Balon mused over his adversary's question- could he stop a plague once it had been set in motion? The giant had never deigned to wonder such a thing. The answer was pointless, as sparing the lives of humans was a pathetic endeavor. His plague had taken time and effort to hone, to make into a lethal weapon that spared no lives. To install any weaknesses in such a masterpiece it would be to dull one's sword. Still, the giant supposed that given time, it would be easy enough for him to mutate a second plague, one that was capable of neutralizing the first and giving humans at least a chance of survival.

Before the giant could respond, Xir'ain had second-guessed himself and dismissed the question. "Indecisive. Foolish," Balon thought to himself. For a being of such arrogance and rashness, witnessing someone change their mind could only be interpreted as a sign of weakness. Still, with his life in imminent danger it would not be wise to say such things aloud.

At last, Xir'ain gave his ultimatum. Balon was grim and of the sort that rarely laughed, yet he found the Keeper's words to be droll. Ironic it was, what this dignified sludge deemed itself. Masters could be rebelled against, creators outlived, and gods defied. Balon had a degree of experience with all three of those things, though he wisely remained silent and revealed no signs of his treacherous nature. In time, perhaps he would regain his freedom. But for now, he would serve. Surrendering his freedom once again was hardly a welcome choice, yet death was even less so.

"Very well," Balon replied, the agony of his severed leg permeating his voice. "I will accept you as those things, Xir'ain. I am the one called Balon, from the oldest and darkest of legends."The giant hadn't spoken hastily, though neither did he pause for long. With his life on the line, he was very cautious to appear sincere. Indeed, perhaps the old king would keep his word this time. Working beneath someone with morals more in line with his own would not be so bad. In any case, it could hardly be worse than imprisonment at the bottom of the sea, or loyalty to a master as insufferable as Elysium's late creator-god.

"I know not of this world's legends, light or dark, but I look forward to learning them and of how they match up to reality," the image of Xir'ain said, his voice fading into the dark water. "Your first order," the copy's golden eyes faded slightly, the golden storm it held in its hands growing, "is to die."

The stone ceiling transmuted into a gigantic skull once again, jaws closed around Balon's thick leg. Arms and hands of solid rock took the giant's arms and pinned them back. The small, next to a giant at least, figure floated up to Balon's mountain-like chest and pulled off a few shards of what had been incredible bronze armor. Xir’ain looked through his construct’s eyes down at the giant’s one good eye as he pushed the golden storm against Balon’s chest. The boiling black water and arcs of golden lightning ripped through the giant’s chest, leaving a smoldering hole through it that black water rushed in to fill. Xir’ain pushed the storm into place where Balon’s heart had been and then stepped back to asses his handiwork.

“And now, your reward of continued life.” The storm reshaped into a black beating heart, tendrils of black water forming arteries and veins, then muscle, tissue, fat, bone, and finally skin. The only sign that anything had changed was that the skin was slightly darker. The black water swirled around the stump that was Balon’s torn leg and made it anew, a perfect recreation of the original, but with smoother, darker skin. Everything Xir'ain created seemed to share that trait.

The skeletal arms of stone released Balon’s arms and settled back into the tunnel wall, as did the stone skull. “Welcome to my world, Balon of the Legends. I look forward to speaking to you directly, next we meet.” The black waters of the tunnel seemed to calm slightly, their master gone. The shape of his form fell from Enly’air’s frame in layers of black thread that disintegrated in the water. Her own cover of black water remained though, to shield her from Balon’s gaze.

Her mind had unconsciously fought Xir’ain’s control the entire time, but as she was his construct it had been futile. The strain had been entirely hers, and the mental strain manifested as physical weariness. Enly’air stumbled in the water as if in a haze. Even when she gathered the strength to stand, it was on unsteady feet.

With the aid of a manifested black spear, she stood and began walking along the bottom of the dark tunnel. “Come, the master is this way,” she beckoned the rogue being. As if in an afterthought, the sent out tendrils of black water to coil around the bodies of the dead runners and dragged those along behind her. She assumed Xir’ain would want them, either for some strange use or simply to dispose of them.

Balon at first felt confusion and blind rage, but calmed upon awakening once again. His amputated leg and torn tendons were healed. His body now rippled with power and muscle, no longer gaunt and degenerate from the long centuries of imprisonment. Elysium's creator had branded Balon's once milky-white skin the color grey using the giant's own plague, to give him a taste of his own poison and to mark him as different, twisted, and corrupted. Somehow, Xir'ain had made Balon's skin even darker, though that hardly mattered.

With a flick of his hand Balon manipulated the water, conjuring a raging current that snatched up his fallen spear and returned it into his hand. The tempest dissipated as abruptly as it had been summoned, though it still would have likely knocked down Enly'air. Balon snatched up his shield, decided to abandon the scraps of metal that had been his armor, and then moved to follow the tiny girl.

She looked exhausted and weak, hardly capable of standing even in the near weightlessness of the water. Balon, in stark contrast, now felt alive and powerful. Balon leered over at her, slightly disappointed that his gaze still had no effect on her. The giant then turned his eyes towards the spear in his hand, admiring how his weapon escaped unscathed, not even scratched by all the tumult that had just occurred. Finally, he spoke, "Little thing, if I were to hit you over the head with the point of this spear, do you reckon that you would be crushed, or cleaved in twain?"

The giant looked back to Enly'air as they walked, hoping for a response and a chance to torment her further.

Midmorning sun shone upon the stolen ship, floating motionless in the Myra river save for the occasional rocking in response to a particularly strong breeze rolling in from the plains to the east. All four of its occupants stood on deck, equidistant from one another, forming the corners of a square. Moros and Eris both crossed their arms in impatience, while Malady merely stood, intimidating yet serene, devoid of any emotion. They formed an odd assemblage; an elderly man in noble rogues, an emaciated northerner clothed in rags and a cloak, a squat woman with no extraordinary characteristics, and an ominous, looming witch. After some time, Aeternam flashed open his eyes, leaned upon his staff, and began.

“So. Now we number four. In the old days four would have been enough, but two of us don't fit the old mold. Ever so slightly incompatible, you, Eris, and you, Malady, prevent us from regaining the source of our power. The Keepers we will no doubt encounter on this world draw their strength from their Dungeon Heart, while its humans attain their magic from the radiation of Elysium's sun. Our magic is different, older and unlike any other, both more difficult and more powerful. The byword of our kin is this: unity.”

After a moment to let that sink in to the newcomers -as Moros already knew this well-, Aeternam continued. “Alone, we are less than Keepers. Together, we are greater than anything. When united, the Four of the past could survive any assault and defeat any foe. When we are joined by our two remaining brothers and final sister, we can reignite the power and shed these human forms. For now, though we are four, we are unable to do it. However, enough strength exists in this unity that we can utilize it to better our position somewhat by performing an infusion. Before that can happen, however, you women will need to absolve yourself of any doubt in yourself and in our cause.”

While the snow-white eyebrows of Malady were piqued in interest, Aeternam found nothing but skepticism in the eyes of Eris. “I am no magician,” she began, “And I've seen nothing that couldn't be a sorcerer's illusion. I've been alive long enough to know a thing or two about the magic of Elysium. Draining life is child's play to a necromancer, enchanted weapons are nothing new to my sand pits. Your light show back in sludgeville might have convinced the witch but I'm not so easily impressed. I already sacrificed a bunch of stuff to come on this little adventure, but I' will not gamble away my entire life's work on your theory.” It seemed that a lifetime of dealing with warriors and magic, combined with a haughty, doubtful perspective, rendered Eris unable to accept her destiny. Moros buried his forehead in his hands, and Aeternam visibly sagged, becoming at once feeble and defeated. Any method they had of possibly proving the reality of their position would simply be dismissed as mundane magic. A few seconds passed before Malady's lips parted. “Sometimes,” she spoke in heavy islander accent, “To reap ultimate reward, we must gamble. The money from gladiator pit is small. To rule the world, to orchestrate its end...that is truly great. You are not so brave as I thought, Fury.”

“Not so brave, is it?” came the retort. “I'm not so stupid, either, so none of your ribbing will work.” Moros rolled his eyes, obviously missing the near-telepathic level of cooperation shared by his brothers. His gaze landed on Aeternam, who gave a discreet nod. “Alright, princess, we get it. You won't gamble with your life. Thing is, we kinda need you, and I can absorb enough of your essence to complete the infusion with or without your consent. Thing is, you'll die in the process, so your choice is this: gamble it or lose it. Understand.”

Eris's mouth was open, fiery words loaded for use, when she did understand. Before she had relied on the knowledge that she was too important to be threatened, but in the wake of Moros's ultimatum, she suddenly seemed rather expendable. She ground her teeth, rage plastered across her face. “Fine!” she finally erupted, “I'll do what you bastards want.”

