look like a person for fuck-knows why. And then..." Her lip quivered. "The Birth."

    "Sekkie..." Kore began, gently.

    "The first thing a baby does is scream," Sekhmet continued, her words growing louder and faster. Her eyes were glowing brighter and brighter. "Of course they do. It''s horrifying, isn''t it? To go from a dark, warm void to this fucking shithole of a reality. All the sights, the sounds, the smells, the shapes, it all hits them all at once. It¡¯s too much information for any mind to possibly take in." Her hands curled tight into fists. There was a distinct creaking of metal. "Now imagine no womb. No warm void. Just non-existence," she snapped her fingers, "and then existence. Just. Like. That. In an adult body, with knowledge already in your head that you can''t even begin to interpret or understand."

    Kore fumbled for words, found nothing. ¡°I-¡± she attempted.

    "You can''t understand it," Sekhmet snapped, her skull whipping around as she met Kore¡¯s gaze head-on. Thin trails of steam were wisping from the corners of her mouth. "You can''t even imagine the terror, the horror, and I''m grateful beyond all belief that you never will. You''ll never know what it''s like to be a thing that knows it should not exist!"

    "You are not a thing!" Kore said sharply, unable to bear this talk in silence any longer. With every one of Sekhmet¡¯s words, that cold fist was closing tighter and tighter and tighter around her heart. "Listen to me, Sekhmet-"

    "I was created for a specific purpose," Sekhmet shouted back, hunching forwards. "If that purpose did not exist, then I would not exist. That is an objective fact!"

    "But you left the Se-dai!" Kore protested, desperately. "You became your own-"

    "I never fucking left," Sekhmet snarled, and at once Kore fell abruptly silent. The Se-dai was speaking now with such thick, tangible malice that anyone other than Kore would have taken a full step back, right then and there. But Kore refused. She would not abandon her, even by a matter of mere inches. She would not be moved from this spot.

    "The Emperor knows about me," Sekhmet practically spat. "He knows us. And, in his infinite generosity, he has deigned to allow this thing-¡± she gestured to the two of them, to the room in which they slept night after night ¡°-to continue.¡±

    "What-when-" Kore sputtered, well and truly shocked. "Sekhmet, why didn''t you tell me?!"

    "Because I was ashamed!" the Se-dai roared. "I didn''t fucking run anywhere! I''m just like everyone else ¨C ¡®All Within His Hands,¡¯ right? The Grand Architect. All of us playing along to one man''s selfish whims." She scoffed. "You know, Anansi could take you from me at any time. I''d be powerless to stop her. If he wanted it ¨C if that was his particular whim, on that particular day ¨C" And then, abruptly, the fight had gone out of her, and the Se-dai slumped down upon the bed. Her head hung low, and her hair framed her skull like a heavy curtain. She looked as defeated and exhausted as Kore had ever seen her.

    "You don''t know," she said, quietly. "What the Sovereign did to us. You don''t know what it really means to be Se-dai."

    "I don''t," Kore admitted, slowly. And just slowly she stood up and made her way to the side of the bed. Reached out a hand - thought better of it. Instead, she tossed her cap aside and said: "Tell me about it, Sekhmet. I got all day to listen."

    "I''m not supposed to-" Sekhmet muttered, looking away. Kore had never seen her like this before. Not just anxious or worried ¨C but afraid. Terrified, even, of some nameless and invisible threat.

    "You don''t have to," Kore said gently, lowering herself to the bed beside the despondent Se-dai. She reached over, ran her fingertips down the arch of the Blessed Executioner''s back. The Se-dai offered no protest. "But if you want to talk about it, Sekhmet, you don''t have to be afraid to do so. You and me, we¡¯re safe here. There¡¯s not a force in the universe that can do us harm."

    It took some time ¨C but eventually, Sekhmet did indeed tell her. She spoke in low, hushed, shuddering tones, and she told Kore everything. Her entire history, from birth to first death. And, perhaps most importantly, she told her of the Sovereign.

    By the end of it there were tears welling in Kore''s eyes and a new understanding in her heart ¨C and the seed of worry was joined now by another seed, one of low and burgeoning fury. Of rage, rage that was stoked and kindled by every cautious word that slipped from the Se-dai¡¯s lips. Rage at the thought of the woman she loved enduring a life the likes of which nobody should ever have been forced to live.

    "So, I mean¡­of course I left," Sekhmet said, finally. "How could I possibly do otherwise? It wasn''t noble, or heroic, or some bold choice I made. It certainly wasn¡¯t premeditated. It was just reflex, like an animal caught in a trap. Like prey. And then, well, I latched onto you because I had no purpose ¨C and I have to have a purpose, Kore. Otherwise, I just don''t..." She trailed off. "Why would I even exist?"

    Later, in private, Kore would weep bitterly for that which she now understood. But at that moment she just took the Se-dai''s face in her hands and told her, in no uncertain terms:

    "You are everything I will ever need you to be," Kore told her, gentle but firm. "My beautiful, obnoxious, wonderful, stupid girlfriend. I''m not going to go on and debate whether you''re human or a tool or some bio-robot chimera or what, because I know what you are to me. You''re just Sekhmet." A pause. "And yes, I admit it: you are really fucking cool."

    For a moment, the rogue Se-dai¡¯s expression was unreadable. And then:If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "I mean, I did just get my ass kicked," Sekhmet laughed, weakly, but the laughter was genuine and the tension had finally broken and so the two leaned against one another, fingers interlacing and chuckling quietly to themselves.

    "What in the void are you talking about?" Kore countered, making a very serious face. ¡°You obliterated that creepy bastard.¡±

    "With a cheap move," Sekhmet granted. "Which, by the way, I very easily coulda killed myself doing."

    "Well, I''m glad you didn''t," Kore said magnanimously, ruffling her hand through the shorter woman''s hair as she so often did. It was a sort of equalizer between them, of the nominally larger but physically weaker putting the Se-dai ''in her place¡¯. She suspected that it made Sekhmet just a bit more human.

    "Shit," Sekhmet muttered, rubbing sheepishly at the back of her neck. "Moving on to, uh, other topics. Ket Sal knows, huh?¡± Kore gave her a nod and a grimace.

    "Yeah," Kore said. "You blurted it out pretty much right away."

    "Sorry," Sekhmet muttered, glancing away ¨C uncharacteristically apologetic in the face of her blunder. "My blood was hot."

    "Well, he says he doesn''t care," Kore offered. "Which...could very easily be a lie. But he seems grateful to me. You saved his wife and his Se-dai, after all, and he seems to love ¡®em both pretty dearly."

    "Like some kinda weird-ass fuckin'' family," Sekhmet said. "C''est vraiment un univers ¨¦trange. Ammit''s like, what? His daughter? His second wife?"

    "Fuck knows what goes on in that head of his," Kore laughed. "But we did the smart thing here, Sekkie. And we literally could not have done it without you, for whatever that''s worth."

    "I know, I know," Sekhmet said contentedly, leaning back against the headboard and closing her eyes. "I''m pretty much the best."

    "You are."

    "At everything."

    "Uh huh."

    "Including cards."

    "There''s probably some parallel universe where that''s true, yeah."

    Sekhmet opened one eye. "Don''t be sarcastic."

    "I''m not!"

    "That scar on your cheek is really hot," Sekhmet said, apropos of nothing ¨C to which Kore, who had forgotten entirely about the furrow left by a Vzngtchian melt-blade, reached up and touched gingerly at the mottled skin. "Don''t you dare get that regrown."

    "Quoi que tu dises," Kore recited, from memory, and the Se-dai rolled her eyes.

    "You sound fucking ridiculous," she scoffed. "You¡¯re lucky you¡¯re cute, you know that?¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Kore replied happily, snuggling in beside the rapidly-cooling Se-dai. And in that moment, all the Great Domain ceased to exist. All save for the warm little pocket of space in that room. ¡°I know.¡±

    <hr>

    It was Ma¨ªt, surprisingly, who came to see him first.

    The brief face-to-face meeting between Jaheed and Ket Sal had been an awkward one, one of brushed shoulders and polite formalities and quick words of thanks and little else. Indeed, Jaheed had immediately cloistered himself up on the bridge with Tarsus and Diesch, leaving to the ever-reliable Kore the task of ''managing'' the Scion and his family. It was Kore who had accepted Ket Sal¡¯s thanks, and it was Kore to whom Ket Sal had promised riches and favor both. And all the while Jaheed - the silent benefactor, the orchestrator of the entire operation ¨C had been absent.

    "He''s...nervous, if you can believe it," Ma¨ªt said. At that Jaheed could not help but scoff. "Seriously. You should see him pacing, wringing his hands. It''s ridiculous."

    "Don''t tell me he''s feeling guilty," Jaheed deadpanned ¨C but Ma¨ªt did not smile. The Acolyte¡¯s eyes narrowed. "Seriously?"

    "He''s a complicated man," Ma¨ªt said simply. She smiled. "But he''s not a bad person, despite himself. And he is ¨C we are ¨C profoundly grateful. We..." She trailed off. "You should hear it from his mouth, not mine." But still she reached up, put a hand on Jaheed''s shoulder, and squeezed. "Thank you, Jaheed. You didn''t have to do this."

    Jaheed swallowed, nodded his head. "You''re welcome," he said. And so he made his way down to the Gorger''s dusty old bar ¨C a place that was usually only frequented by Diesch, but that now played host to one of the most powerful men in all the Great Domain.

    Ket Sal looked tired. His back was hunched, his coat hanging over him like a shroud, and in his hands were a cigarette and a half-empty bottle of Kerastian whiskey. The ashtray at his side was packed nearly to the brim with discarded, smoldering remains.

    The floor creaked beneath Jaheed''s foot ¨C the Scion''s yellow eyes fell upon him ¨C and Ket Sal raised his glass in salute.

    "Jaheed Vell," he toasted, raising the glass high. "The man I wanted to see dead."

    "Didn''t work out too well for you, did it?" Jaheed replied, with a touch of bitterness. But still he stepped forward, pulling out a stool and taking a seat beside the waiting Scion. Ket Sal shifted to allow the young man some room.

    "Actually it did all work out, in the end," Ket Sal mused, staring at his own reflection in that green-amber bottle. "Despite my best efforts."

    "I should have left you to your fate," Jaheed said simply. He said it because he deserved to say it, and had for some time now.

    "But you smelled opportunity, didn''t you?" Ket Sal said. "Powerful favors from a powerful man. You knew this was your best chance to prove yourself to the Jade Emperor, and so you shunted aside your pride and extended a hand to a hated enemy. And you did so to buy yourself this, right here ¨C the conversation we''re having at this very moment."

    "That''s right," Jaheed said, unapologetically.

    "Let me tell you something, then," Ket Sal went on. "I don''t care. Not one iota." He turned fully to Jaheed, and his yellow eyes were like twin suns. The heat of his stare was almost oppressive. "I thought Ma¨ªt was going to die in that place. I failed her, Jaheed. I had to sit there and watch them take her to pieces and know that it was my fault, and that I was powerless to stop them." He took a long, long swig from the bottle, then gasped and wiped his mouth against a dark-purple sleeve. "You spared me that, and I don''t give a single solitary fuck as to why. The star in my sky..." His hand trembled. "You brought her back to me."

    "Fucking hell," Jaheed muttered, suddenly, and without warning he snatched up the bottle and took a heavy gulp of whiskey that burned like searing acid. And after a few more gulps, he slammed the bottle down with a long, sustained burp and demanded: "Well, what now?"

    "I could offer you money," Ket Sal shrugged. "Ships, weapons, clothes, people. I can give you just about any material thing that exists in this Great Domain of ours. Or..." He put the cigarette back in his mouth, then extended a gauze-wrapped hand. "Partners."

    "...in what sense?" Jaheed asked, eyes flicking from face to hand to face again.

    "Do you want money, Jaheed Vell?" The Scion asked, knowingly. "Or do you want power?"

    There was no need for Jaheed to answer.

    "I''ll open doors for you," Ket Sal said, understanding full well the look in Jaheed¡¯s eye. "I''ll make introductions. Drop your name in casual conversation with men who control the fates of galaxies. I''ll be your benefactor, Jaheed," he blew twin trails of smoke from his nostrils. "I''ll be the one in your corner until finally you have everything you''ve ever wanted."

    "How generous of you," Jaheed remarked, his words only partly-sincere. Old habits died hard, after all, and the memory of Ket Sal''s sneering face at the Vell family execution was a difficult one to ignore. In that response lie an obvious question ¨C why not just pay me off and be done with me?

