Vestec, Level 4 God of Chaos.

Might: 14

Freepoint: 4

Vestec stumbled mid air and crashed into the Venomweald, taking down a swathe of trees with him as he did so. He rolled to a stop, picking himself up and looking around in surprise. "So that's what it feels like when you're not blinded by rage." He mused. Vowzra was dead. Violently murdered. For the briefest of moments, unnoticeable to mortals, time had been thrown into Chaos. With no God to oversee time it had gone wild and the sudden rush of Chaos energy had blindsided him, startling so much that he stopped moving and crashed. It had been Jvan, of course. The God of Chaos had both seen and felt her fly across the world to smash into Vowzra's sacred area, forcing her way in and destroying all in her path. "And everyone claims I am the problem." Vestec giggled, dusting himself off.

He continued towards his destination, waiting for his siblings to react to the death of Vowzra and Reathos. He had killed one and the other had been slaughtered by Jvan. "My,my. We're dropping like flies, aren't we?" He mused, reaching the center of the Venomweald. The Writhe was dead. "Tsk. This puts a kink in my plans." He tilted his head as he listened to Toun's call. His colors stopped dead in surprise. Vulamera...dead? He searched for her essence, a hint of her remains, and found none. Vowzra killed her? No. He was many things, but a silent murderer he was not. Astarte. He needed to find Astarte. Vulamera was gone, and there would be a reckoning for that, but for now he needed to find Astarte to continue his plans. Death comes for all creatures but the workings of Chaos goes ever on.

"Zephy must be terribly bored in his banishment to. I'll have to visit him at some point." Vestec giggled. A ghost like form of him peeled off his body and zoomed into the sky, heading towards Zephyrion, before he followed Astarte's essence to the memorial.

He landed to catch the tail end of Toun's rant. "Come now Toun. Don't take your failure's out on Astarte." Vestec admonished. He examined the memorial, looking at the Gods who had agreed. "Take solace in the fact that Vowzra's death is as much Teknall's fault as it is your own." He laughed, throwing his hands wide. "You, Toun, ignored her, crafting your perfections in solace! You, Teknall, made excuses for her! 'She's misunderstood!' 'I never looked at it that way!' 'She's just a craftsman like me!' Now look. Your 'misunderstood' sister has murdered her brother. You've cut yourself off from all of us so much that it took fratricide for you to be drawn out!" His voice was harsh with scorn and mockery. "You call yourselves the protectors of this world. Think yourselves as the 'good' Gods. Yet you allow Jvan to run unchecked, forcing her 'beauty' upon your creations, and persecute me because I make your creations fight and become stronger."

He giggled, using Chaos energy to recreate images from his memory. "You 'good' Gods are pathetic. Kyre claims to protect all races, then gives me free reign to eradicate Reathos' race designed to purge life. Teknall claims to protect and foster life, but then ignores Jvan's abominations in favor of calling a witch hunt upon my followers. Niciel claims to be the peacemaker, but sits in her Mountains, ignorant of the outside world, doing nothing as it falls to pieces around her. Ull'yang sits in his home, far away, operating only through his Avatar and growing angry when Vowzra tried to warn us of Jvan. He has been here recently, I must note. So bravo on him for improving slightly."

The images of Reathos attacking him began to play again. "You want to know what happened to Reathos? He was driven mad by the sight of his precious Pronobii being slowly destroyed by my Horde. The Horde Kyre knew existed, but did nothing about. The God of War, protector of Reathos attacked and tried to kill me. I gave him plenty of chances, but in the end it was kill or be killed. I killed him in self-defense. Before you start spewing about what a liar I am, remember, I thrive on entertainment and Chaos. If there is no one to challenge my actions, there is no entertainment or chaos in the world. I did not desire Reathos' death. He was too fun."

Vestec examined the memorial one last time, before stepping back. "I will sign this pact of yours. But only once the other Gods have. Prove to me that you can do some good in this world, that you can live up to what you claim to be, and I will sign it. I'll even leave an apparition to see when you do."

He walked over to Astarte, holding out a hand to the forlorn Goddess of Magic.

"Astarte, my dear, care to come with me? We can find something fun to do. After all, there's an entire universe for us to explore."

---

Screams reached his ears.

Logos’s eyes snapped open. He knelt upon on a metal road—with thousands of his Citadels around him, and all around his buildings burned in towering infernos and his humans ran past in panic.

A woman covered in burns walks up to the Lord of Order. And in her eyes is a look that Logos almost did not recognize, for he is so rarely given it. Betrayal. “My Lord... why did you do it?” she asks in a raspy voice.

“Do what?” Logos inquired quietly, a prickle of curiosity at the back of his neck. “Why did I do what?”

The woman looks up at the sky. “The sun...”

Logos stood up to his unknowable height and craned his neck back to look. The smoke rising from the city obscured the sky, but Logos could faintly make out the sun, hanging in the center of an orange sky, and looking far larger than usual. His eyes widened.

“I didn’t do this! I didn’t move the—”

The woman who walked up to him collapsed and her body disintegrated into a pile of ashen dust as it hit the ground. Logos took a step back, staring at the dust pooled around his feet. Snow had began to fall, but Logos realized it was not snow, but ash from the fire. He backpedaled even more, shaking his head as he clenched his eyes shut in denial.

“This isn’t real, this isn’t happening,” he said aloud, trying to convince himself.

As if giving hesitance at his words, time froze.

Logos opened his eyes. Ash falling from the fire hung still in the air, as did the smoke and the fires. Then, everything began to collapse. The flames, the towers, the people that were frozen mid-run, all of them began to slowly dissolve into black dust that pooled onto the road.

Then the dust picked itself up off the ground. It formed a swirling black sphere that’s the size of continent, the black dust in it churning in a vortex. It exploded outwards at Logos, forcing his eyes shut and forcing him to put a wing up to shield his face.

When it faded, Logos slowly opened his eyes. A flat bed of white sandstone as far as he could see and a sky of darkness graced his vision. His mind worked slowly to make sense of where he was as he looks at the sandstone beneath his feet. It is familiar, yet alien. In a dream within the dream, the ghost of a memory, comes the countless years; the wandering across the desert oblivion.

He realized he’s back.

He sat down and for a while he did not move. The only sound in the desolate plain was his own mind, because nothing ever moves and nothing ever changed in this place, because it was faceless, dark, and dead. He sat, tense and alone, waiting for the apparition that chased him since he first Knew.

But it did not.

With little else to do, he began walking across the barren, but just as he started, he paused.

“Come out!” he shouted, spinning around in a circle. “I know your hand is in all of this!” To his great surprise, black dust gathered from out of the cracks in the sandstone and the apparition appears before her. He blinked, not entirely believing it worked.

“What is the meaning of all this?” he asked, eyeing the spirit with an untrusting sidelong glance. It doesn’t reply. “Why are you doing this?”

The black apparition tilts its head as though it’s not sure what he meant. It is with building horror that Logos began to realize what the silence culminated into.

“You are the only thing I know of that existed before the rest of our Kin. We are brothers, you and I. You understand my design,” Logos declared to to shade. “Now answer me and plainly and do not go into that Darkness. For if I must walk the road and endure and remember, then surely you must as well.“

The apparition looks down for a moment as if thinking. Then it looks up at the Lord of all the Order in the Universe, still as a statue.

“Don’t leave me.” Logos whispered.

The apparition turns and begins walking away, its footsteps making a monotonous sound against the hard sandstone.

“Wait! Don’t go!” Logos shouted, beginning to follow it, but he falters as the apparition begins slowly dissolving into black dust as though there is a breeze in the motionless plane. As it disintegrates in the wind, it gave one last look at Logos over his shoulder before being carried away.

Logos raised his hand after where the ghost disappeared the looks down and lets out a shudder once he realized the finality. “Please don’t go,” he whispered.

Order wept.

The tears trickled down the side of his face, falling and hitting water with a splash. The sound of his tears hitting water made Logos suddenly aware of the wet feeling around his feet, and he opened his eyes to see stars, millions of them, and his moon. Their image reflects off of the inch high water covering the ground.

Logos stepped forward slowly. The sky was indistinguishable from the horizon, and the sky and ground blur together, the world disappearing in the process.

Logos leans back and looks up at the stars. “Oh, Vowzra… you are the fool of Fate.”

As though hearing the name of who it was impersonating summons it, the apparition materialized behind him.

Logos glances back at the shade of his fellow deity. “It’s beautiful,” he said before returning to look at the stars. The apparition tilts its head back and looks up with him. “I do not forget. The others may close their eyes to what is and what must be, to focus on their small works and unnatural designs, but I shall not. I cannot forget.”

A while passed where neither of them do anything, both simply looking up at the tapestry of stars. Different patches of different shades of midnight blue stretched across the sky behind clusters of stars, creating a rainbow across the sky of just one dark color.

The two of them stand in mutual silence right until withdrew his head from the pool his brother had gifted him, standing side by side and looking up at the night.

---

But after what feels like an eternity of holding his eyes shut under the pool, nothing happens. Logos let out the breath he had been holding and gasped for air, face dripping with the sacred waters of the Pool of Nyvee.

He looked around the rock walls of the overhang, and outside at the snow, wondering if was still dreaming. Logos gives one last look at his hands, half-expecting to feel some vestige of emotion the waters had shown him.

But there is nothing in the God.

It takes him three days of constantly flight, his white wings of nothing beating against the aether to reach the mountain, and his daughter, once more. Elysium’s snores came in a steady rhythm, and the cold nipped her her rosy cheeck, as real and pervasive as ever.

He watched over her for the rest of the night, right up until the morning sun.
Elysium stirred beside him, letting out a yawn and stretching her wings, removing the one she had wrapped around her head. Logos looked down at her, giving her a look. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Elysium lied. She takes a deep breath to steady herself. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

Logos raised a singular eyebrow, his head swiveling to face her. “And?”

“I still don’t know,”[/b] Elysium admitted. “I want to visit the village down the mountain again, and meet talk with the boy who I met last month. I have a few questions I wish to ask him.”

Logos tilted his head. “What would you hope to gain from that.”

Elysium gazed out from the overhang, off the mountain and into the endless blizzard. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ll be going with you,” Logos said, folding his wings at his sides. “Discreetly, of course.”

Elysium shifted, uncomfortable with the idea, but noded her consent. “Very well.”

Her father walked to the edge of the mountain, peering down the side of it towards the village, though was whited out with snow. A moment of silence passes between them. Elysium walked up beside him, giving her a sidelong glance.

“When do you plan to travel down?” he asked.

“At dark.” Elysium answered quickly. She’s staring at the sky with a frown on her lips. “How long do you think this blizzard will last?”

Logos looked up, then shrugged. “I care not to know. I have seen blizzards last a fortnight this far north. Why? What makes you ask?”

“I’m not sure,” his daughter answered truthfully, chewing her lip, looking up at the clouds and stretching her wings and neck. “Will you come flying with me to pass the time? My limbs feel stiff.”

“I think I’d like to walk, actually,” Logos said, glancing back at the mountain trail leading past the overhang they slept under, and down the mountain. “Just down the mountain and in the forest below.”

“I have no qualms with walking instead,” Elysium says as she folds her wings away. She turned and begins walking down the mountain trail with her father following close behind. The path narrowed as they went down and the winds picked up. Soon they were forced to travel single file along the cliff.

It was a long and winding path down the peak, and the wind and ice tried to push them off at every turn. But it was Logos who was lord and master over these winds and ice, and they broke against his ebon form. It wasn’t until they neared the base of the mountain that the path was wide enough for both of them and that the wind was tame enough to speak over.

Elysium stopped and looked back at the mountain, before turning back to Logos and the forest. “Flying from mountain to mountain... I almost forgot what it was like to stand on the ground.”

“It does give things a slightly more humble perspective,” Logos commented, glancing around the trees as they walk. “I’ve missed the forests. Seeing them from these eyes is not the same.”
“I could return home. To the Citadel. To you.”

“Perhaps...” Logos said none too enthusiastically. That would be an option if all else failed, but other steps could be taken first.

Sighing, Elysium shook her head. “I’ve known you for so long, but it feels like I’ll never understand the way your mind works.”

“You will. But you are yet still young.” Logos said genuinely, only to receive a cutting laugh from his daughter.

“You are right, father, I am. But I would like to see eye to eye with you on this matter of exposing ourselves, because I still simply can’t. The reasons you gave me... they don’t sound like good reasons at all. It doesn’t seem like you to be so illogical.”

Logos walked over to a tree sticking up out of the snow and rests a hand on it, staring up at its sagging, winter-covered branches. “Do you consider me perfect, Elysium?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Certainly not. Why?”

Logos stopped and turned to look her in the eye. “I’m afraid of how much influence and how much power I hold. Are you really not?”

“It’s never really been a thought,” Elysium admits as she shakes her head.

“I have turned over the task of nurture to you and I have decided not to interfere with humankind because I know of the potential I have to ruin everything.” Logos took a step towards Elysium, and she involuntarily a step back. “I can easily destroy all life on this earth. I made you from sand, and I can unmake you back into that sand right now. Doesn’t that frighten you in the slightest?”

“W-well I’ve never really thought of it. But why would you ever do that in the first place? I know you’d never do that.” She gives him an apprehensive glance. “Should I be... worried?”

Logos paused and stared down at the snow. “I don’t know.” He feels a hand on his and looks up to see his daughter staring at him.

“If you are ever in danger please—” She bit her lip, swallowing a lump caught in her throat. “Please ask for my help. I can help.”

Logos leans her forehead against Elysium’s, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “I will,” he lied.

The two of them stood with their foreheads rested against each other in the blizzard winds, their flesh becoming dusted with snow. She looked up at the tree tops, watching snowflakes fall all around her. Silently she and Logos began to walk through the forest again, leaving tracks that blemish the otherwise untouched carpet of snow.

They walked for the whole day, speaking little more to each other, neither of them wanting to break the peace settled over the forest. Even the winds died down to let the forest fall silent, snow dancing down from the clouds and whiting the ground.

Elysium glanced up at the sky to see the sky turning a darker grey, the sun no longer behind it, lighting it. They arrive at the tiny village after nightfall. Everything is settled and quiet and only a few torches remain lit outside their homes, the rest snuffed out by the cold and wind.

She turned to her father. “Please wait here.”

Logos nodded, his eyes shifting between the Realta and the village. “Take care of your heart.” He turns and gives his daughter one last glance before his dark skin disappeared into the night.

Elysium walked forward, slowing down as she nears the houses and the dim glow coming from the village. She glanced back at the forest, wondering if she’d catch some sign of her father watching her, but the dark and snow make it impossible to see that far.

The sound of a wooden door shutting against stone reached her. Her head swiveled to the direction of the sound, spotting the boy from before, standing outside his home and shivering. Elysium crept up to the shadow of a house and peeked around its corner at him.

The boy trudges in a familiar direction, towards the wood crib, carrying a sling between his hands. His steps are slow and tired and his body is shaking like a leaf.

Carefully, Elysium followed him, matching her footsteps to his and masking the crunch of the snow under her feet. She follows him around to the back of his house, leaning out around the corner to see him put the sling down in the snow.
He clenches his eyes shut against the cool and his finger fumble as he undoes the latch. He shuts his eyes again, surrounding a log from the wood shed with trembling fingers, slowly moving it from the crib and dropping it onto the sling. He bends over, panting from the effort it took just to move a log.

Elysiym frowned at seeing him struggle. Looking closely, she noticed some of his bones are showing through skin.

The boy turns looks at the wood pile, shaking as he tried to move another log. It shifted, but doesn’t move far. Scowling, he grasped it close to it just, heaving it upright. He succeeded, partially, dropping the log out onto the snow before moving it onto the sling with his feet.

It’s painful to watch.

He picked up another log, struggling with its weight slightly as he moves it out of the crib. Once the tip of it was free, it swung down, its weight pulling him down with it. He dropped it with a loud grunt, reaching a hand up to his mouth and pulling it away to find blood on his fingers. He spat out a splinter and some blood into the snow, looking at the spot where it landed and shook his head.

Elysium surrounded three of the logs from the crib with her magic. The boy’s head snapped around to stare at them as he moved them out of the wood shelter and lowers them onto the sling.

The boy looked behind him, spotting where Elysium was watching at him from. He spat blood onto the snow once more and lowered his hand from his mouth. “You visited again,” he said, smiling despite the obvious pain.

Elysium stays silent.

The boy glances at the sling. “Well, uh, thank you for helping me again.”

“Why doesn’t your father help you retrieve the logs?”

The boy blinks at the suddenness of her question. “Um, I would, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to stand on two feet right now.” He lets out a nervous chuckle. “We have to try to make the food last as long as we can—what little there is of it. We had a few bad crops this fall, and my father was—”

“The blizzard is going to worsen.” Elysium interrupts. “Your village will most likely die in the cold.”

The boy’s face falls, the words he wants to say dying in his throat. He looks down at the snow, swallowing. “I know...” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “But what can any of us do?”

Elysium says nothing for a while, averting her eyes from the boy’s. “...Nothing.”

The boy drags at the ground with his foot, smearing the blood he spat on the snow into a light pink streak. “We’ve all known we’re going to die ever since the harvest,” he says quietly. “We’re doing what we can with our time left and spending it with our families.”

A quiet passes between them, and the wind picks up slightly.

“Can I ask you a question?” the boy asked, staring up at Elysium.

“Yes.”

“Are you a goddess?”

Elysium chuckleed, looking down at the boy with a benevolent smile. “No.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the ground, fingers running through his hair bashfully.

“You looked like you might be, but then again I’ve never seen a goddess.”

“I’ve distanced myself from most other people.”

The boy peered up at Elysium. “But you’re not like most other people, are you?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I am not.” She noticed the boy’s lips were turning blue and her eyes horn lit up, radiating heat in the area around them. The boy’s shivering stopped and he stared up at her with a wide-eyed look. She smiled at him. “Better?”

“Oh, yes! Very much so!” He laughed and looked down at the snow around his legs, watching the surface of it turn to water. He looked back up at her with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Elysium simply gave him a nod.

Suddenly his smile fades and he looks back down. “Being warm won’t change the fact that all our food’s running out.”

“No,” Elysium says, “I guess it won’t.”

The boy gives her a sidelong glance, his eyes flickering between her bare skin and her wings. “What exactly are you?” he asks. A blush springs up to his face as he realizes what he just asked. “I-I mean, you’ve been out in this cold, which would have killed anyone without clothes. You have wings and do things that I’ve never ever seen... What are you?”

Elysium hesitates for a moment before answering, her gaze drifting back towards the forest. “I’m a Realta. My father. . . made your people,” he answered. She was not sure why she did what she did. Only that she did.

The little boy stares at her, his mouth agape, pointing a hand at her. “R-really?!” He nearly stumbled, falling quickly to his knees trying to bow, his head dipping down until his face was nearly kissing the snow.

Elysium shifts slightly, reaching down down and touching the boy’s head. “Please rise. I feel uncomfortable being bowed to.”

He nods and scampers to his feet. “That explains the warmth and the fire you gave me!”

“I can do more than just that.”

The boy looks up at her with wide eyes that hold something she hasn’t seen on him before: hope. “Can you save my village?”

Elysium opened and closed her mouth. “I... I don’t know.” The words didn’t feel like her own, and it doesn’t feel like she’s the one saying them.

“Oh...” A small trail of blood and drizzle trailed down his chin, and Elysium realized he doesn’t want to spit in front of her.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

He glanced up at her and then at the blood trailing down his chin. He nodded wordlessly.

Closing her eyes, Elysium concentrated on the feeling of her magic. The white light emitted from her outstretched hand turned snaked out towards the boy, surrounding the boy’s mouth.

The boy gasps and takes a step back in alarm, staring at the white glow around his mouth. Elysium opens her eyes and gazes at him softly with a warm, caring smile. Meeting her stare, the boy calmed down, his eyes darting between her and the luminescent glow around his mouth.

The glow from Elysium’s hand faded back, leaving the boy reaching up and touching his face. He licked the roof of his mouth. “It’s gone!” he exclaimed, staring up at her with the same awed look as when she gifted him the fire.

“Please try to be more careful in the future,” Elysium tsks.

“Y-yes Princess!”

Elysium blinked for a moment. It had been so strange to hear that title come from anyone but her father. She did not know if the boy said out of childish ignorance and admiration, or if the biological coding within him was finally surfacing in her presence.“I am not a princess,” Elysium said, letting out a huff at having to remind him.

The young boy shuffles his feet, casting his eyes downward. “Oh, right. S-sorry.”

Elysium tips his chin up, planting a chaste kiss on his forehead. “I need to go now.”

She turned and began walking away, the boy staring after her with his mouth hanging open. He limped after her rather weakly, his feet trudging through the high snow and his steps fumbling with urgency. “Wait!”

Elysium pauses and looked back at him. He threw himself at her feet. “Please, please save my village.”

Elysium looks down at him, his head pressed to her feet desperately. She hears the crunch of snow behind her and turns to see her father walk up beside her, appearing out of the night like a shadow. Logos merely gave her a nod and looked at the boy.

Elysium glances between the boy and her, her eyes wide and wings expanded in agitation. The boy at her feet paled slightly as he spots Logos, and he begins to tremble in primal fear.

“What do you choose to do, daughter?” Logos asked, staring expectantly at her. “I will not raise my hand to help them. For when they were designed, by my Hand and my Breath, I gave them all they needed in this world. A garden of plenty. And instead they would seek their own destruction. My place is to simply observe them. Is my place yours?”

“I...” Elysium stares at the boy wrapped around her legs, letting out a sigh. “No,it is not.”

The boy’s eyes light up, looking up at her. His eyes sparkle with pure joy and he hugs her leg tightly, sniffling with tears in the corner of his eyes. “Thank you! From the bottom of my heart.”

“At last you understand a least a portion of my Natural Order,” Logos said quietly, and Elysium thought she could catch a hint of appoval in his voice. At last, the shade of her father faded into wisps of shadow and light, dissipating into the night.

Giving the spot where her father had watched her a grateful nod, Elysium turns to the frozen village. Icicles the size young sapling hang from thatching and entire walls are encased in ice. Magic springs to life like a beacon from her body, the flare from it covering the entire village in light. She reaches for the magic her father had infused into the very fiber of the world, the very gridwork upon his system. In the sky, the clouds looming overhead part, opening the village to the night sky and the moonlight. The boy at Elysium’s feet stared up at the moon in awe.

The Realta magic turned a shining white, pure warm sunlight, expanding in a dome shape to cover the entire village and the fields surrounding it. Snow withers and melts under her magic, and people in their homes begin to wake and take notice of what’s going on around them, peering out the windows at the source of the bright, glowing light.

With the snow clear, she began to seep her magic into the frozen earth the village sits on, causing sprouts and grass to grow out of it. The carpet of green quickly spread across the town and its outlying fields, where apple trees begin to rapidly grow up out of the earth, ripe fruit springing up on their branches, along with bushels full of berries, carrots, and healthy leaf plants.

At last, Logos’s favored daughter cut her magic, and for a while after doing so the entire village stayed silent. People stared out of their windows, looking at the grass and crops that sprung out of the ground with disbelief.

Slowly, they began filtering out of their homes, inspecting the grass beneath their feet and testing that it is real.

The little boy finally rose to his feet, running up to the rest of the villagers. “The goddess! The goddess saved the town!” he shouted, pointing back at Elysium.

The boy’s father limps out of his home to his son’s side, wrapping his arm around him and looking at the young Realta. “How can we ever repay you?”

“I don’t seek recompense,” Elysium said assuredly. “We are just trying to help.”

The father’s legs shake, tears coming to his eyes, and he kneels down before the her. “Thank you.”

The rest of the townsfolk follow in his example, kneeling Elysium, daughter of the King of the Gods.

“Please,” Elysium said, motioning for them to rise. “Just eat.”

---

They glided in through the top of the open Citadel, landing soundlessly on section of the upper ring. “All things must exist in their proper portions. In perfect balance. This is the natural order.”

The Citadel thrust into the sky over the Forest like a platinum spear. Light blazed along its edges in complex sigils, and a beam of white energy shot forth from its point. A massive thunderhead had begun to gather above, lit from within by the shaft of light.

Logos stepped back from the ring of the Citadel, recalling the fragment of his power to him. His daughter had made her decision as he had designed her. That was good.

Now his mind turned to other portions of the world. Everything had changed with the death of the Timeless one.

No intermediaries, now. No insulation to prevent the gods themselves from striking against one another. The moves that had brought them here were irrelevant, and now all that mattered was the pure and simple truth that this was the beginning of the long end.

Logos’s storm stood poised over The Citadel, a single titanic cloud filled with every ounce of elemental energy from leagues in each direction. It appeared solid on the outside—almost like a vast anvil. A vast anvil, on which a new world was about to be forged.

The air thinned as they made their descent, but only the empty dark was breathable to the Realta.

A third of them awoke at his command, as was needed. Their duel with the mistakes of Galabar would draw their gods forth, to cut the cancer that had claimed Time itself. The Codex would be reclaimed and safely stored within his Citadel, to outlast the death of reality itself. They would also prevent him from descending to the ground below and obliterating the resistance as easily as one might swat an errant fly.

They dove in tandem, their wings skimming the surface of a cloud as large as a city. Above the storm there was no wind, no life, no thunder. The world was vast, cold, and empty, save for the focused shaft of light that broke from the center of the nimbus, lighting it from within like a candle in a jack-o-lantern.