Several minutes later, the four reconvened on the deck. Each held an item found aboard the ship or on their person. At Aeternam's instruction, each laid a hand on the item of the person to their right, and as they did so, the items began to glow red, gray, green, and yellow for Eris, Aeternam, Malady and Moros respectively. This magic spread across the hands and arms of those holding the items until, all at once, the glows met and created a confined explosion of energy. Each of the four was pushed back, but none fell to the ground. They regarded their items with assorted curiosity and satisfaction; whereas before they had held a compass, an urn, the needle staff, and a length of rope, they now held arcane artifacts.

Eris's rope had become a whip, deep burgundy and covered in thin spikes that, while currently laying flat, could stand erect to pierce armor and flesh alike. Though already a nasty implement, it had become even more lethal by growing to the size of a spear, tipped with a huge bonesaw and enveloped in barbed wire. Meanwhile, the urn of Moros had grown larger, becoming a dull, desaturated brown embossed with green and pale gold. “We have means to flay and kill foes, “ commented Malady, “But you have a way to feed us?” Moros reached within and found hard, white grains of rice. “Not food,” he said, tossing them onto the deck. “Hunger.” As the four watched, the rice rapidly grew in size, becoming ghastly green skeletons in a matter of seconds. The skeletons wailed hauntingly, but when Moros directed them to the rigging, they dutifully went to prepare the ship for travel.

Aeternam held in his hand a compass, black and red, with no features except a single pointer, which currently faced east. “Weapons, minions, and a way to find our kin.”

To Shaige's satisfaction, a shrine had been erected in his honor. It was there that he found Fangir and Soran. The Mutig tribesmen that were there, offering their prayer and reverence to the altar, were ushered out. It would seem that the Mutig tribe were truly and utterly his now. That was good; soon enough Shaige would put them all to good use. Before revealing himself to his two foremost subordinates, both of whom stood statuesque, the Keeper took several moments to regard this newly built wing of the city.

Though Shaige perhaps didn't even realize it himself, his presence had an intoxicating effect. Even in the form of a mere shadow, he exuded an aura of authority and inspiration. While this had no doubt contributed to the Mutig tribe coming under his absolute control, it also made them feel free. It made them eager and creative, and gave them an initiative that mere slaves didn't possess. Indeed, Shaige had left no orders or instructions. His followers had simply taken it upon themselves to build the shrine, and they had done so perfectly, as if they shared their master's mind.

The altar was neither pauper nor makeshift, as it was enameled with gemstones and covered in engravings. Still, it managed to retain a humble and simplistic look; the stone slab hadn't been smoothed, merely covered with cloth, and a small stone idol was all that crowned the chantry. The room itself had been transformed from a dank, dark cavity in the earth into a place of awe. Mosaic tiles of carmine, ebony, and ochre covered the perfectly leveled floor. Great, chiseled columns were spaced at regular intervals, supporting a high ceiling. Walls of perfectly hewn stone bricks lined the walls about halfway up, before giving way to the natural cavern walls which had been smoothed and engraved. Many of the engravings on the wall and shrines were of significance, either magical symbols or scripture in the demonic language. The humans had simply been compelled by their imaginations to carve such images, oblivious to and uncaring about their origins or meanings.

This chamber in the cavern had dripped incessantly and possessed several small waterfalls that cascaded down into dark recesses. The waterfalls were rerouted and turned into fountains. Near the shrine, two masive stone serpents protruded from the wall behind, the statues' mouths serving as fountains. The majority of the water poured down into the subterranean rivers and aquifers far below, but some was rerouted into a separate antechamber. Well hidden from the rest of the room beneath the arch of the giant serpents' necks, two spiral staircases descended below the shrine. At the bottom were three heavy-set, locked doors. This section of the temple was off limits to any save Shaige's attendants, which at the time consisted only of Soran and the other nine imps.

One door led to the quarters of the aforementioned attendants, so that they would always be on hand. Another door, far larger and ornate than the other two, led to a small sanctuary. The antechamber was almost entirely filled by a massive, red fountain that stood directly beneath the shrine above. This was a new dungeon heart for Shaige. A tiny yet constant stream of water trickled down from above, ever diluting the crimson fluid. Many equally tiny whirlpools revealed that there were drains inside the fountain, emptying out its contents into the river below. The moving waters stirred the fountain and made it bubble, and a strange, magical mist wafted up from the simmering and foreboding solution.

The sides of the unholy font were spaced out with many large stone sacrificial slabs. Currently, only two of them were occupied; some blood still trickled into the red waters from the headless corpses. Blood had to always be contributed to the hungering fountain, lest the solution grow too water and dilute, and Shaige's power begin to wane. The granite slabs were inclined so that gravity would slowly pull out most of the blood from the decapitated bodies, yet the slope was not so sharp as to make the corpses slide into the fountain. A pit was located in the back of the chamber. The corpses could simply be thrown into that deep recess, when it was time for their disposal.

Back by the spiral staircases, the third locked door led to a prison complex. Blood slaves could be stored there. It was vital that they be kept fresh and alive until needed; old blood was less potent. For now, the cells were empty. Hundreds of long-dead humans had simply been stacked in the hallway. At least the imps had found a use for the stripped corpses of the crusaders that recently came. Their blood was stale and impure and the fountain was hardly red, which was no doubt the reason that Shaige felt hardly any stronger than when his heart was a simple vial of imp blood. Still, the heart was enough to anchor the Keeper to this world, and empower him and any who knew how to tap into the dark energy found within the shrine above.

More than satisfied with the work of his followers, Shaige drifted upwards, through the ceiling. Back in the shrine room, he finally manifested himself before Soran and Fangir.

Enly'air stumbled as the giant - No, it had a name now. What had it called itself again? Balon. Not that it much mattered. - as Balon summoned a strong current out of the still black waters. She disliked the creature, but more than that she felt cheated. She had been fighting to protect her master, but in the end he had just ended up protecting her. She was weak. It was no wonder XIr'ain wanted a beast as strong as Balon, and not a weak human girl. He deserved a giant as his protector. Still, she felt cheated.

The giant's, Balon's, voice boomed over her, "Little thing, if I were to hit you over the head with the point of this spear, do you reckon that you would be crushed, or cleaved in twain?"

If I were to ask Xir'ain right now, would he slam the tunnel walls together with the beast between them? Enly'air could only speculate, but she thought he might just do that for her. Too bad it probably wouldn't be enough to kill the thing, but it might shut it up for quite a while. Beneath her formed mask of black, she almost laughed at the thought.

"I know not, but I doubt a creature as dumb as you are could even hit me to begin with. Nay, I doubt you could hit any target smaller than yourself." Her biting words were delivered without the slightest indication that she had indeed spoken. The black-clad figure just continued walking along the bottom of the tunnel. She sincerely hoped the brute would take up that challenge and attempt to strike her. It would be interesting to see what would happen should he attack her now that he had accepted Xir'ain as his master as well. Then again, maybe Xir'ain wouldn't care it his underlings fought amongst each other, in which case her challenge would be regrettable given her current condition.

Baudrii immediately set off once Clotho gave him his orders, his helm closing as he left. He first went down to watch as Scutra collected six imps and eight Myrmidons before leaving the hive to complete his mission. Once he was out of sight, Baudrii flew down to the pit and ordered three Myrmidons to follow him. With that done, he left and was soon up in the branches above Scutra's party, the branches long and strong enough to allow the Myrmidons to follow him from up there as well. They went directly to the river and made good time, arriving early enough to allow for them plenty of time to set up the ambush.

As Baudrii watched Scutra give orders and the party carry them out, he grew more and more disappointed, disgusted even, the Macula situated on his chest observing it all as well. The barricade, while definitely sturdy, was large enough to be noticed immediately by the barge once it were to get past the foliage that blocked it from view. The imps hid behind the two trees that held the barricade up on either side of the river, the barricade just touching the water but drooping due to the weight. The Myrmidons, however, were all situated on one side of the river, same one as Baudrii, using the ferns and other foliage as cover with Scutra hiding behind them. The barge soon arrived, and Scutra was fortunate enough to have set it up on a part of the river where the water flowed faster.

It was a fairly large barge, fitting for the role it served, but its weight worked against it when, despite the crew seeing the barricade and trying to slow it down, the current forced it forward and into the thick and webbed barricade. The sudden stop made many of the men go unbalanced for a moment, anyone inside likely being knocked over. The imps immediately went forth and began shooting more webbing at the front, further entangling the barge in the barricade. Two imps on the Myrmidon side used a stronger webbing to create a bridge across to the barge, once done the Myrmidons began to cross, only enough room for single file. As soon as the first one reached the deck, the plan began falling apart as the security for the vessel came out, consisting of ten guards and a bio mage.

The guards, three of which wielded either bows or crossbows, made quick work of the lone Myrmidon as the mage quickly burned the web bridge, causing the two Myrmidons on it to fall into the river. They were able to make it back ashore, but one was killed by the bolts and arrows sent into its back. Scutra started shouting orders in an attempt to get them to attack again or shield him, then he started stuttering. Baudrii flew down and landed behind him just as he began to utter the one word that would have further sealed his fate, "Retr- Agh!" Scutra looked down to see the clawed, carapaced hand coated in some acid and his blood protruding from his chest. He turned his misshaped head just in time to see Baudrii swing his barbed edge broadsword, and see the world spin as he was decapitated. "Wh- Wh-" "You failed..." The sword ensured his death as it plunged into the center of the head.