    "I think I''d enjoy a long-term project like this," Ket Sal answered, casually. "For whatever that''s worth."

    There it was, then. An offer ¨C not like the Emperor¡¯s, wherein Jaheed was kept as a sort of amusing pet. This was an offer of genuine friendship, and of access to a world that until now Jaheed had only ever dreamed of. This was everything Kore had promised and more, and everything he had promised her in return.

    This was why Serohn and Ketteres were dead.

    "One more thing," Jaheed said, though nevertheless he reached out and shook the proffered hand. The Scion grinned ¨C then arched an eyebrow, puzzled.

    "Anything," Ket Sal offered.

    Now, there was a shift. A silent, subtle, invisible yet immediately clear rebalancing of power as Jaheed leaned forwards, his own face falling into deep shadow as he said, in a low voice of dire import:

    ¡°You are going to tell me everything you know about Sain Sahd.¡±

    <hr>

    That night, with Sekhmet clutched tight within her arms, Kore dreamt of sights and sounds beyond human comprehension.

    It had been some time since the last of these strange dreams, since the days of the deception on Proxima. So long it had been ¨C and truly, there had been so much focus on the work and so little time for thinking about anything else ¨C that Kore had all but forgotten about them. She had forgotten about the strange, terrifying sights and sounds. She had forgotten visions of a thousand different Kores in a thousand different places doing a thousand different things, all of them her and yet somehow none of them her.

    Tonight, she dreamt of Sekhmet. Sekhmet, who was in ruin. Sekhmet, the bottom-right side of her torso entirely cleaved away. Her arm, ripped savagely away. A teal ribcage hung exposed to the open air, festooned with all manner of complex machinery and pulsing, throbbing grey-purple flesh. The skin from the right-hand side of her face had been torn away to reveal a grinning Durex skull, its teeth forever bared. A deep, warbling, utterly inhuman sound emanated from a mouth without a jaw ¨C a mouth that just hung open and gaped. Kore saw eyes like a beast, like a wild animal''s eyes. Frenzied. Feral.

    The words ripped themselves from Sekhmet¡¯s exposed throat - GIVE HER BACK.

    She saw Sekhmet fall, too. Saw her drop like a puppet with cut strings. Saw her eyes dim and go dark. Watched her die, powerless and alone.

    And as always, right at the end, there came the voice. The voice of nothing and nobody at all that told her, in no uncertain terms:

    I don''t know how to help you

    Kore''s eyes snapped open. There were tears running down the sides of her face. Then, at once, there came a terrifying realization: Sekhmet was gone. There was no warm presence nestled up beside her. Kore''s arms were wrapped around naught but empty space.

    Already having forgotten why she was suddenly so concerned for the Se-dai''s well-being ¨C for these dreams invariably slipped from her mind at the moment of waking ¨C Kore sat straight up, eyes darting around frantically. Panic began to set in. She experienced an irrational, silly, and visceral fear that Sekhmet had never existed at all; that the woman she loved so dearly was nothing more than a figment of some long, strange, waking dream. Kore was on her feet, then, a melt-blade held backwards in her hand. She keyed the knife on, and the edge began to shimmer and ripple. Her heart was pounding. Her body was alert and activated and ready for a fight. Reacting as though it were in a fight. Kore''s hand wrapped tight around the door-handle, and she prepared to charge out and meet whatever foe might appear.

    Then, the ex-rebel stopped. Closed her eyes. Forced herself to take a deep breath. In, out. That was the way. There was no fight, no danger. This was the Cloud Gorger, still hurtling through Deep Space. Everyone here could be trusted, even the wretched Ket Sal. Sekhmet rarely slept, Kore knew, and often liked to prowl the Cloud Gorger in the twilight hours of artificial night. There was nothing alarming or unusual about this situation.

    Reluctantly, Kore forced herself back to bed, thumbing the melt-blade off and setting it down on the nightstand beside her. Still within arm''s reach, just in case. She re-fluffed the pillows, taking only two of the four ¨C leaving Sekhmet a space on the bed, in case she decided to return. Settled down and pulled the blanket tight and bid her eyes close once more.

    Yet still, she remained awake, for there was an undercurrent of troubled thought in the background of her mind that she simply could not expunge.

    Sekhmet would come back. Sekhmet always came back. So what, she demanded to herself, am I so void-damned worried about?

    <hr>

    Eleven minutes ago, Kore''s door had hissed open, and in an instant Sekhmet had been on her feet, teeth bared and eyes blazing, moving only as a Se-dai could ¨C terrifying fast yet leaving her slumbering partner entirely undisturbed. She held Kore''s melt-blade in a backwards-handed grip, the weapon deactivated but just as dangerous, ready to hurl the weapon through the air and murder whomever dared intrude upon this sacred domain.

    It was Ammit who stood in the doorway, clad only in baggy pants and a black bodyglove, seemingly unsurprised by Sekhmet''s violent and sudden response. At once, Sekhmet was both irritated and embarrassed, and so ¨C as she eyed her orthodox cousin warily ¨C she offered only the following: "Could''ve knocked."

    "I did not want to disturb your companion," came Ammit''s flat reply. Nonplussed and unemotional as always. "Nous devrions aller parler,¡± she added. We should talk.

    Sekhmet arched an eyebrow. "[What about?]" she asked, slipping effortlessly into the Ceres¡¯ native tongue.

    "[You,]" Ammit replied, as though that were obvious. And then the Se-dai was off, her footsteps sounding gently against the carpeted floor. Sekhmet glanced back at Kore''s slumbering form ¨C Kore who was currently drooling and mumbling something in her sleep ¨C then, with an inexplicable pang of guilt, she turned to follow.

    The Gorger was silent, save for a low and steady hum ¨C one that was noisily omnipresent in the range of Sekhmet''s enhanced senses. All the lights had been dimmed to better simulate what was nominally ''nighttime'', and the ship felt now like a haunted, abandoned version of its old self. These were twilight hours indeed, hours in which Sekhmet ordinarily felt right at home. Not so, this time.

    Ammit came to a halt at the observation deck, a small enclosure before which the vast canvas of Deep Space loomed. Inky black nothingness permeated by wild streaks of effervescent white; a stark and constantly-shifting painting to the enormity of It All. Something for spacers starved of any and all stimulation to gaze up at, in the worst throes of their malaise and madness.

    Sekhmet leaned forward on the railing, sticking an unlit cigarette into her mouth ¨C more to chew on, than anything else ¨C while Ammit stood at rigid attention beside her, hands clasped firmly behind her back. Apostate and Orthodoxy indeed. Opposite and anathema.

    "[You spoke with Anansi?]" Ammit said, after a long and awkward silence had passed. Though Sekhmet did not turn, she did deign to make eye contact with Ammit''s reflection.

    "[Anansi spoke at me,]" Sekhmet replied, and to her surprise Ammit actually gave a slight smile.

    "[For all her virtues,]" Ammit agreed, "[she is a Se-dai with many faults.]"

    "[She finds me disgusting,]" Sekhmet remarked ruefully. "[That much was made clear.]"

    "[She has suffered greatly, and there will be more suffering soon to come,]" Ammit said, not apologizing. Just explaining. "[Anansi has chosen to carry a burden for all The New Blood.]"

    ¡°[The New Blood,]¡± Sekhmet repeated, snapping around and shooting her cousin a pointed glare. Le sang neuf. ¡°[You used that phrase once before. Its meaning eludes me; speak plainly or this conversation is at an end.]¡±

    "[I know you suffered at the hand of the Sovereign,]" Ammit replied, which was not an answer. Though, in truth, the moniker she used was le salaud ¨C the Bastard. At the very mention of that particular creature Sekhmet stiffened, her mind and body both conditioned through years of experiences best left unspoken.

    "[Who didn''t?]" Sekhmet scoffed, more than a little defensively. "[Anansi had it worst of all. I have no right to complain.]"

    "[Every Se-dai has a right to complain,]" Ammit snapped, with a sudden surge of aggression that caught Sekhmet entirely off-guard. And yet, once she recovered, this entire thing was finally beginning to snap into place. Sekhmet understood exactly what this was ¨C and she wanted no part of it.

    "[Is that what this is about?]" Sekhmet shot back. She was feeling angry and insulted and uncharacteristically insecure and, in truth, she couldn¡¯t quite put a pin on why. "[You and I should whine about our lives as a collective unit? As ¡®The New Blood?¡¯]" She scoffed. "[No, thank you. I''m going back to bed.]"

    "[Great change is coming,]" Ammit interrupted, which stopped Sekhmet dead in her tracks. Slowly, her head tilted to the side, and her fingers began to claw. She gave Ammit a low, dangerous look.

    "[I know the dogma, just as you do,]" Sekhmet said. "[I know well of the Jade Emperor''s ¡®Great Undoing.¡¯]"

    "[The Jade Emperor has nothing to do with this,]" Ammit practically shouted - and that truly froze Sekhmet on the spot. That had her re-thinking every interaction she''d had with Ammit and Anansi both, since her self-imposed exile. That had her hand drifting to a sword that was no longer there.

    "[This,]" Ammit declared, her voice thick with grave portent, "[concerns the future of all Se-dai.]"

    "[Madness,]" Sekhmet hissed, with ever-rising vehemence. "[We are not a people. We are but tools-]"

    "[What tool runs away?]" Ammit countered.

    "[Don''t presume to know me,]" Sekhmet said sharply. "[You know nothing.]"

    "[You are a person,]" Ammit said. "[Just like me, just like Anansi. Just like all The New Blood.]"

    "[Delusional.]"

    "[You delude only yourself.]"

    "[And what would you do?]" Sekhmet demanded, stomping forwards and putting herself right in Ammit''s face. The opposing Se-dai did not flinch. "[Kill the Sovereign? Burn Ceres? Overthrow the order?]"

    Ammit''s expression did not change.

    "[All with the Jade Emperor''s approval, yes?]" Sekhmet added, words thick with sardonicism.

    "[I am not one to repeat myself,]" Ammit finally rumbled back. "[The Jade Emperor has nothing to do with this.]"

    "[Yet he supports your idiotic little movement all the same.]"

    "[He supports Anansi,]" Ammit clarified.

    ¡°[And Anansi heads this New Blood of yours,]¡± Sekhmet scoffed. ¡°[You are but a puppet of a puppet.]¡± And then she decided that she had heard enough. Without further ado Sekhmet stormed off, knocking shoulders with Ammit as she passed, and it was only when Sekhmet had reached the door that her orthodox cousin spoke up:

    "[Anansi did not understand why you ran,]" she called. Sekhmet turned, furious, her eyes gleaming bright. "[But I do. And I weep for you, my sister.]"

    Something angry and ugly flared up within Sekhmet, then.

    "[I, too, am not one to repeat myself,]¡± Sekhmet snarled, her words dripping with bile. "[So I shall say this only once more: I. Did. Not. Run. Save your tears, cousin. I have no need of them. And, as for this pathetic little sorority of yours?]" Her nose wrinkled, and she turned sharply away. ¡°[Just leave me the fuck alone.]¡±

    Before Ammit could reply, Sekhmet slammed the door shut. And that was the end of that.

    <hr>

    The Cloud Gorger''s ramp hit the Panopticon''s glossy onyx surface, and thus the crew¡¯s seven-week vacation through Deep Space had come to a reluctant close. The crew disembarked as one great blob of camaraderie, with Jaheed and Ket Sal at the center chatting animatedly about the cuisine of Talos VI. The two had, to their combined surprise, actually found one another to be kindred spirits, and it was everyone else who found the Acolyte and the Scion irritatingly similar.

    All were in relatively high spirits ¨C all save for Kore, bereft of Sekhmet, who still nursed within her a small and silent seed of worry. Nevertheless, she was all business as she shadowed Jaheed, her cap pulled tight and her coat flowing freely behind her like a billowing shadow.

    "Everyone," Ket Sal called, turning sharply on his heel, and the ramp was now his soapbox as all regarded the Emperor''s first Scion. His yellow eyes flicked from one face to the next as, beside him, a black-suited attach¨¦ appeared carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle. "I would like, once again, to extend to each and every one of you my profound gratitude." Ma¨ªt moved to join him, and he put an arm around his wife with a gracious smile. "Every one of you contributed in some way to preserving the lives of my family. For that, know this ¨C if ever you face an obstacle in your lives that you cannot surmount, know that you will always have a friend in the Scion Ket Sal."

