Our titular heroes get into a scrap with the Realta, and then meet Lifprasil once again!





After the eventful journey across the flourishing lands of Mesathalassa, this new region they were now crossing felt like a wasteland. It was not, there were small tribes of fisherman and hunters, but overall, it felt like nothing but an endless expanse of rocky plains with a few pockets of evergreen needle trees here and there.

In such a featureless land, the notion of progress was dimmed, with Mesathalassa distant in the east and the shores near Shalanoir still distant in the west, and in this situation, each member of the troupe was brooding over their own issues.

Salassar had a myriad of questions about Chroma, about Jvan and about what he could only describe as dream-eating. He had been freaked out by Chroma's way of battle all the way back to when they were in the jungles near Birbahar, however, when the girl told him that she was having dreams that belonged to others, he started to realize just the size of the issue.

Susa was constantly looking to a little leather charm with a deer and a hawk drawn in it. Someone placed it in her pocket when she was leaving the innkeep, and behind it, there was a secret message written in the wanderer's code. A location. She didn't know what to do, she could just keep on moving forward, not look back to her past life and ghosts of it like Marcelo, on the other, an incessant curiosity burned within her, the mysterious charm lured her like a flame to a moth.

Chroma was probably the only one still absent-minded. Spending her time stargazing instead. It was a good time for it, the night sky was clear and even the aurora had been absent recently.

"Whoa, lots of shooting stars today." she said innocently. The other three finally took their time to wonder at the phenomenon too.

"A meteor shower. They say that in distant times, when the moons were new, these were almost weekly events, but nowadays they are rare."

"I have s-seen them myself," Lakshmi explained, nestled happily beneath her wears. "V-vestecian antics destroyed a m-moon or t-t-two. I could n-never rememb-b-er."

"Ah, so you people already know what a meteor is." she jested, back in Iridia's history books it was said comets and such were seen as omens capable of hitting even the largest empire's stability.

The lights kept dancing across the sky. In fact, with some routes that felt odd for a rock falling from space. "Odd, some of them are moving in quite complex ways" Salassar noticed.

One of the stars started to get brighter and brighter instead of moving, the only one with the savviness to understand what it meant was Chroma who yelled "Take cover!" out of reflex. The others did exactly that, Susa taking Salassar with her as she jumped, as there was no way the mortal would be able to move away in time. In mere seconds after their act, something crashed right where they were, causing a loud explosion and lighting up the cold southern night with large flames.

Lakshmi had rolled away from the point of impact, pulling a shortsword from the furled inventory she had been carrying with her. The refined Alefprian metal glimmered against the tapering explosion, shakily transmitting a hue of crimson. "T-tired." the Alefprian hero sighed, complacent at the sudden disturbance.

Despite having dodged the attack, the impact alone was enough to make the quartet drop into the ground. Susa was the first to recover herself and the first to gaze at what attacked them. The creature was best described as a metallic angel in shape, but it had a fiery aura as bright the sun.

The Realta extend its hand and Susa by instinct, acquired back at the battle with the horde, knew it was going to release some sort of wave or spell, there was no time to warn the others to dodge, instead, she pounced forward, running across the flames, and reached for the arm just as it was about to launch the plasma.

She expected to be able to take down the metallic monster, yet she struggled to even lean the hand away from the direction of her friends as it fired its blast. Realizing she was outmatched in strength, she released her grasp and started to fall back, again, she expected that such metallic creature would be slow, but was quickly proven wrong as the Realta managed to punch her as she stepped back, launching her across the cold taiga landscape.

Lakshmi saw Susa in danger, and she grimaced, watching her comapnion skip across the wintery landscape with the force of the impact. Seeing her friend so easily trumped by the aggressor, Lakshmi resigned to using her Astartian arm; she extended a forearm, the immaterial surmising the limb then pulsated rhythmically. From a gap in her palm, beams of heat volleyed towards the winged Realta.

The wielder of the arm herself expected the Realta to be struck down by the attack, but the armorclad agent of Order dodged every strike sent his way with a flick of its heavy torso.

"D-damn," Lakshmi groaned, scrambling for her sword over her arm.

Chroma had regained her composure after the initial attack but when facing the Realta she vacillated. Deeply involved within her own imaginary, she had so far seen only simple fights, this one, however, brought her memories of different stories. Seeing her friends failing didn't help out, she was scared of the potential results of this fight.

"Salassar, what is this?" asked the huntress as she rubbed the blood, dirt and snow from her face.

"I have no idea, there is no tale about such beings in the parade"

She clicked her tongue but did not stop. "Take the opening I will make, Laky" she yelled before once again rushing towards the creature.

With finesse, speed and a recently, and traumatically, found idea of just how good the enemy was, the huntress leaped forward in a kick. Thinking the human was going to kick it, the Realta took a defensive instance and prepared itself to block and then grab the huntress. But that was not Susa's objective, with agility, she kicked the air near the Realta, and immediately spun into retreat. The armor-clad attacker's attention followed the human, giving the Lifprasilian the promised chance of attack.

"O-ok...!" exclaimed Lakshmi, running further forward with her strike, this time carrying her sword with her. She wouldn't miss, especially with Susa so close to the fray. With a well aimed, closer shot, Lakshmi fired a beam into the Realta's torso, managing to summon a stagger from the creature. She followed it up by driving a sword into its torso, bringing it to a knee.

Lakshmi was prepared to drive a second strike into where its head connected with the median of its shoulders, but she ceased when a second light made its approach. Like a white hot ball of fire, it curved and hit head long into Laki's side, pushing her to the ground, and driving her across the already scarred field. By the end of the collision, Lakshmi was a bloodied mess, laying still and unconscious from the unyielding offensive.

"A second one?" Susa yelled in surprise, but she was not allowed more than a few seconds to be fazed, as soon the barrage of fired turned her way.

She somersaulted back to avoid the first strike and pounced forward to avoid the second one, but the third one was barely avoided. Despite all her speed and sharp instincts, she found herself unable to keep on at that. Fatigue and heat started to pile up, and she found herself becoming dangerously slower. The stabbed Realta got the perfect aim on her and was ready to finish the fight.

But then something else attacked him. Chroma, finally finding courage at the sight of her hurt friends, charged into the fight and sticked her hand into the blazing wound. Immediately it morphed into something akin to a pear of anguish and slowly started to open its segments, ripping and crushing the metal-like shell until the previously small wound became far larger and fatal.

The second realta, still airborne, started to retaliate with blasts of plasma. Chroma was far slower than Susa, but the quickly shapeshifting nature of her body permitted her a more responsive maneuverability. She could create a patagium to glide instead of falling, she could extend her limbs to simply walk over the blast zone or to catapult herself across the air and she could also harden her body trough calcification for the purpose of surviving a blast or driving faster into the ground.

Though, even the quick adaptability was not enough to reach the Realta, who could still outmaneuver her offensive with ease. Chroma mustered courage and decided to take a risk. The only moment in which the Realta stopped was when it attacked her with the plasma, so she stood still, and when the hellfire was released, she catapulted herself to face it head-on.

Time felt like it crawled into a standstill while she was in the tunnel of fire, theoretically it would only take a couple of seconds, but it felt like an eternity. She didn't know for how long she would last, even with her transformed bone armor, the pain didn't work as a metric as it had been excruciating from the first moment. Finally, she felt the metallic hand, still firing its blast, drawing close. Her limbs wrapped it like a tentacle, and she found herself some holding against the floating monster.

The fire didn't stop, and she felt herself getting weaker, so she focused on her attack. A new pair of limbs was formed around her torso, and they retracted tightly, then she yelled the name of one of the attacks she had seen in stories back in Iridia. Nobody heard what she had said as it was drowned by two sounds, first was the one of the raging plasma, the other was the sonic boom heard when the newly formed member released its strength in a punch, similar to that of a mantis shrimp. The Realta didn't even feel its end, as almost immediately its head was reduced to shredded metal hanging on its back.

For everyone out of the fight, it felt like seconds, in one instant Chroma had been engulfed by flames, in the other, she and the Realta were falling from the sky along with a rain of smoldering embers.

Susa ran towards her friend and caught her before she hit the ground. It seemed that finally, the fight was over, at least their fight, the stars kept moving across the sky and slowly a red aura was being formed in the distant horizon. To think about this made Susa feel somewhat sick, it took three of them to take down two of these, and even so, both Lakshmi and Chroma ended up being knocked out in the fight, and she, the only one standing, was completely exhausted.