He looked around at the remaining forces, only a few of which had continued to look at him despited the arrows, bolts, and spells flying their way. Then, in a chittering, insect-like noise that seemed to instinctively come to him he issued these orders, "Drones, begin shooting webbing at the enemies' feet and weapons, you two make a wider bridge while they're distracted. Myrmidons, shield them and prepare to cross in twos quickly on my signal. Cowardice is not acceptable." The sense of authority he emitted allowed them to more easily follow his orders, even better than they had with Scutra, and they immediately got to work. Meanwhile, Baudrii flew up and disappeared among the branches.

Soon enough, the guards were getting distracted by the webbing sticking to their feet and weapons, the mage having started to focus on cleaning them up with spells instead of attacking. The mage would hear a strong buzzing noise before his life came to an abrupt end, the drones had stopped shooting webbing and were now finishing up the bridge. The guards turned to face Baudrii just as he let out a shreek and the nine Myrmidons, the three he brought having joined them, crossed to the barge. It was too bad they hadn't much experience, else the slaughter that ensued might have at least been slow. The crew members that fought were killed as well, those that didn't were subdued and wrapped in webs, unable to move or scream for help. Now to finish what Scutra had been ordered to do.

A short while later anything of value or that seemed as such had been taken ashore, any passengers captured, the barge scuttled, and any sign of the ambush erased, acidic venom was useful that way. The contents of some of the looked to be important documents and research papers, alchemical supplies, maps, food, unique plants, among other things. In total eight people were captured, three of the crew and five other, two of which wore dark green robes and leather aprons with sockets in them, one was an elderly male and the other a young female wearing glasses, the rest were either workers or civilians.

With everything secured and bound in webbing, the new party started on their way back to the hive, carrying or dragging what they collected from the barge through the jungle.

Now that the first move was made, Macaroth ordered the small army to build barricades around the roads leading into the forest to force any marching army to funnel along that road or slow down to handle the barricades. In one case or the other there was a plan, should they go down the road they would be flanked from both sides by charging Man-at-Arms and strafed from above by crossbow armed Angels, in the other case they would be mercilessly shot upon by the Man-at-Arms while being flanked and decimated by Angels flying in brandishing their blades. The Iron Maiden would be woken in both cases and her appearance would signal the doom of any opposition.

For now however he had to rest, the new strains drained him like none before and with his drain of the people temporarily paused his rest would take twice as long. So he stayed in his heart, resting in the pool of quicksilver letting it nurse and nurture him.

Though she knew that Baudrii couldn't hear her, Clotho performed a wry, slow clap within the silent Compound of Eyes. Just as she'd predicted, Scutra failed her. While the other imps had more or less done their job, the construct had proved himself unable to lead and take responsibility. To a degree, Clotho regretted having to kill him, but with his demise Clotho could create a less flawed construct with less of the energy and attention it would have taken to make a new one. At some point during the struggle, the Macula perched on Baudrii's chest had been hit, and though its eye wasn't damaged, it was wounded enough that its eye glazed over somewhat. She suspected it was dying, and would soon be unable to afford her a decent view. With the skirmish complete, however, there was no reason to continue watching, and Clotho rose to her feet and left the Compound of Eyes.

Before making a construct, there were other things to attend to. The supply barge had been only one of the lifelines of Virens; there was a hydroponic area a few miles south of the city, situated in a fertile, damp basin that had been a lake before the Biomancers had redirected its flow years ago, that produces vast quantities of rice, leek, and asparagus. To really put the pressure on Virens, this farmland would have to be destroyed. For this, Clotho didn't need any assistance but her own. Spurred on a a favorable breeze, she flew southwest and arrived at the fields within the hour and from her lofty position surveyed the place. It didn't take long to locate the channel through which the lake was once fed. An incredibly dense mangrove copse, obviously grown by Biomancers, blocked most of the water flow and forced it to pass the basin by, rejoining with the Saploya river a half-mile away. With a plan forming in mind, the Swarm Keeper descended.

Ignored by the farmers, who were far too busy in the thigh-deep, substrate-filled water to notice her, Clotho landed a few feet away from the mangroves. The Macula that had been assigned to this area wormed its way out of the thick roots and approached her, chirping. Clotho let out a keening chirp of her own, and in a few moments the air and ground around her were thick with insects. She indicated the mangroves with a tilt of her head and the hordes of bugs descended upon the trees, devouring them with frightening voracity. It was a joyful sight to Clotho; while insects, the most numerous animals on the planet, were usually too dispersed to make a real difference, her command could focus their minuscule, individual efforts to devastating effect. The copse began to creak and crackle, with more and more muddy water starting to bleed from between the intertwining roots. Finally, the living barrier was so weak that the pent-up water behind it suddenly exploded through it, washing away bugs, leaves, and roots alike. The muddy tide cascaded down its old riverbed and washed into the basin, where it would drown crop and human alike. Clotho sighed smugly and held out a hand for the Macula to grab. With the little spy on board, the Swarm Keeper made her way back to her dungeon, stopping only to hear the morbid cries of the farmers horrified by their hard work laid to waste.

Once back at the King Tree dungeon, Clotho dropped off the Macula -literally- and fetched a Myrmidon instead. On the way to the Heart, she was disturbed by the arrival of Baudrii, and after a quick inspection of the loot she sent it on its way. A quick interview determined that the elderly man he had captured was none other than Rammel Vitreus, an alchemist frequented by the family of Theo and an old acquaintance of hers. “Small world, isn't it?” she remarked to the terrified man and his young assistant, usually so full of life. “Having grown up poor yourself, you never turned away even the lowliest customers. People such as you are hard to find. It seems my problem has been solved for me; you two will take over my Apothecary and be treated with every courtesy. Baudrii, see that the food and supplies are sent with them. The rest of you I have no use for except to be recycled into biomatter.” With that, she and the selected Myrmidon continued on to the Heart, where Clotho injected her and began making her into a Construct.

The gaseous bowels of the Source hummed and cackled with power. Bursts of blindingly bright, unadulterated raw magic were being hurled everywhere. Red, destructive beams shot through the gas giant feasting on its matter, like worms in an apple. Green blasts, the energy of creation, exploded and pulled into existence new matter from the nothingness of space. So the incessant battling between the Carver and the Ripper continued, as it had done so for several days now.

The tireless, massive, and nigh-invincible entities continued to fight, the scene hardly different than it had been at the start. The two were truly locked in a stalemate now, and the weary Zadok was becoming increasingly less help to the Carver. It was now becoming a burden, shielding the tiny Anti-Keeper's physical form against the Source's environment, the radiation of its core, and the destructive magic that was everywhere. At last, the Carver decided to speak out, "Zadok? Are you still conscious? You will not last long as conditions continue to worsen. You should retreat while there is still time. I must stay here. I will try to assist you in your escape."

The Carver soaked up the magical energy in the air like a sponge. Shock waves of pain rippled through its incorporeal body as the destructive magic that stained the Source crimson were allowed into the magical being. Still, the vast majority of the energy was neutral. The Carver's form broke down that energy as a living creature might digest food, and then converted it into the verdant energy of creation. Zadok would be reinvigorated as his ally channeled the green light into his body, renewing his energy and healing any wounds that he might have sustained. Then, the leftover energy of creation swirled around Zadok, creating a shield. Without such a buffer, traversing the Source's gut with all the heat, pressure, and winds would be suicidal.

The Carver's firm grip that suspended Zadok within began to fade away. When he was ready, the Anti-Keeper would now be capable of escaping from the inside of his ally. It would be wise to time his retreat well and move quickly, so as to not allow the Ripper a chance to intervene.

________________

Balon scoffed at the puny thing that walked beside him, carrying in tow the dead eels and runners like some sort of janitor. "Lots of little things like you have tried to fight me, and lots of little bodies were devoured by maggots and withered away beneath the rains," Balon hissed. "If our master ever gives me the chance, I would gladly end you."

The giant looked away for a moment, visibly adjusting his hold on his massive spear. Even the slightest of movements from the giant forcibly jerked the water around this way and that. After a few more seconds, Balon suddenly jabbed his spear towards Enly'air with the speed of lightning. The spear's tip was about as wide as she was, and the thing would have been more likely to cut her in half than impale her. However, the spear's point stopped halfway to its target. Balon guffawed, hoping to have silenced the annoying human with that feigned attack. The inky veil over the girl's face would have hid any signs of terror, but he still suspected that he had nearly scared her to death.

After that, Balon slowly trudged through the black tunnels alongside Enly'air. Satisfied with himself, he made no more commotion. The going was painfully slow, as each of the giant's strides was equal to a half dozen of the construct's. As he walked, more and more chunks of metal fell off of his cracked armor. The suit was ruined beyond repair. Bah, it's not as if I needed it anyways, he thought to himself. My skin is thicker and stronger than the leather armor of humans, and no arrows can pierce deep enough to do anything save annoy me.