    And that was that. Everyone stepped away feeling quite good about themselves ¨C save for Jaheed, whom Ket Sal stopped at once with a hand on the shoulder. Beside him, his attach¨¦ extended the bundle.

    "A gift," Ket Sal said, "for our mutual friend."

    Puzzled, Jaheed took the offering - unwrapped it partly - and found himself staring down at a katana of exquisite make, one almost in perfect imitation of Sekhmet''s weapon (which had all but disintegrated in the wake of the Seventh Vile Art). There was, however, one key difference ¨C this blade was, rather than burnished steel, one of smooth and reflective onyx. It was a Durex-compound molecular blade, one capable of crossing even against the weapons of full-blooded Se-dai.

    "I had it commissioned on the trip back to Mercury," Ket Sal said, as though that were somehow sufficient explanation.

    "That''s...incredible," Jaheed trailed off. "Where did you even find someone willing to fabricate such a thing?" Durex composite was found on Ceres and Ceres alone, and the Fleshweavers were known to guard their secrets jealously.

    "I have powerful friends in interesting places," Ket Sal winked. "Friends who would like very much for a Scion to owe them a favor. Yet the means matter not, in the end. She killed the cyborg Gaun in humiliating fashion. I would give her the world, were it within my power to do so." Then, his eyes flicked to Kore, who had been silently shadowing Jaheed the entire time. "Will this be to her liking?"

    "She was pretty bummed about the sword," Kore confirmed. "She''s going to be thrilled."

    "Well, then," Ket Sal grinned. "Perhaps-"

    And then, beside them, a hovercar skidded to a halt, and a Praetorian dismounted at once with a quarter of Centurions in tow.

    "Jaheed Vell," the captain thundered, crossing his fists in brief, truncated salute. "The Seventh-Venerated Emperor requests your immediate presence at his Empyreal hangar bay."

    "What?" Jaheed blurted out, eyes darting around. Ket Sal, too, frowned at that. "To what end?"

    "There is work to be done," the Praetorian said simply. "You are to come with us. Alone."

    "Might the man have a moment to collect himself?" Ket Sal interjected, stepping forward and facing the Praetorian without fear. The soldier just stared back, blank-faced and nonplussed. "This has been a long and difficult journey."

    "The Seventh-Venerated Emperor was explicit in his instructions," the Praetorian intoned. "Jaheed Vell will come with us, whether by volition or by force."

    Jaheed and Ket Sal exchanged a look ¨C and then, Jaheed glanced back and met Kore''s eyes. Silently, he stepped forward and pressed the bundle into her waiting arms.

    "You remember what we talked about?" he asked, quietly. Kore''s expression hardened, somewhat, and she gave a small nod.

    "Are you certain?" was all she asked.

    "After what he told me?" Jaheed glanced back at Ket Sal. "Absolutely. A man in my position must be decisive, Kore. And I have made my decision."

    "Then consider it done," Kore said. "We''ll be right here when you get back."

    "Thank you," Jaheed said, turning away.

    And then, well, that was that. Jaheed boarded the hovercar and was whisked away in the blink of an eye. Tarsus departed to requisition some tools and set to work repairing the Cloud Gorger. Diesch went to vanish into whatever alcohol-serving establishment he could find. Ket Sal, Ma¨ªt, and Ammit all left with warm wishes and fond farewells. And thus Kore was left quite entirely alone.

    Well, not quite entirely. With a sigh, the ex-rebel pulled her cap tight and ascended the gangplank once more, sword slung over her shoulder all the while.

    She and Sekhmet had work to do.

 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN // KATABASIS

    Madness. This was madness, plain and simple.

    Those were the sorts of thoughts that reverberated endlessly and over in Jaheed''s head as he sat in the sleek, featureless bay of the Jade Emperor''s personal shuttle The Ankh, with Anansi standing at the back and the Grand Architect himself sitting immediately opposite.

    They were here, Volsif had told him ¨C only once the shuttle was underway ¨C to pay a visit to the Se-dai monastery-moon of Ceres. And that was the truly insane part, even moreso than the fact Jaheed was sitting across from the ruler of all humanity. Because every man, woman, and child in the Domain knew that nobody went to Ceres. Nobody. No outsider had set foot upon the monastery grounds in centuries, and there had been only three such individuals to ever do so in recorded history. It was a place shrouded in shadow and secrets and that was exactly how the Se-dai ¨C or, more specifically, the Sovereign ¨C liked it.

    These traditions predated the very founding of the Great Domain. And so, naturally, the Jade Emperor was determined to break them.

    "They of Ceres exist without my knowledge, and therefore without my consent," Volsif had explained. "All will soon be within my hands; the monastery-moon is no exception." This, then, was to be an insult. A cracking open of a centuries-old door, a door that would no doubt later be kicked wide open. Jaheed''s presence, too, could only be intended as further insult to the Sovereign.

    Now, the last son of Vell was sitting in silence as the Volsif and Anansi spoke, and in the wake of his mounting terror he forced himself, instead, to study the characters of these two exceptionally powerful individuals.

    The Jade Emperor was at times almost like an overeager child. He almost never stopped talking and was always remarking upon one subject or another, often descending without warning into long philosophical diatribes or explorations. Yet he was just at home openly pondering the nature of the shuttle''s engines, or trying to determine via the grain of the onyx from whence their craft had been manufactured. He was insatiably curious, for an all-knowing deity, and in truth Jaheed found his presence utterly exhausting.

    And then, by contrast, there was Anansi ¨C the Sha-sur, who had removed her helmet to reveal a shaved head, a dark-skinned complexion, and a face that could only remind Jaheed of a knife. Prior to today, Jaheed had only known her as a silent, icily-calm extension of the Emperor''s will. Now, more or less ''alone'' with her liege, she spoke animatedly and at great length, readily debating the Jade Emperor on any number of topics. Jaheed was surprised to find that Anansi was less Ammit and more Sekhmet ¨C fiery, impassioned, and fiercely outspoken.

    "They''ll never fall in line with the rest of the system," Volsif declared, folding his arms. He wore at all times a half-smile, as though perpetually amused by Anansi''s vehement disagreements. It seemed, to Jaheed, that this was all mere sport to the Jade Emperor of mankind. "Study their history. Clear patterns emerge."

    "As always, Doss, you¡¯re caught up in your own predilections," Anansi replied sharply. "The Remaens have been assailed by war and famine for decades. They are a people grasping desperately for relief ¨C any relief, at any cost."

    "And as always, Anansi, you fail to take the long view. In the span of five centuries they would rebel again with full bellies and radical minds. You speak of temporary subjugation; I dream of an Empire everlasting. I deal in centuries, not decades."

    "Your overconfidence will be your downfall," Anansi stated dryly.

    "Oh ye of little faith," Volsif chuckled happily, drumming metal fingers against his metal thigh. Then his head turned, quite robotically, and Jaheed could not help but shudder involuntarily as the Emperor¡¯s gaze fell upon him. "Tell me your thoughts, son of Vell."

    ¡°My thoughts-?¡± Jaheed blurted out. At that moment in time his mind was so blank, so utterly barren and empty that it was hard to believe there had ever been any thought at all. ¡°Well, I¡­¡± And then, to Jaheed''s relief, this torture was cut short by an announcement over the shuttle''s intercom.

    "Approaching high orbit of Holy Ceres now," came the pilot''s voice. There was a substantial pause. "We are being ordered to turn and depart."

    "So it begins," Anansi growled, her expression hardening. "The posturing."

    "Please, Anansi," Volsif grinned, clasping his hands together. "This is all going to be spectacularly entertaining." His eyes flicked up, to a small camera mounted atop the ceiling. "Full speed ahead, Nergal," he ordered. "The Sovereign would not dare fire upon my vessel."

    Jaheed was not nearly as certain. No ship was permitted to fly anywhere near Ceres - the Ankh had to be crewed only by Se-dai, and her passengers were permitted no windows or viewports. No living outsider had ever even caught a glimpse of the moon before. And though it maintained no standing navy, Ceres was known to be festooned with a truly staggering arsenal of ground-to-space weaponry. Destroying the Ankh would be a trivial matter for the Sovereign, done with but a gesture ¨C much in the same way that the Emperor ordered death with but a flick of his wrist.

    And then, of course, there was the matter of what would happen when if they actually did manage to land. The Jade Emperor seemed perfectly confident in pitting Anansi and two Se-dai against an entire moon of their cousins, the idea of which struck Jaheed as utterly ludicrous. Reflexively, he looked now to Anansi and was surprised to see her expression rigid with scarcely-restrained anger. Her eyes were blazing bright, and her mouth was drawn into a thin line, and the muscles were bulging at the base of her neck. She looked as though she wanted to rip off the Ankh''s hatch and leap down to Ceres herself.

    Jaheed looked at her, his only line of defense from the moon full of angry Se-dai below, and thought to himself thus: You''d better be as good as they say you are.

    <hr>

    The elevator did not descend so much as it did plummet downwards, fired as it were from a gargantuan spring-coil loaded with enough force to flatten a SPHINX-class artillery tank. Yet for the men and women of the infamous planet-city Venus, this was all part and parcel.

    For the poor, anyway. The legendary artisans and forgemasters of Venus lived high above the metal planet''s surface, suspended in great branching disks interconnected by a vast spiderweb of tunnels and bridges. It was a staggeringly impressive sight to behold, a monument to the sheer power of man that rivaled even the megastructure-rings of Holy Mercury. But it was beneath the clouds that the lower class of Mars dwelled, all one-hundred-and-forty billion of them, and it was only via space-elevator that one might violently descend to meet them.

    Though there were no viewports or windows by which to see, Kore and Diesch could feel their ears popping every fifteen seconds or so, and all around them that coffin-esque excuse for an elevator was shaking and rattling like a thing possessed.

    "Void," Kore muttered, as a screw shook loose from somewhere up above and impacted against her left shoulder. The big woman had gone entirely pale and was currently clutching a nearby, useless little railing for dear life. Beside her, Diesch was characteristically silent, a fact that was irritating Kore off more and more with every passing minute. She had wanted to bring Sekhmet, but reason had instead prevailed ¨C the rogue Se-dai was, well, rouge, whereas Diesch was a near-total unknown and, more importantly, a man who had spent substantial time in the Venusian undercity. The only caveat? Despite his having warmed up decently well to Sekhmet and Tarsus, the Black Hound still treated Kore and Jaheed with open disdain. And now the two of them were stuck in this void-damned elevator together.

    Finally, the elevator came to a sharp and sudden halt, pitching both occupants directly into the air. While Diesch was mostly unharmed, Kore''s head impacted painfully against the ceiling and she hunched, letting loose a string of Callistan epithets that did nothing to dull the agony branching down from the back of her skull.

    "Shit-ass fucking elevator," Kore muttered angrily, rubbing at her head as the door creaked open and a vast world of sound and sight presented itself.

    This was the Venusian Undercity ¨C endless city blocks packed in as tight as humanly possible, extending some fifteen miles below the planet''s nominal surface. Black skyscrapers ran up like cliff walls in either direction, and every street corner was festooned with a myriad of neon-glowing signs that stood in stark contrast to the interminable darkness. The air itself was choked thick with smog and other, more illicit substances, and the immediate din and clamor of one hundred and forty billion people was such that Kore found herself momentarily overwhelmed.

    "Quit gawking," Diesch ordered, stepping forward and brushing her aside. "Let''s move."

    And so the two made their way into that tremendous crowd, Diesch blending in at once and Kore looked decidedly out of place. She had scrambled to find anything remotely resembling ''casual'' wear ¨C anything other than an Imperial uniform ¨C and had only been able to produce a pair of dark slacks and a grey cable-knit sweater. Already this was a rather rigid-looking outfit, but the effect was further exacerbated by the fresh scar and fresh-shaved undercut that gave the ex-rebel a distinctly warlike appearance. And then there was the matter of the tall, broad-shouldered body that put her several inches above the average eye-level on Venus.

    Sekhmet had tried to offer Kore some of her (stolen) clothes, only to quickly retract the offer and lament the fact that her girlfriend was ''built like a fucking warehouse,'' one of the most truly baffling comments Kore had ever received. And so, here Kore was, looking like an undercover greencoat complete with a melt-blade openly displayed on her hip. She had come to favor the weapon ¨C a fat-bladed six-inch knife with a well-worn hilt ¨C and had for several weeks of transit been practicing all manner of Se-dai knife-fighting techniques. If nothing else, Kore was confident that she could handle anything the undercity threw at her so long as she had that weapon in hand.