And for the being who stood in front of it. He was as vast, cold, and empty as the world around them. Impassive as the stars that burned above them, as powerful and contained as the storm that raged below. Older than the world they looked over, and every creature on it. As compassionate and alien as the empty dark high above them.

But for all that, he could love. The Realta believed this with an intensity that rivalled the burning of all their stars combined. They had to believe it. Because they were going to die for him.

He faced away from them, into the beam of light that would strip humankind of their souls. He did not flinch from the incandescent glow, or turn to look at the children he no doubt knew were there. The light put the edges of his silhouette into sharp, colorless relief, like the night lit by a flash of lightning.

They landed on the tightiy formed surface of the thunderstorm apart from one another, putting Logos and his beam between them. He stared on, heedless of their arrival.

“You do not know.” Logos’s voice rolled over the aerial vista, powerful, cool, and emotionless. “You do not know of the care and effort involved in having children, as a god. The secret is lost to you, locked safely within The Citadel. It takes years,” Logos said. “Years, and something more. The spark of immortality is not something that can be hastened.”

His children of metal and fire waited patiently for him.

Logos glanced back ever so slight turned his gaze towards the Realta. “And in all this world, in all the universe, there is only one rule,” he said, looking back again upon the beam of light that pierced the heavens.

Like the dust being blown away from a buried treasure, the stream of light before him parted and flowed off of an object hidden within. It dwindled and thinned, until at last it was only a thread of energy bisecting a long, slender shaft of darkness. The light ran through the center of Singularity, and the blade came to rest at Logos’s side. The shaft of energy resumed its regular ascension.

Sheet lightning ripped its way across the sky, crossing from one horizon to another in three strokes, arcing around The Citadel’s beam. The world shifted and the Realta found themselves, and their father, their creator, their God deep within a cave. Before them stood a seam in the fabric of time and space, torn their by a goddess and her puppets long ago. They had stolen from the Garden of their father. She would be punished. The Cancer that consumed would be punished. All who defied the King of the Gods would either bow or be forced to kneel.

The sound of thunder layered atop itself was nothing to Logos’s voice. “Mine,” he said.

Astarte
Level 4 Goddess of Magic (Souls)
39 MP, 7 FP

The last thing she expected was to have a fellow God speak to her in that tone. What had she ever done to Toun to deserve such an acid greeting? His words stung like a stab through the heart. Her lip quivered and her eyes watered. Thankfully, her hair covered that first reaction. She lifted her face and moved her bangs away from her face. Then she looked at Toun with the harshest expression she could muster, which came out as a mix of defiance and arrogance.

"H-"

Yet Vestec appeared. He made a show of defending Astarte from Toun's words. A show meant to make her feel better, no doubt, but which ultimately had the opposite effect.

It's always been like this. Ever since she started getting involved with the rest of the Gods, trouble would find her and she'd be defenseless. Spineless. Someone would have to come and save her. Was she really that weak? That... Useless?

Astarte slouched over, bangs obscuring her expression once more.

"Astarte, my dear, care to come with me? We can find something fun to do. After all, there's an entire universe for us to explore."

She looked at Vestec through the curtain of hair, mouth slightly ajar and forming a neat little 'o'. She went to grab his hand but stopped herself and stood up on her own.

"Yeah... Sure, let's go. I'm not welcome at the memorial of my siblings, anyway." 'Maybe going with Vestec will stop Brown's nagging for a while, either way.'

Brown had been flying through a wide stretch of plains when a lone figure came into view. Taking this as a chance to confirm her direction as correct, she lowered her self to the ground quickly, landing beside the young human. His fur clothes were ragged, yet it was obvious he did his best to keep them clean. His nose was crooked and he missed a tooth. A brawl, possibly, yet Brown had no time to waste involving herself in such a matter now.

The boy, meanwhile, nearly had a heart attack. He had just finished recovering his breath when Brown coughed to call his attention.

"Boy, am I on the correct direction to the Valley of Peace?" She asked, looking around. Her long brunnette hair flowed in the air as a particular breeze passed by.

"A-Ah-" The boy stuttered.

"Quickly, this matter involves higher beings."

"Uh... Y-Yes-"

"Is that so? Well, thank you for your assistance." And with no more words, Brown flew off again, kicking off a bunch of dirt in the process.

"Wait! Do you have any water..." The boy sighed and slumped his shoulders once he saw the mysterious woman disappear between the clouds. He was going to the Valley of Peace as well, so he better make good use of his time. Walking was a better use of his time than moping around, and if further down his path he found a river, he'd be even better off.

As he turned to keep walking, he saw a wooden bowl filled to the brim with water.

Never before had he so quickly downed a bowl of water in his life.

****************

"Belvast!"

The door to the pub burst open very non-peacefully, and from the darkness of the night stepped in a young woman dressed only in a brown dress. Her hair was slightly disheveled and reached down to the small of her back. Her face showed a mix of determination, annoyance and excitement.

She surveyed the scene inside the pub, not surprised to see half of the patrons were low lifes and the other half were desperate farmers gambling their items away.

Only one stood out from the rest. Namely because of his stature and fur-covered body.

He was also the only one with a mountain of loot beside him.

Brown could feel all the eyes of the room upon her as she flew toward Belvast. They roamed her body, and she didn't like it. The hain there were the first to turn away. The humans the last. One man even dared reach for her, so she smashed another's plate on his face with her magic.

Then she reached Belvast and simply stood there beside him, crossing her arms and tapping her bare feet on the ground.

Belvast blinked a few times as the woman appeared, a confused expression on his face which turned into worry as she smashed a plate into the man's face. "Err...Ms.? Is everything alright?" he asked, innocent eyes looking up as he sat on a literal mountain of bagged salmon.

Brown put a hand over her mouth and looked away, making her following words come out muffled, "You're supposed to tell me to take this outside. You know, privacy."

Belvast tilted his head before saying: "Well, there's privacy in the latrine, but...it smells bad in there." rather simply. He had no idea what this lady was talking about. "But...if you'd like to speak with me, here is fine. Everyone's used to a talking cat around here."

The woman's right eyebrow twitched as she grit her teeth, lowering her hand and looking back at Belvast. "I need your... Help. I heard you were a wanderer and had seen lots of things. I need some advice."

Belvast hummed and took the woman by the hand and quickly lead her outside before a plate could try and connect with her head from the patron she'd smashed one into. "Ok, privacy needed, run!" he said as he started fleeing from the pub, holding her hand as an azure gate appeared which he dragged her into, leading them into a chilly cave out of nowhere. Settling against the smooth rock floor, Belvast curled up and his twin tails coiled around one another. "Ah...the best thinkspace...So, what was it you needed to discuss?"

Brown stared at the portal as it closed, then back at Belvast. She chuckled and bit the tip of her tongue for a moment. Until she shook her head and regained her composure.

"My name's Brown. I'm a part of Astarte, so it is in my best interest to take care of that girl. A few things happened and now she's sad. Really sad. I don't know how to cheer her up-" She looked off to the side, hesitant to continue, "So as a fellow wanderer, one who actually pays enough attention to where he goes to be able to tell stories afterward, I figured you would be wise enough to have advice to share about my situation."

"As in, tell me how to cheer her up. She used to love travelling and seeing the land."

Belvast hummed, deep in thought as he scratched his chin with a claw, rolling around the cave on his back and stomach as he hummed in thought. "Well...what is it that made her upset? I can tell her a few tales of my own if you'd like, but I doubt that me seeing things a god can see in seconds will be very interesting...Does she like plants? I know groves with lots of beautiful flowers."

"You'd be surprised what she finds interesting..." Brown smiled for a moment, "But to answer your question, She's mainly upset because her friend ogre was kidnapped and she's being extorted to keep him safe. Vulamera and Vowzra's deaths also upset her quite a bit."

"And she loves plants. Mainly the lavender flowers."

Belvast's eyes went wide as he heard of...Vowzra's...death? Shuddering, tears started welling in his eyes. "Y-You're not...y-you're lying..." he said, ears falling flat against his head.

"H-hey-" Brown narrowed her eyes. What had she said to warrant such a reaction? She'd only spoken of Astarte and... 'Their deaths...' She thought.

"Hey, now," She said softly, inwardly cursing herself for having to deal with another sad person. She knelt down on the smooth stone floor in front of Belvast and put a hand on his shoulder, "There's a... Memorial, at the peak of Solitary Mount. Maybe we can visit that?"

Belvast shuddered, now weeping as he curled up into a ball, a pitiable sight as he clutched his arms to himself and his shoulders, his cries echoing throughout the cave. As an extremely childish demigod, the loss of his parent was beyond devastating. To him, the only purpose he had to wander was to fulfill Vowzra's expectations. That Belvast would fulfill his fate as a wanderer. Now... he had no reason to go anywhere. Slowly getting up from his sobbing, Belvast continued to cry as he went to the back of the cave and promptly slashed the rock with his claws, deep cleaves forming as he screamed in anger, frustration, sadness, and a whole cocktail of emotions that'd leave Lifprasil stunned.

Brown sighed and sat down, lifting her gaze up to the ceiling, 'I screwed up.'

Belvast cleaved open a boulder and panted, his eyes twitching as they filled up with tears, his third eye opened over where the Solitary Mount was, his eyes widening as he sunk to his knees, completely stunned as he saw it. "...Why...Why...WHY!?"

Suddenly, an object hit the back of Belvast's head. It was a ball of red-colored yarn, thrown by Brown who desperately hid the offending arm and smiled a wide, uncomfortable smile.

Belvast didn't react much, his right tail wrapping around it, the demicat putting it in his lap and clutching it to his chest as he sobbed.

"Um," Brown looked around nervously. It took her a minute to decide what to do. She levitated over to Belvast and gently wrapped her arms around the small demicat. A part of her wanted to hoist him up and giggle and kiss his face and bite his neck, but that would have been very inappropiate and rather Astarte-like. "Come on, cheer up, I can't let Astarte fall deeper down the hole. I need your help, Belvy..."

Belvast just cried into Brown's chest, his ears flat against his head as he wept into her. He wrapped his arms gingerly around her back and just squeezed slightly, glad that someone was here. Glad that someone who cared was here.

It would take him a day or two, but eventually his puffy eyes would turn dry, simply sitting in Brown's arms as he tried to sleep.

By then, Brown had exhausted every last ounce of regret at mentioning Vulamera and Vowzra and instead just gently stroked the cat's back.

Drying his face on his sleeve, Belvast looked up at her and said: "Um...I'm sorry for acting like this...I-I just...I," as a rather bumbling attempt at an excuse and an apology.

"Astarte acted the same when The Demigod of Sin spoke to her, so I'm kinda used to it by now. It's fine. At least you're a bit better now, can't say the same for Astarte." Brown chuckled.

Belvast sniffled one last time before shaking his head and stretching. "So...what exactly has Astarte so upset? Was she close to Vulamera and...Father," he asked, voice still a little shaky.

Brown broke off the embrace and leaned back a bit. She brought a finger up to her chin in thought. "Uh, I don't think so. She spoke to your Father one time. That's when she made me. She's upset because The Demigod of Sin took her friend ogre from her and is extorting her. I don't know what he's asking of her, but she's been really desperate and sad since she spoke to him. I want to take her mind off of things for a bit. You know what I mean, Belvy?"

Belvast tilted his head. "Oh. Okay. But...why don't we just go help her friend ogre then?" he asked, confused as to how a demigod is so easily extorting a god.

"We don't know where the ogre is," Brown raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Oh." Belvast replied simply before scratching the back of his head. "Hmm...I might need help for that one then...I think I know someone who might help me. But, for now, I promise I'll try and make her feel better." the little cat promised, bowing his head slightly to his new pal.

Brown grinned and thre herself at Belvast, hugging him tightly and giggling as his whiskers tickled her, "Oh, thank you thank you little kitty demigod! Belvy Belvy Belvy! You're so fluffy I just want to bite you!" Brown snorted as she laughed and clacked her teeth awfully close to his nose. It all ended too soon as Brown stopped in her tracks and got up onto her feet, a light blush present on her face.

"Sorry about that, I get these weird Astartian urges to smother everything that is adorable- uh- Not that I'm saying you are adorable or anyth..." She went silent for a moment, listening to some unseen voice. Then she frowned and rolled her eyes, "Shut up, Astarte."

Belvast was a little confused by the sudden hugs and giggles and threats to bite him. Eyes widening as she said he wasn't adorable, Belvast said: "So, um...h-how do we cheer Astarte up? What kind of stories do you think she'd like to hear about?"

"Huh, that's a good question..." Brown crossed her arms and looked at the ground, before perking up, "A few days before the deal with the other Demigod, she inquired about romance. She thought that since I was a lower being compared to her, I'd know more about it. I don't."

"She also seems really interested in humans and plants, Does that help is picking out a story?"

Belvast hummed, rolling onto his back, tails swishing as he thought up an idea...maybe. "Well...I don't know much about love besides how much I love fish...but I've seen tons of people and plants all over Galbar! I even pressed a couple to make sure I remember what they looked like..." Belvast said as he dug through his gigantic backpack until he pulled out a musty looking tome made of rough bound leather. Opening it up, he showed Brown the various flowers and plants of the land that he'd collected, though a couple were so old at this point that they were just stains on the page.

Brown's eyes lit up like a pair of stars once Belvast showed her the first plant. They didn't dim or look away until the last page had been turned. "That. Is. Awesome! You better keep that book sealed and guarded all the time, I bet everyone wants to steal it!" She gushed, poking one of the pressed flowers. "Yes, definitely, she's going to love that!"

The flower she touched turned to dust, the petals sccattering. "Um..M-Maybe I need to restart my collection...these flowers are all far past their prime... he said as he slowly put the book back.

Brown grinned bashfully and put away the offending finger. "I could bless the book and make it so it keeps the plants in it in a perfect state for you, if you want."

Belvast shook his head. "I can't ask that of you...but, I will let you keep it if you want it." Belvast said as he plucked the book from his bag and handed it to her. "A gift."

"Really?!" Brown looked like an excited schoolgirl who'd just been told that donuts would be given away for free in her school's cafeteria, "I always knew cats were awesome and cute!" She snatched the book away before Belvast changed his mind and fled to a dark corner of the cave, where she looked started looking through the pages again, illuminating the area with a ball of pure magical essence in her free hand.

Belvast just sat by himself, cleaning the Mobius Board as he watched Brown flip through the book.

Silence.

"That's it!" Brown whispered excitedly after minutes of having her nose buried in the book. She closed the tome and stood up with it under one of her arms. She ran over to Belvast and pet his head, "Thank you for the book, kitten! If you ever need our help or just wanna talk, just pray to Astarte and let her know who you want to talk to. If it's me, I'll be here before you can wag that fluffy tail of yours!" She grinned and in a blink of an eye, disappeared from sight.

Teknall saw Astarte approach, and he could see her pitiable state. She seemed drained of all her usual glee and whimsy. If he had been given the chance, Teknall would have gone over to try and comfort her in this time of mourning. Toun was not so sympathetic, and his outburst surprised Teknall as much as it did Astarte.

As Toun finished his rant, Teknall gripped him by the shoulder and pulled him back a step. "That was unnecessarily cruel," Teknall scorned. "Can't you tell she is upset?"

Then came Vestec, who censured Toun and Teknall and the other 'good' gods for their hypocrisy and inaction. Teknall let out a dejected sigh. Teknall had no will to argue with Vestec any more on these points, especially when Vestec spoke truthfully. "We get it. We're not as good as we'd like to be. We established this last time we talked."

Then Vestec began replaying scenes of him and Reathos fighting, and explained what had happened with Reathos, that he had killed Reathos in self-defence. Teknall's brow furrowed as he examine the scenes and Vestec's words. It was quite possible that Vestec was lying through his teeth, but his story also made sense. It was indeed true that Vestec had little reason to outright murder another god, and Reathos had plenty of reason to enact vengeance against Vestec. His story could be corroborated with the record on the Cube once it was deciphered, but for now it seemed the most plausible explanation.

Teknall made no verbal response to Vestec's explanation, although he did not appear to reject it. When Vestec went over to comfort Astarte, Teknall turned back to the Cube. It was still indecipherable. A translator would almost certainly be needed.

She hadn't given her pawn much in the way of emotion. Fear was useful enough, for something so fragile. Curiousity was necessary for any creative being. Joy, anger, pity, exhilaration, sorrow... Heartworm had none of these.

Despair was what it knew its über-mind would be experiencing, was her perception still linked to its own. That, and rage. Jvan was steeped in rage. She could afford to be. Could afford to waste time and power obliterating all that bore a slight against her. Behind her was the full weight of godhood.

For the one who knew only a shadow of such luxury, it was finally time to turn back. Despite everything, it had come too late. Vestec had danced his way in without a care, and made off with the prize of a brother scientist. The ruby throne of the Adversary stood empty.

Heartworm's vessel turned on its two legs, a headless gaze drinking deep of the Submaterial architecture. Incense still smouldered, its carnal aroma faded into steam. Vermin no longer seethed over the seat of Mammon. Empty darkness hung behind stained glass. The graven pillars were silent as ever. A memory hung in the air, a voice now still.

"The future is bright; an unopened book; my pen in hand ready for the energy to move it.”

Long ago, an angel had been sent to hear those words, and when that angel died, it was replaced. Heartworm was the new angel, the real envoy. Here it was at last, standing in the hall it had been made to grace. Too late.

After a moment, a tentacle extended from the avatar's torso, looped around the pewter chain of one of the still-burning censers. Heartworm lifted it and took the ornate vessel with it. Its footsteps echoed long in the hall of the King in Red.

Death does not darken your future, my friend downstairs. A new page turns.



Final system checks. From within and without Heartworm tried and tested every seam of its vessel, ensuring that the exterior was sturdy, the joints supple, and the cockpit secure. Small and thin as it may be, the avatar was ruthlessly capable of improvising to survive what time and misfortune threw at it. But risk is better avoided, and even low orbit is harsh.

Once nestled in the fluid-insulated pilot's chamber, Heartworm integrated its tongues with the creature's organ systems and felt it pulse with life. The nameless vehicle stood tall on two double-jointed digitigrade legs, each equipped with both hoof and dextrous bladed claw. Neither arms nor heads marked the smoky transparent dome of the torso from which Heartworm gazed, though compound eyes studded its perimeter. An exoskeletal plate clamped shut over the entrance. To the rear, the sleek cockpit ended in two propellant vents, and fourteen ports in which long black tentacles hid, sealed in by panels of carapace. The body gleamed in opaque white shell, dark translucent grey, and iridescent metallic tubes.

Without warning the vessel bent its slender legs to the water and leapt for the sky, disappearing faster than eyes could track. Heartworm left the thick fog and unseen gnawing things of the Caliginous Mangrove behind and burst through its dark, featureless canopy. The Emaciator's old levitating trick carried its momentum onwards, and a concussive blast of black smoke from its vents sent it hurtling up into the thin atmosphere.

Soon the air resistance disappears. Heartworm breathes safe in its vehicle, calmly aware of fluid mechanics ticking around it in perfect order. Unhindered by gravity, it gains speed quickly, curving in orbit. Its hooves touch down lightly on the surface of Mirus. Just in time.

Aeons had passed since the Scribe had crafted this moon, and yet where the outlines of the Fractal Sea had been marred by the natural forces, this intricate, frozen maze of a world remained perfectly preserved. The love Vulamera had poured into the endeavor was plain to see. One needed no third eye to see how bittersweet a gift it had been. All for nothing.

Jvan had a world of her own, and no care for the boundaries of ownership. Ceding the masterpiece back to its maker did nothing to stall her descent into stagnation. Now Vulamera was dead. Jvan wouldn't celebrate. That rivalry had never had a chance to bloom. Vulamera had evaporated into shapeless nothing yet again, just as she had in the before-world. A scientist of vision had died with her. Maybe it would have been different, if Jvan had accepted the gift. Maybe.

Maybe not.

Now only the moon remained, cold and forgotten. The solitary memorial to the artist that might have been. It waited to change hands, once again, to the engineer who was now its only heir.

Seconds after landing, the stone of Mirus shook, and Heartworm felt the grey surface below its hooves liquefy and warp, becoming reflective. It raised a many-coloured scythe of a claw and hacked open the organometallic creep while it was soft, and noted with satisfaction the gas that rushed out through the gap. Within moments Heartworm had lowered itself into the chamber as it sealed itself behind and solidified.

The cavity was a tunnel, and no small one either. Echoes of teeth boring into rock and metal clamour as it expanded into shape washed down the ridged tube in a constant current from both sides. Heartworm could identify at least eight sources, and many more in the distance. Most were drowned out by the closest, the only noise coming from the east.

It didn't take long to follow the new pipe to the wyrm that was manufacturing it.



Heartworm balanced on one long leg, simulating gravity to ground itself, and kicked the modified demon worm sharply with a hoof. The impact that could have killed a human only dented the gleaming skin of the enormous creature and caused it to contract with a low groan. Alive, active and responsive. A successful model.

Beneath the exterior, living tar and filth still flowed with morbid life. Our Lord Mutilation knows it well, for it has adopted the Wyrms of Mirus, and, as a father to a son, the little worm had clothed these helpless relics in a new skin.

The wyrm was left to its work. The avatar stalked down the tunnel, alone, the only conscious soul in the whole world. It inspected the labyrinth silently, attentive but not curious. These lonely pipes, too, were of its own design.

Savouring the subtleties of suggestively organic curves contrasting a complete lack of colour and light, the motif of the laboratory architecture was an energetic, almost erotic grotesque. Vertebrae arched over the roof like a bent human back, and where there was illumination, it glowed baleful from staring sockets. Mechanisms were hidden in bulges all too smooth, all too round.



Onwards walked old skin-stitch through its house of metal flesh, never for a moment lost in the maze. The atmosphere within its laboratory was stagnant, cold, clammy enough to form drops of condensation on the surfaces and puddles on the ground, and wholly survivable. The methodical wander continued.

In a pipe distant from the epicentre, Heartworm found a breath of drier air, and followed it. A thin coat of ash began to dust the floor, and dripping puddles were replaced with stains of long clotted blood. Little by little, the sculpted organometallic walls gave way to stone caked with brown. An odour other than raw metal prevailed, and the distant noises changed from clangs into an unsteady, viscous slurp. Deliberate as ever, the Emaciator walked on.

Slimy water, first in puddles, then deepening as the tunnel edged downwards and became flooded. The splash of footsteps became a constant. 'Down' became less relative as natural gravity around the vehicle intensified. It extended hidden fins from its shins and swam.

Roots. Light.

Knowing better than to try and climb the slick walls of the submerged blood well, Heartworm bested the faint current tugging it back and emerged, once more, into fog. Something moved in the black water. Disappeared behind a veil of Mangrove roots. This is Galbar.

Project successful.



In the absence of power, formerly subservient agents seethe into the vacuum.

A hundred years. Not long. Long enough. Heartworm cared nothing for whether or not Fate existed, as Jvan found herself so critically unable to determine. Her avatar simply noted with interest the behaviour of the Primordials. Only consequences are real. Zephyrion's actions had been met with dire consequences indeed, and his banishment in turn shook Galbar with its ramifications.

The very presence of such a cataclysmically powerful deity on the planet had been a keystone holding other forces at bay. In Zephyrion's absence Jvan was blessed with the perfect window of opportunity. Before the hundred years were up the Arks would descend, carrying with them a ravenous Sorority. A storm was coming, and the Djinni would have no Father Gale to intervene on their behalf.

Heartworm had no intention of participating. War destroys. War begets politics. Let Jvan advocate her own cause. With the Lord of Change gone, her avatar had its own agenda.

Vetros is quiet at night if you wait long enough. Heartworm knew exactly where and when to teleport in, cutting a hole into space rather than risk even a few seconds outside of its vehicle. The palace reeked of condensed energy. The King's Law cast a divine shadow over the entire city. That the sceptre's potency lacked subtlety, left the High Priest reliant on his own eyes and ears and wit, was a small comfort indeed. Everything had been planned and rehearsed. The Emaciator gave itself less than an hour for its task.

A Mahd fisherman, asleep behind walls of mud-brick. Vetruvian houses are built with a flat roof, for use as an upper floor, and though the man had the wisdom to bolt the hatch with a sturdy stick, the wooden latch was like wax beneath Heartworm's claw. It let itself in silently.

Plates of white shell opened like a mouth. Old skin-stitch extended its tools and began working, starting with a sedative. It slit open the man's hands and tuned his fingers, slit his throat and fanned it into gills. Hardly breathing, the man's slumber held as Heartworm opened the back of his neck and slid a dozen razor-edged tendrils into his brain.

Premeditation had only optimised the speed of the operation, sacrificing finesse. The visuo-spacial capacities and constant hallucinations Heartworm added to the fisher came at the cost of his identity, his memories, and his life. It estimated that he had a hundred and thirteen days to live until he finally succumbed to the epilepsy that follows cerebral trauma. Long enough.

It sutured his wounds and left him to begin his visions alone. No longer able to differentiate sleep from waking, the man's ruined brain began acting out his dream, mumbling in his rest.

"Four cross-spans to the rib... On both sides reinforcement to the deck from the keel. Three sides to each sail, curved on the hypotenuse and parallel to the mast- Four cross-spans to the rib, and..."

Another four targets should be enough. The people of Vetros may be enraged, may curse the demon that came in the night, but they would listen to the voice of the mad shipwrights and they would build what satisfied their inspections, rising to the challenge. Fine ships indeed Heartworm had designed for them. Worthy of kings.