This whole ordeal resonated with Salassar's doubts. Chroma being both odd, with her transmogrifications and her brutality contrasted to her apparent aura of goodness, the attack of this fiery creature and other mysteries many which the Parade and Ilunabar alone could not answer.

---

The journey back to the warmth of Alefpria was a long one, the group circumvented the length of Galbar's oceans, only to find Occam's path into Lifprasil's domain, the only road into Alefpria. When Susa, Chroma, Lakshmi,and Salassar finally reached the first evidence of Alefprian civilization, they were met by two heavily armored cavalrymen, sentries posted just outside the cusp of the fortress at the end of the illustrous steps through the mountains. Susa and Lakshmi would be easy to recognise for the two, but they were curious about the strange creature of carefully shaped flesh.

"What is this?" they questioned, and Lakshmi looked back at their Jvanic companion.

"Introd-duce yourself." she requested, promptly.

Susa, after this hellish journey back, had no patience for such behavior. Before Chroma could even answer anything she said in a stern tone.

"She is my friend, and a good one. Treat her like you would treat me, in fact, the results of misconduct are exactly the same."

The sudden stern warning to the soldiers spooked Chroma a bit, Susa was typically more laid back. "Uh... The name is Chroma. Hero of justice." she said, with a bit less enthusiasm than the usual.

"Yes- Yes Huntress." one replied, motioning for the thick gate to be opened, and open it did, lifting with authority from the ground.

"T-that was brash," Laki commentated with a snicker, pressing past the two and into the extensive barracks inside. They kept walking, garnering stares, and the parting of the crowd of soldiers inside. It didn't take long to reach the end of their itinerary through the circular structure, and the opposite gate opened in the same nature as its predecessor. "F-ffinally," sighed Lakshmi, grinning at the sight of the bright cityscape of Alefpria.

"D-doesn't it feel nice to b-be home?" she asked Susa, before she then turned to Chroma. "S-speaking of which, w-what do y-yyou think of Alefpria?" Lakshmi asked Chroma.

"Technically I was at home before. But it is nice to be back here, especially after what we saw. I just hope Lifprasil knows something about it and what we can do to stop it."

"Eh... When you said a big city I expected a very big city, but I guess this place is fine too, it is very pretty, but also too foggy."

Lakshmi smiled. "You g-get ussed to it." she reassured Chroma, before they made their way to the palace overlooking all of Alefpria.

Once they were inside, Lakshmi retired her overbearing clothes to a Troll waiting at the entrance, tremendous halberd set aside to collect her belongings.

"Lakshmi, Susa," said Lifprasil, his refined voice carried along the unnaturally smooth work of the Goddess of Dreams nicely. He drifted down from a tremendous height elswhere in the Palace, floating in place as if on solid ground. Lifprasil's gaze carried from the people he expected to return from the excursion: Lakshmi, Susa, and Salassar, to Chroma, of whom trailed closely behind the three.

"Prosit." Lifprasil greeted Chroma, his feet finally touching ground.

While the other three were familiar with Lifprasil, for Chroma this was a new thing. She watched in awe as the emperor descended down into the ground just to greet them.

"Whoa... Ah?" she noticed she was the first one being greeted, and she had no idea of how to properly greet the local royalty. In a moment of panic, she knelt down and bowed. "Hail... uh... Your roya... I mean, your imperial royal maj... no no... uh... majes... long live."

"Prosit will do." responded the emperor, and then motioned for Chroma to stand.

"I do not enjoy having people beneath me. Where do you come from?" Lifprasil asked, uncaring for Chroma's strange figure.

She looked back to Susa to see if it was fine for her to tell exactly how things were, the huntress shrugged, which would have confused Chroma in the past but by now she already understood it meant yes.

"Prosit then. I come from a faraway place, not on this planet, perhaps not even in this universe." she dramatically raised one of her hands. "Beyond that it's a mystery, the human-thing that whisked me away from my place never bothered to explain anything beyond the fact that I had to do good deeds in this place."

Lifprasil's contemplative face turned to a gentler smile.

"You aim to do good? Then I believe you have come to the right place, especially in such a dangerous age. What is your name?" he questioned, his tone having become much more delicate.

"You know, beating up bad dudes, helping out the citizens. Hero stuff," she answered the question almost naturally, clearly without pondering about the topic at all. "The name is Chroma."

"It's not quite that simple, I've learned." Lifprasil said to Chroma, running a hand along a starkly grooved pillar, one of many aligned within the center of the vast entrance hall. Clouds had gestated in the arched hallway, fauna constantly shifted along the walls, but the tasteful sheen of the marble remained despite the ever changing surroundings.

"I think the line is pretty well drawn. she casually commented.

"Luckily for you, the line between what is good and what is evil remains clear, for now." he reassured Chroma, "Salassar, would you like to treat yourself to some wine? I would like to be alone with my heroes and my guest."

Once hearing Lifprasil's request the quara nodded "Of course sir. But if possible, I would live to discuss some private matters with you later."

Lifprasil nodded. "Of course, Salassar," he dismissed, a mannequin beside him, who appeared to be Salassar's escort throughout the lavish palace.

Once the Quara was gone, Lifprasil looked to Lakshmi and Susa, beyond Chroma. From a broad staircase, three strange creatures stepped down to take their place behind Lifprasil, each one a member of the Wardens Three. "In your absence, a project has foregone, I have created soldiers capable of tackling these Realta that threaten Alefpria, and more. These three behind me are just an example of the powerful flesh our mortal soldiers can be shaped into." explained Lifprasil, motioning for a single Warden to step forward, arksynth sinews driving heavy steps to a halt in front of the opposite three.

Susa didn't see much room to judge the creatures from looks alone thanks to her practical mindset. But one keyword caught her attention. "Shaping the flesh huh? I won't believe until I see them taking down one of those metallic fiends, but Chroma did win our fight by changing her flesh to something stronger. she mused.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Chroma was confused at what Susa could possibly be referring to. Maybe the heat confused her mind. "Anyway, these soldiers are so neat." her "eyes" shone with enthusiasm "But, just between us, did you add some sort of kill switch?"

"That s-ssounds immoral," Lakshmi scolded Chroma, "I think this-s is f-ffantastic, how was th-thiss done?" she asked Lifprasil, looking over the three. "Niciel, Vestec, Jvan, and Astarte, a communion of Gods came together to establish this creation, and I command them. Now, any mortal I choose can attain power equivocal to yours, or even mine, perfect weapons to counter Logos' Realta." explained Lifprasil, and that was just the short of it.

Lakshmi paused, mortals stronger than she, or Lifprasil was unheard of, stronger than those things that so easily trumped her. It took her a second to process, as the utterance of the concept seeded doubts within her; then again, only good had come from the following of he, thusfar. She took comfort in this: trailing the trailblazer Demi-God himself.

"So they were created by a congregation of gods? On this case, I will join Chroma in her worry, last time the gods got together to make something they ended up creating the universe, and we all know how that turned out."

"Oh, I'm not worried. They are super cool, though, would look cooler if the armor was painted in red with some flames on the sides."

"It was a joke. For all, I know as long as they stop those things that attacked us they are fine... even if they have a hand from the god who made the horde." there was a hint of discomfort in her voice, however, it was not born from suspicion but from a certain jealousy that some mortal beings could become able to hunt those creatures in a day while she had been hunting for decades and was unable to even scratch their metallic shells.

Lifprasil chuckled, he enjoyed the dry humor of the Huntress, but chose to ignore her quip. "Very well, Chroma, I'll consider it. All that I do, now, is for the greater good of Galbar's express freedom, and to liberate mortals from a volatile power struggle. Vestec's involvement already speaks volumes about the dire straits we have been pulled into, and the addition of another Hero to my court will only help save thousands of lives more. Thank you for bringing Chroma to me, Susa, Lakshmi, and Chroma, thank you for coming here, together, we can make Galbar a bastion of good." he said, a genuine grin crossing his face before he set a hand on what looked like her shoulder.

"You seem to be one of the good guys, your prositlense. I look forward to helping you and your city" she saluted Lifprasil.

---

The flight to Xerxes was not a long one from the Venomweald, a flight over mountains to a city full of potential Chaos. Keriss could see the city, she could already see that this would be a waste of her time since the city was not on fire or under attack by some unknown force. As she closed in onto the city something felt off, a new feeling started to surge over her as she drew closer. 