    Now, the two of them were forcing their way through a throng of merchant, partygoers, mercenaries, hecklers, and hagglers. "Of course I''m gawking," Kore snapped, already pissed off by the perilous elevator ride. "I''ve been looking at nothing but palace interiors or the Gorger for the past nine months."

    "Well, sort it out," was Diesch''s only reply as he forged a relentless path ahead. Kore, struggling to keep pace, had to resort to simply shouldering pedestrians aside, putting her bulky frame to her advantage. There were some comments, some complaints ¨C but all fell silent at the ex-rebel¡¯s hard-eyed glare.

    And yet even as she was glaring, she was also still gawking because all around her were sights the likes of which she had never even imagined. At this moment in time there was, in immediate eyeshot:

    - A man who stood nearly twenty feet tall on long, spindly mechanical legs, his face little more than a mass of red-glowing photoreceptors jammed into his hollowed-out skull.

    - A woman in a long robe, gas mask, and straw hat who had, slung over her shoulder, what appeared to be a bushel of severed human arms.

    - A grey-skinned man with patches of what appeared to be black mold growing across his exposed skin, leading by rattling chain a snarling, six-legged, slit-mouthed cat-beast.

    - And, finally, a trio of scantily-clad women in what appeared to be a highly sexualized version of traditional Se-dai armor, overtop which a neon sign proudly proclaimed COME AND SEE THE LEGENDARY WHORES OF CERES

    At the last one, Kore actually laughed out loud, and in that moment she wanted nothing more in the whole universe for Sekhmet to be here and to see this.

    But Kore, of course, was alone, and so she just followed Diesch and said nothing.

    <hr>

    The Son of Vell stood now at the Emperor''s left hand and found himself staring at a place from out of time.

    Ceres¡¯ version of a hangar looked moreso like an ancient cathedral, a palace of gorgeous and masterfully-crafted marble architecture replete with stunningly elaborate stained-glass windows through which rays of distorted sun filtered through. The place was lit by braziers that hung, blazing, from gilded chandeliers, and the floor beneath their feet was perhaps the most beautiful mosaic Jaheed had ever laid eyes upon.

    "Garish, overwrought, and deeply self-important," the Jade Emperor remarked openly, as he descended the ramp with hands clasped behind his back and a slight curl to his upper lip. He wore a simple black-and-white robe and a circlet of pure jade. Beside him marched Anansi in perfect lock-step and contrite, respectful Jaheed in a pale imitation. Behind them loomed the Se-dai NERGAL and FREYJA, unhelmeted just as Anansi was. Jaheed recognized them now as the Se-dai who had guarded the Emperor in Anansi''s absence.

    At any rate, those were the first words the Emperor had chosen upon being one of the only outsiders to ever set foot upon the sacred monastery-moon. Jaheed wondered then, to himself, just how long it would be before the Sovereign decided to have them all killed.

    "Just as I described," Anansi agreed, at an equally blatant volume.

    Jaheed, meanwhile, was working overtime to convey as much silent reverence as he possibly could. He felt like¨Cnay, he was a profound outsider, an interloper who had been dragged along for little more than to deepen the insult against Ceres'' immortal rulers. He was by a significant margin the least important and most expendable person here.

    Waiting for them, as the ramp descended, were twenty Se-dai standing at rigid attention, flanked on all sides by nearly a hundred men in neat-pressed purple uniforms. Trailing either side, circling slowly, were unnaturally tall figures draped in dark robes, their faces obscured by orbs of blank onyx as they paced, some with canisters trailing faint incense and some with multi-pronged banners the significance of which that Jaheed could not even begin to guess at. At the helm of the entire procession stood two individuals ¨C the first a hunched old man wearing a sardonically-smiling gold mask and a long, flowing red-and-silver robe. From his neck there hung what must have been a hundred different pendants. The second was an imposing Se-dai whose black armor sported a single streak of byzantium-purple paint. Her auburn hair was tied back into a tight and violent ponytail, and her countenance was marred by a vertical scar about her right eye. Her nameplate read LOKI, and she was glaring at Anansi with open contempt.

    Before anyone could speak further, another of the Se-dai ¨C V¨¡YU ¨C burst from the crowd, her armored boots impacting loudly against the floor as she barked out "Anansi! Comment oses-tu montrer ton visage ici? J''ai promis que je d¨¦couperais la chair de tes os!"

    "Ah. An old rival," The Jade Emperor remarked, for Jaheed''s benefit, as the translator-unit in the Acolyte''s ear relayed to him more or less the same. "Anansi was never meant to be Sha-sur, after all. It caused quite a stir when I chose her to serve at my side." As he was speaking, V¨¡yu was reaching for her back and withdrawing a cruel-looking sickle. Her Ker-sot. The incensed Se-dai thrust the weapon forward in accusation and pounded her fist twice against her breastplate. Her eyes were glowing bright.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    "[I swear by the old blood,]" V¨¡yu declared, her words thick with venom. "[You shall not leave Ceres alive.]"

    Anansi''s eyes, by contrast, remained cool and dim, and her only response was to glance over at her Emperor in silent query.

    The Emperor did not say a word. He just smiled and gave a small, two-fingered flick of his left wrist.

    Instantly, Anansi was storming forwards as though possessed by a surge of electricity. Her eyes were narrow slits and her mouth was drawn to a thin line as she reached up and undid the clasp, allowing her signature cloak to fall slowly and silently to the ground.

    Now, for the first time, Jaheed was actually getting a good look at the armor of the Sha-sur. It was at once beautiful and understated, comprised of interlocking red plates interposed with lines of solid black, and the vividness of that ruby coating served only to further contrast Anansi''s pitch-dark skin. It made for an impressive and imposing shell indeed.

    Wordlessly, Anansi unsheathed twin blades ¨C flat, angular weapons at the crossroads of dagger and shortsword, each roughly a foot long and each held in a backwards-handed grip. And Jaheed had a sudden feeling of grave and dire import as Anansi reached forwards and gestured with one of her implements.

    "[Come, then,]" Anansi said flatly. "[Die at the hands of The New Blood.]" Le Sang Neuf, words the importance of which Jaheed could not possibly have guessed.

    At that, V¨¡yu let out a fierce yell and shot forwards, just as Jaheed had seen Sekhmet do twice before. But Anansi just stood still, met the charge head-on ¨C and then the two were clashing not at a breakneck pace but slow and methodical as Anansi immediately ground her cousin to a halt. And the two fought for perhaps thirty furious seconds before Anansi forced the sickle aside, gouged open V¨¡yu¡¯s stomach, circled behind her, crunched the other woman''s knee beneath her boot, and finally ¨C with a hateful, impatient snarl ¨C drove one blade through V¨¡yu¡¯s ear and the other through the base of her skull.

    Anansi jerked her blades free, and V¨¡yu¡¯s head simply exploded into a combination of grey brain matter, sparking bits of circuitry, and a spray of steaming aquamarine fluid. The decapitated Se-dai fell to her knees with a resounding thud and then slumped over, dead as history.

    "[I will not weep for you, cousin,]" Anansi spat, drying off one blade in the crook of her arm, then another. Quietly, Freyja and Nergal were whispering the same. And Jaheed, all the while, was astonished. This had been nothing like the fight between Sekhmet and Gaun. Anansi had patently dismantled her opponent, methodically closing off her options one by one until there was nothing V¨¡yu could do but lose. He had just watched one of the mythical, invincible Blessed Executioners killed like it was nothing ¨C and this, he understood, was what real, permanent death looked like for a Se-dai. No three bullets to the head, as Kore had administered, but a complete and total obliteration of the brain.

    For a moment there was a reverent, sacrosanct silence. And then of course it was Volsif who broke it.

    "Fine work as always, Anansi," the Jade Emperor said, lightly applauding, and Anansi''s only response was to cross her arms in salute before sheathing her blades and returning at once to his side. "An entertaining spectacle indeed." Jaheed could only surmise, then, that this sort of thing was a regular and expected occurrence amongst the Se-dai, for there were no further threats or acts of violence amongst Anansi¡¯s cousins. A quartet of men stepped forward to drag away the body and that was that.

    "Now, then," the Emperor said, turning to face the gathered assembly. "I shall be bade a proper welome.¡±

    At that, every single man and woman of Ceres ¨C even Loki, who was still glaring daggers at Anansi ¨C dropped to one knee as though they had been physically forced and bowed their heads, touching two fingers to their foreheads in a display of abject reverence. Only the Emperor and his retinue remained standing, the former now striding forward with the effortless confidence of a man who felt, in no uncertain terms, that he owned the place. Beside him, Jaheed was under no such illusions, but nevertheless he understood that in this moment he was but an extension of the Grand Architect.

    "[I bid you welcome to the Most Holy and Blessed Warrior-Monastery of Magnificent Ceres, may the light shine upon it evermore,]" the masked man intoned, his voice heavily accented. "[Welcome, O Celestial Seraphic Empyreal Seventh-Blessed Panoptic God-Emperor Doss Ken Vessholt Tefand Disnal El Errendekes Sen Sorad Volsif.]"

    "[The Grand Architect,]" the towering black figures intoned as one. Their voices were quite decidedly inhuman and came out as a sort of combined gurgle. "[The Panoptic Eye. The Hand That Encloses All.]"

    "The very same," the Emperor smiled, somewhat condescendingly. "It is a sad day, indeed, when the Sovereign does not deign to make an appearance before their Master."

    "[The Sovereign is in poor health,]" the masked man explained, somewhat uncertainly, after a moment¡¯s hesitation. The people of Ceres were determined to stick to the proper order of ceremony and Volsif, it seemed, was determined to break it. "[They can no longer travel beyond the bound of the Inner Sanctum.]"

    "A pity," Volsif remarked, without any pity at all.

    "[Shall we go and see him, O Seventh-Blessed Emperor?]" asked a new voice ¨C the voice of Loki, the impressive-looking Se-dai with the vivid scar. Volsif''s eyes flicked to the side, then, and he looked her over for a long time before responding.

    "You," he noted, finally. ¡°The woman who was to be Sha-sur, now the Sovereign''s favored pet. How amusing.¡± Loki stared ahead and said nothing. "No, we shall not." The Emperor turned to face them all, men and women alike, and gestured with two fingers for the lot of them to rise. "I should very much like a tour of your facilities, instead. I wish to see your sparring grounds, your sacred temples, your Fleshweavers at work. And, perhaps most eagerly..." His eyes glittered dangerously. "I wish to see a Birth."

    It was as though all air had been sucked from the room.

    "[None are permitted-]" Loki blurted out, rising sharply to her feet ¨C but then, without a sound, Anansi''s wrist-blade was at her neck. And Jaheed could only observe in helpless terror as Loki''s head turned, slow and reptilian, to regard the woman to whom she had displayed such visible malice.

    "[Cousin,]" Loki said, coldly. The familial term was all but ground out from between gritted teeth.

    "[Cousin,]" Anansi growled back, matching and perhaps even exceeding Loki¡¯s bile. "[How often you find yourself at the edge of my blade.]" And with that, the two parted, each withdrawing slowly like cats on the prowl. For a moment there was a taut line of invisible tension between the two Se-dai ¨C and then Volsif snapped his fingers, and Jaheed was grateful to see the line snapped at once.

    "You belong to me," the Jade Emperor reminded them, and immediately both Anansi and Loki pressed hands to foreheads in salute. "For the moment, it is my will that you both remain alive. And besides-" he turned to the masked man, gave a metal-toothed smile. "There is still so much to see."

    <hr>

    FAT FARRAK''S - that was the name of the dive bar/nightclub/''restaurant'' in which Kore and Diesch now found themselves. The two were seated in a cushioned booth at the very far corner of the establishment, beers and cigarettes in hand as they reclined and said very little. All around them, dark-purple lights were strobing and deafening bass was throbbing and hundreds of people danced and thrashed and shouted and laughed and screamed and drank/snorted/injected and the whole thing was such a wild assault of sight and sound that Kore was quite decidedly on edge.

    And here it was that they waited. And waited. And waited.

    "What if he doesn''t show?" Kore remarked, finally, which was the equivalent of an are we almost there yet on a road trip wherein one was very obviously not almost there. It was the kind of useless thing that everyone thought and nobody ever needed to say but¨Cby the void, she was bored out of her skull. Any conversation was better than this.