All but the last of the fishers and craftsmen Heartworm modified lived alone. This was planned. Only the final victim shared his bed with a woman that may awaken at the commotion. If nothing else, the man would never have to mourn; He would never again have the mental ability to remember his wife, or be able to feel that much emotion. Small mercies. I am not trying to endear myself to anyone.

Heartworm wrapped the sedated human in its' vehicle's slender tentacles and carried it swiftly to the grand square, where the Vetruvians danced after the harvest feast, where soldiers saluted their Priest and God one last time before battle, where King Akthanos himself addressed his people. This step was the most fraught. With all systems running fast, Heartworm slit the woman's jugular vein and began to paint.

Quickly. Quickly.

Not quick enough.

The patrolman watched with wide eyes the scene in the moonlight, but did not move in from the street. He hung back, both hands forming fists on his spear. When he could watch no more, he stepped back slowly, as silently as possible. Unwilling to challenge a threat he did not know. The entire garrison was to be roused. The wisest move.

Heartworm tore out his vocal cords by his mouth and impaled him on his own spear in a single, elegant movement.

I was running out of blood anyway.

Its hooves had made a sound as it leapt for him, but the work was nearly complete. Setting the gasping man down close by, it continued the mural. The weapon had cleverly shattered his spinal cord, rendering him lame from the waist down without puncturing major arteries, and the weapon was left where it was to staunch most of the wound. He would last two days, at least. Maybe even survive.

Another few seconds and the design was complete. Fidgeting anxiously, its tentacles pushed the soldier onto his side and propped his head on his arm as Heartworm wrenched another wound in space. That way he might remain conscious until the wound clotted. He was, after all, only collateral.

Eventually, dawn broke upon an all-but-empty square, marked now by a pictographic design painted in drying blood. The exterior symbols were identical, though some were larger than others. Simple arrows, pointing inwards to the center. Arranged haphazardly, a keen eye would notice that each one led from a temple, a market, an amphitheatre in Vetros, and their size denoted their significance. The largest pointed directly from the palace.

The symbol in the center was the arched roots and sparse canopy of a mangrove. Its message was simple.

Come.



It seemed fairly likely that Jvan would sign. If anything, she may have signed already. Heartworm had no intention of coming close enough to find out. That was how things were, now. Always avoiding attention. Always cowering in the shadow of its maker.

There was a certain ambiguity in the words of the broadcast, but the terms of the pact itself, in characteristically Tounic fashion, were so inescapable, so explicitly stark. No killing. Maiming and desecration were clearly permissible, then. For Jvan, that made her side of the pact an empty formality. She had already given her word for peace in the New Chronos, albeit not binding. Murder wasn't even her style. What had transpired in Old Chronos was... An abnormality. A glitch, that continued still. Something still brewed inside the All-Beauty. Whether that was the fault of the Timeless One was yet to be seen.

Vowzra's final clash had depleted tremendous stores of energy, and now Jvan languished, exhausted. It would be some time before she repaired herself. The conflict itself stirred no excitement in Heartworm. A threat to its existence had been removed, at the cost of future samples that threat may have produced. A reasonable exchange. Young gods replaced old ones.

And now, provided it didn't stray too close, Heartworm had virtually free reign.

The millings of other deities may have been enough to keep the avatar well away from the Oath of Stilldeath, but nothing stopped it from following the rest of Toun's scent. Spurred by curiousity, Heartworm decided to take its chances on Cogitare. A hidden exit offered escape from the sprawling Submaterium of Mirus, and soon enough its vehicle was just an infinitely small speck moving imperceptibly through soundless space.

Charcoal sphere against a midnight backdrop. From a distance, Vulamera's favourite moon resembled its maker.

A mystery presented itself. Crisscrossed by four different tails of magic, the site of the grave was otherwise an entirely forgettable patch of dust. It revealed nothing. But not quite the nothing that Heartworm had been expecting.

There was a fifth scent, besides its own. It was fresh. Its source stood by, watching the avatar.

"Jvan? Is that you?"

A heterochromic male human. A curly-haired boy. A boy who stood and watched the thing that towered over him, heedless of air or fear.

"Part of it." A limp answer, but Heartworm's mind was elsewhere. It stared without listening.

For aeons Vakarlon had been hidden on this moon. It showed. The shapeshifter's tricks kept his body whole and untarnished, but for the discerning eye...

There was something brittle about Vakarlon. A faint crack in his voice, a flicker in his gaze. Beneath the skin, the avatar knew that there lay scorched flesh. Another illusion. Or, perhaps, something more subtle.

"Why are you sick?"

Vakarlon stopped halfway through whatever formality he was giving, and frowned, crossed his arms. "That is really no matter for you to intrude on. Especially in my hour of grief. What do you believe gives you the right to inquire about my private affairs?" The stare continued, and he went on. "But since you are evidently so astute and I doubt I have much to gain in secrecy I will tell you this much." The words came out a little too soon, too smoothly. Something was overriding his caution, and Heartworm suspected it was desperation.

"I have to say that I do not know how it is with you, Jvan, but when I came into being in the Before, I was not an entirely new entity. I had memories that were older than this world and its deities. Initially I struggled to identify them, but with Vulamera's assistance I succeeded in understanding their source." Beat.

"What I discerned within my psyche was that my godhood is a consequence of events in a previous universe. I had a previous existence in a mortal guise. By the hand of Fate, that human form was appointed to play a part in vanquishing a god of that world. That god was a destroyer by nature. Serandor. His rampage slew thousands."

"Long story short I overcame Serandor in single combat. His followers, however, lived on. They tried to use me as a vessel for his rebirth. Instead they only elevated me to his level. But Serandor is not entirely dead. He lives within me to this day. I hold him back."

The spiel was winding down; Heartworm hadn't twitched.

"Vulamera is- Was- Responsible for playing a role in that. On two occasions she explored my mind, and on the latter she partitioned him from me. Now I fear I am again alone in restraining him."

"With questionable success."

Vakarlon was quiet, as if expecting Heartworm to talk on. It did not, and he did not relax. "I do not mean to intrude, Jvan, or whatever aspect of her you might represent, but what purpose do you have in asking me this? Surely you did not simply seek me out to hear me talk? No one else has."

"Your weakness is exploitable." Flat. Honest.

"What!?" Those words had an immediate effect. Jolted back, Vakarlon's mismatched eyes instantly blackened. Heat shimmers flickered at the chinks of Heartworm's vision. "Do you mean to play some kind of sick game with me? Perish the thought. I am not weak and I am most certainly not exploitable. I divulge my secrets to you out of generosity alone, and this is how I am repaid? Do I indeed require aid from another god to hold back the Destroyer? Very well! But I have no need to come crawling in order to beg to you."

"I have held him back for millions of years and I will preserve his prison for a million more. Maybe I will find some honest god to assist me. Teknall, maybe, or even Niciel. As for you... Begone!"

And, to his surprise, the Emaciator looked like it was about to do exactly that. It turned, and stepped away silently, cloven hooves kicking black dust into the Cogitare microgravity. It was still in range of his divine hearing when it answered.

"Then there will be a second death on Cogitare. You can't even jump to Galbar anymore. No wonder it forgot you."

A brilliant conflagration ignited around Vakarlon, stretching a wavering shadow from Heartworm, and he spoke in a voice of thunder.

"You would mock me in this way? Do not mistake my silence for weakness, fool. I am Vakarlon! Balancer of Scales! Protector of Rottenbone Slough! With my own hands I created the Tundran Wastes that sprawl over Galbar in the north and in the south. I alone am responsible for preventing the rebirth of Serandor. I am the only friend of the Transcendent Mother, and at this very moment our daughter walks Galbar, bringing divine reckoning on the heads of the-"

"Where is she?"

The second interruption stalled Vakarlon into a sharp silence. Now Heartworm faced him. "Slough is dead. North waste destroyed. South emptied in genocide. Strong slaughtered weak."

When Vakarlon failed to speak and his flame began to darken, Heartworm waited. The stakes had changed. It had time.

"I do not answer to you or anyone else, Jvan. Even if what you say to me is true, I am under no obligation to tolerate your 'help'. Maybe this illness is but a sign that I am on my way to annihilating Serandor." A particularly empty lie. Vakarlon paused, as if listening to something, or at least weathering its laughter. "Besides, there is nothing you have to offer me that more trustworthy deities could not. Vulamera was unique. Serandor is trapped within my mind. That was her domain... And I trusted her. She was my friend."

The pause was hollow. The boy had no more words to shelter behind. He looked so small.

Seeing no reason to let him suffer in the quiet, Heartworm took over.

"Mortal minds are projections of their subservient flesh. Divine mind controls its power and body utterly, but echoes a deity's identity. Its nature. Thought is a form of expression."

"Serandor abuses the Vakarlon that manifests as it does now. Heartworm is the sculptor of manifestation. To change your medium of expression would preserve your nature while your expressed mind disappears. Without a conscious host psyche, Serandor is neutralised. The essence of Vakarlon survives."

"Sentience is no prerequisite to godhood. With my facilitation, you will live on as the Shadowed Mind, Balancer of Scales. Capable of what you were designed for. In this, a compromise exists."

It was the longest string of words Heartworm had ever spoken. A moment passed.

"What you are saying is in short that my consciousness can be destroyed, and the threat posed by Serandor with it, while the true Vakarlon lives on in another form."

"Correct."

Vakarlon opened his mouth, then closed it again, looked aside. The weight of opposing factors working in his decision was clearly visible. One the one hand, imminent death after a life of impotency, and the potential release of Serandor. An alternative demanded his conscious life in sacrifice, and faith in an amoral god.

"...But how? How exactly could my nature manifest in any form other than the one I have used since before this universe began? What possible shape deprives me of thought itself and still allows me to achieve my potential?"

"Deus ex machina," answered Heartworm simply. "The ghost in the machine."

The death of Vowzra did not come to shock Lazarus. Nowadays, nothing ever did. He didn’t really care about anything anymore, devoted to his work simply out of what could perhaps be madness. A lack of motivation to do something else? Or maybe just because he could. Only the god of knowledge knew what his reasons were.

Loneliness. It wore on his already battered psyche. So many pawns, so many enemies. So many kings. So many temporary allies, political webs, and intrigue. He had always been under the sway of raw emotion, and now he was lonely. Ever so lonely. The divine measurement systems could wait. The Gap could wait. All the gods he had made deals with could wait.

For now, at least.

Am I the only one I know?

His soul could be split, possibly. He couldn’t trust the others, but he could trust himself. He could trust an extension of himself. The rest wanted to use him, saw him as a pawn. He saw the rest that way as well. The world was not kind, and he knew that full well.

Waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?

The darkness of the cave was suffocating. He was alone with his workshop. The Rovaick tended to his fruit outside, but they were no friends. They simply lived nearby for his divine protection. That, and due to his intimidation. They screamed at him. THEY SCREAMED AT HIM.

Shadows will scream that I’m alone,

He found himself on the floor, clutching at his head. When had he fallen? He couldn’t remember. Had he passed out? His head throbbed excruciatingly, keeping him rolled up in a ball on the floor. His divine waves he used to sense throbbed as well, ebbing and flowing with the tide of his emotions.

Please let me paint you a mental picture portrait.

Eventually the pain receded. Some kind of divine communication had hit him during the pain. He didn’t care. They were not friends, their intentions were not made in good. To him, good was unachievable. True good, a pipe dream. No matter how horrible a thing might be, it is possible that removing it would be the worst option.

My mind’s shipwrecked, this is the only land my mind could find,

Such was the way of the world. Everybody had their secrets, everybody their virtues. No matter how obvious or how hidden. Some things could not be excised without the excision being the true evil. A dreary conclusion.

I did not know it was such a violent island, full of tidal waves, suicidal crazed lions,

But that was of no matter to him. The shadows strangled him, and he needed to cleanse them. He needed to split his soul. What would come out of it he did not know, but he did know he would be able to trust it. He could trust it much more than everyone else. It would assuage his loneliness.

They’re trying to eat me, blood running down their chin,

He slowly stood up. The world spun around him for a moment, the nauseating darkness pervading every corner of his senses. The idea had seized him like a vice, the idea of splitting his soul. However, his body and soul were too weak for that as it was. He’d need help, he’d need something hardier. To that end, he called out, “You! The one who wanted me to find the Codex! Are you there?"

And I know that I can fight or I can let the lion win,

"I know you’re there! Come out! I need you now!" Calling out into the darkness, he balled up his fists. Irrational anger flooded him. What was taking him, her, or it so long to respond?

I begin to assemble what weapons I can find, since sometimes to stay alive you gotta kill your mind.

"I’m always here," the familiar voice sounded out as if disinterested. Lazarus only had to turn his head to one side to face the androgynous white armoured shape of Minus leaning against a nearby wall. It had its arms crossed with its weighted chains swaying with the draft of the area. A less than sympathetic tone was chosen. "Are you okay?"

"That doesn’t matter," Lazarus responded, "what does matter is that this body is too weak. I need a new one. I know how to transfer myself over, that much is easy. But I need the body, and I need it to my specifications. Are you able to provide?" Lazarus remained in place, focusing his senses on Minus.

Such senses processed Minus turn its head straight, and then slowly back. Pitching up in thought, presumably. "That would depend on your specifications. Although…" Minus’ head rotated to Lazarus again. It left its sentence hanging in the air until it was forgotten. Only then, did Minus continue. "What specifications do you have that you require my assistance?"

“The new form has to be light. Minimum energy requirements. Partially organic to hold my soul easily, but also robotic to bear the stress I will put it under. Avians are light, remove the wings and their small amount of body matter and density means they will have low energy requirements. It is also to my understanding that there are metals that can be used for the robotic part," Lazarus spoke rapidly, keeping his face flat.

"Many and more," Minus responded. Apparently Lazarus’ frantic way of speaking was something it was used to. "You will want arms and hands. The body will be painful at times. Metal and flesh are always such when in intimate contact as you describe."

"I hardly care about pain. I’m a divine being now." Lazarus walked over to one of his tables, leaning on it while Minus tracked him with its head. "Arms and hands were to be assumed. How else would I do my work?

Minus let out what sounded like an amused breath out, though it could have easily been the wind. "Indeed." Minus unfolded its arms and stood to its feet. "My master is not in the mood to talk right now, though I am sure that anything to assist you would not be against his wishes. I will make you this vessel as long as you are sure that I will make you what you want."

Minus’ chains rang out as the weights retracted up to Minus’ palms. As if made from clay shaped by an unseen force, the weights were squashed and spread over Minus’ hands until they reached the end of the fingers. Its fingers were longer now, and ended in sharp points. Though they looked vicious, their only further movements were to turn upwards. This signalled a viscous white substance to start leaking upwards from the ground.

The substance pooled at first, then built upon itself. Onward and upward it climbed until it took the shape of a round, waist-high table in front of Minus. The top of the table began to spin.

"Let us start with the basic shape." Minus extended its clawed hands and a lump of white clay emerged from the top of the spinning tabletop. Countless little flecks of Minus’ fingers put intricate shapes into the clay until it took the shape of an avian creature with arms in place of wings. It was not unlike a tall and feathered hain, if more stooped, gaunt, endoskeletal, and with less humanoid proportions.

Lazarus began to describe details over the rest of the day, adding in podotheca on the arms and legs for Minus to prick into the figure. This brought the scaly skin all the way to the top of the ankle on the digitigrade form, the knees left feathery. The podotheca on the arms went up about halfway between the elbows and the wrist. The feathers themselves were a dull white. The head was formed next, a particularly large beak dominating the visage.

Tailfeathers and just feathers in general were also added. Once that had been completed, then came the directions for the robotic side. One of the legs was made into a jointed bronze version, the bronze snaking up all the way as far as the chest in almost a vest shape. A glass porthole gave viewing access to the inner gears of the machinery, a mechanical heart amidst the many cogs. The face was also made mechanical, the beak turned into bronze. The head almost looked as though it were masked, beady black eyes poking out of it.

Feathers poked out from under the machinery, softening the appearance of transition between organic and machine. One of the hands, too, was replaced, an independent actor in the overall machine side of the figure. Finally, it was complete.

The time it took to make the body prompted Minus to confirm the details over and again before they both agreed upon its completeness. The lanky mechanical bird creature on the table was more humanoid in proportion now, though it was unlike anything that currently walked Galbar. Minus stepped back and lowered its clawed hands to its sides again. "Give it space," it said.

Without another move from Minus, the figure on the table began to grow and the table began to shrink. The process took half a minute, sucking up the mass of the table into the body itself. The body’s head gently listed to one side as it was lowered onto the floor by the shrinking table. It was now complete and to size, ready for a host. Its corpselike stillness did not suggest its intended fate.

"Everything you described is in this creation," Minus explained, staring down at the fresh corpse. "I filled in some flaws for you. To explain them is to be a god of creation yourself. The most apparent change you will feel in the flesh is the hormones. It is a biological female."

Lazarus simply shrugged. "Is it ready for me, then?" He stepped over to the body, looking down at it.

The claws covering Minus’ hands retracted and took the shape of the weights and chains again. It nodded.

Lazarus held his hand over the body, whispering arcane words as he funneled divine energies into the form before him. Everything flickered in his head a moment as his former body crumpled into a heap. The avian body began to flail.

The beady eyes snapped open as Lazarus scrambled to figure out her surroundings. First, her taloned hands grasped the floor. The metal beak opened and closed experimentally. Then slowly, the bronze-clad avian form made its way to a standing position. She held her hand in front of her face, testing her vision, before nodding. "It’s good. Thank you. I should get back to my experiments now." Lazarus then waved away Minus, taking experimental steps to the workshop table. The new body’s voice was higher pitched, almost like a songbird’s, though undertoned with a metallic tinge.

Minus did not disappear just yet. "What of your previous body?"

"If you do not use it, I will dispose of it. Feel free to take it. If it’s still here later, then I’ll bury it."

"When the pain comes, I can help you."

Seconds passed in silence with Lazarus’ attention elsewhere. The next time she noticed, Minus was gone, along with the previous armoured body Lazarus left on the floor.

Across hills and forests hiked Gerrik Far-Teacher, hopping over logs and across rocks with almost supernatural elegance. His locally omniscient Perception and unparalleled mental coordination made all but the roughest terrain seem trivially easy to navigate, and stamina which rivalled every Hain alive helped him maintain a consistent pace.

After he had faced the Horde, Gerrik had departed for distant lands. He had taken up this off-road marathon running method of getting from place to place mostly because it demanded his focus and kept his mind occupied during a time normally given over to idle thought; thoughts which would have undoubtedly been consumed by nightmarish recollections of that battle.

As was his custom and his duty, Gerrik stopped by every Hain village he found and shared what knowledge he had while staying there for several days. In recent times there was less and less new things which new Hain villages didn't know, thanks to the Chippers movement. As such, most new things Gerrik taught were associated with what he had learned from Wind Striker: new weapons and shields, better arrows, and combat techniques. Perhaps with this knowledge they would be able to defend against any future hordes themselves, and thus mitigate the loss of life and villages. Such knowledge might also lead to larger battles between villages, but Gerrik hoped that the tales of the Horde, combined with the fact that all the neighbouring villages would also be similarly equipped to defend themselves, and the natural aversion of Hain to needless murder, would minimise such risks. And, of course, while he was in the villages he also learned what he could, of any technologies or skills they had developed and any stories they had.

This pattern continued, with Gerrik trekking across the countryside, finding a village, teaching that village what he knew, learning what he could, then moving on. Thanks to the Phantasmagoria, many new technologies and skills were present, and Gerrik learned each one he found and carried on that knowledge to others. There were numerous strange things he saw and heard about on this journey. Hain whose bodies had died yet were still moving and thinking. Rumours of a strange lady who healed the needy and a vicious man who slaughtered the haughty. Crystalline trees which the Urtelem cultivated and ate. Stories of a wandering cat with three tails. Sightings of the Life Deer, who now, according to the stories, looked like a tree. Legends of a winged bringer of justice. Tales of a friendly giant who had travelled a great distance. Lakes which were footprints of a massive beast. All these strange new things had flooded into the world, and word of their existence had reached the wandering journeyman's ears.

Yet these tales, while interesting, did not direct Gerrik's path. He remembered his visions during the Phantasmagoria, before he had been forced to deal with the Horde, and along with those visions had come the all-important information of locations. As such, his travels were far from random, but instead taking him to the nearest of these destinations, one which he was convinced had a fairly significant breakthrough. Why else would he have received a vision of it?

So he soon entered the territory of Grinder, and there he discovered a new food- bread. It was quite nourishing, and it would travel well, making it an excellent food for a traveller like himself. However, despite this, no one knew how to make the bread. Instead, they traded their own food for the bread from Grinder.

"Who is Grinder?" Gerrik asked.

"He makes the bread, and sells it to us," one villager answered. "He keeps us fed during the winter, but demands at least twice as much food in return once spring comes."

On hearing this, Gerrik wasn't sure whether to be angry at the extortion or impressed at the intelligent business model.

"Isn't it unfair for him to keep such knowledge secret?" Gerrik inquired.

The villager shrugged. "I guess. There's not much we can do about it, though."

Gerrik stayed in the village for a few days longer, teaching as normal, although tacitly omitting the knowledge of warfare, before moving to Grinder's village. There he made himself known as normal, and soon he received an invitation from Grinder to visit him personally.

Grinder's house was a long triangular prism shaped hut, with a wooden frame covered in hides. It was the largest in the village, and smoke constantly rose from within. As Gerrik entered, there was a wooden table with wooden chairs around it, with Grinder sitting upon a large chair with ornaments of tusk and bone. Upon this table was a feast, an amount of food of a scale Gerrik had only ever seen for the feeding of a whole village. A curtain divided this house into two, behind the curtain being Grinder's personal space and including his bread-making oven and equipment. And sitting behind the feast was Grinder himself, the fattest hain Gerrik had ever seen.

"Gerrik Far-Teacher, heir of Stone Chipper, come in! Sit down," Grinder greeted with a bellowing laugh.

Gerrik curtly nodded before taking a seat. "Thank you for your hospitality, Grinder."

Grinder picked up a handful of berries and shoved them in his mouth, dark juice running down his beak. He gestured to the food in front of them both. "Please, eat. Anything for the chief of the Chippers."

Gerrik picked up a roasted birb, but hesitated. In the villages around here they struggled to have enough food to eat, and even within the range of his Perception there were families who were sitting down to only a meagre meal, yet here he was, in front of enough food to feed a single hain for weeks. It just seemed so unfair. It was only reluctantly that Gerrik bit into his meal.

"You mention the Chippers," Gerrik commented. "I take it that you yourself are a Chipper?"

"Indeed. I support the Chippers. I am quite fond of the new knowledge they always bring, although personally travel has never appealed to me," Grinder answered.

"That is fine. The life of a nomad is a tough one, and not for everyone," Gerrik replied, "although it has its perks." As they ate, Gerrik told Grinder tales he had learned on his travels, and Grinder was deeply impressed.

Grinder wiped some fat from his chin and said, "These stories you tell are quite incredible. I'm afraid I have no such stories to tell in return."

Gerrik tore off a piece of bread. "Well, there is one thing."

"What is it?" Grinder asked.

"How do you make bread?" Gerrik asked.

Silence.

"Is there a problem?" Gerrik probed.

Grinder was silent a little longer before answering, "You see, the thing is, the secret of bread making is that, a secret. It would be no good if everyone were to know it."

"No good for you, you mean," Gerrik jabbed.

Grinder's mouth edged open into a snarl. "And what of it? Got to look out for myself."

"And you call yourself a Chipper?" Gerrik retorted. "Chippers share knowledge. You can not simply take and take and give nothing in return."

"I give them bread made by my own hands when there is no other food, and in return they give me food when there is excess," Grinder replied.

"Yet you don't do this out of generosity, but greed," Gerrik argued. "You keep the ways of bread making secret so you can hold your fellow hain under your heel."

Grinder's fist slammed down onto the table, a bowl of water splashing over. "Enough!" he shouted. Gerrik's countenance was unmoved.

Grinder withdrew his clenched fist and took a deep breath. "Let us forget about the whole thing," Grinder suggested. "There is still food to eat."

Gerrik pushed his chair back and stood up. "Actually, I think I am done here." He turned to exit through the curtain which led outside. "By the way, you are no Chipper." Then Gerrik left the hut, having spoke in defiance of the local tyrant. He collected his belongings and left the village that same hour. He had been there long enough to observe Grinder's bread making methods with his Perception, and he would take this knowledge to every village beyond Grinder's reach.

Perched atop a rocky outcrop, Gerrik surveyed the golden savanna cast in the orange light of sunset while he chewed on a loaf of dense bread. His quest was far from over, for other places had been revealed to him on that night of phantoms. His gaze looked southwards, to lands inhabited in part by those strange people known as fiberheads. Strange new lands awaited.

current status of the journey

From Barbahar onward the previously tame journey became a full-time adventure across muddy jungles and dark caves. They could return to the coast and fare trough tamer roads, but the idea of a quicker journey trough the center of Mesathalassa felt more interesting.

They thought that a simple geological barrier wouldn't be able to hold a group of god chosen people, they were quite wrong, as they often found themselves lost in the brume covered forests or fighting against elementals, predators, and wild human-hating hain.

This, of course, provided the group with plenty of training and strengthened their bond. Or so it would have been, had it not been for the last battle they got trough.