Keriss landed on one of the taller buildings that she could see, and the things that she would see of that city only confirmed what Vestec had said, Chaos. All she found was a city filled with scum and villainy, the likes of which she had never seen before on her quest to destroy Chaos. It was angering her, it was making her bloodthirsty, and worst of all, it was making her want to destroy the entire city. There was something about this city, making her feel the way she did, clouding her judgment ever so slightly. 

Suddenly, screams were filling the air, the populous of this specific area of Xerxes fell to the knees, some even going into shock. They were all feeling the weight of the actions coming back, others just flat out in an unspeakable pain. Keriss flew down, teeth bared and fists clenched. She looked down at one kneeling in front of her before his head was shattered against the ground before he could react.

"Worry not filth, all your deaths will be quick. You will not need to suffer through this chaotic life any longer!" Keriss roared, going around and tearing the people of Xerxes limb from bloody limb. Some attempted to fight back, they would find themselves killing themselves to end their own suffering. Keriss laughed all the while, her powers were getting stronger and she could feel it.

Homes were soon set ablaze as Keriss tapped people inside and threw fire onto the outside, people who survived that were quickly mouthed on poles. 

"Listen here beast! Run now and you may yet live!" someone yelled, drawing a sword and taking a stance of battle. How strange that a mortal thought he could fight against something as mighty as Keriss. After a few moments of hesitation, that someone charged forward, swinging his sword like a mad man in a vain attempt to kill the beast. 

He soon found his arms ripped from his body, feeling pain for only a moment or so before his own head joined with his arms. The remaining body lay bleeding on the ground while Keriss took the sword for her own use. Better to use than just her bare fists.

Sin, oblivious to the destruction, took a sip from his wine, savoring the sweet taste of fermented grape as a chill ran down his esophagus. Tables laden with delicacies lined the edges of his throne. Everything one could think of, and things some could have never dreamed of, lie in wait. Whole roasted cows and pigs and goats still turning on spits. Huge platters of fowl stuffed with savoury fruit and nuts. Ocean creatures drizzled in sauces or begging to be dipped in spicy concoctions. Countless cheeses, breads,.vegetables, sweets, waterfalls of wine, and streams of spirits that flicker with flames; all concoctions of the stone, more or less. 

To think that the gods wished to take all this away was a saddening thought. Sin raised his goblet once again to his lips, his mind dawdling on the ramifications of confronting a god. As was expected, Amartía welcomed the sweetness of his crimson perfection, but was instead slapped by the sudden sourness of the liquid. Sin's eyes narrowed and his lips puckered; he did not create sour wine, such would be a stain on his pristine reputation. He raised the goblet to the sun, and studied the beverage; it hadn't changed, the liquid remained sanguine in color. Then Amartía smelled the air, the metallic redolence of blood and burning flesh suddenly suffocating his nostrils. He could feel the bloodlust in the wind, the addictive sensation of murder and violence, Chaos at its basic form. 

"Gods came sooner then I thought." Sin sighed, his throne suddenly feeling extra comfortable. While dealing with the situation personally was the better idea, letting the intruder blow off steam and leave themselves was the better alternative in his mind. Amartía chose the latter. 

Crimson energy enveloped Sin's throne, eating at the metal and reforming it. Amartía sat in place as solid became molten liquid, floating lazily underneath him before elongating and hardening into separate pieces. Seven thin pillars formed no longer than six feet, each with a wicked bronze blade at the end and two out-turned lugs at the base of the head that forms a guard.

Each spear floated lazy around him as Amartía rose to his feet. A fleeting though crossed his mind; would this be enough? "Only time will tell." he murmured as he beat his wings and took off into the air. 

Within moments, Amartía doubts were cast. Fires raged as the screams of mortals reached his ears. The bloodlust grew thick as he drew closer to the battlefield, then he saw the culprit. 

Rows of teeth, each as sharp as a dagger, nose the size of a baked potato, dripping with gelatinous red streaked snot, skin a sallow green, flaking around the eyes and nose, two protruding eyes, bulbous eyes, nails like a sabre tooth tiger's, fangs glinting over rubbery pale gums, ears on stalks, stench of halitosis breath, hands the size of human heads, eight feet tall, small lumpy bald head with mottled skin, legs like the trunk of an ancient oak, feet like sprawling roots lashing around as the monster advances, roars like the sound of a thousand nightmarish ghouls, grins menacingly.

Amartía gagged as he laid eyes on the beast, and watched it rampage through the streets of his city. He shuddered at the thought of having to touch such a thing. Sin landed on a nearby building, his spears pointing stiffly at its target. "Good afternoon!" Amartía called, interrupted by the wine that filled his mouth. "Might I interest you in some roast pig or fine wine?"

Keriss turned towards the new one, cocking her head ever so slightly as the man offered her a drink of wine. Her tongue scented the air, eyes narrowed and sword raised in front of her in case those spears came after her. "I take you are one of the many forces of Chaos here, a sin only death can wipe away." Keriss grinned maniacally, looking over her adversary. "Let me show you what I do to those of chaos.

The eyes of the woman grew black and the next thing Sin would feel would be someone trying to invade his mind, whispers of gibberish surrounding him. A force could be felt from all sides as the demi-goddess attempted to enter his mind, easing in to see how hard she would have to exert herself to make this man suffer. 

Blackness surrounded Amartía, Keriss' laughter could be heard as she attempted to fill his mind with her own will. "Come now, you cannot escape any heinous acts that you may have committed in this city. Tell me what your sins are.

Amartía steeled his mind as the invading force pounded his mental fortification. He didn't expect such an ugly creature to be mentally capable also, it was unnerving, it was disgusting. How dare such a creature even attempt to touch the confines of his consciousness?

With unwavering decisiveness Sin counterattacked, Pride beating back at the surrounding force on his mind like an angry bull, sudden and overbearing. Pride became a protective barrier around his mind, scoffing at the very thought of such an attack. He exuded the sin, glaring down the beast as if she were and ant. He then thrust the power upon her, attempting to suffocate her with his hubris.

Fear crawled up her spine as she became aware of her own insignificance in the presence of an entity such as himself.

Amartía smiled at the lizard. "Funny that you say that, although I thought that the gods would have actually thought to bring me a challenge. Not an apprentice exterminator."

Her mother was of the mind, herself was attuned with mental attacks and defence, but to combat her own feelings was something else as she acted upon those first. She could already feel how insignificant that she truly was, that attack had worked, but would she allow it to control her was another mater. 

Keriss let her own pains become one with her, thus it would become a defense against what this foul chaos could do. She could twisted the attack and turned it into a feeling of dread, throwing it back at the chaos. "You believe that I am no challenge? Then I shall show thee a challenge."

She began to attack with with all the strength that her mind could allow, constricting Sin like a snake and crushing him slowly. He would be able to feel the weight of all of his sins bearing down on him. Determination was her ally in this test of mental subjugation. 

But all Sin could feel was a subtile shift in the air around him, but nothing more. Amartía shook his head as realization dawned on him. [color=Crimson]"You are gifted with the body of a warrior but the brain of a child. Do you not realize that [b]I am Sin![/color] he bellowed, a gust of wind pounding the lizard at the end of his sentence. 

Sin shook his head as he shrugged off her attack and renewed the offensive. "Let me show you how its done." he cooed as he reversed the attack completely. He was the master of sin, and only he could show her true pain. As if a mountain had been thrust upon her back, the weight of her actions suddenly hit her. Images ran through her head; the thousands she murdered in the Venomweed and the hundreds she murdered today. The piercing screams of thier tormented souls pounding at her metal defenses. But Sin wasn't finished there, knowing that her transgressions weren't enough to move her. Like a hurricane, Amartía thrust upon her mind Wrath, unbridled rage ripped through her like a cannon, eating at her mental barriers and clouding her judgement. 

"I still see no truth in your words." he mocked.

Keriss' own attempt to mentally fight ceased once she felt what her opponent was doing to her. The people she had killed in the name of her crusade, the same crusade that she had brought to the city of Xerxes. Finally, once wrath had hit her she dropped to her knees as the wailing in her head only seemed to increase in volume.

"Murderer!," a voice cried out.

"Monster!," another dared to say

"Shut up!," Keriss growled, the wailing only continued to defy her. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! I will kill you all!," the lizard roared, she had been defeated mentally. However, this defeat only brought her strength for now she charged at Sin, propelling herself forwards with her wings in order tackle the one who had her attention.