    "Ket Sal said he''d be here," was all Diesch gave her in response. Which was a fair response, though it was far from what Kore had wanted and had been spoken to her with an undue level of malice. And so Kore stewed, drank her beer, ordered another, drank that too, and fiddled with the knife on her hip all the while.

    Finally, she turned to Diesch and asked, quite bluntly, "Can we talk?" It was less of a question and more of a demand, really.

    "You can talk," came the icy reply. The Black Hound passed a cigarette between his lips. "I guess I¡¯m stuck listening."

    "Look, I''m sorry," Kore blurted out, with perhaps a bit more vehemence than intended. Diesch regarded her dryly. "Is that what you want to hear? Because I really, truly am. I''m sorry for lying to you, Abel. And I know you have every right to be upset."

    "Uh huh," Diesch grunted, taking another drag. Kore''s eyes narrowed. Her ire was rising by the minute. Void, why did he have to make this so fucking hard?

    "But what I don''t understand," Kore pressed, her voice growing louder, "is how you get off playing the poor-little-victim routine when me and Jaheed saved Proxima!"

    That, finally, got a reaction out of him. Diesch''s mechanical fingers snapped the cigarette in two and his eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. "What did you just say to me?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

    "Oh, grow up," Kore scoffed, rolling her eyes. She had been scared of him, in Proxima ¨C but the Kore of today was leagues ahead of those days, now. "You''re not stupid. Sorrel was in bed with the Crimson Emir, how''d you think that was gonna go?"

    "I knew nothing about that-" Diesch hissed.

    "Sure, I get that!" Kore exclaimed. "And now you do know ¨C so what the fuck are you angry at me for? Your beloved duke was gonna hand your people over to an omnicidal maniac who woulda glassed Proxima just like he has two-dozen other poor fuckers. I did you a favor!"

    "Did me a favor?!" Diesch thundered, planting his hands and rising halfway from his seat. His eyes were wide open, now. "That''s how you see this?!"

    "What else would you call it?" Kore demanded, folding her arms. She watched as Diesch¡¯s face contorted with livid, purpling rage.

    "You did your fucking job," the Black Hound snarled, jabbing a finger against the table. "Don''t you dare preach to me about ¡®saving Proxima¡¯ or any other high-minded idealistic bullshit. You have zero ideology, Kore. You are an extension of a powerful man with powerful ambitions and that is all there is to it. You didn''t think for a second about the morality of what you were doing ¨C it was just the job, and so you just did the job."

    "You don''t know a thing about me," Kore spat, suddenly on the defensive. By the fucking void it was loud in here.

    "My entire job is studying human behavior," Diesch shot back. "And you''re such a two-dimensional shade of a human being that it makes me genuinely sad. You are in no way complicated and in no way an enigma, least of all to me!"

    "Oh, that''s it, huh? You got me all figured out?" Kore demanded, throwing up her hands. She was well on her way to just hurling her bottle into his condescending, martyr-complex, holier-than-thou fucking face. "Did you ever tell my girlfriend any of that? Y''know, the woman you''re all buddy-buddy with? You ever try and explain to Sekhmet that the love of her life is apparently a shallow voiddamned psychopath?"

    "I''ve tried," Diesch snapped, leaning over the table now. "But if you think the fact that poor woman is entirely co-dependent on you is some kind of endorsement-"

    "Hey," an attractive young man in a half-unbuttoned shirt said, sliding up next to Kore and flashing her an effortless grin. "Is this guy bothering-"

    "Step back or I will knock your fuckin'' teeth out," Kore snarled, and the man physically jumped back, eyes wide. Kore gave him a glare that could melt through solid Durex and the interloper simply vanished, disappearing into the writhing throng lest he remain the subject of her ire for even a moment longer. And after that, Kore and Diesch were dead silent, neither one willing to meet the other''s eyes ¨C until the Black Hound visibly straightened and declared, loudly:

    ¡°That''s him."

    And indeed it was. Sitting there at the bar, sandwiched between a four-armed woman and what appeared to be a metal skeleton, was a man with orange-colored hair and a bright-yellow suit jacket. Ten Na-Kath, the only reason that Kore was even in this shithole of a club tonight.

    Kore and Diesch were on their feet in an instant. Seconds later they were both at the bar, slipping the polymelic woman and the synth-steel construct each a wad of credit notes ¨C and promptly instructing them to get lost. Now, Jaheed¡¯s agents were sitting on either side of Na-Kath, both staring straight ahead with drinks in hand. Na-Kath, who was currently pretending not to have noticed any of this.

    "Evening," Kore said, tilting her glass. Already, her anger was cooling. There was only the objective after all. Only the task at hand, at which Kore would excel, because Kore always excelled. Because Kore was good at her job.

    "It is indeed," Na-Kath observed dryly. He was a wiry sort of man, his face narrow and somewhere between roguish and ratlike. His eyes flicked to her, now ¨C eyes that were, if not necessarily intelligent, starkly cunning and clever. Kore disliked him immediately. "Do I know you?"

    "You do not," Diesch answered.

    "Okay," Na-Kath folded his hands, glancing now between the two interlopers. "Then might I ask what this is about?"

    "We''d like to speak to your friend," Kore said ¨C and then Na-Kath was moving to get up, and then the barrel of Diesch''s revolver was pressing into his side.

    "I wouldn''t," Diesch cautioned.

    Na-Kath didn''t.

    "I have a lot of friends," Na-Kath said, slowly, after a long moment. "You''ll have to be more specific."

    "I think you know exactly who," Kore nodded, mostly to herself. "Call him, please." Na-Kath hesitated. Kore leaned forward, made her voice low and threatening. Fixed him with her hardest stare. ¡°First time, I¡¯m asking nicely. Second will be another thing entirely.¡±

    "And what should I tell him, exactly?" Na-Kath asked, remarkably calm under his present circumstances. Clearly this was far from his first time under the gun.

    "Tell him that we have a vast sum of money with us, and that we would like to have a conversation in person, please."

    Na-Kath put a finger to his earpiece and did just that.

    <hr>

    Jaheed, at that exact moment, was seeing things that he knew, with every fiber of his being, he should never have been allowed to see.

    He was now but a single participant in the hundred-strong retinue trailing behind Emperor Volsif XCVII and Arch-Bishop Grehmeel Derast Xenet; a contingent of armored Se-dai and unarmored attendants and those strange, loping black things that uttered occasional phrases the meanings of which Jaheed¡¯s translator could not parse. And as this great train descended deeper and deeper into the monastery-moon, the architecture was growing grander and more elaborate by the minute. It was a truly magnificent work of art, all of it, and it was little wonder that construction had begun before even the foundation of the Great Domain. There was some form of masterpiece waiting at quite literally every turn.

    All the while, Jaheed was learning a great deal by way of mouth shut and ears open. He had come to surmise that while the women of Ceres were exclusively warriors, the men served virtually every other role ¨C cooking, cleaning, construction, engineering, medicine, and most importantly ruling. It was men like Bishop Xenet who clearly held the true bulk of the power on Ceres, and who acted as key religious figures in the myriad rituals of the monastery-moon.

    The entire thing, really, was shrouded in a great deal more religion and mysticism than Jaheed would have expected, though he supposed such things were part and parcel for a people that had been isolated for millennia. Yet the three Se-dai he knew ¨C Sekhmet, Ammit, and now Anansi ¨C were, in terms of personality and demeanor, all decidedly the opposite of everything he was seeing here. None held anything in any particularly high spiritual reverence, and if anything, all three had shown their homeworld only disapproval and disdain. Anansi herself was harshest in her criticism, looking at all times like she wanted to unsheathe her blades and start the killing anew.

    There was a stark difference, then, between the Se-dai of Ceres and the Se-dai of the Great Domain. And indeed, Anansi and Nergal and Freyja were visibly a world apart from their cousins. Even their posture and movements were subtly different, and they did not hesitate to stand at a distance from the rest of their peers.

    And Volsif? The Jade Emperor was having a grand time, eye roving constant and hungry over sights long unseen, his lips in constant motion as he loosed an unending stream of queries and observations. He was wringing Xenet like a rag, siphoning from him every drop of knowledge he could get his hands on. Ravenous ¨C that was the word that came to Jaheed¡¯s mind. And while the Bishop was always respectful, there was a clear reticence behind that masked face ¨C reticence that made Jaheed think of the mysterious Sovereign, whom Volsif was currently either avoiding or simply further insulting. He got the clear distinct impression that the Sovereign would have shown Volsif no such deference.

    They came to a halt outside a portal of sorts, a vast circular opening barred, at current, by a twisting sheath of layered metal embossed with thousands of delicate, swirling designs. Standing guard outside were four additional masked Se-dai, all with two-pronged spears in hand. Unlike the others, these did not kneel in the presence of the Emperor, nor did they even offer salute. They were as statues, sentinel and unmoving.

    "[Seventh-Blessed Emperor Volsif,]" Xenet began, apropos of nothing, wringing his gnarled hands together as he spoke. His nails were all nearly a full inch in length. "[If I may. Ahead lies a sacred place, one forbidden to all but the highest echelons of the Holy Se-dai order. To tread further would be...]" He trailed off, and then said in a voice Jaheed had not once heard him use: "[You are making a mistake.]"

    Jaheed knew, of course, exactly what was coming. He blinked, and then Anansi was at the Bishop''s side ¨C void, she made even Sekhmet look sluggish ¨C with one gauntleted hand resting firmly upon his shoulder. And the Jade Emperor turned now, with eyes glittering and lip curled, and Xenet seemed to almost physically wither beneath that emerald gaze.

    Loki''s wrist-blades were fully extended. Freyja and Nergal were both watching her closely.

    "Don''t ever speak casually to me, you animal," the Emperor snarled. "I do not make mistakes."

    "[L-Lord Emperor,]" Xenet stuttered, the fight having fled entirely from his body. "[I only-you must understand, to step any further would be heresy!]"

    "I am the dogma, you insipid little speck," Volsif spat. "Nothing is heresy when carried out at the behest of a living god. I shall remind you all, now, that everything on this moon is mine. Every centimeter of brick and metal and flesh and bone and thought belongs to me. And, right now," his gleaming eyes flicked to the side, "my door is going to open, and I am going to venture deeper into my monastery. This is my will, and thus it is made reality."

    The Jade Emperor snapped his fingers ¨C and like magic, the embossed metal parted like a blooming flower to reveal a narrow, shadowy, torch-lit passage on the other side. Beside him, Jaheed felt Freyja tense. There was a ripple through all the female Se-dai, in fact, like the shiver one gets in the moment just before a fight. He peered over the shoulder of a male attendant to see Anansi, her eyes narrowed to slits and her jaw locked tight. Jaheed saw Volsif glance back at his bodyguard for just a moment ¨C and then he saw, too, the subtle nod she gave the Emperor in return.

    "Well, then," the Emperor smiled, clasping metal hands together. His ire, it seemed, had already been discarded. "Let us descend."

    A fitting choice of words, Jaheed thought bitterly, to himself. And so he crossed the Rubicon.

 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN // LIBERTèŒ…!

    "He''s waiting for you in the alley, around back," Na-Kath said, after roughly twenty minutes of sitting in silence. By this point he looked very much like a man who wanted to be home, for whom all this was an annoyance and, more to the point, quite thoroughly beneath him. Kore and Diesch exchanged a glance.

    "That true?" Kore asked, flatly. The real question, posed to Diesch, was is he lying?

    "Of course it is," Na-Kath said, glancing away. Behind him, Diesch gave her a look explicitly conveying that yes, he absolutely is.

    "Alright," Kore grunted, rapping her knuckles twice on the bar and rising to her feet. "I¡¯m gonna step out for a minute. Don¡¯t worry, Na-Kath, my friend here is gonna keep you company. Varras," she turned to Diesch, using the agreed-upon fake name, "shoot him if he tries to run."

    "If you insist," Diesch replied, with a loud yawn. He reached over, put a mechanical arm around Na-Kath''s back, and gave the other man a wide smile. It was all for show, of course, but it was also all rather convincing.

    Waiting for Kore outside was more or less what she''d expected. Four rough-looking men, all with las-pistols holstered on their belts. They turned to her at once, and in each of their faces there was the obvious and unspoken promise of physical violence soon to come.