The ship sat in the harbour as Kaloks Orcs clambered aboard, humans trudging on for use as rowers. This string of islands would be his! And then, the world.
An imp landed beside him, watching the boat before turning towards Kalok "The four cannons are loaded" The imp reported, before adding "Surely we should wait for more, if the opposition..."
"As far as we are aware, no one in this isle owns a cannon. We should be safe. A powerful navy, that's what we need to defend our holdings, and to construct this navy we need the other isles. This jungle may be thik and its trees tall, but we don't want to clear the whole forest, it provides an advantage" Kalok said, and the Imp nodded slowly "This war with the islanders won't last long. I return to the heart. I must work" Kalok turned and walked away from the Imp without another word, and the Imp merely turned, watching the boat being loaded. The Imp judged the Orcs good men, but they had barely been born and learnt to walk, let alone have learnt to sail and fight at sea. Maybe his master had overestimated the Orcs, and if so then how long before the Orcs fail drastically, and they are pushed from their dungeon?

Second creature 0/5

The battle was dragging on for Zadok. Although he was able to garner ample energy from his surroundings for his needs, he could not see any upper hand be gained throughout the duelling between the two polar entities, even with his assistance by firing bursts of holy light. He lost track of time inside the maelstrom of energy, but he knew that it had been a long time and that if any gains were to be made in this battle it would be over an even longer period of time. A battle of attrition, it would seem, except the combatants regenerated constantly. Zadok was not used to battles of attrition. Unlike some of his fellow Anti-Keepers he did not raise an army, which would end up fighting against the army of a Keeper in a long a bloody battle of the fields of war. Instead Zadok had relied on strength and speed to strike his opponents hard and topple them quickly. So when the Carver invited Zadok to depart he was relieved.

That would be wise. You shall need to be able to dedicate all your energy to gaining the upper hand in this battle, Zadok said in reply. As the green magic enveloped him and the protection of the Carver faded, he wasted no time in departing the turbulent and chaotic storm of energy which comprised the Source's innermost layers. The clouds rippled and boomed around him as he travelled like a bullet through the gases until he was safely out of the Source's voluminous clouds.

Zadok now drifted in orbit around the Source, alternating his view between the red gas giant and the green and blue planet. He then attempted to establish a telepathic link with the Carver, for he knew that it would be beneficial to have contact with his ally who was battling with the Ripper deep inside the Source. The time he had spent in proximity with the Carver and the energy he had just received should be plenty to allow him that telepathy.

---

The addition to Calvartem's Heart was now complete. The quartz was placed on the end of the arm rests so that Calvartem's hands would rest on them as he sat. The quartz had been carved into the shape of a skull for decorative purposes. He sat down and rested his hands on the quartz and channelled his power into the stones, imbuing them with shadowy magic as he would the Death Spires. This complete, he allowed his consciousness the channel through the quartz, and immediately he was connected to all of his Death Spires. The village containing his Heart, the mining town to the west and the fortified town to the south all fell under his gaze. He could plainly see how devoid they were of living people, and how the Spires had been draining the life of the surrounding lands.

But he could do far more than scry across his domain. While the Death Spires on their own could only summon undead relatively slowly on their own, through his Heart Calvartem would be able to both raise and command his hordes of living corpses with almost as much vigour as if he were there in person. Clearly there are advantages to attending a battle in person, such as being able to fight personally and empower his side further, but having remote control would allow him to coordinate a defence without having to travel, or even defend two distant places at once. Calvartem even had the power to send and retrieve his Constructs via this link. Of course, he would not be able to perform such actions across his whole dominion if he was away from the Heart, which means that he was most vulnerable when out conquering, but that was a strategic risk that he had to take and had no viable solution to at the moment.

The best he could do to mitigate that risk, he realised, would be to ensure that any invading force would have to get through territory of lesser importance before they could hope to encroach upon his precious Heart. In order to do that, he would have to advance his conquest further, and do that before the armies of surrounding cities were roused, especially not that of the grand city to north. Arising from his throne, Calvartem exited the Heart and mounted Shadowmane. They set out northwards, in hopes of finding a small town to conquer and put as a shield between themselves and Paterdomus.

Lord Rain finished his transformation. He exited his Dungeon Heart, and looked at himself. He personally thought he looked rather snazzy, better than any of those over-the-top human kings and lords that wore armor so white and shiny that they looked like they were stars in the sky. He quickly remembered that he needed to get this battle going, and got his construct to assemble his troops. This upcoming battle would not be so easy.

Once the troops had been assembled, the army was ready to go. Ten of his Stormers and five of his Bolters would be left to guard his base, and the Imps would work on a torture room and continue doing their normal jobs such as gathering resources and reinforcing walls along with doing maintenance on the castle. This did not mean his army would no longer be a force to be reckoned with, definitely not. He still had a rather skillful Construct to go with him, possibly his deadliest asset, and 90 Stormers along with 45 Bolters. Basically, today would mark beginning of the downfall of Humankind.

The troops took a while to exit the castle due to the fact that the staircase leading to the ground wasn't too wide, so it took a good twenty minutes to get everyone on the ground. Of course, this would not be a problem, if anything the fact that it took them a while to get down would actually help them. They were going to attack during the middle of the night, anyways. So, the troops were counted to make sure everyone was there, and the march had begun.

It was about a two hour long march when they were able to see the town they would take over. It was encased in stone walls, which weren't exactly the strongest. Because they were still quite far away, they were not visible to the garrison at the town. The garrison was rather small, about seventy-five percent the size of Lord Rain's army. Due to the massive difference in strength, power and skill, this battle would be rather easy, at least in Lord Rain's mind. He was actually quite wrong.

A scouting party was sent out to find a good place to camp out at for the day, that wasn't too visible yet wasn't too far from the town. Not more than an hour later, they returned and led the army to a good camp spot. Work on making a camp began almost instantly, soldiers everywhere chopping trees down and making barricades and small huts. A medium-sized fire pit had been built and already there was a deer being roasted over it. The deer's skin had been stretched over a small tent-like structure as a wall. So, they worked, they ate, and they prepared for the invasion. Soon, the time for the invasion would come. Night was already coming soon, and another thing that would be coming soon is the invasion.

Forces: 30 imps, 100 Stormers(90 camped near town), 50 Bolters(45 camped near town), 2 Captured Humans
Constructs/Rogue Beings: Shock (Stormer Construct)(camped near town)
Resources: Several bags of iron and steel tools, and food for the army, 30 enchanted steel swords, 20 enchanted steel spears, 25 bows with 25 arrows each, 50 sets of basic steel armor, 50 sets of wooden training gear, along with some stone, dirt, and a whole lot of clouds.
Infrastructure: A dungeon heart, the flying-castle-dungeon itself, a Lair, a Hatchery, a Portal, reinforced stone walls, and a Forge.

Fangir and Soran stood in the new shrine room, near a pillar. neither were taken aback when the column's shadow coalesced into their master. The shadowy figure looked towards Soran. Its vacant face did not move, but a voice emanated outwards nonetheless. "Report."

Soran replied with his harsh cadence, "Our focus was on erected a more permanent heart for your greatness. That is done, as are the quarters below and this shrine. I am sure you will find the facilities to par with your expectations."

Shaige replied with an insidious whisper, "Indeed. I have already inspected your work, and it exceeded my expectations. Well done." The shadow's gaze now fell on Fangir. Once again, he said, "Report."

The archdruid began to speak, "Most of my tribesmen were assisting Soran, though I put every spare hand to work on other tasks. The battlefield above was cleaned. We have put the enemy's armor and weapons into storage. Soran oversaw the cremation of the corpses..."

The shadow mused to himself, "So, Soran has lied to Fangir. How perfidious. Ah, though he was clever to consider what the humans' reactions to sacrifices might be, it is unnecessary. The imps do not understand just how savage and barbaric these forest tribes are...they are no strangers to blood sacrifices."

Fangir had been continuing, "A foundry and metal smelter is being built. We shall melt down our enemies' armor and weapons, mine our hills, and then arm ourselves with proper weapons." He declared, "For too long have we kept to the old ways. If we are to be strong and defeat the vile crusaders and all the other tribes, then we must work metal."

Shaige answered, "Are you a fool? The crusaders fell victim to my spirits; their armor is in pristine condition. Their equipment is ten times as valuable as a disguise than it is as mere scrap metal. A foundry is indeed good. I need an army that is well equipped. However, you will have no metal to work. Your smeltery would produce smoke. That smoke would either choke your entire tribe to death in these caves, or it would have to go to the surface and reveal our presence. And the other tribes are not your enemies, the crusaders are. The other tribes will flock to my side easily enough, and you will bury any petty feuds."

Fangir was unfazed. "Fine. We shall keep the armor that is in good condition and melt the rest. Soran too was glad to point out that furnaces produce smoke. I am not a fool. We will simply block off a section of the caverns and route all the exhaust into there. What does it matter if we turn some vacant hole into a soot-filled inferno?"