A maniacal grin formed on Amartía's face as she charged him. Such a simple creature. So easy to provoke. So weak-minded. Without warning, Sin launched three of his spears, thier wicked tips rocketing towards the charging beast at similar speeds.

Keriss folded her wings and vaulted to the side upon seeing the spears suddenly launch towards her. Such heresy much be cleansed by the sword. She continued to sprint at her opponent, before thrusting her sword once she was in range.

Sin's smile slowly disappeared as the lizards out-stretched blade reached for him, surely she didn't think it would be that easy? On the defensive, Amartía called on the power of the stone, his body glowing sanguine as an ethereal sphere suddenly became visible before Keriss. 

With a sudden snap, Keriss found herself weaponless, her attack deflected by the shield and her hands thrown upwards by the skyward force it created. Sin redirected his own Force, with a grunt, he once again called upon the stone, this time throwing a force upon Keriss' exposed torso as she reached upwards. An all mighty push, like a sledge hammer to the gut, threw Keriss back like a ragdoll.

The lizard bounced across the ground, however, it did nothing to truly damage her. She found herself curled on the ground, the screaming tormenting her, her past coming to destroy her. Now? Now she would die in some mission that Vestec had sent her on. Vestec...

Vestec! That damned cheat, he knew that Keriss would never be able to win this fight, he knew that she would die. It made sense now that he wanted her dead. How much a fool that Keriss had been played.

"Vestec... Damn you," Keriss said lightly, slowly getting to her feet and turning to Sin. This fight needed to be finished so she could deal with Vestec once more. Her mind was focused, hatred seemed to engulf her. She snarled at Amartía and her eyes grew black once more. "Son of Vestec, you have much power. Thus your have earned my respect, but now you must yield."

With an outstretched hand from Keriss, Sin felt a physical pain attacking his legs and screaming filled his head. The screaming was that of hundreds of thousands of swords clashing at once. She sent images of his people dying. 

Sin scoffed at the lizards words. "I am no Son of Vestec." he spat, glaring at the struggling form of his opponent. "I'd refrain fro- Amartía's eyes quickly narrowed, a jarring pain eating at his feet. Like a slap in the face, hundreds of images blinded his mental vision. The death throws of his people, Xerxes burning, Sin at its worst. Sin gritted his teeth, Wrath rolling over Xerxes like a wool blanket, suffocating and thick. 

The very idea of his toys being utterly destroyed without his permission disgusted Sin. He had let the lizard play her games, and kill some of his playthings, but she was started to tread on thin ice. 

Without warning, two spears rocketed towards Keriss, pinning her to the ground at they sunk into the earth. Amartía grabbed hold of his last spear, gritting his teeth as he rose to his feet for the first time since the start of the confrontation. Her death would not be pleasant. 

Sanguine energy flowed through his body and into his palm, igniting the air and forming a blaze, wild and and unpredictable. Sin then spit into the flame, the glob of saliva black in color. Instantly, it reacted, calming and slowing, taking on a black hue, absorbing the gluttonous magic he gifted it. Amartía lifted up flame for Keriss to see.

"Do you see this lizard?" he snarled, his eyes mad. "I'll give you a taste of what true pain feels like. Burn until you are ash." Sin turned his palm towards the lizard, a wolfish grin forming on his face as he let lose the blaze, consuming everything in sight instantly as it hurtled towards her.

Keriss had gasped out in pain as the spears sunk into her body, one through the bone of her wing and the other through her arm. It was painful, and red blood flowed minorly. This was the first time that she had actually seen her own blood. Her eyes travelled to the ball of fire that was just flung towards her.

There was no way out, no way to avoid her death. She imagined death so much it felt like a memory. What would she do? The lizard began struggling to get the spear out of her arm with her free hand, she did not have the time to get it out. 

That was when a stroke of luck happened her way, the luck that a trickster would experience once in his lifetime. From a burning building came running a burning man, his path straight in front of the two duelists. The man stopped feet ahead of Keriss before seeing Sin and yelling to his worshipped, "Witness me!" That was before the poor fool was hit by the blast and was instantly turned to ash.

That even allowed Keriss the time to get the spear out of her arm, finally she made quick work of the other. That was a stoke of luck, cockily smiling at Sin now that she was freed. She was not done with Amartía just yet, this was a blessing and her morale was restored. 

Before Amartía appeared Vestec, a hallucination produced by Keriss to make the enemy suffer now that she had a vague idea he had daddy issues. It was from memory of the short time that Keriss spent with the Chaos god. 

Amartía's face deadpanned as the naked mortal evaporated into ash, completely taking the brunt of his attack. Why were mortals so infuriating sometimes? His rage grew, no longer suffocating the area, but it now began to force those watching the fight to thier knees, gravity seemingly working to punish them. 

This only greatened as Vestec appeared before him. The world around him dissolved and he was back were it all began. A room of stone statues, each secreting thier own sliver of divine energy, a fleeting memory, a time before Xerxes. Vestec stood before a single one, a human boy in his hands. His vessel.

Amartía had enough. How dare this roach search his memories, and show what was long since forgotten. "ENOUGH!" he bellowed. With a sudden flash, Amartía was before Keriss, his eyes red as supposed to her black. Within the blink of an eye, he rammed his fist into her gut, redirecting his Force and launching her for for miles, ragdolling her through buildings temples, flattening homes and repeatedly bounding in and out of the air. 

But Sin wasn't finished there. His last spear, which floated lazily behind him, became a missile, righting itself and hurtling after the lizard without relent upon his metal command. With it, struck a bolt of lightning, the bronze spear absorbing the electricity and conducting it as it flew.

Keriss flew through the air at great speeds, the building working to slow her which would inevitably save her as the spear flew over her by several inches. She would admit, the man had a hell of a punch. She got to her feet, a hand going to where the punch connected. A weakness had shown within her opponent, thus she could exploit it.

Launching herself back, Keriss would continue to fight Amartía until either he or herself yielded in the end. However, she hid in on of the buildings she had went through, wanting to manipulate the situation a but more.

"Strike a nerve my son? Really, I expected better of you. Siding with Logos rather than myself. Almost as if you are begging me for my attention. That is why you are doing this, correct?," A new hallucination of Vestec asked. Soon Sin would find him surrounded by the hallucination asking an endless wave of questions, some going as far as to shout mockery at him. 

Sin's face skewered as he yelled back to the illusion. "Attention! You must have me mistaken for one of your other children. Maybe this lizard bitch perhaps!" he spat, playing the part perfectly. "Although I wonder what disgusting demon you fornicated with to create this abomination." Amartía's gaze was wild and frantic, his rage reaching its peak, slowly becoming palpable in the form of a red mist. The dirt under his feet began to bubble and pop, the air around him snapped and crackled as the earth began to shake. Sin's body began to warp, his skin writhing and growing at random points. Houses collapsed as dirt began to crack and crumble under the sheer force of Amartía emotion. 

Sin allowed the illusion to get to him, to infuriate him, to weaken him the eyes of his opponent. 

Keriss' eyes narrowed at the notion, being thought to be a daughter of Vestec made her wish to empty her stomach onto the man. She looked around, picking up a small brick. She planned to throw it at Sin, but she knew that he was attempting to anger her. Her wings spread once more, thrusting herself up onto the rubble ledge where she sat. The illusion disappeared in a puff of multi-colored smoke.

"Vestec is not my father. Vakarlon, the Trickster God is." Keriss seemed very calm, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly at Sin. "I am Keriss, Daughter of Trickery and Thought. I assume you are Amartía," she introduced herself. She was exceptionally calm considering Amartía's little outburst.

Sin's upper lip curled into a snarl as he turned to Keriss. "Perceptive little rodent, his voice soaked in sarcasm. did you figure that out all on your own? Or, better yet, did your master tell you that? Did he whisper my name in your ear as you lay spooning together ?" he jibbed, cackling softly at the end of his sentence. "Man, I can only imagine the sorrow you father must feel as he watches his daughter fornicate with the very element she is supposed to purge."

"My father is dead, along with my mother," Keriss hissed, not responding to Sin's other jabs. "Unfortunately, your father is the only god to willingly come to me, as much as I wanted to him to die. Listen, if destroying this city wasn't to be destroyed then I wouldn't be here fighting with you."

Keriss yawned, eyeing Sin up and down once more. "You are a powerful opponent, I respect that," Keriss stated, jumping down from her perch. Such an opponent would kill her and she knew that. The question would be if she would allow herself to die on some mission that Vestec had sent her on. The answer was no. 