Salassar had been sending dreams forward to warn other villagers that they were arriving, even after the Hain attacks he did not stop. One of the warned chieftains, however, was quite familiar with the huntress Susa. He was a powerful Shaman who once had got into a fight with her, and he never forgot the humiliation of that day.

In his elder age, he already knew how to communicate with the lesser elementals quite well. No mortal could hope to deal with the higher ones, but the smaller ones could be convinced into deals, sometimes the mere promise of a good fight with a mortal warrior was enough.

The wind elemental made the jungle brume thicker, to the point visibility became a serious issue. This separated the group between Salassar with Chroma and Lakshmi with Susa.

The Quara got to see the how Chroma fought, and even for him, who had stared at the maddening depths of the Raka, it was something else. Her body was in a constant process of transmogrification to adapt to battle. When she needed speed her flesh was fibrous, but in times of defense, a quick ossification would take place.

It was all very bizarre, truly Jvanic in nature, but the girl didn't seem aware, she yelled "shield" and a plate of leather and bone formed around her elbow and it was clear she couldn't tell a normal shield from that fleshy construct apart.

Worse was her lack of mercy in battle, the Hain were fighting Susa and Lakshmi. Salassar thanked the gods for that, he couldn't even imagine how more gruesome the fight would have been had Chroma not been destroying simple wind elementals.

Once it was all over, he truly wanted to express his worry about the situation, perhaps even to Chroma itself. But for once, words failed him, surely this was all within lady Ilunabar's plan, but why had it to be like that...

---

The next destination was a surprise to Susa, it was... Susa.

The little village she was forced to stay at after the incident of the Phantasmagoric Night had little history outside of being "that village where that huntress once lived", therefore, it was natural that they would take her namesake.

At first, the huntress found the name choice odd, but once in there, what truly struck her as odd was how much older everyone was. She didn't feel aged at all, but time had surely flowed by, perhaps Lifprasil's touch had stopped it.

However, even that oddness was soon washed away by the next batch of bizarre. The village rejoiced once they saw The Huntress returning, they were always nice to her, and surely she was a protector but never had she imagined that they would idolize her, especially after she left.

"See, finally some well-deserved respect" she boasted, it was not her typical way to deal with this and she wouldn't have cared if not for the endless moments of embarrassment she had to go trough until now.

"Whoa, you are like a celebrity to these people. That is so rad" Chroma and Susa had been on better terms since Barbahar. Salassar looked at the two giggling together and couldn't help but to feel a bit of discomfort, yet also curiosity, what had led Susa to open up after so much suspicion? Was that something he could learn too?

The people of the village had taken it far more seriously than mere admiration, though. A full organization of Hunters was formed, something close to what would one day be called a Guild.

Impressively enough, Susa didn't, particularly like the Group's ideas. Sharing the craft and systematically teaching the young were beneficial, but the group also had a collective mindset that was something oddly militarized.

It couldn't be just about killing wild animals and tanning their skin. That was not why Susa had started to wander in the first place, sure, the sight of rare or new game and slaying dangerous beasts could be satisfying, but it was above all for the journey itself.

However, no idea about how to deal with that came to her mind. It kept bothering her across the night and despite being back to her missed home she didn't feel any comfort now that she realized how much she had influenced the people.

However, she had learned a bit across this journey, she knew brooding over this wouldn't help, she had friends and she needed their help.

"Sally, do you have a moment?"

Salassar was her best bet at some insight into the situation, as a servant of the goddess of culture and also as someone who could perceive the many sides of an issue.

---

On the next morning, Susa proudly showed to Lakshmi and Chroma her new leather cloak.

"H-Happy to be u-using your ty-typical clothing-ing ag-again?"

"You have no idea. I was more than tired of using all those odd outfits."

"And look, it's full of drawings"

"Do you like it? Sally and I spent the night coming up with this. It actually records a bunch of feats I had as a Wanderer."

This was the first step of their plan to change the local culture. Valuing feats beyond the mere slaying of beasts would surely change some minds.

Salassar was actually impressed with how handy Susa's issue was, as always, he had gone into the village with a couple of god-given missions. While most of those meant merely carving rocks and trees, in this village, in particular, he was also meant to inspire the creation of Mapmaking.

Maps were a habit in Lifprasilia, some distant northern villages and of course, between the Grand Parade. In the Mesathalassa however, despite the constant journeys between villages, the habit of recording such paths was rare since there were always clear natural paths.

Of course eventually such practice would be born, but it would be in the already established power players like Fibeslay or the Vascogne and that would just increase their monopoly.

The Parade expected the village of Susa to take in Mapmaking easily and use it to further their trade opportunities and influence. However, when Salassar introduced the idea to the local hunters, all they could think about was to record the nearest places with good hunting potential. Their craft was so unique and useful that there was no need to travel around selling their goods, others would come to them.

But now Susa had taken direction action to change that. Salassar felt silly, he did not know if Susa agreed with the village's mindset or not, therefore he never asked her. He could have spared himself a sleepless night had the two got together to solve this sooner.

This brought back another issue to his mind, he approached the huntress, who was already packaging most of her belongings, as they would be back on the journey very soon.

"Susa, are you busy at the moment?"

"I promised Laky and Chroma that I would show them a very beautiful pond nearby before we leave this village. But once I'm back we can talk."

"I see... It's fine, it was nothing important."

Toun's reaction as he was pulled back by Teknall went almost too far. His head snapped around and stretched out to look at him with his blue eye burning and his elbow raised up, almost as if he was going to strike the craftsman away. Instead, Toun made himself still. Both Teknall's words and Astarte's stammering made the notion that she was there to make light of the tragedy not so obvious anymore.

Toun's gaze turned back to Astarte, then to Teknall, and then to Astarte again. He silently considered whether to continue looking furious for the sake of saving face. And then Vestec showed up.

Before Toun could get a word in, the laughing god made an oratory trying to pose himself and Teknall as complicit in the recent deaths. Toun righted his posture to receive it. At first, it cut deep. It was as if Toun's recent pact meant nothing in Vestec's scorn. It made assumptions about how much he cared about his siblings versus his trust in keeping themselves alive.

As Vestec continued, however, Toun straightened his head and relaxed his eye. Less and less of the jester's spit was applying to Toun at all. He was not as easy to sway with sentiments towards mortals, and he had been nothing if not diligent protecting the creations he made use of. Vestec's words were intended to provoke them, but he wasn't realistically in a position to cause true mischief with both himself and Teknall present.

Toun looked away, not in guilt, but in thought. Funnily enough, Vestec's rant served as a demonstration of his own behaviour, forcing him to reflect. There was no point in listening. Only accepting that he should do better. There was at least one way to do that.

I never did check before I lost my temper.

Toun was calmed, somehow. He did not wait for Vestec to finish before he gracefully began to walk back to the gate unguarded, not giving anyone another look. Except for Astarte. She received a fleeting and suspicious glance. The glance was broken by a stretched step all the way to his destination.

---

Vestec was right about one thing, at least. Ull'Yang had indeed returned. He was hiding in a stone, for what reason Toun did not know. Nevertheless, Toun had no intention of bothering Ull'Yang if he chose not to show himself. If the sun god had returned here to grieve, he could do so however he liked.

Toun's true heading was the gate. He did not need to look through it for long before he noticed what he was looking for. Of course, Astarte's signature was not as stoic as Teknall's or his own; Toun's eye expressed a softness at its fragility.

It does not make sense, Toun thought. You might grieve, but you...Sister, you have written a verse of a goddess falling apart, not anything like you have been before. Have you felt the hollowness as well?

Ull'Yang's absence on the oath was noted. A detail put aside for later. An unexpected urge came to Toun's mind that he wanted to act upon immediately.

---

Toun was back by the cube before Astarte had finished standing up. His abnormal step rushed to a stop right in front of her and Toun bore his stare right into her eyes, head craned forward. He blinked, suddenly realising how unpracticed he was in what he was about to do.

"Sister, wait please." Toun's eye darted to the ground and back up. He was otherwise deathly still. "You...I saw you signed the oath. You are not...you may not behave always as I would prefer, but...you deserve credit enough to not need to suffer my outburst. You are commendable. I do not deserve to be forgiven."

Toun's eyelid was so taught with shame that he had to rotate himself a quarter turn to break eye contact. He had an answer for Vestec in any case.

The sound of an inward breath preceded Toun's venom returning. Though, this time, it was soundly directed at the god of laughing chaos. "You. I have nothing to prove to you." He narrowed his eye. "Ebb, brother."

Toun did not wait to hear a response before he strode around Vestec and started towards the gate again.

The climb began on the sand itself: a steady slope upward before even a trace of different terrain could be seen on the horizon. A loose and fickle surface underfoot made for slow going at first, but nature was nothing if not adaptable. Little by little, hour by hour, the beast of life left the Firewind Desert behind, though she did leave it forever altered. The vigorous essence eked out from the gorges in her barklike body left a trail of flourishing wildlife several hundred feet wide. Before, most of the Mahd River, along which she'd galloped for some time now, and with the exception of the River Valley, was merely a channel of muddy water cutting through the sand. By virtue of the natural way of things, some plants took root in the silt along the riverbed, and desert creatures often stopped to drink, but still the kind of life that inhabited the wasteland's sole stream had been paltry for years. Now, the entire length of it stood as an oasis on par with the Resort created by her ages earlier at the Vizier's prodding. An especially capable strain of fanlike plants arose from her passing quite readily, and thin-furred mammals reminiscent of flying squirrels or lemurs delighted in leaping from frondy tree to frondy tree over this new Luscious Mahd River.

Predictably, all of this loveliness sparked in the middle of the barrens brought Slough no joy. Though perhaps this time her generation of an ecosystem had been intentional rather than the byproduct of a degenerative husk, she gave the plants and animals very little regard. For a time, several of the lemurs and a single, particularly dogged Crocody Doggle had traveled with her, but they reluctantly parted ways with her when she abandoned her course along the river to begin this long ascent. Scrubby, thorny plants sprang from the sand here, no different to look at dead than alive. Aside from the shadows of Dirigible Cloudwhales or lost Mottled Skyrays occasionally flying overhead, no living thing came to see its creator. Near the top of her climb, though, with the solemn, mist-shrouded peaks of an eerie cragland now clearly visible, Slough did encounter something not quite alive and not quite dead.

Finding this creature filled Slough with a sense of wry nostalgia. On a little bluff, among a smattering of rocks, she discovered a beast that time and desolation had not mangled. Its four-legged, tomato-red body rippled with muscle, its cream-colored mane appeared gloriously voluminous, its horns and tail glistened in the evening sunlight like wrought cobalt, and within the white mask of its face shined eyes like coins as gold if not more golden than the beast's gaudy ornamentation. It raised its head when Slough approached, and while it appeared fine physically, the former Rottenbone was taken aback by the emotional suffering radiating from this creature as soon as their eyes met. Yet, more than anything she sensed a rush of relief and happiness, and before her eye it brought itself to its feet and bowed.

The proud soul of a jealous caretaker...

The memories had been slow to come, but this beast excited them within her. For the first time, melancholy seized her, and her wings of root brushed the earth. From the ethereal beat of the light within its eye a sort of message was formed and transmitted to her former custodian. I have been a bad master. I know you will follow, but I do not deserve your service. You do not even know why you serve. Here... Slough knelt, her wooden legs creaking softly, and turned her head so that her single brilliant eye shown on the mask of Esau with the light of all its secrets.

It didn't take long, but when it was done, the hidden mouth of Esau began to move. With some difficulty it remembered how to speak, and then speak he did. ”You are blameless, my master. I didn't know the details, but I always knew why I stood by your side, pathetic though I am. You are my creator—that is enough. All might look down on you as the least of the gods, no more than a mindless animal oozing magic across the land, but you are my master, worthy always of my thanks, my love, my praise. Lead and I will follow.”

Nothing more needed to be said, even if anything could. The two beasts rose and continued the ascent in silence, though this quiet held anything but awkwardness, animosity, or guilty. Less than an hour later they entered the Forgotten Cragland, and there began their search.



With a mighty heave, the stone lid of the overgrown casket collapsed onto the ground. Both master and servant peered inside and within found a soul nestled amidst a fanciful assemblage of bones. Of course, neither suited the other, for that soul didn't belong to this world. Tinged with red and black, it beat to a tune totally separate from those that brought it into being. This aspect of independence made for a fascinating specimen, and Slough recognized what her power had recalled.

The brave soul of a malevolent maiden...

At her bidding, the mote of light and dark rose up from its resting place and zipped into the cavity of her eye, gone within the miniature plane inside her body. There it would make company for the spirit pried from the Venomweald Writhe, and there, in ghostly forms well-suited to their restored memories, they might talk and pass the time though neither would know the other's name.

Slough and Esau wasted no time by the now-empty tomb and quickly traversed the Cragland's treacherous and bleak terrain until they happened upon another, then another. The proud soul of a crystalline dragon...the brave soul of a skybound sympathizer...the vast soul of a starlight scientist...the brave soul of a charismatic warhound... Only once did the once-ghoul find a grave already open, robbed of its contents. In that moment a fleeting and tranquil fury burning within her eye. What is the Great One's must return to him. But it could not be helped. That pull toward the sky prodded her more strongly than ever, but Slough's quest was far from over.

Now filled with noteworthy souls, Slough led and Esau followed through the Cragland until they came to a place that filled Slough with dread—one that she knew well. Here, before there lay a murky, stinking pool, there had been a pit half catacomb and half prison where the neglected bones of a wretched mongrel had lain for who knew how long. Slough shuddered, her wooden form crackling, and left the place hastily.

At last, she stood on the edge of a precipice, with her custodian behind her. Far, far below lay a mess of mangroves, and beyond that lay the Fractal Sea. From here the view was beautiful, even breathtaking should she have any to spare, but she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that beneath those gently curling waves lay a grave and terrifying mistake that could not be allowed to subsist a moment longer. Make your way down at your own pace, she communicated to Esau. Then make yourself at home. Where I am going, I regret that you cannot follow. Silently the manticore nodded. Though unfortunate, such things could not be avoided. Slough took a step toward the edge, then, reckless, she threw herself off.

Her mind was oddly at peace as she plummeted through the air. The sight of a deer completely rigid, with straight legs, might have been comical, but Slough made no motion until she hit the shoreline at terminal velocity. Instantly her wooden body shattered into splinters and kindling, but in less than a second after total annihilation the body began to fly back together. Brilliant green light surrounded her as her form constituted itself, some of the details a little different but overall appearing remarkably unharmed. That is useful. Around her, Niciel's orbs hummed obligingly. Shortly thereafter she waded into the mangrove swamp, making her way among the gnarled roots and schools of tiny fishes toward the ocean.



Though she'd never seen them before, the sight of the Drenched Flowerbed tickled Slough with hints of pride. The knowledge that such beauty existed on both land and sea because of her prior actions, accidental though they were, would have surely delighted any other being. But only the journey, and the necessities within it, occupied Slough. Her root wings streamed behind her like the fins of some reef fish, or like the hair of a woman, as she sway away from the rich Flowerbed into the open ocean. At the edge of the underwater ecosystem she'd found the decomposed birthing sac of an animal, distended to a huge side and broken open. Whatever had been within had long ago traveled into the deep, and so Slough followed in its wake.

Only once, in the middle of the ocean blue, did she stop. A voice had come to her, and by some miracle she understood. One of the others was calling her. He wished to be sure that she would never try and harm the other gods. Confusion filled her and disdain. Why would anyone bother with her now of all times? What harm could she ever be, after all, in the eyes of the gods? They were right to think little of her...but, then again, so very wrong. There would be no hoof-print on Toun's divine agreement, not now or ever. Instead, Slough swam.

Down, down, down. The creature of land, ungainly but breathless, dove deep. Above her, the light of the sun, in which she always found an inkling of solace, drifted away. Darkness settled around her like a blanket, but with her goal in mind she plowed onward. Encounters with creatures were rare, but those she did happen upon were very strange. Fish the side of rhinoceroses swam perilously close, their tentacles lightly brushing Slough's useless wings. Vicious crustaceans approached her as one might a delectable feast, but at the last moment the unfamiliar and frightening light in her eye warned them away, one by one. Bizarre things even more alien floated by like phantoms out of nightmares, and Slough ignored them too. A current wafted her way, one very powerful and portentous, and the other deep sea creatures seemed to be fleeing from it. After a great span of time, Slough stopped swimming. Despite the radiance of her eye, nothing could be seen in the stygian blackness that surrounded her for thousands of feet in every direction. Yet...she could feel...something...very close.

A sudden redness filled her vision. Only a hundred feet in front of her swam a massive squid. This awe-inspiring abyssal horror could have easily strangled a whale, or sunk a ship. Next to it, the god of life was practically a mouse. As she looked on, its enormous eye came into the white eyelight, but within it Slough saw not curiosity, but terror.

Then the sea lit up.

The fathomless depths were suddenly suffused with a wondrous cyan glow, as if the blue sky of day had visited the blackest depths. In the sudden illumination, however, Slough saw its source, and even she felt fear. To call the abomination a colossus would have been understating it. At the most basic level, it bore some similarities to an eel, but this bio-luminescent horror surpassed anything resembling natural life. On the surface, the Brush Beast towered over all creatures great and small, too large and formidable for even the warlord called Grot, who styled himself huge, to trifle with. The Leviathan was still wider and taller, and longer than several adults fit end-to-end. Like a boa stretching itself to swallow a capybara, the Leviathan could almost certainly unhinge its jaw to swallow a Brush Beast whole. To it, Slough was a flea, and she watched it snap up the giant squid like a person might a shrimp. Just the movement of the thing sent waves through the water that threatened to obliterate Slough despite her constant regeneration, which was already at work counteracting the water pressure that at this depth already came close to turning her to dust. If not for the souls inside her, Slough thought that she might already have faltered and been destroyed for good. One downside of this body as opposed to the pitiful carcass she'd been before—that form couldn't be truly erased from existence even if smashed to atoms, but this one held more investment. Animalistic thoughts of self-preservation came close to overwhelming her when the Leviathan turned its head slightly to look her way. So they have noticed me, after all... She could not count its eyes, but it watched her, she she watched it.

So this is what became of you. The vast, inseparable souls of the Allwater's Duumvirate...

---

On the mountain slope of Mount Altai, the city of Talos burned. Fires raged unchecked, their smoke darkening the sky and blotting out the full moon hanging high overhead. What few Angels dared take to the skies to escape the heat were quickly overwhelmed by the noxious fumes and plummeted back to the harsh embrace of the earth. The panicked cries of thousands echoed across the ruins of the once mighty stone walls towards the hastily farms that surrounded the city. The Human, Roavick, and Hain soldiers that called the city home did what they could to block out the horrible sounds, but most would carry them to their grave.

Standing far above the highest point of the city shone a terrible light. It made the great armies of the Amestrians tremble as gouts of white fire rained down upon them. Giant thunderclaps announced to the people that death was upon them each time spark was touched to air. Blinding flashes of light and clouds of acrid smoke were as trumpeters to their terrible inferno of volatile magics.

When they found their new homes in the crumbling husk of the once great Amestrian city, some fire would burn all in their path whether stone, wood, or flesh. Others would explode on contact, throwing shrapnel in all directions to deliver the unwary and the unlucky to the unyielding grasp of the Endless Beyond.

On the highest home of the city, the Reliquiem of Talos watched the carnage with empty, lifeless eyes. The wood beneath his feet each time the Realta unleashed her devastating fire. It was from her hands the fire lept, but it appeared she took little pleasure in it. She took no joy in anything, it seemed.

Every building from the highest point up the mountain to the coastal wall had been systematically targeted. While not every structure was completely destroyed, the star was certainly working their way down the list. The elderly Hain suspected the star wouldn’t be satisfied until no two stones sat upon each other in good order.

The casualties in the city were impossible to estimate, though it was certainly a matter of percentages now rather than a mere tally. Whether the significant statistic was the percentage of dead or that of those who still lived, he had no idea.

In the distant sky, the world seemed to be ending.

The stars seemed to ripple and detach themselves from the Firmament of the Heavens, and as the Requiem watched, they released themselves to the earth. Streaks of flame clawed grievous wounds through the atmosphere, their brilliance such that the late hour shone brightly as high noon. Fearsome banshee shrieks trumpeted their approach, and the ocean trembled in fear of the wrathful God’s might unleashed upon the world.

This star was but the first to come down, but was followed in such close succession that the order became meaningless. Every star, the comforting lights that had guided and guarded all living creatures on a world far beyond this one since time immemorial, brought with them death. Their lives were simply the sacrifice upon an altar to the will of of their Father..

The destruction this single star was absolute. Hours of plasma blasts had reduced structures to rubble, but the overlapping craters of charred rock left nothing to testify that there had ever been anything but a field of burning glass. The peoples in the homes around the city huddled in their burrows, the scythe passing a hair’s breadth from their faces at times not daring to reach out for more.

Eventually the parade of annihilation slowed and stopped. As seemingly endless as they appeared, the star’s fury were abundant, but finite. The time did finally come when the sky had no more fire left to give, no more stones to melt. It was no matter: her father’s will had been done.

All that remained of the once-great metropolis, a center for trade and wonder at its height, was ashes. Soot and crackling glass would be the city’s tombstone, the abandoned rings of fortification its pallbearers. The calamity would be spoken of in hushed whispers, told over firelight as a parable to the coming generation as they sat under a night sky and gazed fearfully at the stars above.

The Requiem would live to see none of these things. Little life remained in his body. His heart worked feverishly to pump what traces of blood remained, but its successes only served to push him closer to the end.

The death of his city, and its people, was the Requiem’s final sight before he was claimed by the endless darkness of the void.

---

Logos nearly glared down from his post, thousands of miles above Galbar as the scene replayed itself three thousand three hundred and thirty-two more times. A lesser God would have struggled to hold in his Temper.

Logos had none.

Brother, come! In the heart of Lantea, we sing the thousand-year death-song for a fading galaxy. We shall gather its embers and bank them in the black hole at its core.

Galbar had been beautiful, once. Had been being the key phrase of it all. It had once been barren, a seemingly endless plane of white sandstone. So very much like the tiny world he had found. This world, the world he had first laid eyes on, had seemed like a blessing. Empty, featureless, and devoid of everything. With it held endless potential, and endless perfection for a future. Their reward for a task well done by Fate.

The Lord of Order had spurned it at first sight. He had foreseen what was to come, for how could anything natural survive in endless chaos. Briefly, in his long treks across the featureless surface of his own world, back in the dark and emptiness a universe away, Logos had doubted, if for the briefest of nanoseconds, if he had made the right decision to abandon his brethren. Now, upon looking at their perversions, Logos’s resolve hardened.

Dark reds and greys and blacks obscured large swaths of land now. A vast desert ran against grey waste, and battered mountains framed the world. Poisoned swamps and alien jungles. Ice caps that seemed broken from reality itself. A few sparse forests lay within grasslands, and within those grasslands were found the many sentient races of this world.

Logos was not impressed. So many spur of the moment creations.

No purpose to any.

The Rovaick were crude. Mishappen monstrosities spurred to breed and destroy.

The Packmind were ripe with the stench of Vestec’s poisonous influence.

The Urtuleem were unnatural, as were the Djinni and the Pronobii. Creatures of artificial life, stone, ice and air. Within them was simply the trappings of a mind and a life, the ghosts of the necessary neurological processes. They had no place.

His eyes turned at last to the creatures of his own making, the stolen humans from his garden. They too had become flawed, stolen to sate the whims and fleeting fancies of his brothers and sisters.

If there was but one race that passed any modicum of approval in Logos’s all seeing eyes, it was the Hain. Strange design, and an even stranger maker, but within them he felt the pull of his Order. His brother Toun, had done well in their creation.

But they were not the design of Logos’s making. Therefor, they were flawed.

Every so often was the flare, the sign that another one of his children had either landed or found another of Jvan’s foul creation. In a few minutes, the area would swiftly become covered in black, or still smoldering reds. In many places, even the seas were poisoned; potential pristince waters deep, sickly greens.

Galbar itself, the home of the gods and goddesses that had created the universe itself, stood as a testament to their prides, their lusts, and their ignorance. Foul works of Jvan orbited the upper atmosphere, and even the natural satalites pulsed with the chaotic essence of Vestec. Toun had secluded himself within a fortress on the sea. And many of his brothers and sisters seemed quiet… almost as if…

We shall circle its fatal horizon and bathe in its death-glow. We will sing the song of making as we dive into its gravity well. We shall meet at its center and re-kindle its fires, and a new galaxy shall be born. Join us, Father!

Another flare of white light down below.

It mattered not.

City, forest, desert, mountain, plains: all were being slowly reduced to rubble and molten glass to purge the virus that was the Cancer the Grew from the world once and for all. And Logos was staring right at the cause of all of this destruction. Hidden beneath the waves, secreted away from all but his eyes, was that monster from beyond Reason.

Logos was not angry.

Within a single thought Logos was upon the surface of Galbar for the first time.

Whirlwinds of dust rose up and fell back to the ground as the wind surged erratically. The tiny bits of dirt and pebbles kicked up in the gale were harsh against any mortal’s flesh, for it was here in the Firewind Desert that he would correct all wrongs.

He was not alone. One of his children stood close, arms aflame as it prepared to strike down its intended; a woman wrapped in layers of rich red cloth. A tattered pack hung from her back, a gourd of water, and sandals that had perhaps never known better days. The Realta paused in its task to glance at its father, who merely raised a hand to stall its judgement.