Then, Fangir vehemently addressed his master's last point. "The other tribes ARE our enemies. They hate us more than they do the crusaders, as they are not yet the ones under attack. They would sooner die than join you, now that you have sided with us. And now, I must go see about leading a foraging expedition. I expect the other tribes will soon regain their courage and resume their trespassing on our land. When that happens, we must have more food in storage."

Shaige was impressed, albeit taken aback. Fangir had more wit that the Keeper had given him credit for, and he possessed no small amount of courage to stand up to his master. Humbled, though refusing to betray any sign of it, Shaige said, "Wait. When I returned to this place, I passed your razed village. It was filled with looters. If they were not from your tribe, they were from another."

Fangir stopped in his tracks, having already began to walk off. He turned around, enraged, and hissed, "I shall gather my druids. We will kill every man who would walk on the Mutig tribe's land, looting our fallen and sifting through their homes."

Shaige simply commanded, "No. You shall remain here."

Fangir seethed in anger. Before the archdruid could speak, Shaige continued.

"You say that they are your enemies, that they would sooner die than submit to my rule? So be it. We will make an example of that tribe, but not yet. Some small skirmish would achieve nothing. You are to finish construction of the forge and smelter. Arm your tribesmen and druids. Prepare them. Soon, we shall go on the offensive. But until then, not a single man is to leave this cavern."

With that, Shaige vanished. He reappeared further up, where his followers were busy scrambling about and doing their work. There was no need to hide himself in the shadows or go invisible, the sight of him only commanded respect and adoration, and the people worked harder in his presence. In his wanderings, Shaige came across a small storage room, out of the way. Inside, he found nothing except a pile of tiny idols and figurines. There were bears, wolves, spiders, and all sorts of beasts, carved from bone and wood. Every last idol had been smashed and thrown into this heap, as the Mutig tribe had forsaken their spirits after the battle and turned to worshiping Shaige instead.

Shaige was touched, in a way. He treated his enemies with ruthlessness, but his followers he was benevolent towards, at least more so than most Keepers. The shadow wandered back into the busier tunnels. The shadow's hand touched the head of the first man he saw, and the tribesman instantly fell asleep. Shaige's shadowy form enveloped the resting body of his follower, and a moment later the two reappeared far below, in Shaige dungeon heart. The Keeper set about making a new creature, blessing this human with his power.

Second Minion: 0/5
Foundry and Smelter: 0/5

Enly'air didn't rise to the beast's taunting, nor did she react to his posturing. She merely said, "And I you" and continued walking. The travel was slow, much slower than it had been getting there, but the pair arrived in the main chamber below the black lake after two hours of travel. She had seen the eels and runners through her closed eyes, keeping away from the beast with the eyes of death. Xir'ain must have ordered the eels to keep away, as she doubted their intelligence was enough to comprehend futility.

Waiting for them, speaking to an imp that he quickly spirited away from Balon's sight, was Xir'ain. The tunnel suddenly ended as it met the cavernous chamber, the bottom far below and the walls covered in countless more tunnel entrances, forcing Enly'air to push off the stone and swim up to where her master waited. His golden eyes, nothing like that pale imitation's, radiated outwards in ribbons of golden light, sweeping over his construct and the giant. No part of his face moved as his words fell down through the dark water. "Balon, do you wish to see out of those blind eyes again?"

The crimson rays of noon fell upon the King Tree as Clotho's reconstruction of her chosen Myrmidon was complete. Invicta, as she would be called, had few physiological distinctions from her ordinary kin, but had a substantial edge over any of them in terms of strength and intelligence. It had been a while before Clotho had developed a chief method of augmenting the warrior without greatly altering her appearance, but at last she had discovered that with enough organic manipulation, the various tissues within the Construct's body could be folded and packed together to vastly increase overall surface area without necessitating greater volume. As a result, Invicta enjoyed a mental capacity more than twice the average, and was capable of remarkable feats of strength, particularly when it came to the Vices.

Modeled after the mandibles of Trapjaw Ants, the Vices were situated on either of Invicta's arms. These large pincers were crammed with the special condensed muscles Clotho had masterminded, and as such mimicked the incredible abilities of the ants themselves. By pulling back these pincers, effectively folding them against her arms, Invicta could store incredible potential energy. When released, the Vices would slam together with unbelievable speed and force, enough to shatter stone and saw through metal. The laws of physics dictated, however, that equal recoil would be applied to Invicta; luckily, with practice, this recoil could be put to her advantage. Clotho envisioned a Myrmidon capable of flinging herself dozens of feet into the air simply by striking the ground, escaping from any engagement by sending both herself and her foe flying in opposite directions, et cetera.

At this moment, however, Invicta was still weak from the transformation. After such extensive modification to her internal structures, it was likely she wouldn't be able to move for hours. When she could, she would serve as the brutal, fearless field commander Clotho wanted. Finding the alchemist was a blessing, indeed; without the need to specifically designate a minion for brewing, Clotho had been able to concentrate solely on military matters. And with those out of the way, the conquest of Virens could continue.

Two of its food sources were out of the way. Undoubtedly tensions were beginning to run high in the city; already several Macula had been hunted down and killed, perhaps rightfully marked as omens of ill fortune. A precision strike or two was necessary to ensure that Virens was unarmed as well as hungry. Doubtlessly the Biomancers and city guard were too spread throughout the city for a blow against their bases to have immediate ramifications, but with the head killed the body could only ever follow suit.

Clotho descended to the forest floor, winging her way through ever more dense labyrinths of vine, wood, web, and hive to reach the leaf litter below. Antlions emerged from their underground colony when she called them, the very picture of loyalty—or at least subservient, unshakable instinct, which was a far more reliable substitute. “Join your brothers and sisters beneath Virens. Undermine the barracks and the Biomancer's Guild and reduce them to rubble. Try to remain undetected; if found, flee instead of fighting.” To make sure the near-braindead creatures were kept on target, she picked out a few nearby imps scrounging in the bushes for fungi to supervise the endeavor. “I hope that imps won't disappoint me for once. It's not even a combat mission, just subterfuge. Nice and cowardly and satisfying. You three have fun.”

-=-=-

In the streets of Paterdomus there were countless people. Though filled with myriad flora and fauna, the natural world of Elysium had no sway here; here, mankind dominated. This was their bastion against the world, home to their gods of fire and water as well as themselves, a haven of humanity in an inhospitable realm. Certainly there had been worrisome rumors of late, barbarians and a necromancer and blazing equestrian skeleton, most of them unaccounted for -allegedly due to lack of survivors- but none doubted the security and sanctity of their city for long.

And yet, within the streets of Paterdomus there wandered a phantom, the very reflection of the alien and unknown that the city stood against. With no purpose and no direction, it could do naught but drift around from day to day, invisible and intangible, learning about the world and those who inhabited it. Today, though, the revenant sensed something new on the wind. Like a familiar call from far away, this something beckoned it. The ghost wracked its mind for clues, finding only confusion darkness for a time, but finally figured out exactly what this distant beacon might be. A new idea gripped its ethereal fancy: unity. Its brothers and sisters were searching for it, and if they still lived, the cause did as well. The Paterdoman streets echoed with a faint cackle as the spirit began its southward journey.


Compendium Entry
Death – the Fate of Creation and the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. Also called Escre. Little more than a shade at the moment, drawn to the life force of its kin.

Invicta - second construct and replacement for Scutra. A female Myrmidon augmented chiefly by packing both cerebral and muscular tissue more closely together to increase surface area (and therefore functionality) without necessitating increased volume. As such, a lot of strength and noteworthy intelligence in an ordinary body. Wields two Vices, huge pincers modeled after the mandibles of Trapjaw Ants, situated on her arms. Can strike with incredible force, though equal kinetic force in recoil is dealt to Invicta.

As Calvartem raced across the terrain, following the road from a distance, he spotted a carriage going the other way along the distance road. He considered for a moment turning and intercepting it, for it was heading towards his Dungeon, but he decided to leave it. He would soon have whatever town they had originated from under his control, and once they found his Dungeon they would have no option other than to turn back or be slaughtered by the undead which would rise at their presence.

Sure enough it was only after a few more minutes of high-speed riding did a village come into view, placed strategically to service any travellers along these roads. Around it were farms, fields of wheat and corn and herds of sheep, cattle and pigs. Calvartem slowed to a trot as he considered how he would attack this settlement. While it was small and did not appear well defended, the diminutive size also meant that there would be a shortage of corpses. As he considered where he might get his first walkers from, a creative thought struck him. What this village lacked in humans it made up for with livestock, and there was bound to be livestock which had died naturally and not been butchered up and eaten. He trotted up to a pasture full of cattle, which lowed and moved away from him and his steed, and cast out his staff and tendrils of black fire. Those tendrils snaked their way along the ground and into tall grass just outside the pasture. Sure enough, the grass rustled and up rose the skeletons of three cattle, two cows and a bull, with their eyes possessed by Calvartem's signature flame. Nodding, Calvartem set them against the rest of the herd, which panicked as the bodies of the dead came to bite and gouge and kill.