"Is it too late for that wine?"

Amartía scoffed, was she so easily swayed from her ideals? Rage subsided and cooled, now reforming into the hubris he was most known for. How sad, he really wanted to test wraths limits. Sin licked his lips as he observed Keriss, her posture no longer threatening, but on guard none the less. 

As if what had just transpired never happened, Sin arrogantly walked over to the lizard, crimson light crackling of his body. Between them rose a small stone table. A stone stump rose on Keriss' side while a monolith throne rose for Amartía. With a small tap on the surface, goblets formed on either side while he took to transforming air into water into wine, filling each cup to the brim on either side the table.

Amartía took his seat, a sigh blowing from his lips as he snuck into the stone. "Here is your wine." Amartía gestured, his demeanor changing completely. "Vestec sent you is what I gather from your words. So a word of warning, I would refrain from calling him 'my father', as he actually isn't."

"So I take you are one who he will call son just because you do something that is mildly chaotic in nature?," Keriss inquired, sitting on the stump Amartía had so kindly provided. She took a goblet in one of her hands, eyes still only trained on Amartía.

"More or less." Sin huffed, taking a sip of his wine. He wasn't surprised to find the beverage was now sweet, it was actually unnerving. Amartía returned his gaze to Keriss, "So for what reason do you come to my city, kill a dozen citizens, insight my rage, and attempt to carry on a conversation with me afterwards? Do you not know that makes you indebted to me know?"

"Indebted?," Keriss chuckled, amused to think that someone would ever get the chance to make her have debt. "Unfortunately debts do not bind me, I do what I wish or I do what I can to destroy Chaos," Keriss mused, inspecting the goblet carefully. After a moment, she took a small sip. It was a pleasant taste, especially with this being the first wine she has tasted in her lifetime.

"Funny you say that, but your vision is skewed. You murder hundreds. For what? Because you are to purge chaos? Yet you follow its orders." Sin took another sip of his wine. "You are a living oxymoron, you embody pain and suffering, byproducts of Chaos. You purge chaos, only succeeding to create it as you go." Amartía shook his head. "Chaos cannot be purged, maybe suppressed. But you come into my territory, kill my people and force my hand for your selfish wish? You must face reality, your mission will never cease."

"My vision is otherwise, I deliver order into the world upon destroying Chaos. I am order, not Chaos," Keriss said, believing only it what her parents had told her. Chaos could be destroyed, in her wake was only Order for if there is no more chaos to be purged, there is order. That was her pride, that was her purpose.

And Sin would crush it, stomp on the only shred of pride she really had and devour it like a ravenous beast. "You are but a child, your understanding little. Is that what your parents thought you? That you are the harbinger of Order?" Amartía jibbed as he leaned forward in his seat and trained his eyes on Keriss, prodding and searching. "I can see the Chaos that binds you, that's makes you a Divine, the element the defines your very existence, as supposed to the Trickster crap that you mentioned earlier. Vestec is your true father, isn't he?"

Keriss sneered at the notion of Vestec being her true father. "Vakarlon is my father, Vestec may claim he be my father, but he is wrong. Chaos is not within my blood." She dared to take another sip of her wine, her eyes looking into Sin's very own. "I also quest for knowledge, a quest that will only remind me of my mother."

Amartía sighed. "I don't envy you Keriss, your existence is a long and lonely one. Maybe understanding will dawn on you when you truly hit rock bottom." Sin drowned his cup of wine quickly. "But this quest of knowledge is new, what do you seek?"

Keriss eyed her wine once more before looking back at Sin; she knew her existence was a lonely one, having experienced it all her life. "Simple, any form of knowledge. Whether it be how to make a sword to simple mysteries," the lizard explained. Knowledge was one thing that Keriss yearned for, an endless quest bestowed upon her by her mother. 

"Interesting. Do you know of the Divine War?"

"Divine War? Now you have tickled my fancy. Please, tell me," Keriss chuckled before deciding to drown her wine, some wine escaping out of the sides of her mouth. She then leaned forward, prepared to listen to such a story. 

Amartía smiled at the lizards eagerness. "War is coming Keriss. A war based on principle, and sides have been taken. Logos, my benefactor, Order incarnated, has taken to attacking Galbar, attempting to cleanse it of whatever he believes is unclean. The rest of the Divines has gathered together, taken up arms, and have readied themselves for war against me and Logos. This city, Amartía made a sweeping gesture with his hands. "Will most likely be destroyed-fairly soon actually." Amartía mused, frowning at the destruction they thier fight caused.

"Despite the introduction, and the little information provided you, Keriss, your going to have to pick a side."

"The same war Vestec spoke of." Keriss said aloud, looking at the ground in order to decide what must be done, what side she would choose, if she would choose. "Tell me, why would you side with someone attacking your home realm? Why side with a god who has seeming become a tyrant by existence? True order does not do such things to cause chaos. Order does not bring death to a single world just because one thing is undesirable."

Amartía shook his head and chuckled at Keriss' innocence. "You seem to have me mistaken for someone else. I could care less about what Logos believes, all I desire is power and pleasure. I have gained power, and I will continue to do so." Amartía sat forward in his seat, cupping his hands. "You also seem to have a mistaken view of Order, but arguing with you over such trivialities is beneath me.

What truly matters, is your desire, your purpose. You have told me of your campaign to purge the world of Chaos and replace it with Order, is that not what Logos is doing. Is that not your desire?" 

"That is what I desire, yes," Keriss said, looking away from Sin to view the destruction that their battle had caused. Her mind wandered to the people of the city that she had slaughtered so eagerly, having had let her bloodlust consume her. However, pondering upon a mortals life was not in her nature. "Fine. So long as Logos does not destroy the entirety of this world, he shall have my support. It is better than working with Vestec," Kerss crossed her arms, gaze returning to Amartía.

Amartía smiled and clapped his hands pertly. "Perfect! I think this is the start our downward spiral into self-destruction or unimaginable power, most likely the latter." he jibbed, his tone was light despite the foreboding words. Amartía rose to his his feet and extended his hand for Keriss to shake. "So we have a deal, you will serve Logos under me, as I am his presiding officer of all things Galbar, so to speak." 

"Do not make me regret my choice, Amartía." Keriss said lightly, her hand beginning to extend to meet Sin's. Her hand stopped just shy before she retracted it, a mischievous smile coming across her face. "I have but one request. Let me punch you."

Sin frowned, an odd request. "Its not often that one actually lands a blow of Sin himself, so I allow you this privilege just this once." Sin took a step back, and gave her an opening. Sanguine energy sparked at his feet silently molding stone.

Keriss' grin only widened that he actually agreed to her request, she rose to her feet and cracked her knuckles. This would mainly be for almost killing her earlier. She wound her fist back and proceeded to throw her punch, all her strength to back her.

Without warning a stone pillar rose to meet her hand, hardening to the point of bronze itself. The monolith quickly reformed, imitating his appearance almost completely before Keriss' fist was stopped cold by the stature of stone. Sin grinned and stepped back, shaking his head despondently. "You feel better now?"

Keriss would have been significantly more satisfied would she have hit her intended target, her eyes narrowed at the cheap imitation in front of her as she slowly drew her hand back. "I hate you. Yet, well played." She cradled her hand, hiding the fact that it was in a bit of pain.

"You will learn to love me soon enough." Sin jibbed as he spread his pristine white wings and flapped them once, taking off into the air. "We have much to discuss Keriss, but not here. With me." he gestured for her to follow him, chucking inwardly at her discrete display before turning away taking off towards  Cipher.



Just after dawn, the Lord of Sin squatted beneath the vaulted ceiling of his solar and squinted through the early morning haze of his city.

Doors to his richly apportioned apartments stood ajar to his right and his left. The entrance to his balcony was open, and through it, he saw dark reds, oranges, and purples splashed across the bottom of a thickening band of cloud to the west.

The clothing at his fingertips was drab, thick, woolen. Felt coarse against his skin compared to the silk and cotton to which he was used.

Seated on cube of bronze, was his newly appointed general, Keriss, who indulged herself, eating more than he'd thought possible. The skeletal frame of a roast pig glistening on the table, not a byproduct of the stone, but cooked by it none the less.