The woman stopped to stare. Her patchy skin was stretched over her skeleton like thin rubber. Saliva and blood dripped from her crusted mouth, which opened into four wedges to reveal layer after layer of razor tooth.

Come, my lovely white dove. I remember when you danced the death of Eta Carinae, how your feathers whipped in the solar wind as you hands spread its heart across a hundred stars.

“Find another,” came Logos’s command. The Realta obeyed, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as it took to the skies, to find another of Jvan’s twisted worshippers.

For a second, the woman just stood there, as if trying to make her mind. Finally, she rummages through her stained, smelly saddlebag. A chunk of stinking, bloody meat plops out; the woman quickly tucks it back in and pulls out a crude knife chiseled from bone.

With that, the Lord of Order methodically climbed down the ash dunes, letting the foreign sun soak its light upon him. The Sculptor chased after the God like a timberwolf chasing a rabbit, slashing wildly with her ivory knife.

He did not even exert the effort to even think of dodging her. The blade chipped and fractured with every thrust on his ebony skin as Logos walked tirelessly through the dunes. Eventually, he came to a wide running river flowing southward. He splashed into the ash-choked river, sending up sprays of slate-grey water. The woman apparently didn’t care about getting wet, following him into into the river, her glazed eyes filled with ravenous hunger.

Logos turned to her when he reached the opposite bank and shook his head at her her, almost in disappointment. “You know not who I am,” he said. It was a statement, not a question.

The Sculptor gave an intelligible hiss, her mind clearly shredded beyond knowing by that thing’s foulness.

Then his eyes flash like the flashbulb of a mountain-sized camera. Clouds of superheated dust and ash were lifted skyward. When the light cleared, all that was left of the woman was a charred skeleton and the smell of burning pork.

No man’s laughter ever made the stars twinkle so brightly as yours did then!

They were so delicate, his humans. Speed up the frequency of their individual atoms, boil the water within them, and they reverted to the soil from which they came.

Across the silent desert, a breeze began to pick up. The skeleton slowly started to disintegrate into grey, flour-like ash.

Logos paid no heed to it, and knelt down and begin digging into the dunes with his hands, shifting soil until an adequate hole had been formed. From within a pocket of carefully concealed space was his flower of beautiful crystal brought out, its roots buried deep within the unforgiving desert soil.

The Acalya flower’s petals did not so much as twitch from from the fiery gale. It stood rigid, self-contained, flawless. Logos reached down, his finger lightly caressing the base of the flower.

This was simple. It had already been designed. All that was required now was to set the machine into motion.

“Grow.”

Something solid, a seed, formed from his magic. He lowered it into the ground, burying it deep beneath the earth, into the roots of the flower. The sand glowed with white magic, and then a small winding stalk pokes out of the soil, raising the flower. Its growth enhanced its Lord’s behest, the stalk continued to grow as its crystal skin roughened, formed ridges and grooves along its length as it grew past his shoulder height, the stalk continuing to grow wider and rougher.

The stalk split and branched into all different directions, and those split split again, and again, and they grow wide and flat pieces of shining glass that hang from the branches on short stems.

The tree grew to five times his height by the time Logos cut off his magic. Logos approached it slowly and lifted a hand to touch its skin.

Hold in your brilliance no longer. Let me see your skin glow like the furnace at the heart of Mu Cephei. Let me gaze into your eyes, lit with the light of a hundred suns, while I breathe upon the neck, and hold you tight while a thousand novas burst within us.

Logos stood there for a moment. His eyes traced the leaves and branches, and the grain of the flawless crystal down to the base of the tree. The leaves rustle in the wind from the dunes, their music a thousand chimes, but hold fast to their branches.

He sensed the roots spreading beneath beneath the sand and soil, changing the land beneath his feet. It no longer required any further input from him, its biological programming would see to its completion. Wherever its roots touched, the soil fused into crystal quartz and rose from the earth in hexagonal columns, the prospective saplings upwards as the tree spread its influence. All around the desert, stalks began to grow out of the ground, winding their way up out of the earth, and stretching high into the sky. The ground glows white with Acalyian magic, and the clearing becomes surrounded by trees.

The trees’ trunks grow thick, and their skin roughen. Leaves sprout along their branches, and soon the Logos could could no longer see past the trees to the land surrounding. Blades of razor grass brush against his feet, bending away from their creation.

It was like a garden of sparkling, shimmering glass growing out of the ground, with the vines and flowers upon the trunks, and a lush canopy overhead. Everywhere he looked, light shimmered and sparkled right back at him.

Logos sat on one of the raised platform, legs dangling off the side and rested his head against the diamond bark of the center tree, bathing in a soft glow of pale blue from all around.

The trees had even now begun released their terrible gift to the world, which would follow upon the arid wind to the furthest corners of this world. Wherever they landed, the Acalya would crystallize and spread, purify and convert.

Come drift with us. Remember all, then forget it, forget yourself, forget the borders between minds and drift, feel, see, be!

His Realta would purify this planet’s people, and the Acalya its flora.

He would rectify the mistakes of his siblings. The first move in the Divine Game had been made.

Logos, King of the Gods, the only one to remember, waited for the next.

There was much that needed to be done, now that the battle between Grot and the Angels was over. The Angels would need some well-deserved rest, as well as time to grieve over the many losses the battle incurred.

Niciel wanted to help her children gain some comfort and rest, but she wasn't entirely sure how to do so. Furthermore, it seemed like help wasn't even required. The Angels were already coming up with ways to do so, the most prevalent one simply kneeling down, closing their eyes, and putting their hands together. Niciel could only assume that they were praying for their loved ones to be at peace in death. Now that Niciel thought about it, there was a God in charge of death, but she failed to remember his name. She had only noticed him during the day the Gods were born, and it had been so long since that day. The thought then passed as quickly as it came as Niciel returned to attention to the real world.

Niciel decided to leave the Angels to their own devices, satisfied that they could take care of themselves. In the meantime, Niciel wondered what she should do. Now that she thought about it, Niciel realized that she had not really done much in Galbar. Most of her work had been focused mainly on or within the Valley of Peace. It finally occurred to Niciel that she had a power of incredible potential. There was so much she could create, not to mention so much she could do. Looking at her Orbs of Escry and Holy, and letting her eyes scan the Nice Mountains, Niciel smiled. She wanted to do something, not just for herself, but for Galbar itself.

It had been a while since she had time to herself, and she was going to make the most of that time. For now, she would experiment with her power, see what she could create.

Niciel got to work creating a group of bushes. Short height, regular green leaves, round shape, there was nothing out of the ordinary for any of them. With a bit of energy, though, that wouldn't last. All of them began to bear fruit, berries with white skin and flesh. A name for these berries soon popped up: Whiteberry. While it wasn't the most imaginative name, it certainly served its purpose in identifying the fruit, and Niciel could see no harm it naming it so.

Once that was complete, Niciel moved to another part at the edge of the Valley of Peace, making sure that no one would be disturbed by her next creation. There, Niciel got to work creating a large hole, letting her instincts add the necessary components, and then filling it with water, creating a small, sustainable lake. Niciel then drew a small portion of mist from the nearby Nice Mountains and infused it into the lake along with more energy, turning the water pink and translucent. The water also became moderately warm, at a conveniently comfortable temperature for Angels, as well as certain other life forms on Galbar, to enjoy. The lake created, a name appeared in Niciel's mind for this creation as well: Spring of Health.

Finally, Niciel decided to try something a bit different. A ball of energy formed with a single thought, and Niciel gently molded the ball into shape. Thin strips stretched out, and were given shape into wings not unlike an Angel's. A lump formed at the top, and was bent into shape to form a head. Then came tiny extensions at the bottom, as well as a fan of large feathers at the back. Finally, the formation of the body itself that defined and brought beauty to the creature Niciel had created. The energy of life was breathed into it, and there was a tiny white bird. With the design complete, it didn't take long for Niciel to create more of them until there was a whole flock. Niciel let them fly free then, except for the very first she had created. Niciel liked it. Naturally, a name sprang to mind for this creation as well: Spirit Dove. Niciel didn't know why, but she thought that the name felt just right, and so the species of bird was named thus: Spirit Doves.

Niciel had taken care of the minuscule creations, and now she felt that it was time for something larger. Niciel began to channel energy, intending to create something significant and grand, but when she was about to begin, Niciel's mind went blank. The energy dissipating, Niciel became confused. She didn't know what had just happened. One moment she had been full of enthusiasm, the next, it had just vanished. Niciel began to think, and realized that that was not quite right. Her enthusiasm was still there, but it was... blocked. Try as she might, nothing could seem to get past the block in her mind, only feeling blankness in her mind. Troubled, Niciel wondered what could be causing this. Niciel thought back, trying to list things she wished to create. Most of the ideas she came up with were things she had already created or were just not really what she had in mind. To make matters worse, her list of ideas was painfully short. She wanted something better. Something....

Niciel then realized what the problem was. The block in her mind was caused by herself. Specifically, her lack of inspiration. Niciel was out of ideas on what to actually create. The thought of it was... troubling, to say the least. Her power to create, limited by her own imagination. Now that the problem was revealed, though, she could begin figuring out how to solve it. An idea quickly came to mind, and Niciel brought out her Orb of Escry, using it to call Life Wisps to her. A group of Wisps came to her, and Niciel ordered all of them to bring something of value to her. The Wisps scattered, leaving Niciel in her own thoughts. It would take some time, though, for all the Wisps to come back, which meant that Niciel would need something to do. Niciel used this time to think about what to do next. Fortunately, an idea quickly came to mind: she could talk to Loth for some additional inspiration. Niciel had already felt his presence in the Valley of Peace, so it wouldn't be an issue to find him, especially with the use of her Orb of Escry.

As she began to peer into her Orb, however, there came a broadcast. Niciel stopped in surprise. By the time she recovered from it, it was quickly replaced with shock as the news was delivered. Vulamera was dead, slain by Vowzra. Vowzra himself was gone as well, Jvan having done the deed. Niciel hardly knew Vowzra, so it was difficult for her to feel sad for him. He was still a brother born during the time of the Void, though, so she could still feel something for him. Vulamera, however, was a different story. Niciel rather liked her. Niciel also wanted to speak to her about Vestec. Right now, though, Vestec was the least of her worries.

A flash of light, and Niciel disappeared from the Valley of Peace, reappearing at the location of the pillar in which was inscribed the Oath of Stilldeath. Niciel could tell that she was not the first to arrive. Teknall was still around examining the pillar, while Astarte and Vestec had made their appearance. Toun was also nearby, and Niciel could sense that there was an argument of sorts in progress between him and Vestec. Going over to the Gods, Niciel spoke to them, "I do hope everyone is playing nice. We certainly need it right now. No more fighting. Please."

While waiting for their reply, however, there was a wave of power that did not escape Niciel's senses. This power... Niciel had not felt it for a long time, and it has apparently grown stronger ever since. Niciel held up her Orb of Escry and peered into it, intent on discovering the cause and effect of this power. What she found was... disturbing, to say the least. There was a destroyed city. Within that, there were.... trees made of crystal. They continued to grow and spread, with no end in sight. Niciel could not tell exactly what their purpose was, but Niciel suspected it wasn't exactly good. In the midst of it all.... was Logos. A God Niciel hadn't seen for the longest time. As nearby Wisps moved closer for better inspection, Niciel divided her attention and watched other Wisps around the world. Everywhere, the same phenomenon was being replicated. Niciel muttered to herself, "Oh no. This isn't good. This isn't good at all."

Teknall watched as Toun left, then briefly returned to apologise to Astarte before departing again. Teknall gave Niciel a nod when she arrived, but his mind was elsewhere at the time. She was a bit late to stop any fighting, anyway. Teknall was still around when Astarte left with Vestec to go do whatever mischief they normally did to pass the time. Teknall stared at the Cube a while longer, yet made no progress in determining what it said. He could tell that time ticked far slower outside Chronos than it did inside, so he was not pressed for time, but a divine script written on a divine object in a divine code would stay encoded regardless of how long he studied it.

A musician was sitting a short distance away, strumming his lute idly. He had been there since Teknall arrived, and he had the aura of a demigod about him. Perhaps he knew something. Teknall walked up to the Bard and greeted him.

"Hello there. Who would you be?"

The Bard strummed a few more notes on his lute, but his face remained impassive at Teknall's approach.
"Time is what I see, read and sing
The will of Fate I seek to bring
My duty to Chronos was as its guard
As for my name, you may call me the Bard."

Teknall nodded his head in recognition. This was indeed the person Teknall was looking for. "I'm Teknall. I was wondering if you could help me read what was on the Cube."

The Bard's head turned only enough for Teknall to see the Bard's stern glare.
"The knowledge of the Timeline you now seek,
Knowledge you earlier sought to critique.
I know what you spoke to the one you called Brother,
When he sought your help against the Flesh from the Other.
To know the truth Vowzra did implore,
Yet his warnings you chose to ignore.
His words of warning and advice,
You want now only after his demise?
I shall not humour your pleas of greed,
To you the Cube I shall not read."

Teknall's face fell at the Bard's words. "Ah... But-" Teknall stopped under the Bard's cold stare. He would need to try harder if he wanted the Bard's help. He thought for a few moments, turning words about in his head, before replying to the Bard's verse in kind.
"Perhaps if you lend me your ear,
You will see that my intent is sincere.
I'm mourning Vowzra's death too
As I seek the assistance of you.
My criticisms may have been mean,
But how could this have been foreseen?
Since I lack his power of clairvoyance,
At the time his words seemed an annoyance.
When he came as the Timeline's advocate,
There was no proof for his claims so great;
So what else could we say,
But to ask him to go on his way?
We are all shrouded by a feeling of gloom,
For more than Vowzra inhabits this tomb.
The God of Death is also dead,
Torn by Vestec from toe to head,
And Vulamera who we held so dear
Died mysteriously while Vowzra was near.
There are those who think he is to blame,
Yet only you can clear his name.
That is why you should do this task;
To read the Cube is all I ask."

The Bard's lute continued playing through Teknall's response, adding melody to it. The Bard was impressed that Teknall had done him the honour of responding in verse, and he sat for a few moments considering the Craftsman's words. Eventually, he gave his own response.
"Flatter me though you do,
Your eyes still do not see true,
For your thoughts and words show
That your Brother you don't really know.
If you think he would do that crime,
You misconceive the God of Time.
Vowzra only does what he must,
So his actions are always just.
If the fate of Vulamera you want to know,
to her firstborn child you may go,
But as of this Cube of sides six,
It's for higher purposes than your politics."

Teknall thought for a moment. Vulamera's firstborn child... that would be Lifprasil. He could get his answers to that question from him. Teknall considered it unlikely that the Bard would read the events pertaining to Reathos' death if he wouldn't do it for Vulamera, so he was stuck with taking Vestec at his word for that. This left only one question unanswered.
"Can anyone else ever truly understand
The ways of Vowzra and his plans so grand?
For days I may try to prove my merit,
But our minds are so disparate.
In just one more thing I ask your cooperation:
What was the fate of the Codex of Creation?"

"That tale too you can find
When you visit the child of Mind."

Teknall nodded. It wasn't quite as he had planned it, but he now knew where he could find the information. Assuming Lifprasil would be more willing to talk than the Bard, that is. "Thank you for your time, Bard."

The Bard nodded in reply. "If you ever wish to speak again, Teknall, I'll be here."

Teknall waved farewell and left, departing out the Gate Unguarded.

The very flow of things had been a pure anomaly recently. Her life had been unpredictable since the very beginning but never before had she seen so much oddity around her and in her.

In sadistic timing, despite Vowzra's visit to the Raka happening eons ago, it was just now, during such troublesome times, that the goddess herself went through what could be described as a premonitory dream.

It was probably just paranoia, hopefully it was just paranoia, but no matter how much she repeated the mantra, she could not rest without her mind wandering to the day of His return, when the hammer of order, made of cold, thoughtless steel, would strike the natural flow of Galbar and all gods would be chained, and reduced to a meaningless existence.

"Even if it never arrives, I must think about something."

The reality was quite an intrusive thing, it was quite an effort to escape it and therefore, it was quite an effort to escape a god who was the master of what was real and logical.

But to everything, there was an exception, it was not even necessary to resort to the realms beyond, many things did not exist, the color Magenta for example. Reality was perceived, and perception is not a perfect translation, and those mistakes were surely not real, therefore out of the control of logic, therefore one just had to "color themselves in magenta" to escape it. But why just use it for defense, why not paint the whole room in the color and turn it into a logic-forsaken labyrinth.

"Focus, there is no time to lose." she told herself, trying to stop her mind from wandering too far.

Either way, now she knew what she had to do, she had done it with mortals before. Inebriation was quite easy to do with things with already problematic minds and senses, with a god, however, it was surely an unprecedented task.

"But one I will take. There is no other path. It must be strong enough to knock even my own mind into a tourbillon wilder than the lowest reaches of the Arpeggio."

And so she started her quest. She visited the north and took the flocks of ice and dream that formed under the aurora.
But that was not enough.
She visited Julia and took the eldritch fruits whose very chemical composition was connected to forbidden places.
But that was not enough.
She visited the Raka and for two weeks she captured and condensed dream clouds into the flask.
But that was not enough.
Finally, she slid her finger across a string of the Dreamweaver, purposefully cutting herself and letting the blood fall into the flask.
And that was still not enough but was as far as she could get right now.

The resulting liquid was an almost nonexistent thing. It was more transparent than even the purest of waters, being visible only by the foam that accumulated in the edges of its surface. It had no aroma or taste. Touching it felt no different than touching air.

Yet it was there, and it was a potent hallucinogen, with a single small sip feeling as overbearing as five phantasmagorias inside one's mind.

Vestec strolled into existence next to Ilunabar, eyeing her and her new jar. “Dear Illunabar, it’s been too long since we last chatted. When you were leaving Slough to rot away and die, if I remember correctly.

The muse sighed and turned to face her sibling. “What a skewed interpretation of events, also oddly judgemental, considering you sent all those Ashlings to maim Slough and, as we saw, they were quite successful, congratulations I guess.” she then clapped her hand and smiled “But let’s not drown in bitterness, this is our first face to face meeting after all”

“The Ashlings did as they willed. I never specifically sent them anywhere.”

“That it is!” Vestec giggled, looking over at the bottle Illunabar was holding. “What’s that you have there?” He inquired, teleporting to the other side of her. “Oooh. Looks shiny.”

“Just a little project, the shiny aspect is mostly from the glass as the liquid is hard to perceive. Now, how could I explain this, see, this was made for Logos and…”

Vestec snatched the bottle away before Ilunabar could explain further, giggling in delight. “For Logos, hmmmmm? It’d be a shame if someone were to...drink it before he could.” Without another word Vestec formed a mouth and downed the contents of the vial.

Ilunabar just stared wide eyed, she didn’t expect Vestec to be greedy to the point of wanting even the poison meant for others. “Uh, well this is bad, very bad. And I had put so much effort into making a mixture that could take even Logos down.”

Vestec’s colors began flashing insanely fast, colors going almost faster than could be perceived. “Even Logos?” Vestec giggled, stumbling along. “My dear, I think you overestimate his power.” He hiccupped, and a wave of chaos energy burst from him. It wasn’t directly harmful, washing over and past Ilunabar, but it violently changed anything not divine. Grass became hissing snakes or simply exploded, Trees turned into monsters or mice, animals became toys or corrupted monstrosities, and so on so forth. “He’s not nearly as strong as you think.”

“It is not about power, but mindset, it should be quite hard to detach a god of reality from reality you know.” Ilunabar confessed as she saw what was happening to her sibling.

“Huh, nice work by the way.” She said as she saw some bits of land around her suddenly becoming demented, yet very curious, landscapes.

“Thank you!” Vestec hiccuped again. “I consider it some of my finest work!” He threw a hand in the air, almost falling to the ground.

“Ah, but I digress. Back to the topic! So… Uh… You just drank my weapon to hold back Logos, how are you feeling?” it was not a question of worry, but of curiosity, it was a bit hard to tell things apart with Vestec, where the typical madness ended and where the drunk madness started was a bit unclear.

“I feel very...er, happy. Happier than normal. Like, what I felt during your Phantasmorgia. Only immensely better. And when did you start glowing from the eyes? And spewing butterflies whenever you talk?” Vestec giggled again, clapping his hands in delight. “You know, we should, we should make something. Together. Yes, I’m capable of making things. Lasting things. Things that don’t just destroy.”

"Oh, I'm certainly aware of the lasting aspect of your creation, like the ring. Though right now, hmm, it might be a bit tough. I mean, right now you are talking to some slender tree turned into serpent-thing thinking it is me, but I'm more to the left. It's a pretty tree-serpent-thing though, so I do not take personal offense."

“Nah, come on! It’ll be a great time!” Vestec adjusted his gaze so it fell mostly on Ilunabar. “Oooh, so you’re pretendin to be a rock now?” He nodded sagely. “Good disguise. Lotsa rocks in the planet. Though, careful. A Rovaick might eat you.” He giggled again. “If you’re *hiccup* worried about a place to create something, we can use Julky’s spires. I trapped Julky in the Realm of Mandess, so he not goin anywhere for a while.”

Vestec hiccuped again. “I suppose if you don’t want to, I could ask one of your Divas..”

Ilunabar tilted her head a bit, trying to properly understand what Vestec meant. “Ah, well, that explains why Julkofyr has been so inactive. Not that anyone would notice, considering he is the god of literally nothing, spreading nothing but unsightly darkness around” she usually would hide those feelings, but truly, with the god trapped, who would care? In truth, she had plans of her own for the Spires.

She giggled at the last comment “Don’t be silly, I like my Divas but they are not able to do much. Especially the little test I wanted to do at Julkofyr’s place.”

Vestec spread his hands unsteadily. “Well, why not do this test then? I’ll help. *Hiccup* “Got nothin better to do for now, and the Spires are the best place to do it, right? No one around, and no one cares! It’s like the Gods that pretend to be caring and kind who completely ignore Jvan and focus on me! She can rape and pervert creatures against their will, but I try to do that and suddenly I have a crusade against my creatures.”

Ilunabar nodded “Exactly, the Spires are one of the few places where you can go mad without anyone noticing.” The second comment struck her as a bit odd, she was not even aware that Vestec cared about Jvan’s actions “It was the horde thing, really, but that did give me the opportunity to make some pretty designs. But let’s not talk about Jvan and others, we have better thing to do.”

“You’re right! *Hiccup* Lead on. I can’t quite focus well enough to remember where the Spires are. Did you know there’s a small Hain doing a jig on your head?” Vestec crafted a Hain out of Chaos energy and it began dancing around, moving drunken and unnaturally. “Like this, see?”

“Of course, his name is Honza, he is a big fan of your work.” She should try to make more of that drink, it surely did make her siblings more lively fellows. Vestec was always lively, but on his own madness, not on Ilunabar’s madness, and she had a clear bias for the later.

“Ok, hush hush now. To the boring dark lands of nothingness.” it was a quite quick trip south, Ilunabar just took care to avoid flying over certain key villages which were reserved for more serious stories, ones which wouldn’t be as compelling with Vestec’s madness turning everyone into aberrations.

Vestec followed Ilunabar, haphazardly swaying along and singing random phrases ‘Dragons, Dragons come to fly. Dragons, Dragons, come to die!’ ‘Grot hopped, skipped, and dropped the ball! Grot tripped, slipped, and had a great fall!’ And so on so forth.

When they finally came to the darkened spires he looked around, his hiccups having come under control by now. “Ya know, this place isn’t as empty as we thought. Julky put some creepy crawlies in here and gave them a bit o divine essence to make them developeon their own. Kinda like your race.” He rubbed his chin. “Gotta visit them soon….”

“Ah, I have been involved with so many races, I can’t help but to make everyone pretty. I need to pay a visit to the Rovaick too” she sighed “Ah well. But I can’t have these things around at all. Or maybe I can, but once I start I doubt they will want to stay around.” she pondered for a bit.

“Notte, you can show up.” with that the Glass Diva revealed herself not too far from where they were. “Dearheart, multiply yourself and take the crawlers out. Send them to Niciel or something, she got a big heart so she can adopt them or something. Just get them away. If Nicy shows up to try to stop you just say the second option will be to give them to Jvan.”

Vestec waved a hand. “Why not just make them your own? ‘Pretty them up’ as you so like to do. Not many of your races are fighters.” Vestec giggled. “And with me around and Logos lurking on the sidelines, you’re gonna need fighters. Make them the fighting caste of your monkey things or something.”

“Ah, that could work too. You are quite bright Vesty. We need to meet up more times.” she nodded “Still, Notte, take them out, to Julia maybe. Things might get a bit hectic around here.”

“And about Logos. Well, I wouldn’t need to fight him if it were not for someone drinking up my especial anti-logos weapon.” Ilunabar sighed “But that is now the distant past. Back to the present, have you ever seen my Dreamweaver? I made it from the Codex.”

Vestec gave a dismissive snort. “It’ll wear off in a bit. Then I’ll be back to normal and your anti-Logos weapon will be useless. Ya need allies. United front and all that. Jvan and I will be his main targets for a bit. Stab him in the back with the others while he’s trying to stab us.”

Vestec tilted his head. “Dreamwhatsit? Never even heard of it.”

“Uh, well, I think Logos will surely come for me first. I, did steal the humans from him. Though that is such a harsh word. I just wanted to share something nice with my beloved siblings.” she shook her head “But back to my harp.”