All this commotion quickly caught the attention of the farmers, who quickly turned and ran back to the village to call whatever defences they had against the Necromancer who was slaughtering their livelihood. Calvartem ignored them, for he was confident that he would be capable of handling whatever pathetic resistance they could garner and once he had assembled a herd of undead cattle he would be able to stampede through the village with ease. Of course, the cattle themselves were putting up a fight, desperately trying to protect themselves against the beasts hunting them. Calvartem, on the back of Shadowmane, circled the cattle and herded them, ensuring that none escaped either by scaring them back into the group or killing them with his magic. As more died, things would get easier as he summoned more walkers. The nature of his hordes often meant that he faced exponential growth, starting small then, after a period of hard work, quickly becoming unstoppable and overwhelming.

Back in the village, the local watch had been notified, but they were small and only really equipped to handle criminals and drunkards, not a powerful sorcerer. The watch raced against the clock to find anyone who could help them defend. They had heard news that a fire priest was currently in town, so they desperately tried to find him.

After some frenzied pounding the inn door gave way, with the farmer at the front of the jostling, panicked crowd falling flat on his face. Despite their fear and desperation, the gathering fell silent after surging into the building, all expectantly looking at the man sitting at the table, enjoying a lunch of pork sausage and -despite the early hour- ale. At first glance, two things became apparent; firstly, this man was a fire priest of Caldor, just as the stories had said. His deep red garments were proof enough of that. Secondly, though, he did not appear at all pious. His long, spiky red hair, sideburns, and goatee would have been scoffed at by any of his brethren, and his characteristic red robe was torn in places and interspersed with other gear for function and comfort rather than to maintain appearances. Beneath the cloth, his impressive size and physique were not hard to guess. This appearance gave the tall man a dual look of power and disdain, more of a fighter than a preacher—just the sort of man that might be the farmers' savior. After a few tense moments, the fire priest turned to look at those who had intruded so suddenly upon his meal. Screams, as well as a demented lowing, could be heard not more than a hundred feet away. “What do you require?” the man boomed.

A minute later the pyromancer strode from the clustered buildings toward the fields, followed by a posse of farmers eager to watch and reluctant but willing to help. It did not take long for him to find the source of the village's troubles; death stalked the fields and pastures. Skeletal cattle, with raging black points of flame in their empty eye sockets, accompanied by other animals and a few people recently killed and risen again. One Walker nearby sighted him and lowered its broad skull to charge. In response, the fire priest upturned a palm to the heavens, and an orb of flame appeared above it. The orb quickly expanded into the shape of a bow, with blazing white for material and intense blue for string. As the Walker charged for him, a fiery spike manifested on the bow that the fire priest notched and then nonchalantly fired when only a few feet separated him and his dead foe. The arrow melted a path halfway through the cursed creature and lodged in its spine, igniting the marrow. Still 'alive' and now aflame, the Walker reeled momentarily before homing in on the priest once more. Before it reached him, the fire spike detonated, immolating it almost instantly. The farmers cheered and the pyromancers sauntered forth across the smoldering ground, magical bow at his side and a triumphant smile on his face.

With the fire mage leading the charge, the farmers pushed back the undead forces. By quickly learning to incinerate any fallen man or livestock, the pyromancer kept the Walkers' numbers from growing, and under his purging fire they were falling fast.

Compendium Entry

Famine – the Herald of Despair and the Third Horseman of the Apocalypse. Also called Moros. Taking the form of a pale, emaciated, red-haired northerner from Altearx, he wields the ability to drain the strength of others into himself in his quest to reunite the Horsemen. Carries an urn, which, after an infusion of his power, contains grains of rice that can become weak, skeletal minions called The Host.

Upon reaching the tunnel's end, Balon awkwardly lingered on the precipice even after Enly'air left the ledge to swim to her master. The giant's huge size and heavy armor made swimming rather difficult; he usually just walked on the sea floor. After all, he hadn't been created with a need for air, so when he traversed a body of water there had never been any point in staying near the surface.

However, with his armor now reduced to bits and his new master waiting for him to approach, Balon decided to swim. The attempt was clumsy, and his brawny arms the size of tree trunks flapped like the wings of a bird. In a fashion that was neither graceful nor intimidating, the giant made his way to the center of the sunken chamber. As he flailed in an attempt to suspend himself near Xir'ain, his jerky motions stirred the waters. Though he hadn't intended to do this, he made no effort to stop. Xir'ain would no doubt be fine, and seeing the intolerable girl propelled into a wall by the waters would be amusing.

No hint of exertion in the giant's face even as thrashed in the water, he bluntly responded to Xir'ain's offer, "Yes, though I doubt you could do it."

"One of my eyes was blinded in battle. The milky one that is nearly split in half. A well-aimed javelin found its way there shortly before I tore in half the man that threw it. The other was blinded by my own plague. Restoring it would require you to cleanse my entire body, something that could be beyond even your powers."
Having his blackened, withered eye repaired would have the side effect of removing his lethal gaze, as well as the toxic nature of his flesh and blood. Still, Balon reckoned that was a price worth paying. Restoring his powers would be easy enough now that he knew how to recreate his plague. He would not make the mistake he had made the first time, that cost him the sight of an eye. Alas, the old king was getting ahead of himself - he could be right in assuming that Xir'ain did not currently have the power to remove the plague.

Xir'ain watched as Balon's crude attempt at swimming caused Enly'air to be thrown about. He doubted the giant could stay afloat if not for his flailing though. Such trivial things. Splaying his fingers apart, the black waters recedded from around the three, forming a bubble that was slightly flatter on the bottom. Enly'air and Xir'ain fell to the bottom of the bubble, as it had expanded to encompass the giant's body. The sides were solid black, impossible to see out of. Xir'ain didn't need any more of his minions to die because Balon happened to look in its direction.

The dark master thought about it for a moment only. "Then I will not restore sight to that eye. A gaze of death is more than worth a single one eye, especially considering you have three." Xir'ain flippantly sent a wave of golden lighting through Balon's body as he spoke, causing the injured eye to rebuild itself in moments. "But I will require you to hide that eye, at all times unless I say so." Black water rose from the bottom of the bubble around Balon's feet and covered his body like a wave. The water turned darker and draped over the giant's body like a cloak. He looked for all the world the part of death, his spear only needing to be changed to a scythe. Enly'air doubted anyone would complain about that as it destroyed their body in one lightning-like strike.

"How does that feel?" Xir'ain asked Balon. "It should act as a suitable substitute for the armor you wore, with the benefit of covering more of your body." The master raised his hand, and a hood of the black watery material came up over the giant's head to cover his putrified eye. "And it lets you hide that when you need to not kill everything you see." Enly'air was confused at Xir'ain's words, but unsure as to why. The way he spoke, did it seem more human?

Balon's attention was suddenly lost shortly after the arc of golden light entered his body. The giant slumped backwards in the bubble, disorientated and nauseous. Though there was not much to see save the glow of Xir'ain's eyes, the giant's head was spinning. Everything looked strange, distorted. Four golden eyes met the giant's stare, rather than two, and they hypnotically moved back and forth. He heard Xir'ain continue speaking, but it was hard enough to focus on his words, let alone respond.

It took a minute, but Balon began to recover. He quickly realized the cause of his disorientation had been one of his blinded eyes recovering. It would take some time to get used to this new perspective, but whenthe giant finally did he would no doubt be grateful. With only one eye, depth perception had been somewhat difficult.

After a somewhat long wait, Balon came back to his senses. He struggled to recall what his new master had just asked. Something about armor, and the effect that his sight had on other creatures? The giant then realized that he was now covered in some sort of strange new attire. The oily fluid that came into contact with his skin and undergarments clung onto his body before rapidly hardening into armor. The leftover material simply flowed down his body. The result was that he wore a billowing, thin robe, complete with the hood that Xir'ain had shaped. Beneath the sleeves and folds on his robe, a tight-fitting breastplate, greaves, boots, and gauntlets had been formed. The outer robe had the benefit of disguising just how powerful and huge the body within it was, but better yet it left a small space between his two layers of armor. That layer would help insulate him from magic or harsh conditions, as well as make it harder for projectiles or attacks to penetrate all the way to his flesh.

While some more conventional warriors might have felt ridiculous or underprotected, Balon was wise enough to see the value in this new equipment. Though not as extravagant as his old suit, it was nonetheless superior in most ways. It was nice to have the burden of finding enough blacksmiths to enslave taken off the giant's shoulders. Having a new metal suit made would have been a nightmare.

"I will endeavor to not harm the other denizens of this tunnel, provided they do not provoke me." Balon paused for a moment, then answered Xir'ain's question, "This suit feels...satisfactory."

"You misheard me," Xir'ain spoke. The soft golden light blowing like a solar wind from another world hardened into something more dangerous. "I order you to cover that eye of yours at all times, whether you are in my presence or far away or alone. Should I wish it uncovered, I will order you to do so. Until then..." The edge of the black hood frayed apart, the strands of black water stabbing like needles into the giant's skin and sewing the watery hood to his scalp, sealing the deathly orb in its folds but leaving the two seeing eyes uncovered.