Amartía leaned gracefully against the wrought-stone railing and medicated. "As you see, the odds are stacked against us Keriss. We have no idea what the gods will bring against us, we can only assume that they wouldn't physically appear here and use some sort of army." Sin sighed, rubbing his naked chin. "We have an army of mortals, a few hundred Realta, a physics bending stone and a metaphysical shield. How do we arm ourselves against the gods?"

"Indeed, the odds do not favor us. The key would be to keep the enemies at bay for as long as possible. Our shield and this stone, they are certainly a boon. The Realta, they sound useful as well so long as they do not destroy the mortals." Keriss said, a belch soon coming after as her feast had settled within her. "What would this shield protect us from?"

"Whatever mortal force they bring into Xerxes." Amartía sighed, frowning as Keriss' noxious gases reached his nostrils. "My covenant with Logos protects the citizens of Xerxes from his creations, but what worries me is our true objective. The gods are no idiots, well, maybe Vestec but that's besides the point. Holding out against whatever the gods have in-store for us will be no easy task. We need a dark horse, a fallback."

"If all else fails, we abandon the city and flee. Until then, we stockpile what food we can, assuming your people know how to properly gather food." Keriss informed, no longer worried about any mortal entity that may wish to attack the city. "As for the gods, we can do what we do best. Play mind games using this stone you speak of."

Amartía curtly turned to face Keriss, leaning back onto the railing as he kicked a stone up into his hand. Red energy arced of his hand as a loaf of bread formed in his hand from the stone. "Food is no problem." Sin retorted, tossing the grain to Keriss. Amartía let out a loud, exasperated breath; he hated the thought of running away, it was beneath him. "So we resort to to running away? I fear that this war will fall short of expectations. Logos is a powerful god, but up against the rest of pantheon, that's a recipe for disaster." Amartía began to pace. "We may have to cut our loses once we leave, lie low until Logos' failure or victory is assured." 

"Indeed. However, running should be a last resort if possible," Keriss explained, aiding along in the idea that they fight for as long as they can. A sigh came to her as she looked deeper into this. There was no good outcome for them. "But let us face  facts, we make almost no difference within this conflict. Sure, we can attempt to trick the gods, defy them, but in the end our deaths would be assured in a conflict."

"Which is why I wonder how come our natural urge to self-persevere hasn't kicked in yet." Sin dawdled, his head shaking as he went through all possible scenarios in his mind, none good. "We know what the most likely outcome will be, our deaths at the hands of our brethren. But we cannot simply resign ourselves to such a fate, fight as we will, but treachery is also a possibility." Sin urged. He laughed inwardly at how easily they spoke of fighting and betraying almighty primordial beings.

"That is a possibility, not an honorable one, but an option nonetheless," Keriss yawned, crossing her arms as they discussed their tactics. The choice if strategy was ultimately Sin's, her role was simply to advise him and execute his orders. The lizard began picking between her teeth with her claws, a bored look on her face. 

Amartía scoffed at the idea of honor, he had none, he hated the word even. Treachery was always an option, even if it meant the death of an entire city, it was worth it. "Your mode of thinking will one day get you killed Keriss, but none the less, I have another idea. Tell me, did your father not send you her, Vestec no?" Sin mocked purposely.

Keriss growled at that notion once more, hating any mention that Vestec may be the father of herself. "Yes, Vestec did send me here. He wished for me to slaughter the entire populous of Xerxes. As both of us know, that did not happen," Keriss stated, not yet following what Sin would insinuate with his idea. 

Amartía grinned at that notion. "Yes you indeed did fail, miserably, and you ran back to daddy with your tail between you legs, preaching of revenge and joining thier cause, learning of thier game, thier plans, and causing the 'pain' you known best for!" Sin mused, the plan formulating as he went. "You play your part as the trickster. Doing what you can from the inside."

A maniacle grin grew across Keriss' face as Amartía told her of his plan, a trickster-like plan, a plan for her true father. "What a wonderfully devious plan. I agree with this course of action," the lizard chuckled, standing whilist taking a bite of the summoned bread that Amartía had tossed to her.

"So, Amartía began, cracking his knuckles, "Must I break a few bones to make it look believable?"

Keriss chuckled evilly, cracking her own knuckles in response. "Only if I can return the favor," Keriss mocked, knowing full well this would end badly, but did she care? Not at all.

Sin let out a disappointed sigh. "You have no sense of style, at least play the part. Amartía lifted himself of the railing and made his way over to Keriss. "I believe its time to put our plan into action, immediately." Amartía turned and pointed at toward the mountains. "If you had failed to beat me, you should have long since reported back. Infiltrate and play your part. I think you should be able to handle the rest."

"Do not worry, the job will be done and it will be done well, you have my word on that." Keriss crossed her arms, walking past Sin to stop at the railing. "Word of advice, you decor is dull. Needs more skulls and blood," with that peice of advice off her chest she proceeded to leap over the railing, taking flight towards the mountains.

Amartía raised an eyebrow as Keriss disappeared into the horizon. "Not enough skulls?" murmured, his interest peaked. Sin rubbed his chin and left the balcony, slightly offended Keriss' words. "We will have enough of that soon enough."

A week after Umu was deemed complete, Elysium became its Queen. But first there was a parade.

No trace of the mountain of Solace could be found on the sparkling streets of the now-populated city. All of it had been taken, cut, and reshaped into the spires, bridges, and domed buildings that had characterized the jewel of the steppes.

Streets that were packed with people come to see their new Queen, Elysium saw with a tinge of nervousness. She banished her nerves with a shake of her head, jingling the gifted beads of gold and lapis around her neck; it wouldn’t do for her subjects to see her feel fear, and in truth there was nothing for her to fear in the first place.

The palanquin began to move as the musicians struck up a powerful tune, all drums and horns. A cheer rose up from the streets around her, and she had the feeling that it wouldn’t die down until she got to the ziggurat.

This had not been Elysium’s idea, but Logos’s. The ostentatious parade, the coronation, the city-wide celebration afterwards—all of them just seemed so... misplaced. Elysium didn’t see what there was to celebrate other than an end to their joined labor. When so many of tasks ahead of them, and the harvest to bring in with winter fast on the way, what right did they have to celebrate?

Her father saw it differently. There was, he had said, one thing that humankind had gained from her and that was faith. Most people hadn’t lived with any sort of status of purpose, just lived in poverty and fear. Let her be the symbol of their deliverance, and let her ascendance be the idea they could cling to for comfort. There was no dishonesty in that. Elysium would not deny her subjects that happiness.

Look calm. Smile. Nod and wave. It’s easy once you remember how much they love you.

And it was. Elysium passed through a throng of people, probably more people than she had ever seen in her life, all a part of the race that banded together for a new future. Perhaps without her they would have failed, but without them she would have fared no better.

Don’t look too kind, you’re not human. They expect to see a ruler, but also their Goddess. The Mother.

She did her best to look determined and resolute, if that did any good. What was she supposed to do, stare straight ahead? Waving too much made her feel like a bit of a fool, and she wasn’t sure how wide or tight her smile was supposed to be. Obviously she couldn’t stand perfectly still, but striking a pose would make her feel ridiculous. How was parading in front of a crowd so difficult?

You’re doing just fine, daughter. Stop worrying. Logos’s voice contained the barest hint of humor.

“If I were doing fine,” Elysium thought dryly. “You wouldn’t be able to tell that I’m worried.”

Nonsense. I can always tell when you’re not all right.

She answered with the mental equivalent of a grumble.

Are you truly so worried about the impression you’re making? Logos asked.

“I’m beginning to think it would have been easier had we stay hidden.”

There is some truth to that, Logos said. But perhaps it does take getting used to. Shall I give you a lesson to help you relax?

"I seem to recall you never needing to ask permission."

A flash of something from her father. A courtesy from a fellow ruler. Now I want you to look at the crowd about half a block ahead of you. This way you see them but you still always look ahead.

Elysium looked. At that distance her eyes could still make out individual faces, all of them writ with an awe that she was all too familiar with. It wasn’t just the way her disciples had looked at her—it was the way every creature had looked at her father since Elysium could remember.

Your smile is one of confidence, not of joy or love. Very good. You never used to able to smile like that.

“You can see me?”

Of course I can. A pause. I had thought you wanted this.

“I… I think I do.”

A fine way to break my duplicitous heart. Now stand up as straight as you possibly can on your feet and give your wings a little slack. You are rising, Elysium. Let them see it.

“I’m afraid,” Elysium said as she adjusted her weight.

A pause. I know, Elysium.