She extended her hand forward and summoned it.

“It doesn’t have a lot of power, but it plays nice sounds. Want to have a go at it?” she giggled, originally she wanted to use Jvan for this one, but a drunk Vestec could do the task just as well.

“Seek aid from Teknall or Niciel. Logos kills me or you people will leap for joy or just be disgruntled, respectively. Logos kills one of them, suddenly all the other Gods are up in arms. Besiiiiides, Teknall’s looking for redemption after his failure with Jvan and Niciel likes protecting things.”

If Vestec had had eyes they would have lit up like a small child’s at the sight of Dreamweaver. He eagerly took it and began strumming it. Rather than a discordant, chaotic sound, a wave of sounds and song burst forth. All drastically different and somewhat clashing, but all flowing together in a semblance of a song.

“I like it. Shows that even Chaos values balance.”

“It is a nice tune. I should make something for you one of these days. Like a flute, or a lute, or a guitar, once I properly invent those.” she clapped her hands together. “Ah, but listen, it is starting to happen.” she lifted her finger up and above her head, closely listening to what was apparently nothing but silence.

Vestec shook his head. “Ya don’t have to do that. I’m the God of Chaos, eventually I’ll break or corrupt or bring ruin to something of yours and you’ll regret the gift.” He tilted his head almost 180 degrees. “I don’t hear anything other than the flying hippos around your head singing some rather bawdy odes to Niciel.”

“You already did ruin some of my stuff and I think you don’t understand why I gift things. But ah, I can’t focus on that now. I don’t want to lose the moment.” she closed her eyes and kept her finger up.

A ephemeral sound, close to the buzz of a mosquito, could now be heard. For Ilunabar this was already absurdly loud.

“And…” she quickly moved her finger forward as a “crack” sound echoed in the absolute darkness. The resonating sound from before came to a complete halt.

“Done” Ilunabar stepped back a bit and decided to make herself a bit more visible, previously the shadows from the Spires were able to even hide the image of gods, but now Ilunabar was clearly visible, though only in shades of Violet and Red.

Slowly a white mist started to form where they were, even in the total lack of light the pure white color of it was noticeable for its color was not the result of reflected photons, it’s color was its color and nothing else.

More odd events started to pile up, iridescent goo started to leak from apparently nowhere, chimes could be heard in a distance, animals like serpents and fishes flew by in complete defiance of natural laws and large, root like vines started to cross the Darkness.



Charged with Vestec chaos and resonating with the Ilunabar essence the god had ingested with the drink, the Dreamweaver was capable of cracking the barrier between Reality and Raka. Just like the Aurora, or Belvast’s portal or any mortal’s mind as they slept.

If Ilunabar were to force it a bit more, surely it would turn into a hole and it would be lovely if said link was just a rabbit hole to to the fantastic, but the Raka was quite a tumultuous place, if not for the Complete Darkness created by Julk, even the fissures made by Vestec would become a major issue for all of Galbar.

No, the goddess needed a gateway, perhaps a dam. That was the next step, first she wanted to test their surrounding. She waved her hand and the clouds of dust and vines around her took form and what looked like a garden was created.



Finally Ilunabar looked back to Vestec, perhaps to see if he was still even awake and the mixture she made kept affecting him. She immediately noticed something else. No longer was the liquid diluted across his body, instead it was now stored in a spherical form in where the God’s stomach would be, should he not prefer shapeless forms.

Upon closer inspection, Ilunabar noticed that her essence in the drink started to interact with the god’s energy, probably a side result of the resonance created by him playing the Dreamweaver. She had seen that before, she knew the results too.

“I do not know how to say this Vestec, but I believe I might have accidentally, uh, impregnated you. I think.”

Vestec was content to just oooh and aw at the pretty sights and colors all around him. He looked at Ilunabar in alarm as she finally spoke. “You whaa…?” he looked down at his stomach in surprise. “Hmmm. Is this how Vulamera felt?” He murmured before shaking his head. “No. Her’s was much more violent.” Giggling, he clapped his hands together. “Well before we become loving parents and start raising this child, I need to do things first!” The God of Chaos soared into the air, high above Galbar. “Everyone has all this technology, but isn’t sharing….I’ll share for them.”

Vestec threw his hands into the air and drew thoughts and ideas from the mortals all over Galbar. Gathering them into a ball he spread them throughout all the mortals. Metal forging, beast riding, leather armor, weapons, they were all shared throughout the minds of the mortals.

[Some freepoints or might could have been spent here, I don't know, ask Rtron.]

The God of Chaos lazily fell back to the Spires, sitting on the ground and looking up at Ilunabar. “So. Shall we cut it out like we did with Lifprasil or do you want to do a natural birth?”

“Your body your rules, I’m open minded about such issues. Though I believe less trauma is always a good way to bring life into this world, no?” she nodded to herself “And cutting yourself open doesn’t seem be very good for your health, I think.”

“Perhaps not.” Vestec scratched his head. “But we can’t wait the full amount of time necessary for mortals to have their children. I’ve got plans ya know. Though,” he said as he watched the bulge in his stomach grow, “we might not have to.”

“Ah, typical Demi-God behaviour” she smiled.

A moment later Maeus burst out of Vestec’s stomach. Well more so Ves’ stomach expanded to the point that it split open and the demigod tumbled out coated in rainbow toned blood and gore. He slowly stood up, head cradled in his hands despite having not hit it on his way out. Lowering one hand he looked between the two divine beings with narrowed eyes.

“Do either of you happen to have anything to drink? I have been sober for all of ten seconds and I hate it. I would like that to be fixed sooner rather than later.” His voice is a splendid tenor, though at the moment it is laced with irritation.

Vestec himself had fallen unconscious. Whether it was from childbirth, the alcohol, or a mixture of both was unclear. Regardless, as his stomach sewed itself back together he began to wake up, shaking his head. “Ugh. I feel like Teknall used my head as an anvil.” He looked up and paused in surprise at the sight of Maeus. The God of Chaos looked between Ilunabar and the newly born Demi-god in befuddlement for a moment. “Ilunabar. Dear. Did we uh….” He gestured to Maeus. “I don’t quite remember anything after stealing the drink that you made for Logos.”

Ilunabar analysed the scene with mild amusement. “Of course dear, we are in a pit of pure darkness right now, but I will send one of my divas to bring the best Citadel wine as soon as she can”

To Vestec she just sighed. “Well, next time please don’t drink the hallucinogen I made to trick Logos. Anyway, you became a bit trippy, we talked about some topics, then you gave me this place for me to run some dangerous tests and of course, you became a mother, congratulation” she clapped her hands for a brief moment

Maeus groaned at the response he received, head still cradled in one of his hands, and the conversation between the two gods went right over him. While the promise of wine was wonderful to the demigod he understood that he would be remaining sober for at least a little while longer. Sick of standing he fell backwards, laying on what he hoped was ground. “I hope you don’t expect me to be too sociable at the moment then.”

“Next time just say ‘It’s to trick Logos’ rather than ‘I made it for Logos!’ You know how much I like pissing Gods off, and I haven’t seen logos in forever.” He looked over at Maeus. “Well son of mine, welcome to the world. You have a brother in some part of the world intent upon making it a better place. He’s sure to have beer somewhere.”

Soon enough, Notte arrived bringing three bottles of wine.

“And here it is, no need to be so grumpy anymore” Ilunabar announced “And I do wonder if Teknall has fully developed Beer yet, if not, I will fix that myself very soon” she sighed, it was not her favourite drink, but surely it deserved to exist.

The demi-god simply started to gulp down the wine without giving Ilunabar the proper thanks. She couldn’t complain however, the kid was exactly what she expected, considering who were its parents.

Before anything else could be said, an indescribable feeling crossed the mind of both Ilunabar and Vestec.

"He's here. Run. Seek protection from the other Gods. If everything else fails, run to my Realm of Madness. Logos can't follow you there, not without my permission. He doesn't even know it exists."

Ilunabar had simpler plans in mind, however.

A Wolf's Flight

Luna, the Twilight Queen
Level 5 Hero
25 Khookies
&
Vizier Ventus, Majordomo to Zephyrion
Level 7 Hero
36 Khookies

It was way past midnight. The sun had long disappeared from the horizon, leaving his place to the many moons orbiting Galbar and the countless stars that filled the night sky with their sparkly brilliance. The quiet of the night was occasionally broken by the buzzing of crickets and the deep mating calls of Feathered Slouches echoing in the distance.

Suddenly, a peculiar wind howled, enveloping and silencing all the other sounds. The wind was followed by a flash of light a few dozen meters above the ground and the unconscious body of Luna appeared. At that point, gravity took the reigns and the werewolf's body plummeted downward. She landed crudely with a thud, displacing a lot of dust and small rocks. Fortunately, her body was more than capable of handling that small amount of beating and thus, she came out without injuries.

"Ugh.." she slowly shifted her furred body from one side to the other and then back again. She extended one arm and wiggled it around in an attempt to grasp Ull'Yang's body and bring him closer to her, but it proved futile. He wasn't there anymore.

A frown appeared on her face and she slowly opened her eyes, only to come across an unfamiliar night sky and sounds, unlike anything she had ever heard before. And then, the memories came back, crashing through and flooding her mind like the cold waves of the ocean.

"No..." she whispered before jumping straight up and scanning her surroundings. "..no no no.." She frantically sought for the most important person in her life, but the vast grasslands of Galbar were the only thing she got. Her eyes trailed to the west where a gigantic mountain range stood tall as if dividing the very earth in two. To the east, a powerful river carried its waters from the lonely northern mountain to the southern sea.

"W-where am I? What is this unfamiliar place?" She thought nervously. Luna closed her eyes and dove deep inside her mind. There, located in a corner of her spiritual sea, a small boulder the size of a human torso floated. On its surface, a peculiar symbol was carved; sharp patterns forming the image of two suns, one inside the other, emanated a dim, warm light. Luna felt the familiar warmth and her stirred emotions calmed down at once.

She walked over to the boulder, only stopping a few meters in front of it before sitting down. Luna extended her right arm towards the boulder and gently placed her palm on the symbol. At once, the positive messages that Ull'Yang instilled in her mind flowed through the symbol and into her. When the whole process was finished, she withdrew her hand and smiled bitterly. "If this is what master wants, then this one shall not worry..." she muttered and then disappeared from her mind.

Luna opened her eyes once more. Her previous frown had long disappeared and a look full of longing had taken its place. Even thought Ull'Yang had told her not to worry about him, she still could not shake this anxious feeling. Like a splinter digging deeper and deeper into one's flesh, her animal instincts told her that a disaster was soon to come, a calamity whose proportions would shake the very roots of this poor planet of Galbar.

She brought her arms closer to her body and rubbed them with her hands. Having grown accustomed to the warmth that Ull'Yang always emitted, the wolf had already forgotten how the chilling wind of the night felt on her skin, even though her fur was there to somewhat protect her from it. It would take some time for her to get accustomed to all the sudden changes.

She looked north, towards the Lonely Mountain, and sighed. Ull'Yang's command still echoed in her mind. "You are by no means allowed to pass through the Gate Unguarded of the realm on the northern parts of Galbar."

It was as if he was there beside her, but he wasn't. Tears welled up in her eyes but she quickly wiped them off and tore her gaze from the north. She picked a different direction at random and started slowly walking, whilst looking at the environment around her. "...so this is Galbar? Hmph. Master's realm is much better!" she said with a proud look in an attempt to lift her own spirits.

---

Through the sky soared Cyclonis, his flight as true and purposed as an arrow. At his side flew a dozen lesser djinn at his command; at his back, there fluttered a cape of roiling clouds.

In the Allfather Zephyrion's absence, there were many strange sensations that swirled through the hearts of djinn: lament and disarray, greed and ambition to take his place, glorious freedom and yet also a daunting mantle of responsibility... As ever theirs was the role of maintaining the natural forces and balance of power, and though they bordered upon divine the wisest of them now saw through the former veil of hubris. Without Zephyrion's backing, theirs was a thankless, unwanted, and dangerous task indeed. The dark forces of Jvan were perhaps only the first that might challenge the elementals' just reign.

At the behest of the council of great Djinni Lords, Cyclonis had taken his host and set out to subdue the monstrous Slag. The self-proclaimed Scion of Fire, Slag would have to be brought to heel; in such times as these, the Skylords could not suffer the insolence or insubordination of the lesser elements.

Though his purpose lied far off on the horizon, something nonetheless managed to catch the wind djinn's eye. Lo and behold, far below there was a small creature, one of those unfortunate souls bound to the earth. This one was special, however; about it was an aura of heavenly power that few things possessed. With certainty, Cyclonis could say that the being was touched by some divine.

Slag's subjugation could wait some time; curiosity bid Cyclonis investigate, and so with he descended from his lofty wind to a more personal level, so as to better examine this being. From even that distance his perception encompassed the seemingly unwitting werewolf and took in her every detail, but to mortal eyes, there would be nothing but a playful wind and a few low clouds to be seen above. But perhaps Luna had other means of knowing that she was being observed!

---

Luna walked through the grasslands aimlessly. She knew that she was not needed at the moment and as such, although it was with a heavy heart, she nevertheless followed through with Ull'Yang's command to not enter the Gate Unguarded and even went one step further by not even traveling back to the Lonely Mountain.

In their travels all over the grand realm of Cygnea, Ull'Yang had explained about his nature to Luna, and how he was basically forced to undertake the, very painful to him, process of exploding into a supernova and then reconstructing himself.

Luna could not even fathom the amount of courage it took her master to actually go through with the whole process, but he had told her that not even he knew the magnitude of damage it could potentially cause to the Universe, should he forcefully stop the cycle.

And so she bottled up her sadness and steeled her determination. She did not know how long it would take for her master to come back, but she would make sure to be by his side when he was back. That meant she would have to actually survive in this unfamiliar planet.

Nevertheless, Luna was nothing but awed at the sheer amount of variety of life existing on the surface of Galbar. Although it was late in the night, that did not mean no animals tread the lands.

She came across some packs of nocturnal Fleet-footed Manglers, but they seemed to steer away from her path once she walked inside a certain radius of them, seemingly afraid of her. Luna could only scratch her head, not knowing what exactly was that made those weird lizard-like animals fear her, but she didn't really think about it further and opted to just keep walking.

Eventually, she even came upon a sleeping Brush Beast and it's cub. Luna marveled at the sheer enormity of the beast and could only compare it to the Four Cardinal Beasts of Cygnea. Surely they would be able to fell such a beast.

She sneaked around the sleeping beast as quiet as was possible, and it was only until she was a good fifty meters away from Its location that she resumed her previous walking pace.

Luna panted lightly. She came to a stop and wiped the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead. She had been walking for some time now but had not made much progress towards the Ironheart Mountains. She scanned her surroundings for any potential ponds or lakes she could rehydrate. The absence of food and water didn't really affect a being like her, but going without them for a substantial amount of time still took a toll on her body, however strong it may be.

That was when she felt the wind suddenly picking up. Her hair was blown back as she steadied herself. Certainly, the wind would pick up throughout the night, that much she knew from her previous travels. However, this particular kind of strong breeze gave off a rather odd sensation.

Luna looked upwards but was only met with endless clouds. She squinted her eyes, trying to figure out what was it that she was feeling, but came up with nothing. "Huh, must have been my imagination..." she muttered and started walking once more.

The elementals above circled in a wide berth around where Luna walked, and though they flew at what was a lazy pace by their standards, it was enough to cut through the air and whip down a playful breeze. For what would have been an agonizingly long time for most, the timeless beings were content to simply watch, listen, and smell.

The gales and eddies contorted in strange ways, and Luna might hear the occasional howl from the emptiness above. It was those wind djinns' peculiar manner of speech.

"Though its poise betrays fatigue and sadness, it presses on."

"A Divine has blessed this one with vigor, but the question is which god! This one carries a touch my winds have not felt before."

"Would the Vizier approve of our meddling here?"

"We have done nothing but watch!"

"The Council would want us to take this creature to them."

"The Council would want us to carry on with our Sacred Task! It is our mandate to conquer Slag, not to rest idly."

'Silence,' came the telepathic thought of Cyclonis, and his subordinates had no choice but to obey their lord. 'We shall reveal ourselves to this one,' he stated simply, and there was no dissent. Amongst a host of elementals, there was never dissent or objection; they obeyed nature's hierarchy and submitted fully to their lord's designs.

What had been a playful breeze around Luna was at once transformed into a violent whirlwind as a dozen vaporous djinn circled about her. Cyclonis then drew his cape about him and descended in person, and from the clouds there manifested a visage of the storm. Whirling winds drew the mist into a humanoid form before Luna (though it towered over her) and from Cyclonis' hands, he conjured a spear of lightning. As was custom, he hurled it far into the distance; it was both a display of power and declaration of peace to cast aside one's lightning.

"You face Cyclonis, Skylord of the Divine Wind," a voice called out from the storm in the language of gods. He meant no overt hostility and only a proper introduction, though his intent might have been lost upon one not accustomed to the ways of djinn.

As if confirming Luna's earlier gut feeling, at one moment she walked against the wind toward the Ironhearts and the next moment, she found herself surrounded by the countless whirling visages of strange beings made of pure wind and cloud.

Luna braced herself; at first glance, it seemed like the strong winds suddenly started raging and threatened to carry her away. However, to her surprise, it felt like tempests actually retained their distance and avoiding to actually come in contact with her.

Luna looked a the swirling vortex that surrounded her and felt perplexed. "What is this? Is it some kind of special environmental phenomenon, unique to this planet?" She stretched her hand to try and touch the howling perimeter and was greeted by the harshness of the winds. She quickly retracted her hand whilst winching in pain.

"It seems like I am trapped inside some kind of swirling vortex... Should I wait it out? Hmm..." Luna thought for a couple of moments. That was when she actually started noticing tiny blinking lights coming from inside the inside the storm.

"Oh, what is this? Why do I get an awfully eerie feeling from those lights? It's as if I am being watched by the very wind!" She thought inwardly as every hair on her body stood up. And then, it appeared. Carrying the very winds as it's cape, the strange wind creature descended a few steps in front of Luna.

The combination of lightning on one hand and its impressing height, towering above her by not a small margin, Luna took a few steps back from the wind djinn, only to find herself with her back on the wind wall created by its subordinates.

The wind djinn hurled it's lighting in the distance, and after the thundering sound of its landing reached their ears, it introduced itself with a sonorous voice. Fortunately for Luna, she had been bathing in Ull'Yang's aura for almost 6 million years. It was not a stretch to say this being's aura, in front of her master's, was like what the earth is to the heavens.

Luna took a minute to recollect her thoughts and then spoke out in the tongue of the gods as well. This, however, she did not know. For all she knew, this tongue was the common tongue used by all beings. She had been taught this tongue by Ull'Yang himself and as such, had become very quickly extremely proficient in it.

"This one's name is Luna. I am a companion of the Stellar God, Ull'Yang. May I know to whom your lordly self own their allegiance to?" She said most eloquently.

The air churned and from within the misty form of Cyclonis there came a reply, "The faithful djinn answer only to our Allfather Zephyrion, though our god has seen exile and now we rule ourselves..."

"Ah, so It is Zephyrion that these... djinn? Yeah, that's how it called themselves." Luna thought while listening to the djinn talk. "Exile??" This was a first for Luna. Ull'Yang had never before told her that it was possible for gods to get punished. "Although, If the gods themselves could die then getting punished with exile is definitely possible as well..."

"You are well met, Luna, for though I know not of Ull'Yang we offer no enmity to the righteous."

After a short pause, he decided to offer a word of advice, "In these ill times Jvan is at large and its monsters now roam as they please; beware of the dark and the depths, for the foolish Earth hath seen fit to offer the abominations refuge."

Luna was taken aback a bit when Cyclonis said that he had not known of Ull'Yang. She thought that knowing at least the names of gods was a given. "Although you say you have not heard of my master, you have been bathing in His light since time immemorial. He is the Sun that lights the day and the stars that illuminate the night. He is the one and only, First Star of the Universe and creator of galaxies." Luna said fervently with a glint in her eyes.

"I have heard of the might of Zephyrion, the Bringer of Change. Although I have been isolated from the rest of the world inside my master's realm, he has taught me a great deal of things about the Outside..." she told Cyclonis. "However, he has not commented on these... monsters you are speaking of. Jvan? How can a god threaten the very thing they have given birth to?"

The First Star, of all those countless lights in the sky? A glorious spectacle to be sure, but still nothing more than one grain of sand upon the sea's shore. That Zephyrion did not bring Change but rather was Change was an intricacy that Cyclonis did not bother to correct, for it was a more grievous ignorance to be unaware of Jvan's horrific designs.

"The Jvan's dreams are only of blight and destruction; it is content only with stealing, twisting, contorting, breaking, and then reforming its unfortunate find into an abomination. It is called the Cancer that Breathes by some, and for good reason: I have witnessed firsthand how Jvan has sought to corrupt and destroy our kind, so as to impede our vital and Divine-mandated purpose. It similarly twists and destroys the beings of flesh, those creatures made by other gods. The egregiousness of Jvan's crimes have only grown with time; whispers abound of Jvan slaying the Divine known as Vowzra."

"Ah, so It was Jvan that drove Vowzra to his demise... Indeed, my master was greatly affected by his siblings' deaths." Luna said and lowered her head. A gloomy look appeared on her face as she recalled Ull'Yang's sudden outburst and subsequent actions.

She raised her head and looked at the wind djinn. "So I take it you are on a mission to combat the forces of Jvan? Has an all-out war already started?"

Deaths? So this detached Ull'Yang felt both the departure of Reathos and Vowzra, even from so far away. Though it would not be easy to perceive, Luna's words stirred some shame and frustration in Cyclonis. To be sure, his quarry should have been Jvan's monstrosities, but instead, he had a Firelord to deal with.

"The Noble Basheer and the Esteemed Murmur (though he be strange indeed!) do lead a Righteous Crusade against all Jvanic filth. As in for I, my host is left with the unsavory task of bringing to heel a rogue Firelord. In times such as these, the djinn must be united, and so by the Council of Djinni Lords I was sent."

"Mhm, indeed," Luna said. In her mind, she was taking note of the names and titles Cyclonis mentioned. Since she was going to be walking through these lands for some time, it wasn't a bad idea to be on the good graces of a powerful race. These djinns seemed to be able to bend the forces of nature to their will and thus, would prove to be quite troublesome if she were to make them her enemies.

"You said that the god Zephyrion was exiled from this realm. If your overlord is not present then who is exactly leading such a powerful race like the djinn? I presume that would be the Council of Djinni Lords that you also mentioned earlier?"

"The Conclave of the Winds has dominion over the skies until great Zephyrion's magnificent return, yet the djinn of other elements insist upon following their own Scions and Kings. The strongest amongst us all is Ventus. As the Allfather's Vizier, his word has clout and carries weight even over the quarrelsome, lesser elements."

"I see. Would it be possible for this one to meet with your Vizier Ventus?" Luna asked the wind djinn.

There was a collective recoil in the circling elementals upon that request, and then a few howls that could have been outright laughter. Cyclonis, at least, remained cordial enough in his response. "Since long before this land flourished with life Ventus stood by Zephyrion's side; in his time he has seen the birth of all these so-called 'demigods' and the rise of civilizations. He stands near the brink of infinity, and there are those that think erelong he will join our Lord in Divinity.

And what are you, a creature of flesh, before his brilliance? I warn you that the Vizier is not to be trifled with."

From the vortex surrounding Luna came a dozen whistles of agreement.

Luna smiled at Cyclonis' remarks, as well as the djinns' whistles surrounding her. "I assure you that I have ways to protect myself from beings of great power. Since I first met him, my master has always been kind to me and thus, I've grown quite competent." Luna said as she adjusted her hair in a proud manner.

Although these djinns might think she was just a being of flesh, she did not mind showing them what she was capable of, if that was the only way to make them bring her to Ventus.

"I'd like you to bring me to your Vizier if such a thing isn't out of your powers to do so. Otherwise, you can also point me to his direction and I'll travel there alone."

"For what purpose would you speak to my Lord? He does not entertain any who deign to take his time," Cyclonis retorted.

"Not even someone directly under another god? Well, that is odd. I would think that since Zephyrion is missing right now, you djinn would do anything in your power to have another god backing you up," Luna said casually.

"And you think that Ull'Yang would join us in our fight against Jvan?"

"I am confident that he would not be supporting Jvan, that is certain."

"I would grant your request, then. But is that frame of yours robust enough to endure a flight upon my winds? We shall see," he answered. The air rippled as he uttered incomprehensible commands to his twelve djinns, and the vortex around Luna was broken. That humanoid shell that Cyclonis had assumed so as to more easily communicate was gone as well, dispersed into little more than a cloud of mist.

Like a panther springing upon its prey, the cloudy body of Cyclonis descended to consume Luna within its fog, and then a thousand buffeting gales of wind swirled to lift her up.

Luna smiled and braced herself for the collision. She instantly fell down on the ground, making herself as flat as possible. She had used this same trick many times back at Cygnea when she was traversing the cold mountains of the northern continent.

In those high altitudes, the wind was fierce and overbearing. So, she had tested many things out and this tactic was the only one that perfectly countered strong winds like those of the djinn. As she fell down, her nails on her hands and lower paws elongated and pierced the earth, keeping her firmly in place. Luna stayed there and waited out the rampage of the wind djinn with a smirk on her face.