Xir'ain turned his gaze on Enly'air next, and her armor of black water fell away with a splash against the bottom of the bubble before sinking through. She took a shaky breath and opened her eyes, her vision suddenly feeling so narrow. The dress was back, falling away from her skin and back into the relaxed folds that it was meant for. Yes, she much prefered being like this. Enly'air bowed her head to Xir'ain, not saying anything as he had already turned back to the beast.

Bah! He had just given Xir'ain his word not to kill the wretched worms that inhabited the tunnels, yet the keeper had still deigned it necessary to sew the hood over his eye. The giant snorted with contempt, or perhaps he had simly grunted in pain upon feeling the needles. It was hard to tell the difference.

Balon glanced over at Enly'air, now in a dress. The form that had been revealed once the black armor melted away was small, flimsy. Unable to exercise restraint, Balon felt the need to ask, "What exactly do you keep this...thing for?" The girl's pitiful appearance suggested that she might not fare so well against a few of the eels, even. As soon as he spoke, Balon suspected that he knew the answer. His first instinct was to assume that she was a slave, or perhaps some sort of pet. However, her arrogance and the way she carried herself through these tunnels suggested otherwise. Was she perhaps a concubine?

Xir'ain cocked his head to one side, puzzled. "For? For nothing. I created her." He turned his black face towards the unseeable sky. "No, that's not right. She was already created, I merely fixed her after..." He stopped. Enly'air looked confused. What had he been about to say? Xir'ain didn't know how much of her memory he had missed when he'd tried rewriting her mind. It would be best if she didn't hear anything that might act as a trigger. Besides, he didn't need to explain himself to this creature. "She's my construct, and she is your equal. That is all you must know."

"My equal?" Balon guffawed. Will I be leading a charge alongside this girl? Let me make of her a meal to your more...useful minions. They seem rather ravenous, and it is not as if she would be suitable for greater things."

Xir'ain was bored. He decided that this new being was too strong-willed. Should he punish it? No, that would be useless; he'd already proven that he could beat it easily. At least as long as he was inside his dungeon. The creature seemed to have some grudge against his construct though.

"Enly'air," his dark voice slithered through the air differently from how it acted in water, but she still heard it inside her head.

"Yes master?"

"Show me that thing you called magic once more."

She seemed hesitant, but she complied. Enly'air brought her fingers together and focused on making a spark, just as she had the last time. As her fingers separated, something resembling white lightning arced between them, something she hadn't noticed the first time. And then it exploded. Xir'ain's bubble contained the power this time, and he limited how much energy she used, making the blast much smaller but also keeping its drain on his body to a minimum. "Still think she's only what she seems to be, giant?"

The giant eyed the girl suspiciously as she brought her fingers together, though the result was anticlimactic. She made a spark. Balon stubbornly responded, "You think a little sparkle in her hand could stop an arrow? A spear? My fist? She'd be dead in a minute, if ever she was in a real battle."

Xir'ain groaned inside. He wanted to take the giant apart. But then he wouldn't know how its magic worked. Magic. Xir'ain was beginning to feel the appeal in even the word. He wondered what he could do if he learned how to wield such a power. "But she won't need to stop any of those things. That's what you are for." Xir'ain's insideous voice sounded amused. "Who would attack a lone girl when there is a giant attacking?"

"Who would send a lone girl to help a giant? If she managed to survive, it would only be because she cowered in my shadow. Look at her,"Balon spoke. He outstretched his hand towards the girl, snatching her up as there was nowhere to run. His massive hand easily wrapped around her entire torso. "She is fragile. Brittle, like glass. You do not send fragile things to fight."

The giant's body split in two pieces. Enly'air fell free of the dead hand's limp fingers and fell to the floor of the bubble. She said nothing, though three of her ribs felt cracked just from the brute's grip. The blade of black water retracted back into Xir'ain's open palm. "And what does that make you?"

Balon howled in pain, though his will was still far from broken. His previous master hadn't been much kinder upon hearing that he had unleashed a plague and deserted his post. "It makes me big. Big enough for arrows to be like gnats, spears like thorns, and fists like gusts of wind. It also makes your armor worthless," the giant replied, looking down at his robe that had been sliced through like paper.

"My creations are perfection," Xir'ain said, and the garment pulled itself, and its wearer with it, back together. "You annoy me, Balon of the legends. I want to kill you. I want to take you apart. But I will restrain myself because you play a vital role in something that just happened to appear inside my head a short while ago."

Though the bubble hadn't appeared to be moving, the ceiling and walls suddenly fell away, and the three were standing on the surface of the black lake. Xir'ain felt something calming about the endless rolling grasses. But he had something more important on his mind now, and the golden grasses couldn't dispell the ominous feeling that filled his... heart? Did he have a heart? Maybe he should dissect himself and see? No, distraction! Xir'ain pointed up into the sky, at the sun. It burned red. "Balon. Enly'air. Do you know why the sun has turned to this color?" It was the one unknown variable in his plans, and he wanted it gone.

Balon thought for a moment. He hadn't seen the sun turn red, it must have done so after he had fallen into Xir'ain's hellhole. At last, he had an answer. "The same reason that my shackles rusted. The same reason that I escaped from my prison and clambered onto the surface once more. My enslaver and prior master has perished, and good riddance."

Xir'ain ignored the giant. It was obvious that he was an idiot. "Enly'air?"

She looked up, startled. She was holding her side still. "Oh, no. I don't know anything about it."

Xir'ain stared into the crimson star's depths. What was it's secret? When he became god of this new world, he would take apart the star and make it speak. "I guess it doesn't really matter," he said, though his tone said that it still bothered him. He hated not knowing. "Now, I'm going to need both of you to cooperate. We have some things to discuss." A black throne rose from the surface of the lake, and the master sat himself down in it. "First, Enly'air, I want you to tell me about the place you mentioned before. Ensis'Lucas."

Enly'air stood up straight. "It's a city, the largest one for many miles. It's famous for its blacksmiths, but I've never actually seen any of them, and it's..."

"What does it look like? How is it defended?"

"Defended? It's a massive tiered city with gigantic walls. No one would dare attack it. No one has ever even broken the first wall, and there are three more!" She had forgotten her place as she'd spoken and had risen her voice at her master. "I'm sorry. It cannot be attacked."

Xir'ain leaned back and looked at Balon. "Well?"

Balon thought to himself, "She's sorry? Weak, fragile, brittle. What else had he called her earlier? Bah, it wall all true." The giant then noticed that Xir'ain was asking for his opinion. "It sounds like a rat-hole. A mound of stones with lots of little scurrying humans inside. Burn its surrounding farms and villages. Blockade its port. Laugh as they starve and start jumping from their own walls, to end their pain."

"No, I don't think that is what I want. If I kill them, who will be left to call me god?" Xir'ain looked into his own reflected eyes on the suface of the black lake. For once, he actually seemed to be asking a question.

Balon's response was a shrug. Then he realized that Xir'ain expected an answer. "The girl. Your monsters in the tunnels below. Whatever humans outside of Ensis'Lucas that you don't allow me to kill." Balon conveniently and rather conspicuously left out himself from that list.

Enyl'air raised a brow at the giant's words. "I agree with the beast. No matter what may happen, I and your creations will follow you. The giant is free to die attacking the walls. I suggest you send him for a frontal assault!" She'd raised her voice at Xir'ain again. "I'm sorry."

Xir'ain closed his golden eyes. When he opened them again, he was angry. A ribbon of black water encircled the two minions, tying them together. "Enough! If I hear one more comment from either of you that even hints at killing the other, I will dissect you both and reassemble you with the other's organs!" Eyeing their bodies, so different as they were in size and shape, he was tempted to do so regardless. His threat was not hollow.

As much as he would have liked to suggest torturing Enly'air instead of killing her, Balon was preoccupied with other thoughts. The idea of sieging this grand city consumed his mind...the massacring its inhabitants had the giant practically salivating. "The girl agrees with me!" Balon triumphantly declared. "We should siege the city. They will undoubtedly try to surrender. I suggest that we lure those who would leave the gates walk to our camp on the pretext of amnesty and warm meals, and then return them to their wretched rathole via catapult!" A cruel spark in Balon's two good eyes and a sadistic grin on his huge face revealed that he was all too serious.

The surface of the black lake vibrated, drops of water splashing up only to fall back and cause another splash. "I said no!" The ribbon of black water closed, bisecting the giant and the girl. "No siege. I will take the city in one piece. No, I won't even have to take the city. They will give it to me with a smile on their faces as they do." Xir'ain's cruel laughter shook the lake. With a wave of his hand tendrils of water pulled the halves of his construct and giant back together, their wounds bubbling black and then sealing together. "No more talk of a siege. I won't have it."