The palanquin moved on, and the parade trailed along behind her. The streets of Umu were vast, even if the city wasn’t as large as the Citadel she first called home. Even the concerted effort of humankind and an incredible amount of magic wasn’t enough to build anything close to her father’s palace

“It was good to love you because you were a god, because you were my father, because you were perfect. But it was easy. You designed me this way. And I’ll always be this way…”

You need not be.

A gasp escaped Elysium's lips. Her legs threatened to buckle underneath her, but at the same time she felt as if the weight of the whole world has been taken off her back. “You mean I have a choice?” The very notion was alien, a sort of taboo thrill at the notion of having something other than what he wanted.

But of course you do, Logos said. As a Queen and my daughter, you may choose to go on living for as long as the sun will rise. And I won't lie, Elysium, that would make me very happy. But you were made more than a simple Realta. If you so wish, you may also live as a mortal and pass on when your time in this world runs out. If that is your choice, I can only hope that day is still many, many years ahead. But even if I wanted to, I could never make you stay against your will. That is impossible.

“Even for you?” Elysium asked.

Even for me. Logos admitted with a fondness was that foreign to her. I can stall the sunrise for a little while, but eventually the sun must rise all the same. Then, in time, it must set again. Night follows day, day follows night. This is-

"-part of the natural order." Elysium finished with smile to herself. “The truth is, I have seen humans at the brink of death continue to fight to the bitter end, raging against the dying of the light with a fierceness and passion that moved me to tears. But I have also seen those who greet death like a dear old friend, facing their ends with such grace and dignity I thought them far more worthy to bear this crown than I ever was. I cannot decide which of them were right and which were wrong, nor is it my place to say when a life should or should not end. All I can say is this: A never-ending life is neither a curse nor a blessing. It is simply a life, not that much different from any other.”

A finer lesson I could not have taught you myself, Logos said. Then, Now raise your chin up a little more.

“...You’re joking, right?”

You’re about to turn into the main square, Logos said. There are more people here than you have ever seen in one place in your life, Elysium. All of them are going to be looking at you. I want you to look ahead at me alone.

True to her father’s word, the main square was filled with what appeared to be twice the amount of people it had been designed to accommodate—and Elysium, having designed it, would know. A thin strip of space led from the crowd to the foot of palace ziggurat, where a dozen shining Realta stood a foot above everyone else, on the flanks of the many gradual steps that led to the palace proper.

Do not be overwhelmed, Elysium. Be overwhelming. Tilt your chin up just a little.

"You know,” Elysium said. “Now more than ever, with my new responsibilities, I need you.”

Across the distance between them, Logos gave the ghost of a smile. Need, is it? Spread your wings. Suddenly.

She did so with a great whoosh, and noted the shadow cast on the ground before her, perfectly proportioned by the position of the sun. “Dramatic much?” Elysium thought as a deafeningly loud cheer reached her ears.

“You know,” she said as her palanquin pulled to a halt. “This actually feels kind of good.”

It ought to. Now alight down the side and come around so you don’t have to do a full turn when you get here. You need to be facing the crowd.

Elysium did as she was told, once again doing her best to look... well, regal. Did she have to walk different, take the steps differently? Should she have folded her wings as she did when she left the palanquin? Such silly things to worry on, but there they were.

And there was Umu, she thought as she looked out at the city. The natural slope of the mountain laid it out before her eyes in full. It wasn’t as big as her home, no: but there was room to grow. Perhaps it was only made of stone, and perhaps it was fragile, but it had been built by her subjects and her word, and Elysium couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride seeing it now, just as she had every time she’d seen it before. This would be the cradle of their civilization.

“I said need,” Elysium said. “And it’s true that I will need your help. But I want it, too. I want you to teach me.”

Logos’s voice filled Elysium mind like liquid. The first rule of immortality, Elysium Last-Star, is that you will die. All life, even mine, is limited, and this gives it value. Shall this be the way you spend yours?

“Yes.”

Then kneel, daughter. Supplicate yourself before them, for you are their servant.

The youngest Realta fell to the stone beneath her and shut her eyes. Wait, that’s it? We’re not going to say anything? Out loud, I mean.

Words, Logos said. Elysium got the distinct feeling that he had rolled his eyes. What words are there for this?

A weight settled onto her head, heavy, but not overburdening. The cheering redoubled.

Now rise, her father voice echoed in her mind. As their champion, my daughter, and my chosen Queen.

Elysium rose, and as she opened her eyes she saw that the Realta had begun to kneel, their silver bodies placating themselves before her. It seemed as though a wave traveled through the crowd, until all of them were giving respect to their new ruler.

I know you’ll do well, Elysium.

She swallowed, but couldn’t hide a smile nonetheless.

She had a choice.

The stairs before Sin were twisted in a perfect spiral, like a child's slinky toy pulled from each end. Each stair was likely a deep walnut, but with the thick layer of undisturbed dust it was hard to tell. The inner edge was painted antique cream, and when Amartía disturbed the dust layer the paint was quite perfect underneath; no dirt and no flaking or dents. It was as if it was perfect one day and forgotten the next, just like the rest of the world. He let his hand fall on to the grey stone rail, rough in it's ancient charm and placed his weight on the first step. There was no crack or sign of rot, they were as solid as the day they were made. He walked swiftly to the bottom, leaving his footprints behind. The silence was quickly broken by the pounding foot steps of his entourage behind him.

Four Victors followed him on command, curious as to why thier master called to them, and where they were going, each holding a item of interest. They themselves were affected by the Sinosphere, worst of all in some cases. Battles of old replayed over and over in thier minds, the mere thought of men screaming in pain clutching their grievous wounds as bow twangs sent snakes of deaths into the never ending army. Often, they would play out thier desires, slaughtering anyone who attempted to enter Cipher without Sins' permission, giving them slow, painful deaths. The effects could also be visibly seen, there white knuckles grips and ragged breaths evidence of thier self control under Sin' company. The urge to snarl, bite, slice and dice flesh plagued them, but it was a down hill battle, especially in the presence of what lay before them.

Bellow the stairs was a huge chamber, the walls - half naked rock, half smooth stone, a hollow cube of minerals, one way in, and deep underground. In there, on could have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a mortal could forget their own name in there. The isolation in such a large sanctum was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind.

Not that it mattered though, its only inhabitant lay lifeless on the the cold monolith. It was a woman. Her auburn hair was scattered in multiple places, stained with dried blood; crimson. Her emerald green eyes were wide open, but her jade irises held a sudden sadness. Her clothes, a lime green tunic and some black capers, were bloody. Her body was laid spread eagle.

At that moment, the Victors didn't know how to feel, secretly glad that thier emotions were hidden by thier wraps. Amartía on the other hand, grinned from ear to ear. "Beautiful!" he proclaimed, starting towards the body. The Victors, growing confused, followed Sin, thier hearts pounding in unison with the sudden ethereal beat. With each thump, they could feel thier locked fury fighting to break out, clawing its way out of thier throats.

Sin was silent despite the Victors discomfort, it was to be expected, planned even, he even chuckled at their burning desire to kill; it was what they were made to do. Amartía kneeled to caress the unusually warm forehead of the woman, his eyes full of pride. "I find you so much more alluring like this She'ma." he whispered, knowing full well she could not hear him.

He motioned for a Victor, who quickly stepped forward and offered him a knife, which he wordlessly took. He advanced slowly, the knife in his hand trembling slightly, pointing towards his Sin Heart. The knife met flesh, soft and pudgy, and made a satisfying squish as the tip of the blade sank deep enough to make his victim blanch. He twisted the blade in His hands, all the while sinking it deeper and deeper. Her skin was tearing to shreds as the knife rotated, the sound of her muscles and nerves being gouged growing louder. Then, without warning, Sin jerked it all the way into her back, until the shiny metal had disappeared inside her and the black handle was pushing against her broken skin. He smirked, and pulled the blade out as thick blood flowed freely from the gaping hole in her thigh. The cascade of the girl's life source gushed out in all directions, rainbow colored liquid squirting up all over his silken robe. The sweet tang of blood tingled in his nostrils, and sent the Victors into a frenzy, but they remained in thier place.

Blood oozed down the blade in thick droplets as Amartía motioned for another Victor. A cup of bronze was handed to him, and like taking water from a well, a filled the cup with the abnormal liquid. Unrefined sin bubbled within the blood, active and unchecked. Sin held up the liquid as if he was a scientist observing a test tube. "An unexpected byproduct of perfection." he mused. He tuned to the Victors who squirmed and twitched, also a byproduct of his power. He could feel the Wrath that boiled in thier hearts, the urge to kill rolling off thier skin.