"Clinging to the earth in fear will bring you no closer to what you seek," the storm called out. The cold air that was Cyclonis' breath worked its way underneath Luna and began to lift more forcefully.

"Oh, fear? It has nothing to do with that!" Luna retorted. She rolled her eyes when Cyclonis increased the intensity with which he was pulling at her. "Since you want me to fly so much, then so be it," Luna said plainly before letting go of the ground. But after her mind had some more time to process Cyclonis words, she realized that he harbored no ill thoughts.

"It seems I've misunderstood you," she said in an apologetic manner as mist started surrounding her. "However, just to be on the safe side;" a thin film of magic enveloped her, protecting her from Cyclonis' chilling winds. Not even a second after, the werewolf was swept up by the air currents.

Since he wanted her to fly so much? It had only been by her pleading that he would grant her the honor. Her mindset required correction. "Know that it is a rare favor that a Skylord would carry another being, especially being that we were occupied by another task," he chided.

From within the bowels of a cloud Luna's sight of the world below was obscured, but the occasional glimpse of the ground was offered when the cloud shifted shape. They were high, at a height impossible for any birds to near, and moving with incredible swiftness.

Even so, the journey took some hours and there was little with which to pass the time. Whilst Luna was suspended in nothingness, the djinn occasionally broke the silence to speak to one another. Their language was impossible to discern, but from their tones, it was clear that they did little more than bicker with one another. After some time, the long-silent Cyclonis spoke with his voice deeper than all the others, and at his command, one of his subordinates parted from the group to fly on ahead.

"That one will tell Ventus of our coming and bid him meet us," Cyclonis explained to Luna.

When at last the gales slowed to a still and the cloud unfurled to release Luna from its clutches, she found herself upon a windswept summit somewhere within the Ironhearts. It had been a couple of hours since her feet had touched solid ground and as such, Luna took some time to balance herself out. When she finally raised her head and looked around her, she was flabbergasted by what she saw.

The faces of those few that had surrounded her upon Cyclonis' appearance perhaps seemed countless, but now there was a new meaning for such a word. Hundreds of djinn floated around the peak, and at the center was one bigger and grander than all others: the Vizier.

Luna's eyes locked onto the towering djinn in front of her. She could feel the razor sharp winds swirling about; just a few more steps in front and she would find herself in a pretty precarious situation.

"It's a pleasure to meet the Vizier," Luna said and slightly bowed her head. In her mind, she was already giving a lot of face to the djinn.

After a short pause, she continued. "I am Luna, a companion of the god Ull'Yang. I suppose a being like you who was in direct contact with Zephyrion would have knowledge of the other gods?" she asked and raised her brow in curiosity.

If not even Ventus knew of her master, that would mean Ull'Yang was truly mysterious to the rest of the world. She didn't know what she would do if that was the case. Luna was in a most difficult position, one that required her to receive assistance from other races if she wanted to survive until Ull'Yang's return.

"Be well met and at peace upon this tranquil summit, Luna; I am Ventus, Majordomo to Zephyrion.

Zephyrion did indeed tell me what he knew of Ull'Yang, just as he did for each of the Divines, but... we thought Ull'Yang had succumbed to an ill fate," he spoke most delicately. The Vizier could hardly say that Zephyrion had compared Ull'Yang's imprisonment within the form of a star to that of Slough's stillbirth.

Luna was startled by Ventus' words but managed to keep calm and gave out a bitter smile instead. "My master had indeed been caged by Fate inside a most painful destiny. His nature as a star ordained that he would face death at the end of each age, only for him to be resurrected once again. This endless cycle of death and rebirth left him mentally and physically drained..." Luna said with sadness in her eyes.

"Nevertheless, he persisted through each and every cycle, and still does! In the time between rebirths, he created his own isolated realm, untainted by the touch of the other gods. In this realm of life, we lived, withdrawn from the rest of the world. But alas, with the death of the four, my master... changed." Luna said, the pain evident on her face as she talked.

"He did... something. I still don't know how he did it, but he succeeded in breaking his shackles. After that, we traveled here to attend the Memorial," she finished. Luna did not reveal to the djinn that Ull'Yang had temporarily cast her away for some reason.

That Luna spoke of the death of four gods was entirely lost upon Ventus; he knew only of what had befallen Reathos and Vowzra. More interesting was talk of this 'Memorial'.

"Zephyrion did not know Ull'Yang had the capacity for such things," Ventus offered back after some hesitation. It was untruthful to say that he did not have a tinge of doubt about Luna's story, but he entertained it for now. "What is this Memorial of which you speak?"

Luna's delicate eyebrows frowned upon hearing what Ventus had to say. She gazed sharply at the djinn lord and said, "Did not have the capacity? This is a god we're talking about here. Be they crippled or in the clutches of death, they are still capable of wiping this whole realm of yours from existence."

Luna pointed at Ventus and added, "do not take lightly the power and authority a god possess, for it'll be the short path to your demise." Luna then closed her eyes and the symbol of Ull'Yang started taking shape on her forehead. A scorching aura surged outwards, passing through all of the djinn's ethereal forms. "Does this quell your doubts? My words are true, Vizier Ventus."

Many of the smaller djinns collectively recoiled from the burst of energy, but the larger among them simply seethed and endured its heat. Cyclonis, if Luna could find him among the crowd, looked especially furious that his guest had dared such a thing.

Ventus was quick enough to throw out a hand as if swatting a fly, and a barrier of some strange magic blocked the aura from reaching him. It left him feeling rather drained, but Ventus nonetheless gave Astarte silent thanks for the powers she had granted him so long ago.

Luna restrained the aura emitted from the Uthkrein, and the temperature of their surroundings quickly returned to normal. However, one could clearly feel that the aura could be unleashed at any moment if they looked at the symbol engraved on her forehead.

Luna's hostility had gone too far, and now Ventus' melodic tone was not so kind, "Be it known that I have witnessed a god's power on many an occasion. And now I caution you against trying the might of our kind."

He gave a short pause for the gravity of his words to sink in, and then demanded, "For what purpose did you seek me? You would beg refuge, I presume?"

The werewolf looked at the djinn surrounding her that were seething with anger. Ull'Yang's symbol faded as she sighed before addressing Ventus once more. "Pardon my indiscretion, for I simply sought to warn you," Luna told him.

"Indeed, I have not come here to become an enemy of you and your kind. My master has given me a mission, the contents of which I cannot disclose right now. What I can say, however, is that I will need your cooperation. Of course, that does not mean it will be a one-way deal. You can state what you want, and I'll do it if it's in my power." Luna stated her request with a smile plastered on her face as if nothing had happened.

She was not so transparent in her wants as Ventus would have liked. He had asked why she came, and even after hearing what she had just told, he still knew nothing about what she actually wanted. "You would ask our cooperation in what? Our tasks are many and sacred, and though immortal we do not waste time."

"Oh, do not fear that I will be wasting your time. No no no, that is not the case. Although I am quite competent in navigating the plains, mountains, and forests of my homeworld, in this foreign land of Galbar I find myself quite at a loss. I need someone to travel and guide me in my journey to retrieving a certain... item," Luna said cryptically.

"And although I too am Immortal in a sense, I still require food and water to sustain myself, unlike your kind I presume. I would not ask for you to fetch me food, however. If you steer me towards a forest or grassland where I can hunt in preparation for my journey, that would be enough.

If you can do all this for me, then I can offer you my help in combating the forces of Jvan."

"What you ask for is within my power to give, but should I? Always, the full truth evades your sly tongue. You have yet to tell me of the memorial that you came for, and if I am to assist in procuring this item that you search for, I would know what it is,"

"I find it hard to believe that the race who call themselves the 'Skylords' does not know of everything that has happened or is happening beneath their kingdom," Luna commented with a smile, but continued.

Ventus, vaporous as he was, seemed to stiffen in distaste. Luna lacked charisma.

"Still, I don't know much. Only what my master has revealed to me. From his words, I deduced that the god Toun has raised a peculiar pillar right in front of the gate to the broken realm Jvan spat out after returning from her calamitous battle with Vowzra. On the pillar, Toun engraved an oath that forbade all gods who sign it to hurt, with the intent to kill, one another." She answered Ventus truthfully.

"This is all that I know," Luna placed her hand over her chest as if taking an oath of speaking the truth. "As for what I seek, as I previously said, it has nothing to do with you. Would you meddle in the pursuits of a god?"

The Vizier answered without hesitation, "Your knowledge concerning this memorial is new to my ears and to hear it I am most grateful; the anomaly that Jvan created in the north did not evade our attention, but we have not neared that unnatural place for fear of being corrupted by her taint.

As in for your request, it is respectfully refused. Here I am the final arbiter, and it is indeed my business to know just what you would have my aid in acquiring. I will not enter such a pact blindly!"

"Were glorious Zephyrion here, he would cut the last breath from you for hurling insult, withholding secrets, and then having the gall to ask for aid," a familiar voice said, but Ventus averted his gaze from Luna and towards Cyclonis with a fury in his eyes, and there was silence once more.

Cyclonis' remarks fell on deaf ears in Luna, as her whole attention was directed towards Ventus. She sized the djinn up - or whatever she could size up, his form wasn't exactly stable. She pondered if she should reveal her purpose of wanting assistance to the djinn, but in the end, she decided against it.

Amongst the messages Ull'Yang left Luna was the location of the divine weapon, Sunderer. Having it would guarantee her survival in this strange planet of semi-corporeal humanoids and mountain-sized beasts. So as one would expect, she was not going to reveal such important information to one random djinn.

"Hmph, then I guess this meeting has been nothing but fruitful for the both of us. Well, I did tell you about the memorial, but that hardly seems to amount to much..." Luna said dejectedly.

"If you would bring me down from this mountain so that I continue my quest, I would be grateful." the werewolf told Ventus. It was the first time she had ever met such a stubborn being ah!

"Gods keep you well," he bid her goodbye, "there lies your way."

From the Vizier's breath came a golden wind that hummed with the First Gale's power, and it swept across the summit to envelop Luna. She didn't do such a thing as resisting the winds this time around. Gentle yet unassailable, this one was stronger than that of Cyclonis and it carried her a long ways even without Ventus there to direct it.

Ventus had sent the wind to carry her to the fertile Mahd, well upstream from Vetros and its lands but not so far as to be in the wild climes of the Venomweald. Soon her figure was nothing more than a fading dot on the horizon, bound for the sacred lands in the west. It was then that Ventus turned to one of his skylords.

"Follow her."

Upon the rock old Mora sat, a bear as old as Time itself and greatest of the Victors. In times before he had been known as Morarom Oramomaro, but the traditions of the Treeminds had eroded from him - for the eons and the ages erode great mountains, and they erode the most dearly held habits also, and even one's culture and ways, with none around to preserve them, go the way all things must finally go. Why, even their mighty god, who had sat upon the altar of Time and read it to all, had at last been grinded by that never-ceasing grinder. For it was not the Jvanic Flesh which had caused Vowzra to be slain, but Time itself which had willed and caused. That Jvanic Entity had been naught more than a vessel, and through it did the mysterious hand of Time seize the Lord of Time.

'You ask me of the Cherry Tree,' old Mora finally said, looking down from where he sat, on that antique rock, upon the Victors who sat below, and the lay people of New Chronos, and the curious children who huddled close to their parents and stared at the great bear. And among them were Lifprasilians, and among them were Pronobii, and there were humans and there were hain, and there were ogres also and Treeminds, but no djinn. And to the side two other ancient bears stood, warrioresses unmatched, Zina and Sali who had, eons and ages ago, ascended with Mora to Chronos, and here had they all become Victors.

'It is said, and who knows if it is true, that the Cherry Tree was gifted by the Dream Goddess, Illunabar, to the Celestial Above in times before human or hain or even Treemind walked the plains of Galbar. For as you all know, our master the Bard is a child of the Celestial Above, but also of that fervent, starry-eyed goddess. And it is said that the Bard was created of wood, unlike ogres and men and beasts who are of clay, and unlike Pronobii who are of ice, and unlike Lifprasilians and hain who are of a mysterious source derived. And when the Celestial Above took the Bard, that Goddess of Dreams so missed her child - and so missed her lover! - that she would spend her days carving out of wood their missed and adored visages. And this Goddess of Dreams has many strange servants, some of glass and some of leaves and some of rust and some of metal and some of flowers made, and it did not please them to see their mother so lost in her own world - for it was not for the Dream Goddess to be lost in dreams and sighs for those she missed and could not see, nay! it is hers to entrap others in dreams within dreams and worlds within worlds and endless roads and skies and winding ways.

'And so those many servants of the Goddess of Dreams gathered and argued for long, and they debated and there was much vexation, but at long last they came to an agreement and chose the servant of flowers made to go speak to their mother. And that flowery servant brought to her mother a little red fruit - and it is said that the Goddess of Dreams was so filled with passionate inspiration upon seeing it that the little servant of flowers made could not so much as utter a word before her mother had taken the little red fruit and banished the little servant from her sight.

'And for many days did the Goddess labour, until at last she had created the Cherry Tree, and she dedicated it to her disappeared lover and child and sent it forth into the land, where it grew. And so great was the passion of the Dream Goddess, so great her love, that the Cherry Tree grew even here, in Chronos. And that there is the Queen of all Cherry Trees, whose fruit are reddest, whose flowers are largest and brightest, whose leaves are greenest, whose branches are coiled with a passionate energy and whose benefits are so many and so great as to be impossible to count or record - even if one were to write for one thousand nights and days without pause in an effort to do so.

'And so, when you next look upon a Victor, and you see upon their noble, masked white face the Crest of the Celestial Above, and you see the ant and know of TOBIA, and you see the crows and know of Chao and Aeth, see also the Cherry Blossom, and know of the abiding love and loyalty of the Goddess of Dreams for our master the Bard, our progenitor the Celestial Above, and for us who are the creations of him to whom she gifted her heart in the form of a Cherry Tree.'

Fire from the sky. Destruction. Death.

This was not the way things were meant to be.

Falling stars. Metal and plasma.

No mortal force on Galbar could stand against such a threat.

Teknall witnessed the beginning of this apocalypse, and was terrified. These creatures of metal and plasma, whose splendour and might was surpassed only by the divinity, descended from the sky, and with intense heat and furious flame they purged the earth around them, melting it down to glass. Even the elementals, previously the most powerful race on Galbar, had cause to tremble. Unstopped, these star-like beings would lay waste to all of Galbarian civilisation.

Yet where had these destroyers come from? The answer to that was plain. Logos practically broadcast his presence on Galbar. He had come to declare war on Galbar, it seemed, and at a time so soon after previous losses.

Teknall remembered when he had first met Logos, before Time and the Universe began. He respected Logos for the creation of the Laws of Physics, upon which the rest of the Universe was built, but when he showed his face it was to fight against Vestec, Zephyrion and Jvan, declare himself King, and attempt to purge the Blueprint of their works. Logos had established himself as a great oppressor. When Logos had left the other gods and Galbar for his own corner of the Universe, Teknall had hoped that their next meeting would be on more friendly terms. It was not to be. Logos had come to finish what he had started, coming to purge the world of the works of those who did not create in accordance with his will.

Vowzra may have arrogantly held his way as the absolute right, but at least he was not violent about it. Vestec may have marched hordes upon Galbar with destruction in mind, but at least he had given the mortals a fighting chance. Yet here Logos had come with his own horde, and he had sent them out with destructive intent.

Teknall had worked to stop Vestec's hordes when they threatened Galbar. He would do the same to Logos' Realta. He just needed an hour or two to prepare. Swiftly he retreated to his Workshop, and took Goliath with him.

---

There was no time to waste. Fortunately these designs had been maturing in his head for a long time, and only needed an outlet.

At a snap of his fingers the Workshop's systems redirected their focus to fulfill Teknall's commands. Metals poured into the furnaces and were melted down to form ultra-strong or ultra-conductive alloys. The chemical reactor began combining simple materials to form new complex new ones with sophisticated and superlative electrochemical properties. And Teknall took a hammer and got to work.

Sheets of white-hot adamantine alloy was hammered into plate armour. As each piece was finished, robotic arms took them and etched geometric orichalcum patterns into them. Teknall worked at a furious pace, sparks flying as he hammered the sheets upon the anvil, and soon two sets of this armour were complete.

Swiftly, he moved on to the next device. A set of rails were made from an adamantine alloy with enhanced conductivity. Coils for electrical transformers and electromagnets were drawn out and wound up. Then Teknall took out the product of the chemical reactor, and encased it to form banks of super-capacitors. These parts and a few more minor ones were all assembled and a protective case built around it. Three of these new devices were made, one large and two small.

Finally, Teknall withdrew his adamantine maul. In contrast to his frenzied crafting, he paused for a few seconds to look at it in nostalgia. It was his first weapon, forged from an adamantine nugget from his moon Auricolor. With it he had raised the Ironheart Ranges. With it he had fought packs of Ashlings. It held a certain sentimental value. Yet it was weak by divine standards. It had barely any more inherent power than that tiny copper keep-sake he had given Gruik. To be useful, it needed to be reforged.

Without a glimmer of regret, he tossed the maul into the furnace and melted it down. When the liquid adamantine came out, he brought it under his hammer, and the maul was made anew. The overall shape was the same as before, although there were a few additional details. Teknall also forged the end of the handle into a long spike, so it could serve as a double weapon. As he forged the maul, it was filled with his power, and when he held the maul by the handle and hefted it up, he could feel the difference. It was lighter in his hands, while its swings carried even more force than before. He set the maul, his maul, down on the floor, and attended to the other things he had made.

Teknall first approached one of the suits of armour along with Goliath, who had previously been standing motionless nearby. With a plasma torch Teknall sliced open Goliath's current armour plating and removed it. Before adding new armour, Teknall reached into Goliath's exposed mechanical innards and tinkered with its jetpack. He gave it a few boosts to efficiency and power, and also enhanced the atmospheric jet engines for faster atmospheric flight.

He then took the new armour plates and fitted those onto Goliath, welding them into place. Once all the pieces were in place, Teknall laid a hand on Goliath's armour and channeled his divine might into it. The orichalcum inlay glowed a brilliant white in response, and then the armour activated.

There was a mighty thunderclap as air was forced back at hypersonic velocities. Goliath disappeared behind a mirrory mirage, light reflecting and distorting off some invisible barrier around it. A smile crept onto Teknall's lips.

He called it Mirror Armour, due to its appearance when active. The adamantine armour plating was tough, nigh impenetrable by mortal means, but it paled into comparison to the mirror-like field of force it projected. This field of force would deflect anything and everything, at least anything up to the energy of the field, and even then anything which did get past would be slowed considerably. It was a shield worthy of divine might. At those energy levels, it was even powerful enough to deflect light completely, giving it its mirror-like appearance.

Goliath, however, did not have such high power, and as the residual power from Teknall's touch faded Goliath became visible again, although there was still some mirage-like distortion as Goliath's shield was still able to repel all air around it. Goliath would boost the power to parts of the armour reactively, to accommodate for varying needs. In flight the force field could also be adjusted dynamically to optimise Goliath's aerodynamic profile.

Teknall then picked up the two smaller electric devices, each about the length of Goliath's forearm. These devices were unlike any in existence, but Teknall knew exactly what they were. They were weapons, operating on simple principles of electromagnetism. Two parallel rails formed the bulk of the weapon, and a metal projectile lay at one end bridging the gap between the two rails. When triggered, the super-capacitors would release their stored charge, sending millions of amperes of electricity surging through the rails, the projectile, and the augmenting electromagnetic coils. As indicated by a fairly trivial application of the fundamental Laws of Electromagnetism, this forces the projectile forwards, propelling it out the end at incredible velocities.

He called them Railguns, after the pair of rails at the heart of the weapon. By Teknall's power, these railguns were far superior to any railgun that could be built by mundane means. They were effectively indestructible, as was every blessed creation of Teknall, had a far superior operating capacity to anything built by mortal hands, and they were always loaded with a projectile. The capacitors could store enough power for one shot, so would have to be recharged by the user between shots.

These two railguns Teknall installed onto Goliath's arms, like the crossbows and the shields.

Teknall then armed himself. The second set of armour was also Mirror Armour, fitted for himself. He stretched out his own arms as the robotic arms of the Workshop picked up the armour pieces and fitted them onto Teknall. The armour covered his entire body, from head to toe. The helmet had no holes for eyes or a mouth, just a vague impression of a face, for any opening would be a weakness in the armour, and they were unnecessary anyway.

Teknall grew to almost twice his usual size as he let his divine power suffuse his body, his armour growing with him, and a golden glow being cast about the Workshop. Teknall's right gauntlet-clad hand crackled with electrical arcs as it picked up the larger railgun, his railgun, and it surged with power. Teknall stretched out his left hand, and his maul that was lying on the ground dissolved into motes of golden light and rematerialised in his hand. Then with a pulse of power his Mirror Armour surged to life and a thunderclap heralded the materialisation of an impenetrable shield of pure force.

While no sound could carry past the vacuum formed by the Mirror Armour, Teknall spoke anyway. "Time to save the world."

---

Teknall was quick onto the ground in Galbar, teleporting into position. A kilometer away was a Realta, hovering above a herd of Urtelem and blasting them with plasma. Teknall could see the molten remnants of a Lensling grove, and the half-melted remains of numerous Urtelem. The survivors were fleeing underground for safety, but they could not remain forever, and the Realta relentlessly barraged the ground with a cone of white fire.

Teknall levelled his railgun, holding it with both hands, and pointed it at the Realta. With just a twitch of his finger the railgun sent the electricity from its capacitors through the rails and the railgun dart between the rails. The projectile exited the barrel at many times the speed of sound, a hypersonic boom following it. The metal slug left a short trail of plasma in its wake as it forced its way through the atmosphere, and a fraction of a second later it struck its target, the Realta.

The Realta's armoured shell provided little resistance to the divinely-powered projectile. The projectile's kinetic energy was transferred to the Realta as it pierced through the metal angel, and in a glorious nova the Realta was blasted apart, destroyed in an instant. The fireball soon dissipated, and chunks of the Realta's metal body were scattered about and fell to the ground.

A few seconds later, after feeling the explosion and noticing the new quiet above, the surviving Urtelem reemerged and looked around, wondering what had destroyed the Realta. Yet Teknall was already gone, teleporting to the next Realta as soon as the first had been destroyed to repeat the cycle.

---

Another incandescent angel of death was standing in the center of a hain village. It had found a mural on the wall of a hut, left there by a Sculptor some time ago, and for that crime alone the village and everyone in it was to be destroyed.

The first stream of plasma consumed the mural, the hut it was on, the hut behind it, and every hain living inside them. The second stream silenced the screams of a family of hain who were trying to flee, vaporising them instantly.

But as this Realta mercilessly enacted its judgement upon the village, a sentence was declared against the Realta. It could almost have been mistaken for another Realta, streaking high across the sky at unbelievable speeds and leaving a wake of super-heated air. The Realta did not notice its presence until too late. Twin railgun darts pierced the Realta and sundered its body, the noise being like an explosion. Overhead flew the many-limbed metallic being, and as thunder follows lightning a hypersonic boom followed its flyby two seconds later, leaving the hain bewildered and awestruck. And alive.

---

The storm of white fire stopped abruptly at the edge of the swarm of Needle Fae. The Sculptor ran backwards, whistling for her Fae to stay close. THUD! Her path was blocked as the Realta landed in her way and cast forth a stream of plasma. The swarm thickened between the Sculptor and the Realta, and the plasma dissipated to nothingness the instant it touched the swarm.

The Fae were a blessing to the Sculptors. Their eldritch capacity to siphon away almost any energy rendered Sculptors effectively immune to the otherwise unmatched plasma blasts of the Realta. The very existence of Fae greatly slowed the invasion of the Realta.

Such facts were little comfort to this Sculptor. The Realta advanced into the swarm, swatting and punching and crushing Needle Fae, trying to get through to the worshiper of Jvan they were protecting. The Sculptor tried to flee, but the Realta was faster. The Sculptor was panicking. She had nowhere to run. The Realta only needed a single opening in the swarm; even just to push past the swarm and touch her would be enough. Her death was imminent and unavoidable.

Suddenly there was a crashing sound sound, of metal twisting metal. The Realta was hurled aside in the blink of an eye. Taking its place was a humanoid figure, wreathed in reflections and distorted light, and it held a great hammer of adamantine, having just finished a swing. No face could be seen, but it seemed to be looking at her.

Although this new being made no movements against the Sculptor, his mere presence pressed upon her mind that she was speechless and terrified. Yet almost as swiftly as he had appeared the figure disappeared with a muted pop of air.

In a few moments the Sculptor regained her senses and looked around. No sign of her saviour remained, but there was no doubt as to what had just occurred. The body of the Realta, mangled and crushed beyond all recognition, lay a hundred meters away, having gouged a path through the earth before reaching where it lay. After staring for a minute, the Sculptor turned and ran. There were more Realta where that one came from. It was not safe to be in the open.

---

The shores of Amestris were home to strange coloured hairy creatures, of colours beyond the spectrum of physical light and energy from sources other than the physical universe. These creatures were Sirenian Fiberlings, and they were a nuisance to fishermen. Unwary sailors might be drawn into the water and drown on sight of them, but over time their methods had adapted to minimise that risk, such that the the Sirens were generally only an inconvenience, and on their own were not a real threat to Amestris.

But such perversions of physical laws brought its own threats. A Realta had tracked these Sirens down to the coast of Amestris, and they were marked for destruction. It descended towards the oceans like a shooting star.