"You expect them to hand their city over willingly? Send your little pet as a delegate. See how that turns out. Humans do not like submitting to three-eyed giants or walking blobs of tar." The giant thought about what he had said. No doubt another bisection was imminent. He decided to add a mocking courtesy, "With all due respect, my lord and master."

"You don't grovel well, Balon. However, you raise a truth. I will have to change my image into something more... appealing. You though, I want you to look threatening. After all, you're going to be playing the evil in this farce." He looked over to Enly'air, still silent despite being cut in half and put back together. Had he put her back together wrong? "Enly'air, what part do you see yourself playing as I take over a city?"

"I am a soldier."

"Oh, is that so? No, I think you will play the damsel. A villain, a hero, a damsel." He pondered something. "Do the people of this city already have a god?" He seemed to slouch in his throne as he considered the possiblity. If they did, he would need a better plan.

"Yes, they do. Aphistos, the god of fire and earth. He is the god of the city and the reason most of its inhabitants are metalworkers. They say he gives them metals and heat for them to make his weapons, though he's never used them."

Xir'ain perked up. "Why is that?"

"Because he's just a legend. No one's ever seen him or anything. There's just some stories and statues, and everyone in the city prays to him. He's not real."
Xir'ain burst out laughing, the flat surface of the lake freezing over with black ice. "You idiotic thing. You actually had me concerned for a moment. I could not possibly lie to a god, nor could I kill one. But a legend," Xir'ain looked at Balon, "that is child's play."

Ifrit stayed silent through the rest of the flight, taking in his ethereal travel. This was certainly not what he had been used to in his days of glory, when he had his old heavy body. He felt his stomach churn as he was tossed from side to side, the invisible chain barely holding him to Shaige. He was terrified of what the consequences would be should they get separated. When they arrived in the small chamber, Ifrit moved to speak, but Shaige was gone before any conversation could be made. Ifrit struggled for a moment, before realizing that he was trapped there, his form still immaterial. He looked around, seeing nothing but darkness- it was as if he had never left his crypt in the first place. Still, Ifrit felt grateful- he was sure his master would come back soon to bring him into the land of the living soon, so he slumped down, accepting the endless darkness, letting it flood his mind.

---

After the initial confusion, it wasn't long before buisiness began booming once again in the small fishing town of Pracll. There was fish to sell and gold to get. Even though the town was nowhere near as big as some of the cities like Paterdomus or Altearx, the rickety wooden buildings were packed tight with an impressive population, and the countless small stores always had people milling around inside. Generally the town was a safe place- because of their trade with Altearx, the impressive military city kept them safe from threats that would approach from the south. However, they were on their own to defend from the Northern Giants, a tribe of arrogant savages. Though they attacked often, they were not much of a threat, mostly armed with little more than crude stone weapons.

Today, Beru Bestal sat in a cold wooden chair, fishing through a small hole cut in the iced over lake. Though none of the many lakes around the village were massive, there were enough to supply their massive use and trade of the product. No one liked being posted at this particular lake, because it's supply was scarce enough to provide very little fish, and those who were posted there also were made to keep watch and alert the town, should savages attack, as the lake itself was dangerously close to some of the camps, and a common target when fishermen were there. Still, those posted there never argued- no one ever argued with The Guild.

Beru had been staying in the small wooden house here for nearly a week without incident, so was more disappointed than anything else when he saw a few figures walking over the horizon, obviously headed towards him. it surely wasn't anyone from some of the civilized northern towns, the figures were large and bulky, as the savages always were. Without hesitation, he lit the signal fire, before running to grab the iron axe issued to defend himself until the reinforcements arrived. By the time he had blockaded himself in his home, he clearly saw the aggressors.

As expected, a troop of about five dozen savages approached, each tall, muscular men, dressed in thick furs to protect from the cold of the tundra, headed by a man clad in deep red wolf skin, and an ivory skull crowning his long black hair. He loosely held a spear in his hands, bloodied and dented from years of killing. The group hollered and whooped as they ran up to the cabin, slamming against the doors and boarded up windows, shaking the shoddy shack. The leader pushed them all aside as he walked to the front door, calm and calculated. He was handed a crude axe by one of the many savage soldiers, and promptly began hacking at the wooden door. Within the cabin, Beru shook in his boots, holding a table against the door with all of his might, clearly terrified.

The head savage left the axe buried in the door, turning to face one of his men who was screaming a bit louder than the rest. He frenzied gestured to a third party, who had approached unnoticed in the excitement they had brewed. Through the shiny white skull, the mans eyes galred at the transgressors, before giving a loud war cry, and pointing at the new threat. All but five of the savages rushed at the fresh meat, brandishing knives, spears, and fists, the others staying behind to break down the shack.

As the first of the savages reached the troop of newly arriving soldiers, They were quickly cut down like wheat before a scythe. Those fortunate to be behind the first ten or so attackers were able to reel to a halt, and back up. They stared in fear at the aggressors- massive creatures of nightmare, skin seemingly patched together, standing among massive horned men, covered in hair, standing around a walking suit of armor. Though this strange party numbered only twenty-six, the barbarians were made short work of, bodies carelessly tossed into a wagon. Stamrad strode slowly to the six remaining, stopping just before the man draped in crimson, obviously a leader. "Your men are weak. Your kind are like children, blind to the truth. Today, you shall be given a second chance, one last hope to truly see the light of power. Lead us to your people, and join our ranks- your kind shall become stronger than you can imagine, no longer oppressed by your human limitations." Stamrad stated simply, reaching out his hand.

"Get yer rusted gauntlet out of m' bloody face ye goddamn monster." The leader said gruffly, spitting as he stabbed at the enchanted armor. Predicting such a petty move, Stamrad leaned to the side, easily evading the wild attack. With a quick swing of his sword, he lobbed the mans head off unceremoniously, using the momentum to spin, lodging the blade into the side of another savage. Leaving it there, he turned to kick down one of the others, while he simply stood there, awestruck. By the time Viktor had pulled his sword out of the muscled man, the others had been finished off by two minotaurs who had stepped forward. Stamrad laughed at the pathetic attempt at resistance, before turning to walk away, as the bodies were loaded onto the wagon. As he walked, Stamrads boot ploughed down on the decapitated head, crushing it without a second thought as he walked, not breaking his pace. their grim procession carried on, following the messy path left by the savages, a nice path back to their camp. Looking back over his shoulder, Stamrad saw he had left not a moment too soon, a platoon of men could be seen approaching from Praclll, probably responding to the signal fire.

---

Meanwhile, Viktor looked down at the rather unimpressive creature before him. From a distance, it could be mistaken for a normal man, and could pull off a disguise rather well, provided he was covered in a large enough cloak. The creature itself was simply made of cloth, patched together in the shape of a man. The head of this man had no actual features, save for a smile sewn on the front, and two flat glass eyes, showing nothing but darkness. Though there appeared to be nothing behind the eyes, they could light up with a magical fire, made to stun those it looked upon. The mans hands were made of iron, and had a strong grip, though all in all, the cloth dummy would be terrible in combat.

The true purpose of the patchwork man was his torso- able to be split in two by a large zipper on the front. Though it would appear to open up to naught more than various mechanisms and organs, various enchantments allowed him to store far more than it would appear within the deep recesses of his stomach, to be called forth at a moments notice. Currently the man stored twenty minotaurs, twenty five skeletons, and ten ogres. This made him a wonderful weapon of sabotage, capable of sneaking into enemy encampments, and releasing an army from within their lines, rather than having to attack from any predictable direction. Viktor quickly sent the construct out to the barracks, where he would wait until further notice. As the dummy left, Viktor turned to his dwindling pile of organs, beginning more work.

---

Far out in the tundra, a small fire burned in the center of a small gathering of tents. Around the fire, a few people gathered, simply nomads traveling. The laughed and talked loudly over a pot of freshly cooked stew, the scent wafting around the air. A low rumbling noise began to grow louder in their ears, the ground trembling ever so slightly. Two of the men stood up to investigate, concerned looks shadowing their faces. They picked up pieces of wood from the flame, using them as torches as they walked towards the sound.

As the orange light danced and flickered across the cold ground, they soon found the source of the noise, and breathed sighs of relief. It was naught more than a stampeding herd of oxen, headed off away from the camp. Without hesitation, they made their way back, not wishing to linger outside the warm grasp of their fire for long. Little did they know, behind them crept a creature of far less friendly intention than the ox. As they walked, the small creature stayed a distance behind, as it limped below the sparse patches of grass. There he laid in wait, watching as the group of people slowly began to tire, and enter their tents.

By sunrise the next morning, only one heart was beating in the entire camp. The bodies laid where they had been killed, necks mercifully slit in their sleep. There had been no mess, and no fuss, save for a couple of the humans, who laid with their flesh ripped from their bones. The creature had needed food and shelter for the night- it wasn't his fault that they were able to provide both. Though the creature knew he had to move on, he lingered for quite some time, resting his weary body, still broken and battered, bruises covering his pale skin. He stared up at the red sky, the one thing that had kept him going and alive all this time, before grudgingly lifting his malnourished body up, to continue his tiring journey.