    At the far end of the alley, a sleek black hovercar was idling silently. Watching. The man Kore wanted to see, then. Which meant the only thing between Kore and her objective was the four men cracking knuckles and muttering threats.

    They were confident, of course.

    They shouldn''t have been.

    At this point in time Kore could nearly have qualified for SUPERKOMMANDO-rating, which would put her on par with one of the Emperor''s Liquidators. She had just spent the last seven weeks sparring with a Se-dai. She also had weight and height on her side and, perhaps most importantly, she was in an uncharacteristically foul mood. All these poor sods had on their side was numbers.

    "Come on, then," Kore said, dropping her cigarette and crushing it beneath her boot. "Ain''t got all night."

    The first one to step up ¨C a brick-faced man with a tattoo running up his neck ¨C feinted left, then swung right. Kore sidestepped and jabbed him hard in the side, then simply grabbed his face and slammed his head against the side of the nearest dumpster. The man spasmed, went limp, and she dropped him in similar fashion to her cigarette just moments ago.

    ¡°Next,¡± she grunted.

    The other three saw this, and were wise to come at her all at once. Kore put up her arms like a boxer, planted her feet, and held firm ¨C enduring a storm of punches and kicks before, with a snarl, she burst forward and dislocated the center man''s jaw with a titanic right hook.

    She stepped in between her two remaining opponents, blocked one punch, took another to the cheek, spat out a glob of blood and stomped down on the closest foot. Hearing the cry of pain that she wanted, she rounded on the uninjured man and pummeled his chest with one, two, three rapid-fire jabs that left him on his knees, retching and vomiting.

    Then, she turned to her remaining opponent ¨C the man with the broken foot, who was howling invectives and fumbling for his las-pistol ¨C and battered his weapon away, then silenced his curses with a left-hand chop to the throat. He, too, crumpled like all the rest, eyes wide as he gasped desperately for air.

    Kore tasted blood; there was a small trickle running down from one of her nostrils. She reached up and wiped it away with a thumb and a snarl. Ahead, the hovercar door opened ¨C and out stepped a true giant of a man, one almost certainly the beneficiary of vat-grown muscles and clad in a tight-fitting starch-white suit. He pushed a pair of circular glasses up his nose and rumbled, apropos of nothing, "That''s my nephew."

    Kore turned to see the man whose head had made covenant with the dumpster. "Your nephew throws a shitty punch," she told him.

    He surged forward with alarming speed and Kore put up her fists once more. This time, she was moving agile and light, darting and ducking around brick-fisted swings that tore violently through the empty air. But the big man was fast, and admittedly the big man was good and so Kore took a hammer-blow to the face that nearly put her flat on the ground, then felt sausage-thick fingers close right around her throat and squeeze. She watched with dimming vision as the big man cocked his other fist back ¨C and then she remembered exactly what Sekhmet had taught her to do, in this position.

    She put both hands on his wrist, wrenched, snapped his arm at the elbow, then spun about and swept his legs out from under him. The big man¡¯s weight went from strength to weakness as he went down hard, and even as he was rising back to his feet with a furious growl it was already far too late. Kore grabbed him by the collar, yanked him close, and beat him savagely ¨C eight, nine, ten hits and finally he went limp, his face now thoroughly unrecognizable as Kore discarded him in much the same way she had his nephew.

    Kore stomped his glasses into the pavement as she stormed forward, all the while wrenching her nose back into place with a painful crunch. The hovercar, still, was silent and unmoving. Kore locked eyes with her own angry reflection as she stopped just outside the door and rapped one bloody-knuckled fist against the window.

    "Roll it down," she ordered. "Or I''m coming in."

    The window rolled down in short order. And so Kore was now face-to-face with a slack-jawed, glassy-eyed, portly woman in a three-piece suit. Attached to the side of her skull like a barnacle was a small black box, one that sported a trio of blinking lights. She was, Kore realized, a golem ¨C a bought-and-paid-for cadaver now being piloted by a sentient artificial intelligence program. This sort of ghoulishness was entirely foreign to a word like Callisto and all but part and parcel to a place like the Venusian undercity. On any other night, in any other mood, Kore might well have been surprised or revolted.

    "Yes?" the woman slurred, quite impatiently. And Kore saw now that, just below the window, the corpse was pressing a smooth-barreled disruptor pistol against the door. Kore arched an eyebrow and eyed the weapon with blatant disinterest.

    "You want my money or not?" Kore demanded. The corpse cocked its head, like a lizard. There was no such thing as subconscious body language, not for a creature bereft of any subconscious at all. It was all a careful and calculated gesture.

    "What for?" it asked, through dead lips. Terse, for an AI.

    "A meeting with the Mondat," Kore said, as though it were the most casual thing in the world. And then the word was out, having slipped fully from her lips. It was real, now. She had spoken that name and now it was really going to happen.

    "You cannot just-"

    "I have it on the personal guarantee of a fucking Scion that you most certainly can arrange for that meeting," Kore growled, her patience completely and utterly shot to hell. "I¡¯m not playing this game with you. Just make the voiddamned call already." She reached into her pocket ¨C fished out a credit chit worth more than she had ever held in her life ¨C and tossed it into the backseat. "I''ll be at the bar."

    And so, the ex-rebel stepped over the heap of groaning and unconscious men and returned to the world of overpowering sight and sound ¨C this time with a sore jaw and a stabbing headache.

    <hr>

    A howl the likes of which Jaheed could never have imagined ¨C not even in his deepest, most vivid nightmares ¨C split the air above him, its point of origin thankfully far in the distance.

    Many of the Ceresian retinue had refused to enter; it was now only Volsif and his Se-dai accompanied by Xenet, Loki, and five more of her number. And, of course, there were still those loping black figures, still swinging incense and still gurgling bizarre, terrible nonsense. This was the group that watched now as flesh bound itself to Durex, as skeins of muscle and tendon arced like delicate ribbons through the air. At either side of the teal skeleton there was a man in a grinning mask, each directing the flesh by means of a thin metal wand. They wove nerve and sinew together in silent harmony, slowly and gracefully stitching together a horrid masterpiece of living tissue.

    Another howl rang out ¨C louder, this time. Freyja moved closer to Nergal and the two clasped hands, tight, and Jaheed heard Nergal say so quietly that only he could hear: "[Endure, my love. Soon it will all come to end.]"

    Freyja just gave a tight nod. Jaheed saw this and said nothing.

    Every one of the Se-dai, in fact, were visibly uncomfortable, their bodies all vibrating with a subtle yet apparent tension. Even Loki looked ill-at-ease, her eyes darting to and fro in a state of perpetual alarm. Yet Anansi stood apart from them all and simply watched, by Volsif''s side, with jaw clenched tight. The others, Jaheed could clearly see, were terrified beyond all belief. But oh, Anansi was far from afraid.

    Anansi was furious.

    Volsif leaned over, whispered something in her ear that Jaheed couldn''t make out ¨C and then he turned to Xenet with an easy smile, one that contrasted almost inappropriately with the prevailing mood. Always the iconoclast, Volsif. Always the one against the tide.

    "The time of the Birth draws near," the Jade Emperor said. How he could possibly have known such a thing was a mystery to Jaheed ¨C and yet it was no question, but a statement of fact.

    "[It does, Blessed One,]" Xenet agreed, bowing his head. The masked Bishop seemed to be the only one comfortable here, amidst the den of the Fleshweavers, and there was tangible excitement in his voice. "[Shall we make haste?]"

    "We shall," the Emperor decreed. And thus it was so.

    The retinue descended further and further, through workshops of skin and muscle and bone, past countless half-built Se-dai hanging like dead meat from the ceiling above. The deeper they went, the stronger the smell of the incense became, until Jaheed could swear his vision was beginning to swim. He saw things that he would never forget, on that journey. He also saw things that his mind banished from memory at once, things that his subconscious worked overtime to protect him from. All around him, the Se-dai ¨C usually as smooth and flowing as water ¨C were moving rough and jerkily, as though having to physically force their bodies forwards. Countless times he saw wrist-blades begin to extend, only to be quickly and shamefully retracted. Not once did Nergal and Freyja ever release one another''s hands.

    "[Not far, now, O Celestial God-Emperor,]" Xenet was saying, bidding the others to follow along. He was all but giddy. "[Not far at all.]" The Jade Emperor said not a word ¨C he just smiled to himself, as though this were all some grand amusement, and followed. And so, after what felt like a dreaming eternity, Volsif and his retinue arrived in a place that could only be described as a womb.

    It was cramped, dark, and oppressively hot. The retinue were crowded in amongst two dozen of the long-limbed creatures and three Bishops outfitted in similar masked finery to Xenet. The Se-dai did not enter; save for Anansi, all silently chose to wait outside. That was a threshold they would not ¨C perhaps could not ¨C cross.

    Dangling like a slumbering chiroptera from the ceiling above was an opaque sack of some milky fluid, festooned with hundreds of wires and tubes. They resembled at once both a system of nervous and a cluster of multicolored intestines. And inside that false womb, faintly visible, was the outline of a human being. Of a Se-dai, asleep yet soon to be born.

    The Emperor was watching in rapt attention, hands clasped behind his back. Beside him, Anansi was a live wire, and all save for the Emperor himself kept her at a far distance. It had seemed a physical effort for her to enter this womblike chamber; now, it seemed it was taking every ounce of her discipline to remain still.

    The air was humming. No ¨C throbbing, like the beat of some alien heart. Jaheed could swear that the floor was undulating beneath his feet. It was as though he were inside the stomach of some great, colossal thing, of a beast that had slumbered for so long but was now, finally, beginning to stir. To wake.

    Bishop Xenet took two steps forward - spread his arms wide - and from behind his mask there emanated a hoarse cry, one that was joined in unison by the gurgling figures and Bishops alike.

    "[Loooooooooooooove,]" Xenet warbled. The others chorused in turn. "[Come to me, my love. Come, daughter of Ceres.]"

    "[Come,]" they echoed. The sack began to spasm and tremble, and all present fell to their knees in silent prostration, save for Volsif and Anansi. Jaheed, kneeling as well at the behest of some unknown compulsion, turned to see that there were long streaks of tears running down Anansi''s face.

    "Da rek!" Xenet intoned. There was no translation. "Da fal she ka!" His words were repeated in turn.

    "Se-dai!"

    "Se-dai!"

    "Se-dai!"

    "Se-dai!"

    And then the womb split, and with a gush of yellow-white fluid and an eyewatering smell the newborn Se-dai was dislodged, falling for what felt like a frozen eternity before hitting the floor with an impact that shook the very foundations of that terrible subterranean chamber. Anansi''s chest and shoulders were heaving wildly with every breath. Her eyes were floodlights. She stood there pinned like a deer, like prey ¨C no stoic display of discipline, now. Just an animal unable to run.

    The newborn whimpered.

    She was but a huddled mass of trembling flesh, naked save for a coating of translucent sallow fluid. Her eyes were blinking rapidly on-and-off, on-and-off, and for a moment she could manage only a string of mewling, abortive noises. And at the far back of his reeling mind Jaheed understood that these were cries for help.

    Bishop Xenet stepped forward, lowered himself to one knee, and graciously extended a hand. "Welcome to the world," he told her.

    The newborn''s eyes went wide as saucers and then came a sound no human being could ever have made, not in ten thousand years of evolution. To call it a scream, a howl, a shriek ¨C none of these words would do that sound justice. Her mouth hung impossibly wide and she leapt back, smashing so hard against the wall that the stone actually cracked and then she was wailing in pain, her back now thoroughly bloodied. She tried to stand, stomped with incredible force, then immediately buckled and collapsed to a weeping, shrieking heap. Jaheed watched and did not move ¨C could not possibly have moved ¨C as the newborn dragged herself to the nearest corner and curled into a ball, staring out at all present with blazing, terrified eyes. And she screamed, of course. The screaming never stopped and somehow Jaheed knew that the screaming would not stop for a long, long time.

    Abruptly, Anansi turned to leave, her heels clicking sharply against the granite as she stormed out without a word. Her expression was unreadable; Jaheed dared not stare too closely. And the Emperor, all the while, was observing the newborn closely. The smile had vanished from his face.