But it was not alone in its descent. From the corner of the Realta's vision, it saw another shooting star-like object converging on its location. This was strange, for no other Realta were meant to be joining it. It was only when the incoming object shot off two specks of fire towards the Realta did the Realta recognise the danger.

The Realta quickly swerved to the side, and two railgun darts thundered through where the Realta had been moments ago. A few moments later they struck the ocean, a white ring of water foam forming around the point of impact. But the Realta had not time to stop and look, for it had to take further evasive action as the incoming object barrelled directly towards it.

Goliath applied braking thrust and projected its mirror shields as an air brake, and in a fraction of a second decelerated from hypersonic velocities to rest next to the Realta. The rapid dissipation of energy and momentum created an explosive shockwave which roared well ahead of Goliath. The Realta had only a moment to study the six-armed armoured robot, Goliath's jetpack droning to keep it aloft.

The Realta splayed out its hand and shot a stream of white-hot plasma at Goliath. The light around the point of contact shimmered and reflected, and the plasma was deflected off an invisible barrier. Goliath advanced forwards, swinging a sword, and the Realta flew backwards to dodge. But simultaneously Goliath fired a crossbow bolt, which embedded itself into the Realta's left wing. Goliath pressed forwards, ignoring more plasma which licked harmlessly against its Mirror Armour, and hacked the Realta's right arm off with a sword. Goliath followed it up by impaling the Realta with its spear then crushing its head with a war hammer.

Goliath pulled out the spear, and as the Realta's life left its body it fell, splashing down in the ocean below a few second later. Goliath departed promptly, its jetpack booming as Goliath was propelled to incredible speeds once more.

---

It had been hardly a generation since the Rovaick had received Sularn's Vow from Toun and been able to go outside their caves without fear of facing the White Giants. The mountain slopes were terraced to grow vegetables and grains, and roads were carved into the hillsides to carry logs from forests to subterranean cities. The advent of metal tools allowed them to dig faster and craft ever more elaborate and sophisticated devices. It had been a golden age for the Rovaick. And it seemed it would all end in fire from the sky.

The Realta fell from the sky and torched their farms, their homes, and anything else outside. It seemed that once they finished with the surface, they would make their way underground to finish the job of extermination. The Rovaick screamed and ran in terror and pain. In desperation, they prayed to Toun, to Ilunabar, to Vulamera, to Teknall, to Belruarc, to Astarte and to Mammon for salvation. Several particularly desperate souls even dared to beseech Vestec for divine aid, for they knew that nothing short of that could save them.

An answer came. And it came loud.

With an echoing shockwave a Realta exploded, destroyed by a hypervelocity bullet of adamantine, sparing the trembling Rovaick below. Two seconds later another Realta a couple dozen kilometers southwards was destroyed in a similar fashion. Then another. And another.

Though few Rovaick saw Teknall, and even then only fleetingly and behind the impenetrable mirage of his Mirror Armour, they knew that their prayers were being answered with every thundering blast of his railgun.

---

Fire from the sky. Destruction. Death.

This was not the way things were meant to be.

Falling stars. Metal and plasma.

No mortal force on Galbar could stand against such a threat.

So it was not a mere mortal who stood against them. Teknall and Goliath boldly stood in the way of these other-worldly bringers of doom, and one by one they smote the Realta out of existence. Should Teknall and Goliath continue their crusade, the invaders would be wiped out within a week.

Help watched with an eyeless gaze as the quarry camp burned. They listened with earless attention as, even high on the cliffside, the sound rang clear of people screaming the Sculptor's name.

There would be no help, and soon there may very well be no Help. The obsidian blade of a khopesh was laughable before the fires of Heaven, no matter how quick its wielder. Somewhere down there where the smoke was rising from a blaze of white, Nguxhil, with staff in hand and pack on back, was burning through the gaps in her shield of fae. It was cold, they knew, to abandon Nimble to her fate for a slim chance to hide. But what else could they do?

A faint clack. Stepping back from the thick brush that hid them, Help turned to check on Tauga. The hain had stopped watching a while ago. Now she slouched against the marble outcrop, staring at the sky wide-eyed. Her beak slowly slid open again, as if her jaw was too weak to hold it. Clack. Tauga clenched it shut and the process repeated.

"We should go, child."

"Child." Tauga bit her tongue and gulped. "You sound like a kid and I act like one. But we aren't kids anymore, huh, are we?" Reflexively she ran her fingertips along her hip, where, three years ago, she had moulted the shell of childhood. She was whispering.

"Pervert. That's the last thing he said to me. He called me a pervert. My own father. Just a pervert, he said, same as everyone else did. Same as they did for you, right?" Her head lolled in Help's massive palm. "That's all I am now, huh? I'm a pervert and you're a monster. This is God, you know that? This is the moon-fire of Lysiuh." Incoherent. "All my sins."

"You can't stay here, Tauga. You need to run. It's dangerous to be near me."

"Yeah. I know. That's your fault, isn't it? Thanks, Help. You piece of shit."

Help knew what had happened to Tauga, and would keep happening. She was sick. And she needed help. But Help could only keep Tauga alive by abandoning her. The destroying radiance had come for them and them alone.

The old Sculptor cradled Tauga's head in their hands and gently tapped their grim grey mask against her forehead. She clenched her jaw again at the kiss, the movement dislodging a tear.

...

Abruptly Help reared their head and crouched, gripping the hilt of their khopesh. Something had moved. Just enough to let them know it was there. "Come out." The thing with the glassy black face on two lithe and absurdly tall legs obligingly stepped into view from the thin air it was hiding behind. Tauga looked at it in stunned confusion. It was one of fair folk, no doubt, a disciple of Yah Vuh, and yet it raised no alarm in her mind. That scent had been purged from it, or masked. Help had already leapt to conclusions, leaving Tauga far behind.

"You're the rogue it talks about. The lost envoy."

"Correct." And quite astute, it might add, but Heartworm never added anything much, and there wasn't time. "There is safety among my workers."

"And my apprentice?"

Apprentice? Tauga had thought of Help as a friend, but when she looked, they had already raised a finger in her direction. Am I being claimed?

"Yes."

"That does not involve the end of her natural life?"

"Yes."

"Let's go."

The Emaciator disappeared into the steadily clotting cut in the air.

"I'm not going."

Help turned. Tauga looked back at her with hesitant eyes.

"...I'm not going!"

Deftly and silently, the Sculptor pulled their scabbard sling off their shoulder and handed it to Tauga. She held the heavy khopesh in two quavering palms. They nodded one last time, and stepped through the portal, leaving the hain alone with a sword, an overgrown hideaway, and the approaching cries of refugees.

"...Wait!"



Clones in vats.

Encased in a vehicle identical to what had been lost, old Stitches paced the dim grey working floor of the side project that had now become priority. Oxygen vents still bubbled and ventilation still hissed, though nothing bathed in the tubs of exotic slime anymore, even the largest, thirty metres wide. Only diagrams remained.

Etched on the side of the first vat, precise lines in the lustrous surface, was the labelled anatomical illustration of a spherical being. Inorganic and yet living, with a smooth surface marked with a simple, curved design. Alloyed organs within a titanically heavy shell, all of that not-quite-solid amorphosity of metal.

The stone folk found the molten remains of their grove and did not weep, for though their years in its kaleidoscopic shade were short, they had been happy. What had been lost could yet be regained. They had watched the lens rise to maturity, and would see it do so again. Only their youngest child, an unveined pebble named Joy, found his eyes dusted with gritty tears.

A stranger awaited them by the toppled Holy Stones. They knew it as a Maker, even though it was circled by no faery ring, for despite its strangeness it bade them come in their own language. It stood upon a pile of unusual stone, and with a short, single sign it offered them a chance to eat, and they did.

They shared fellowship with the seldom-speaking creature, and spoke little themselves. It offered them a tiny lens-tree from gods knew where to begin the orchard anew, and told them that the Iron Star that had reduced their sacred meeting place to a slick of molten glass had been struck down by Callused Hands, their creator-god, who had come to protect them after many lifetimes of protecting others. It told them there were more.

The stranger did not remain long. When dusk came it spoke to them as one. The Maker said that Spiral Palms had seen the destruction, and that they, too, saw fit to stand against the Iron Stars. One Urtelem from among their number was needed for a terrible and awesome destiny. That one stoneman would never again read a poem or solve an equation, or chew an ore, or speak with their family. They would live as if in a sleepwalk, guarding the heavens as their folk now guarded the earth, and be joined with others of kindred spirit. One day this family may look up from a peaceful world and see their child soaring among the clouds.

And the Urtelem looked among themselves, and looked at the stranger, and knew that it had always been their lot to protect in silence. Knew that if there was any chance among them that they may prevent such violence from happening again, they would take it. And six pairs of fists rose in answer.

A spirit of guardianship was thus collected.

Heartworm walked on between the empty craters. The fluid in the next vat was particularly viscous, and the cavity itself was small. A collection of holographic screens hovered around it, complex detectors now blank. At the side of the device was an inscription.

This etching was difficult to interpret. A long, wavering cord, humming with unseen essences. All around it were insets, swirled diagrams of transnatural energy dynamics.

The wind raced, chilling the mountain mice that crept among stunted weeds. It made only what sound could be expected of it. A forceful, rushing breath.

Not far from here, a ring of hollow black bones protruded from the mountain face. There alone did the wind have a chance to sing as it skimmed the top of the oversized ribs, producing a singular, softly melodic note from each one. The organ that broken cage had supported was long gone, torn apart and cast down from the cliffs to rot.

Curious, that this first, tentative creation of the Emaciator should have brought so much violence. It wondered if Basheer was still alive, or whether some larger elemental had consumed him or enslaved his will, as they did. Heartworm had no emotional weight resting either way. The slaughter of Sculptors only weakened the cult, and it intended to avoid the coming of the Sorority.

Life is cheap, and all things are temporary. Only consequences matter. Heartworm's single act of callous torture had brought many consequences, none of which affected it, only piquing its curiousity enough to watch.

Some consequences, however, were useful. The wiser elementals avoided this place, and they were the larger ones. No such superstition prevented the sparking of new Flickers. Small and dumb, they played and ate here, and were eaten in turn when they grew large enough to wander far from the valley of the broken cage.

Thus we see a quirk of the Djinni. Even tiny, even isolated and mute, the growing Flickers war and defend. They claim what they see and know themselves to be no less than what they are, and perhaps much more. Each one unique, and yet each one also forming part of a broader whole of identity, a bell curve. They are alike in a way that is not mere culture. It is something written deep into their very being. Something that they will fight to emulate- Something supreme.

Heartworm gathers their fragile soulless forms one by one, knowing what they will, given the slightest hope of a chance, be.

A spirit indomitable was thus collected.

Pacing further, Heartworm only distantly realises that its steps are mapping semi-random paths around the tubs, finding the most efficient one by elimination. It is the closest thing it can feel to boredom. There are plenty more projects to commence. This one, however, is an investment that dwarves the rest. It bears pondering.

Another chemical bath, unique in the room and a little larger than human size. Another inscription beside it, barely labelled. It could be mistaken for a mural. Depicting a single curled pattern, not unlike a silky feather with no rigid quill, the shape of the plume appears to be fractal, and designed for agile forwards movement. Another memory.

She has walked long and flown longer, and her golden hair, already matted and splashed with black, is now damp with sweat. This morning she saw a rabbit at its warren and skewered it on a dart of light, roasted it unevenly under what fire she could build, but her wounds have still not healed. After that the fallen angel cut her hair raggedly to make sure it wouldn't distract her if the wind blew when she spotted another rabbit. Maybe the thrill of the kill would help her keep going. It had before.

The Valley of Peace was north-east. She wasn't going that way. She didn't know where she was going, but she wasn't going back. That life was over for her. Forgiveness would only lead to guilt. The battle at the village had been lost, the horde with it, and everything she had sold her life for with that. She did not consider herself lucky to have survived for so long. How many people who knew her name were still alive? Did she even know it herself anymore?

It would be easier if the violet fiberling, at least, had fallen with her when the hain shot her down. They were company. Mute, hesitant company that had intrigued her so. No one who saw them would believe they were a dumb animal. Something deep swilled in that freak's mind. Now exhaustion and bitterness swilled in hers.

Something she had passed off as a heat shimmer moved oddly, and the fallen angel backed away in shock, a ray of sunlight resolving into a spear in her hand. Then she stood her ground. The air distorted and stretched, allowing a gleaming white-and-grey machine of a creature to step into existence on lanky legs.

They looked at each other, a demigod and a mortal ready to kill to defend a life without value.

"What are you?"

"Redemption," answered Heartworm. From unclean and unforgiven hands, the spear lashed out at its mark.

A spirit vicious was thus collected.

Three types of spirit, one each for the spheres, the cords and the plumes, residing in bodies manufactured from Urtelem, Djinni and a single angel. There were forty-four spheres, and enough cords and plumes to give them life. Three sets of ingredients to form a fleet of composite beings. If souls defined mortal life, then the metaphysical aggregate animating the Bludgeons that hovered and spun in the vast hangar of Mirus marked them as truly alien.

An airlock hissed, the calibrated atmosphere of the cloning room equalising. A figure that would have been heavy in stronger gravity appeared. Help had accepted almost no grafts in all the time since they began life as a technician of Mirus, and what they had was entirely subdermal, hidden under plates of bone. Limp in their huge arms was a figure far too ordinary for its surroundings.

Tauga's head was heavy on her neck, held up by Help's thumb. To a human, she may have looked healthy, but any hain would recognise the way her eyes were drawn into her cranium, her shell misaligned at the joints, having lost too much weight inside to support her own skin. Her eyes were open but her tongue lolled on the verge of starvation coma.

Help's head was cocked slightly. It was easy to see that she had puzzled out the answer.

"You were waiting for me. You knew she followed us."

"Correct."

"Did you hold open the portal, too? Just long enough to make sure she was lost in the maze?" Help knew that the Lord Mutilation was barren of remorse, but habits developed from a life spent with mortals are powerful. "And, no doubt, you routed the portal into the south wing, where you knew she would see everything. Everything but me."

"Yes."

God had given, and given. Now it took away an equal abundance, all the debt focused on this one, innocent life. Help lowered their head, a crack showing through the façade of composure.

Yah Vah and every part of it was animal. Gods have no souls, no more than weeds. Morality is empty to them. They simply happen. Yet even a force of nature can be hated. "Tauga's body might recover, but she can not stay here after so long alone. She needs to go back, or else stay in stasis until that's viable. You wanted her alive. That's your only option."

"Correct."

Help delicately adjusted their grip on Tauga and turned back to the airlock, knowing that it was unwise to allow themself to look at the avatar any longer. The tap of a metallic hoof on the laboratory floor fixed their attention back. Heartworm was eyeing them. Its vocal range was limited, but it seemed to be reminding them of something.

"She needs to go back, Help."



Tauga's feet tapped at the crudely fused dust where there had once been a quarry floor. She cocked her head at the black stain where something had once been made of wood, and scraped it with the tip of her boot, trying to see if the charcoal was loose. A faint shadow passed over the sun and disappeared again.

The caustic taste of lye hung thick on the air. Her mask filtered out the scent, and but for its bug-like goggles, her eyes would be burning by now. She could still taste it, though. Tauga could taste and feel everything around her, every moment a hundred soft little taps and touches as if her tongue had left her body and flew around her like a flight of butterflies. With a little effort she could see why. Not that she needed to.

Lifting up her hand, gloved in dark hues along with every other inch of her body, Tauga could see something else lift up with it. Faint, fainter and less corporeal than even the shadow that periodically swung over her, Tauga's tentacles rippled around her, followed her every thought and flex. She could feel all of them, an aura of movement and awareness with her solid body in the center. If not for that sense of touch marking them out, they would be all but invisible.

Something dimmed the sun again and Tauga looked up at the gigantic Bludgeon orbiting itself above her. Two spheres, each maybe fifteen meters wide and covered in a dense, cloud-like layer of glowing white plumes that darted over their surface, several bodylengths each. A constant distance was maintained between them, numerous times their own width, where a transparent cord too thin to be seen held them together. For a creature with the mass of a city, the Bludgeon flew circles as lightly and placidly as a feather floating in a puddle, humming a low note with every pass.

As she craned her head to follow the entity's movements, the scabbard at Tauga's shoulder began to slip, and she pulled it back by the strap. What had been a scalpel for Help was a two-handed sword to Tauga. Insofar as her untrained eye could tell, the fragile glass blade hadn't been altered since she'd last seen it.

Hah. It might just be the only thing.

Somewhere on this scorched slab of marble lay the shattered shell of Tauga's family and a dozen others. All else turned to smoke, but hainbone remained. She'd seen fragments. She'd kicked them, then wondered how she could bring herself to do it. Not very hard, but she'd wondered.

The answer, like so much else, was obvious. She was a freak. Tauga the pervert.

Maybe it had started early. She'd never been afraid of anything, much, anything beyond the Jaanic stories she now found herself living in. When she started working with Help, Tauga had cleaned vomit, cauterised gangrenous wounds while their patients moaned in a drunken stupor, broke the news to families when their sick failed to survive. These things she could weather. Always had.

Jaan she could not.

Whether she had somehow pushed all her insecurities onto that one point or strengthened everything else to compensate for it, the balance was always tipped. And now? Now she'd seen Hell. Now she'd died in the maw of Yah Vuh and been resurrected. Tauga had felt a lifetime worth of fear and an eternity worth of despair. Now she felt nothing at all for Horror, and what did that make everything else?

One of the fragments looked suspiciously like a beak and she picked it up, stared at it.

What was death? A few bones? Who cares? She tossed the remnant and it clattered. She stretched her arms.

Something had been done to her, one way or another. Tauga knew that much. It was all too easy, and it had been made easy. She was wearing some kind of Jaanic machinery as a suit and tasting the air of her mothers' grave with her tentacles, for the gods' sake, this shouldn't be so simple as dusting herself off and walking to the next village to look for a meal. It was absurd, and it was absurd that she felt nothing of it. Someone had something to gain from letting her run free like this. She knew who, just not what.

At least it was pretty clear what she was supposed to do. Everything until now had been perfectly tailored to her intuition. The only landmark left for her to navigate by was the Bludgeon.

Might as well.

Tauga stretched out her open palm towards the space between the Bludgeon's bodies and curled it, feeling her unseen tentacles follow, linking up with the cord. The Bludgeon stopped spinning and hovered, tilting patiently from side to side. The hain tightened her scabbard's strap and repeated the gesture with the other hand. Tentatively, she lifted up one foot and rested it in the air, felt tension.

When she lifted up the other foot Tauga was immediately yanked forwards by her extremities, and unnatural reflex alone saved her from a tumble. Stupid. This time she gripped the cord with all the tendrils of her back and upper body, testing the balance of the reins, and when she jumped, the Bludgeon carried her several metres before she lightly set herself down.

Too damned easy.

It only took her another try to achieve flight. Within seconds Tauga was comfortably soaring behind the gargantuan creature, its plumes billowing out behind it to reveal the metal spheres, as responsive to her intentions as the tentacles she held it with. She decided to fly around for an hour or two and then look for a settlement.

Tauga was skimming off the tops of trees when the white streak of the Realta spotted her, and adjusted its course.

Ah.

Taking a guess at its speed- And her guesses had become eerily accurate- Tauga decided it would be pointless to run. With that in mind, she took advantage of the stark lack of panic that lay hollow in her gut, banked towards the Realta and started to build speed, holding it in the path of one of the spheres.

The Realta hesitated, rolled to one side, and was clearly intending to circle around the Bludgeon and test its agility, too late. Caught in the sphere's magnetic field, the Realta blazed past far too close to the sphere, dragged across its surface far too quickly, and spun wildly as it overshot its target.

Rivers of plasma caught in the magnetic net around the sphere and played games over its surface, pulsing waves of hot air at Tauga. The sensation of fiery heat rushing over her tentacles as the bludgeon spun to change direction and flung her right to the edge of her grip on the reins was enough to kick a flow of adrenaline into action where the fear of death had failed.

The Realta swept back its wings and dove at her from above, and the fight began.

You must change!

"How?"

You need not be a tormentor of mortals and immortals!

"Why?"

You are much greater than that!

"Who am I?"

You are evil incarnate. You do not need the pettiness of the gods to justify that!

"I revile in Sin?"

Yes, the pleasures of life is what you represent! Return to he world, and let them know!

"Yes."

Loneliness was Amartia's only dependable friend, their morning, noon and night. Entertainment ran out, ambition ran dry, but always the empty yawning persisted. Nothing ever touched it, not his desire for domination, his hunger for godliness, nothing. Yet, there was a constant tugging. Another worldly calling. Was it foresight? Or was it hunger for power? That had ran dry no? No, it was compassion. Did he miss his people? Did he owe them anythin? No, they owed everything to him. They were lost without their father. Their savior. Their king!

A crooked smile slowly formed on his face as he rose to his feet. The world seemed to crumble around him, but his mind was as clear as day. It was at this moment did he realize that he was stuffed in a clear sphere, a prison. Who dare imprison Sin? Without a moment's hesitation, Sin fell into the primal desire of his mortal like body, reverting the variable monster that he was just a few days ago.

Curled fist after fist smashed into the glass like prison with unwavering fury, cracking under the sheer force of his demi-god like power. Quickly, his prison crumbled, and he was left with the shattered remains of glass and a world to explore. But Amartia was reluctant. No, he was anxious to leave this please in fact. Revenge could come later.

Soon Amartia was lost, wandering the forests of this unknown world. His Primal Rage had subsided and left him with his thoughts. A cruel punishment one may have thought. But Amartia was always busy, always thinking, always planning, preparing. Had a god feared him? Great. Yes perfect. He could use that. He wasn't even a demi-god and he was being snatched up like a slab of meat in the middle of a lion's den. It was aggravating yet exciting.

Amartia's travels soon led him to a denser part of the forest. Often, he would find his feet entangled in thin webs that he found annoying. This eventually led him to find something intriguing. A cave mouth of impenetrable blackness had blocked the forest path. Small, loose stones littered the floor causing him to trip as he got closer to the rock face. The cave was built into the muddy brown rock of the cliff, the stone guarding the entrance was jagged and uneven, arranged in such a way, that it would be difficult for passers by to spot. Inside, his body was enveloped and lost in the blackness, so he resotred to using the damp wall of the cave to guide him.

Soon his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he found himself in a massive room, white web after white web engulfed the cave ceiling. Amartia had assumed he was alone; at least until It rose. A mass of tangled limbs, each one armor plated with a paralyzing goo seeping from black pores. The monster clicked it's mandibles and followed him with its enormous eyes. Towering above him, as tall as a two story building, it began to emit a series of squeaks and clicks. The rustling noises that came from all directions told him that it was not alone. There was a whole family out there, and they were closing in.

Amartia simply grinned. Spiders? They were ugly creatures. But he could us them. Unfortunately, they were not exactly sinful creatures, but taking out the large one would go a long way. Without warning the giant spider attacking, using its front legs to lunge at him. In on fluid motion, Amartia sidestepped the spiders advance and lunged for its leg as it lunged forward. A jagged smile formed on Amartia's face as he gripped the spider's leg and pulled at it with ease, carrying the spider along with him as he launched it right into the cave entrance. With a large BOOM, the spider laid motionless, its underbelly revealed. Amarita wasted no time stuffing his hand into the beast's chest and completely ripping it apart, eating at it as if he had not eaten in months. Sloth had taken over as he quickly ingested the whole spider in a matter of minutes, his stomach was seemingly bottomless.

This single act caused the rest of the spiders to hesitate, his primal, animalistic actions seemed to have an affect on them. Amarita jumped on the opportunity, Wrath filled them, engulfing their souls with ease. "More pets." he chortled as he whipped spittle off his chin. Amarita turned to leave, and with him, dozens of spiders followed in his wake.

Amarita soon realized the secret of this land as he trudged along. The world did not care for seconds or minutes, even hours were inconsequential. The smallest measure of time here was the cycle of daylight and darkness. Even then the forest was more in tuned with the seasons: rebirth brought by the warmth of spring darkened foliage from summer's kiss, the onset of fall and then the keen bite of winter. Here in the forest so little could happen in the time it took for him to change from a child into a woman, to gain and loose so much.

Amarita eventually came upon a large clearing. A massive tree stood tall and defiant before him. Underneath its protective canopy stood a crowd of warriors, the same warriors that attacked him. Wrath began to bubble forth, causing his mask to crack, but something caused him to change. He saw an opportunity. They had power beyond what his ever growing army did. He could use them. He had no time to waste, though, he needed to return to power quickly.

He took his time studying the army. There was quite a group present, it may have posed a problem, but they sported the same sin; Pride. That was the key, and quickly, he was able to take hold of them fairly quickly. Within seconds, 300 former Victors and 36 Spiders stood silently before him, all his. Amarita grinned. They took his 7, he took their hundreds. Sin turned to the portal that resided withing the tree, his ticket out. Without hesitation, he took it. As Sin moved through the portal, his mind wandered. His escape had been so easy. His stealing had gone unknown. It was unusual. Something had to have been going on outside.

Instantly, though, the moment he exited the portal, he found himself in a wasteland of white, where there nothing for his mind to hang onto. There was no familiar sight, no sound other than the howling, even the light they needed to warm them was instead blinding and no match for the wind. Only the heart beating in his chest stopping from becoming as frozen as the landscape.

Something had defiantly changed.