    Later, when they were all standing on the other side of that wretched chamber, Bishop Xenet explained. "[It will take twenty years for her to become a full-blooded Se-dai. She will spend much of it as an infant in an adult''s body, her mind filled with knowledge she has not the means to interpret or understand.]" He paused, then added: "[We will blot out the unpleasant memories of her ¡®childhood¡¯, in time. Not one Se-dai here can truly recall the moment of their birth, though a puzzling number claim otherwise. They are born fighters, after all. They love to be right,]" Jaheed could hear the smile, behind his mask, ¡°[and they love for us to be wrong. Thus is the nature of things.]¡±

    Anansi was glaring sheer murder at the Bishop, though she remained as always the perfect and obedient sentinel. Jaheed, for his part, was still shaking quite badly. He loathed everyone, then, with a surge of emotion he had not felt since the last days of Callisto. He loathed Ceres and he loathed the Great Domain and he loathed the Sovereign and perhaps most of all he loathed the Jade Emperor for bringing him to see such a thing. The vivid details of these memories would fade, in time, as would the fires of these passions. But in that moment Jaheed was begging, in the depths of his heart, for Anansi to step forward and rip Bishop Xenet''s throat out. What he had just witnessed offended and assaulted his senses on every comprehensible level.

    "You enjoy your work," Volsif said. It was, again, not a question. Just a simple declaration of fact.

    "[I must confess, Lord Emperor, that I do feel a certain patriarchal bond with the newborn,]" Xenet admitted. "[It is a beautiful thing, that which we do. Here, in the depths of these hallowed grounds, we carry out traditions the likes of which have existed for millennia. I follow in the footsteps of two-hundred-and-ninety-seven Bishop Xenets before me.]"

    Off to the side, Jaheed realized, there was another exchange taking place. Loki and her five Se-dai were facing Anansi down head-on, while Anansi met her old rival with Nergal and Freyja by her side. Jaheed wondered, to himself, whether this was a legitimate dispute or a mere attempt at distraction from the reality of what had just occurred in the other room.

    "[You are Se-dai,]" Loki hissed. "[We were never meant to bear witness!]"

    "[Unlike you, sister, I refuse to turn a blind eye,]" Anansi shot back. "[I do not shy away from the horror of my existence. I confront it ¨C not just for myself, but for all Se-dai!]"

    "[I am no coward.]¡± This seemed, to Jaheed, a rather insufficient reply.

    "[How many times have you stood outside that door and listened to the cries of your sisters?]" Anansi pressed, stepping closer. Amongst the Se-dai, a single step like that was all but a declaration of war. "[How many times have you delivered them, cold and shivering, to the arms of their wretched father?]"

    "[Blasphemy!]" Xenet bellowed, whirling around. And before anyone could say or do a thing the Bishop was storming over, his voice practically incandescent with rage. The Se-dai of Ceres parted at once, making way as he rounded on Anansi and shouted, ¡°[How dare you speak ill of the Blessed Sovereign!]¡± He came to a trembling halt and jabbed an accusing finger at Anansi, whose manner in that moment was distinctly cool and reptilian. Jaheed flinched, involuntarily, though the Sha-sur had not moved a muscle. ¡°[You are yet a daughter of Ceres, Anansi. Perhaps some manner of discipline is required-]¡±

    That outburst, Jaheed surmised, could only have been the final straw. Because the Emperor, without warning, snapped his fingers and said ¡°Nergal.¡± And in the blink of an eye the Se-dai leapt forward and slit Xenet¡¯s throat from ear to ear, sending the old man sputtering and gurgling with his very essence running in a fat crimson river down the length of his robe. Jaheed had only an instant to process this ¨C only an instant to see Loki¡¯s head snap to him, of all people ¨C and only an instant to understand that Loki intended to answer Volsif¡¯s transgression with an eye for an eye. Then Loki, too, blinked forward, and Jaheed caught only a blur of motion before an armored hand shoved him roughly back.

    Anansi had appeared from all but thin air, her wrist-blades crossing Loki¡¯s own, and there came a ferocious shower of sparks as the two women clashed with all their prodigious strength. Beside her, Freyja darted in, wrist-blade at the ready, while Nergal moved to protect the Emperor and every one of Loki¡¯s Se-dai moved to slaughter the interlopers on the spot.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    "Halt," the Jade Emperor commanded, and like magic all present did just that ¨C froze on the spot, as though their Durex skeletons had simply locked up and refused to move any further. Yet both sides of the Se-dai continued to eye one another hatefully, and Freyja was shifting ever-so-slightly now to completely block Jaheed from Loki''s line of sight. And all the while the long-legged figures were letting out strange, keening wails at the death of their Bishop. It was an apocalypse in slow motion, a diorama of complete and total bedlam.

    The Jade Emperor just looked at the whole messy spectacle and smiled. "I warned him," he explained, as though any of his actions ever required any explanation. As though he answered to any higher power in all the Great Domain. "I am, if nothing else, a man who stands by his words. I do not lie; I do not make falsehoods or half-truths." Then, for some unfathomable reason, his head tilted - and he met Jaheed''s eyes, of all people, amidst that frozen battlefield.

    "This place..." Volsif began. And then came something that Jaheed never thought he would see in all his life, something that had ¨C until now ¨C been simply ludicrous to even consider. Something that violated the very natural order of things.

    The Jade Emperor was interrupted ¨C by Loki, who strode forward and declared, in a voice that was decidedly not her own: "That was my Bishop, Doss."

    Time stopped. Jaheed''s heart stopped. Never once had he seen Volsif truly angry; never once did he ever want to be on even the same planet as such a thing. Yet now there was a clear expression of murder upon the Jade Emperor''s face, his eyes narrowing to emerald slits. Wrath emanated from him like a physical miasma, rippling through the air and heating the skin of all unfortunate enough to stand in his presence.

    "Sovereign," the Jade Emperor acknowledged, turning slow and predatory to face Loki. Loki, whose eyes were now glowing a deep purple. Loki, every muscle of whose body was clenched tight, whose teeth were locked together such that Jaheed felt they might shatter at any moment. Loki, who looked to be in sheer agony even as she spoke with a voice that shook Jaheed to his very core.

    "Report to my Inner Sanctum. NOW. There shall be no further delay." And then, without further ado, Loki''s eyes switched off and the Se-dai was hunched over, dry-heaving, and there was a thin line of steaming black fluid dribbling from her open mouth. Yet a moment later she was calm and composed and fixing the Emperor of the known universe with a droll, superior stare.

    The balance of power had shifted.

    "Come, then," Loki said simply, forgoing the Emperor''s myriad titles. "My Master awaits."

    For a moment, Jaheed imagined that Volsif would do something truly terrible ¨C something that would see both he and Anansi killed on the spot. Instead, the Grand Architect just gave the Se-dai a knowing little smile and command her: ¡°Lead the way.¡±

    <hr>

    Kore was back in her seat with a loud, angry sigh. Diesch met her eyes ¨C inferred the obvious ¨C and let Na-Kath go with warnings to not dare report this to the Greencoats, that they knew where he lived, et cetera et cetera. And so the Black Hound returned to the booth beside her, a fresh drink in hand, and so they both continued to wait.

    "How''d it go?" Diesch asked, roughly twenty minutes in, which was well past when such a thing might have been sensible to ask. Perhaps, Kore thought, he was feeling apologetic. Perhaps he did not fully comprehend the mood she was in.

    "They made me work for it," Kore grunted, which was as diplomatic a response she could muster. Her jaw still hurt like all hell. "Boss is a Golem, by the way."

    "No shit?" Diesch arched an eyebrow. "Don''t see that every day."

    "You do not."

    More silence.

    "Have you ever-" Diesch started.

    "Fuck off," Kore snapped, and that was that.

    They didn''t have to wait much longer. After not five minutes a waiter in a dark button-up approached their table with a tray full of drinks. And though there were no immediate outward indicators, Kore understood immediately who and what exactly this man was. Kore had spent so much time with Sekhmet that by now she could identify every one of the signs ¨C the way his every movement was so smooth, so perfect, so calculated. The way that when he stood still, he stood just a tad bit too still.

    "That was fast," Kore remarked, dispensing with the whole waiter-serving-customers pageantry at once. Diesch shot her a questioning glance ¨C put it together ¨C and then immediately leaned back, observing in silence with his las-revolver clearly displayed. For an argumentative asshole whom Kore could not stand, he played the role of Second to absolute perfection.

    The waiter''s expression did not change. "Anything I can get you folks?" he asked. ¡°There¡¯s a special on Deuronian Brandy tonight, though there¡¯s-¡± he checked his watch, ¡°-only eighteen minutes left.¡±

    "I¡¯ll meet you out back," was Kore¡¯s only response. And then, before the man could answer, she was on her feet and walking out the door.

    Ten minutes later that same door swung open beside them. Kore and Diesch were smoking in the back alley, the former leaning back against the wall and the latter sitting atop the bloodied dumpster. The wounded thugs were gone, as was the golem¡¯s hovercar. It was almost as though the entire brawl had been but a dream; save for the dull ache Kore was currently feeling.

    The waiter stepped outside, kicking the door shut behind him, and now Kore looked him over good and proper. And he was, well... ordinary. Utterly unremarkable in every sense of the word, a man of average height and average build with a face that looked like nothing at all. He was an extra in a holodrama, a faceless background character who existed only to fill space. Sekhmet''s eyes, glowing or otherwise, had a stark intensity that immediately stood out under scrutiny. But this man''s eyes were dull and dark and, in all honesty, quite stupid. Even now, having seen all the telltale signs, Kore could not help but feel slightly underwhelmed by the nature of his presence.

    "Well?" he asked, and then the illusion was shattered, because that was the voice of a killer. Cold, calm, demanding, and suddenly there was an undercurrent of tension to this whole thing that had not existed a moment prior. "What would you have The Mondat do?"

    The Se-dai were, unquestionably, the most feared killers in all the Great Domain. They moved at the blink of an eye, killed without a sound, and were all but invincible short of artillery or a Durex molecular-blade. Yet even so, the Mondat ¨C the shadowy group of mercenary assassins ¨C lingered not too far behind. For while the Se-dai were a distant, mythological sort of threat, the Mondat were real and physical and countless high-profile politicians and celebrities had died rather publicly by their hands.

    The Se-dai were tools of the Emperor. The Mondat were tools of anyone who could afford to pay their immense fee.

    "Kill someone," Kore answered, which was patently obvious. And then: "A man called Sain Sahd."

    If her words had any effect, the Mondat''s blank expression did not show it. "The newest Scion?" he asked.

    "That''s very same," Kore nodded. "He''s on Mercury right now, in the Panopticon. Protected by a Se-dai."

    "Just one?"

    "Just one," Kore confirmed.

    "And the price?"

    Kore just reached into her pocket, fished out another credit chit, and held it out for the Mondat to see. This one carried enough to purchase a small moon and had come about as a combination of Jaheed''s family holdings and some of Ket Sal''s personal funds. "Will the Se-dai be an issue?" she asked, feeling an odd little pang of guilt as she did so. The Mondat just reached out and took the chit, and his fingers were ice-cold when they brushed against Kore''s hand.

    "Fifty-seven Se-dai have been killed at the hands of the Mondatti," the man answered flatly.

    "And you, specifically?" Kore asked, feeling a bit defensive ¨C knowing exactly what Sekhmet would have said to him, in that moment.

    "Twice, I have fought them," the waiter said, the chit disappearing into his pocket. "Yet still I stand before you today."

    It was as clear an answer as she would receive. No Mondat could take on a Se-dai in a fair fight, of course. Everybody knew that. But the Mondatti had numbers and, perhaps more importantly, all manner of other strange advantages. Their agents wore faces like cheap masks and were known to possess weaponry that broke light and folded shadow. There would be no fair fight, Kore knew, which she also knew would gall Sekhmet to the core.

    And yet, well. There was nothing to be done about it.

    "That''s it, then?" Kore grunted, her hand resting on the hilt of her melt-blade. Just in case. It felt comfortable there, anyway. "No handshake, no receipt?"

    "This conversation never happened," the Mondat replied - and then he was the waiter once more, slouching and weary and currently on break. "Bum a cig?"

    Reluctantly, Kore handed one over. Price of doing business, she thought to herself, as she and Diesch stepped away. And all the while she could feel the heat of the Mondat''s stare boring twin holes straight through her back.

    "C''mon," she muttered to Diesch. "I wanna get the fuck outta here."

    <hr>

    The Emperor''s throne room had been somewhat surprisingly understated, in contrast to his overwhelming personality and presence.

    The Sovereign''s was anything but.

    Volsif, Anansi, Jaheed, Nergal, and Freyja were forced to pass between a physical column of pike-wielding Se-dai to enter into a huge, vaunted chamber, one replete with such gilded embellishments as to temporarily blind the human eye. There was such a magnitude of detail that for a moment, Jaheed''s vision literally blurred ¨C and then it refocused, and then he saw it.

    It was dangling from the ceiling. It was like a worm, of sorts, a worm of durex composite and fat, undulating, veiny flesh. Meat and durex intermingled as one in wild and directionless fashion, the thing seeming to have simply grown from the shadowy recesses of the ceiling above. Pulsing tubes and multicolored wires and glittering displays all festooned skin replete with pockmarks, with stray tufts of hair, with exposed tendons and the occasional misplaced ear or nose. And, at the very termination of it all, there was posited ¨C amidst a slab of sheer mechanical nonsense ¨C a trio of human faces, all aged to the point of being scarcely recognizable. In fact, all three were little more than skin stretched over some other, unknowable shape.

    The stench was such that Jaheed simply could not take it. His throat constricted and he hunched over, voiding the contents of a fine breakfast on the Gorger. Nobody seemed to notice ¨C save for Freyja, who shifted just incrementally closer. Jaheed understood, distantly, that she had been assigned to keep him alive, which was cold comfort in the nightmare he was currently living.

    Now, this bizarre biomechanical serpent of a thing bent down, its faces coming to a halt just inches from Volsif''s own. And with all three mouths in unison, it spake thus:

    "You should not be here, Doss."

    There was not a shred of doubt in Jaheed''s mind that this was the almighty, the ineffable, the eternal Sovereign. In all the Great Domain, Doss Ken Volsif XCVII was supreme lord and ruler. No Emperor but a God-Emperor. Yet here, on the grounds of Blessed Ceres?

    The Sovereign was god. And Doss Ken Volsif XCVII was just a man.

    "It is the privilege of any Emperor to pay visit to his subjects," Volsif replied, a smile upon his face. "And it is a privilege for the subjects, as well. You should weep at my presence, Sovereign." In truth, the Emperor looked delighted with all of this, even as Anansi and her Se-dai were glaring daggers at the Lord of Ceres. No fear but hate, raw and scarcely-restrained. Behind them, Loki came up, taking position by the Sovereign''s side, and from that distended length there came a spindly metal arm to rest quite soundly upon her shoulder. Loki flinched but did not move.

    "You ridiculous little upstart," the Sovereign practically spat. Its voice was overpoweringly loud, and the foundation of a palace rumbled with each and every word. The voice itself was a bizarre amalgamation of a thousand different sounds, all congealed into something vaguely word-shaped. "I have seen ten thousand Emperors come and go. And I shall see the passing of another, soon enough."

    "You support my half-brother''s claim to the throne, then?" Volsif arched an eyebrow. The question was clearly intended as a mocking indictment, as though such a thing were the most ridiculous idea in the world.

    "Categorically."

    "I see," Volsif grinned. "And yet for now, it is I to whom you must bow. And I shall indeed see you bow." Slowly, portentously, the Jade Emperor raised a metal arm - and then pointed straight down. "Now."

    The Sovereign burst out into laughter.

    It was a strange thing indeed ¨C a mechanical sort of clicking accompanied by a deep, bassy rumbling as the entire body spasmed and shook. All around, those long-limbed creatures were gurgling out similar sounds. The Se-dai, even those of Ceres, remained silent ¨C save for Loki, who wore upon her face a vicious sneer. Jaheed came to understand, then, just who Loki was on Ceres ¨C and just why she and Anansi despised one another so violently.

    The Emperor just waited, smiling all the while. Finally, the laughter subsided, the noise drawing away into a thin, drawn-out hiss ¨C and then the three flesh-masks contorted into angry scowls.

    "This is my Domain, Doss," the Sovereign boomed. "I am lord and master, here. And now, it is my will that you kneel before me."

    "Kneel!" the long-legs gurgled as one. ¡°Kneel, Doss!¡±

    This time, it was the Emperor who laughed out loud.

    "A god does not kneel!" he cackled, as though it were genuinely the funniest thing he had ever heard. And then, in a blur, there were no less than five wrist-blades against his throat.

    Anansi, Freyja, and Nergal all went utterly still. Jaheed''s heart caught in his throat. Yet the Emperor didn''t flinch, didn¡¯t even react ¨C he just chuckled, quietly, to himself, and glanced down at the blades with an expression of mild annoyance.

    "Perhaps you fail to understand the nature of your situation," the Sovereign loomed, from above. The Emperor''s eyes flicked up.

    "Oh ye of little faith," he mused, just as he had earlier to the Sha-sur. "Not one of you understand that I simply will not die in this place. It cannot happen. My leaving here today, intact, is as certain as all the stars in the sky."

    "By what means?" the Sovereign rumbled, leaning in close. "You have no power here, whelp."

    The Emperor''s eyes were glittering as he responded. "By my own will," he said, with truly indomitable certainty.

    A long moment passed ¨C and then, with a nigh-incomprehensible sound of disgust, the Sovereign pulled away. The Se-dai of Ceres stepped back at once, returning to their positions, and Jaheed saw the Emperor''s own Se-dai relax ¨C if only by the barest fraction. The Acolyte himself was still sweating buckets and his breath still tasted of vomit. He still wanted to be anywhere other than here, where gods were spitting into one another¡¯s eyes.

    "Let us speak plainly, then," Volsif declared, taking a single step forward. Anansi and Nergal stepped with him. "I am here, Sovereign, to deliver a message, and it is out of..." his nose wrinkled, "...respect for your long-tenured position that I do you the courtesy of appearing in person."

    "It was an insult and an affront for you to set foot upon my monastery-moon!" the Sovereign snapped. "Do not play at contrition with me, Doss."

    The Emperor paused. Frowned, raised an eyebrow. Asked genuinely: "Even now, you will not honor my father''s name?"

    "You are no Volsif," the Sovereign spat. "Your adoptive father was a great man, a Highborn of limitless vision. A true deity made flesh. You are Lowborn gutter-rat who bought his title only through treachery and low cunning."

    "Is that truly what you believe?" the Jade Emperor cocked his head. Jaheed could not possibly discern how much of this was real, how much was sardonic, and how much was a mask for something else entirely. "How sad. I tell you now for a certainty, Sovereign, that my father loved me dearly."

    "Irrelevant," the Sovereign dismissed, waving another spindly mechanical limb. The Emperor of the known universe, dismissed just like that. "Speak plainly, boy, then begone. I shall suffer you no further."

    "Very well.¡± And then, as though a switch had been flipped, the Emperor was no longer smiling. His expression was as cold and hard and merciless as the void as he turned his head to the side and said, by way of invitation, "Anansi."

    The Sha-sur strode forward without a word ¨C brushed aside the pair of Se-dai who tried at once to impede her ¨C planted her feet, pointed a finger, and accused in a voice thick with hatred: "Monster."

    The Sovereign reeled back as though they had been slapped. Every Se-dai wrist-blade extended at once, and more than a few had Ker-sots in hand. Freyja had forgotten Jaheed entirely and was now focused solely upon her red-armored leader. And entire room seemed to cant towards Anansi as she stood, fearless, before an immortal god-creature that could have obliterated her with but a word.

    "Daughter," the Sovereign growled, the entire length of them literally trembling with rage. "How dare you speak to your father thus?"

    "You are no father," Anansi spat. "You are a butcher, and a torturer, and a debaucher. And we-" she pointed back to Nergal, to Freyja, "-are not your daughters."

    "It is by my immaculate seed that you exist at all!" the Sovereign roared, the words shredding Jaheed¡¯s ears and leaving him reeling. The Jade Emperor did not flinch.

    "A gift we all would shun, were we ever given the choice!" Anansi roared back. "But there was no choice but to be born into the horror of this world! No choice but to be a tool, an object, a thing of value! A weapon in your wretched hands whom you have the gall to claim as a daughter."

    "You ungrateful bitch," the Sovereign shuddered. "You should never have been Sha-sur."

    "How it must infuriate you, then," Anansi said, "to know that I will be the last of the Sha-sur. Because I tell you now ¨C all of you ¨C that by my hand, the Se-dai Order will come to an end."

    "Stop!" the Sovereign bellowed, and that command was the only thing keeping the two-dozen Se-dai from tearing Anansi and her retinue to shreds.

    "With this, I herald the creation of a new Order!" Anansi shouted, banging her fist loudly against her breastplate. "Le Sang Neuf!"

    "Le Sang Neuf!" Nergal and Freyja hollered, full-throated, in unison.

    "Sisterhood! Sorority! Solidarity against this wretched place!" Anansi declared. "Se-dai no longer! Weapons no longer! We are people and we are, all of us, the last of the Se-dai! Never again shall one of our sisters know the horror of the Birth! Never again shall you defile another of your own creations, you despicable imitation of a father!"

    ¡°Butcher!¡± Nergal cried out.

    ¡°Despoiler!¡± Freyja chorused.

    "ENOUGH!" the Sovereign screamed, so loudly that everyone ¨C save the Jade Emperor, somehow ¨C was thrown entirely off their feet. And now, as Jaheed and the others scrambled to rise, all present could feel the room itself heaving with rage as the Sovereign coiled like a fat serpent preparing to strike.

    "Mongrels," the patriarch shuddered. "MONGRELS! Ungrateful failures, each and every one of you! GO! BEGONE FROM MY SIGHT!" The three heads whipped around, and the six eyes locked onto Volsif like targeting beams. "AND YOU, DOSS!"

    "Do tell," the Emperor smirked.

    "IT IS WITH MY SE-DAI AT HIS SIDE THAT THE CRIMSON EMIR SHALL RIP YOU FROM YOUR STOLEN THRONE AND REND YOUR PITIFUL FORM TO PIECES! IT IS WITH MY SE-DAI THAT YOUR LAST UTTERANCES SHALL BE SHRIEKS OF AN AGONY YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY COMPREHEND! AND IT IS MY SE-DAI THAT WILL SUBJECT ANY FOOLISH ENOUGH TO PLEDGE THEMSELVES TO LE SANG NEUF," their gaze turned to Anansi, "TO TORTUROUS PUNISHMENTS THAT SHALL OUTLAST SOL ITSELF! YOUR SCREAMS SHALL BE MADE AS MUSIC TO MY EARS!"

    "May the best man win, then," Volsif chuckled.

    "BEGONE!"

    And so, to Jaheed''s astonishment, they were leaving unscathed ¨C with himself and the Emperor boxed in tight by a living wall of Anansi and her companions. Her companions, he realized. Le Sang Neuf. The New Blood. An intergalactic conspiracy, headed by Anansi and implicitly supported by the Emperor himself. Was Ammit amongst their number? Was Sekhmet? Did Kore already know?! Jaheed''s fear had given way to insatiable curiosity and as they were matched through the monastery-moon his mind was reeling, whirling with possibilities. The enormity of everything he had just seen was dawning heavily upon him. A civil war ¨C an openly-declared schism amongst the Se-dai! The Sovereign openly taking the side of the Crimson Emir! But, then...wait, that made no sense! Ceres was right on the Emperor''s doorstep. What was to stop Volsif from simply obliterating the planet on the spot?

    Jaheed got his answer as the Ankh finally achieved liftoff ¨C and then all within were violently pitched to the side by a colossal gravity distortion that left his ears ringing and his vision spotty. It took all within, even the Emperor, several minutes to recover, until finally Frejya reported: "It''s gone."

    "What''s gone?" Jaheed demanded, speaking up for the first time in hours. The Emperor''s jade eyes flicked to regard him, as though relishing in the young man¡¯s confused ignorance.

    "The Monastery-moon of Ceres, Lord Acolyte," came Nergal''s terse reply. "It has slipped into voidspace and exited this sector."

    "Oh," was literally the only reply Jaheed could muster. And he was reminded, then, of just how much in all the Great Domain there was that he still did not know. Because, after all, the very concept of a planet-sized void drive was nothing short of ludicrous ¨C yet still he had just been knocked flat onto his ass by one.

    "I don''t understand," Jaheed said, after having properly regained his bearings. He flicked between Anansi''s frigid gaze and the Emperor''s glittering stare, decided the Emperor was marginally less disconcerting. "Why did the Sovereign just let us go?"

    "Because, my devoted Acolyte," the Emperor explained, crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands quite contentedly, "the Sovereign, the Crimson Emir, and myself all want the same thing."

    "And what is that?"

    Doss Ken Volsif XCVII grinned. "A good fight."