Flashbacks to his most recent fight with Keriss quickly began to resurface. He remembered the rage he felt, the boiling of the cobblestone under his feet, the bubbling of his skin. Abruptly, the gears inside his mind began to turn and whir, a maniacal smile growing on his face with each idea solidifying. "Maybe I'll play with Wrath a little bit more today." he cackled, red mist drifting from the surface of his skin and into the cup. Amartía searched through the cup, absorbing its unwanted qualities; Pride, Sloth, Gluttony, Lust, Greed and Envy, leaving behind Wrath. The thick liquid quickly changed color from motley to cadmium red. To add a little extra strength to the concoction, he flooded the liquid with untamed rage; causing the liquid to boil and froth within the cup, its contents refined pure, Wrath made physical.

Sin nodded in approval of his creation, holding it up for the Victors to see. "Which one of you is brave enough to drink?" For a few moment, none moved, frozen with the fear of the unknown. Just as Amartía was about to give up and force it down thier throats, one stepped forward, the first. Sin licked his lips. "What is your name?" The Victor quickly answered, "Asmod." Amartía grinned, "Asmod, he handed the cup towards the Victor. drink."

Exuding the very pride that picked him for, the young warrior bravely took the warm cup, unwrapped his mask, and downed it without without hesitation. The moment the liquid his his tongue, he screamed, dropping to the floor and spilling what little remained in the cup. His throat scorched as the liquid entered his stomach and then absorbed into his body. He screamed desperately for mercy, but the blaze within his innards swallowed his voice and engulfed his body. He was in too much pain to think properly as he convulsed. His body began to warp and grow, his muscles filling with energy, his core filling with power. His body only understood rage, his blood boiled with fury as he was made wrath real. Bubbles and boils formed on his body, popping and reveling red skin underneath. Just as his mind yielded to the fury, one tracking as to kill or be killed, so did his body, which adapted to his unquenchable primal rage. Skin melted off his body, and what remained underneath hardened and thickened, teeth and nails sharpened to a long and nasty points; his jaw seemingly unhinged and dropped, molten-like liquid leaking from his mouth; muscle and bone warped and grew on his shoulders, bulging and withering and without warning, whole arms broke from the skin, red liquid pouring from thier newly formed and broken skin; horns sprouted out of his forehead, curving upwards into the air.

Just as quickly was it began, it all ended. Asmod stilled, and only his rasping breath gave evidence to his still living. Minutes passed, and no one moved, even Sin seemed to be confused. Just as a Victor stepped forward to voice his concern, Asmod rose to his feet, his crimson eyes wide and unblinking, his new hulking height on display. What stood before them now was no longer human, his very essence brutality, anger distilled into a single, towering form of sinew. His skin was now a deep red similar to that of encrusted blood.

Amartía gazed down at the Victors whitened hair and burning red eyes, and his chest swelled with pride.

"Truly magnificent!" Sin murmured to himself.

Asmod himself could not describe the power, the entity that ran through him. He was consumed by an increasingly uncontrollable feeling of bloodlust, anger, and wrath that could only be sated for a few moments by taking a life. Even as he stood, the urge to rip apart and consume the flesh and blood of his own brothers nipped at him.

Sin smiled, his creation perfect in his eyes. "You have achieved the height of perfection Asmod, you, and soon many other ." he praised. Sin motioned for the other three Victors. "Call to the rest of your brothers and sisters, gather them in my courtyard." he commanded. The Victors, shaken by the ordeal, scurried up the steps. Amartía simply shook head, they too, would soon feel the true pleasures of sin.



Underneath the massive shadow of the Cipher, Amartía stood before his congregation of Victors, three-hundred in number. In one hand, that they held weapons of war; swords, spears and knives, weapons they seemingly were born with; in the other, cups of bronze. As was thier custom, silk wraps hid thier face and thick silk robs covered thier bodies; a custom that he planned on changing.

Behind them, sat twenty square acres of the entrancing if formalized beauty of Sin's courtyard, crossed by pathways so convenient that they might have been purposefully designed to lead to the centre of power, his palace. Trees surrounded the pyramid like great armies defending their citadel, thier branches protruding like vines up towards the sky, like a paintbrush. All a product of his creative talent and a testament to his greatness.

Next to Amartía sat his ultimate concoction. In a basin, as tall as his torso, as wide as his height, and made of bronze sat a menacing red liquid. It boiled and popped angrily, paying tribute to his imagination and power. Sin turned to look over the crowd one last time, taking what ever features he could gather from them, as this would be the last time they would ever be imperfect. He would give them the gift of perfection.

"Do you know why you are here, my children?"

They did not answer; only stared at the demi-god standing in front of them. As was to be expected.

"Do you hate me your keeping you from the field of battle?"

Still they did not answer.

"You are here because you have a purpose. A purpose that myself and Fate have carefully crafted. Your purpose is to grow strong enough to kill in my name, and bring the world to its knees."

Suddenly, the atmosphere transformed, becoming one of pure elation, the warm summer air punctuated by whoops and hollers. Sin smiled slyly, despite thier loyalty, catering to thier true desire only served to solidify thier reverence.

Amartía made a grand gesture. "I will bring you closer to fulfilling that purpose! I will bring you closer to perfection, cleansing you of the vomitous countenance that the gods of cursed you with!"

Sin's speech boomed over the crowd, strident and timbre, a cacophony of applause and cheering, whooping, hollering, clapping, palpable excitement buzzing through the charged air, proof of the spontaneous outpouring of emotion.

"Come my sons and daughters, drink from my blood! Slough of your old personalities, and submit yourself to your carnal desire! Accept the power I put into your hands!" he bellowed.

The crowd moved like a multi-headed beast that shared only one brain. Their thoughts were in lock-step as much as their feet. Dozens of cups dipped themselves into his basin, immediately taking the blood into thier mouths. Within moments, howls and whoops of excitement devolved into screams. It echoed through the terraced houses making the origin hard to pin-point. The first cries were undoubtedly terror, but not the shrill cries of a theatre, the cries of one with eyes locked wide and every muscle rigid. The next were of pain, garbling and pitiful. Blood drenched the courtyard as the withering mass of mortals transformed.

Amartía smiled. "Welcome, my little sinlings, my Dagon. It is time to spread this perfection to the rest of our family."

Ear splitting screams, was his only response.

((Did this restart?))

In Fibeslay, Gerrik taught those hain which would listen what he could. Bread making and leather working caught considerable attention. Gerrik taught them new uses for the many herbs and plants they harvested, from the collective wisdom of dozens of other villages, while also taking note of any uses that he did not know. Gerrik made note of the fishing practices of the people of Fibeslay, of their nets and traps. Gerrik even took the time to learn to paint, and used those skills and his memory to reproduce detailed images of important plants, for it was much easier to show someone a picture of a plant than try to describe it with words alone.

Within the expanded territory of Fibeslay was Hillisle. Hillisle sat on a coastal island, a short boat ride from Fibeslay. In times past, when the Chippers were considered the enemies of Fibeslay and the neighbouring villages of Longgrass and Birbeye, Hillisle was a refuge for the Chippers. Until the Fiberslayers invaded. To this day Hillisle was under the dominion of Fibeslay. Gerrik had not known of those events until he heard about it from some of the older residents. But hearing of these events made him melancholic. He could perceive the evidence of the battle buried under the ground. To the Chippers, this invasion must have been like the Horde of Chaos sweeping through innocent villages and razing them. Gerrik could only speculate on what may have happened if he had been around, and think deeply on what was necessary to prevent such a thing from happening again.

But aside from the dark memories, one feature in Hillisle drew Gerrik's attention. A hill overlooking the sea had been cleared of foliage, as though something was to be built there, but little sign of construction was present. He inquired with some of the locals, who said the chief was wanting to build big something there. So Gerrik headed back to Fibeslay to talk to the village chief himself.

It was quite easy for Gerrik to receive an audience with Bard Fiberslayer. In fact, the chief had been anxious to meet Gerrik as soon as he had arrived in Fibeslay.

"Gerrik Far-Teacher! I have heard incredible tales about you. Come in, come in," greeted the chief.

"Thank you, chief Fiberslayer," Gerrik replied, entering the chieftain's house.

The chief gestured for Gerrik to take a seat on a mat, and he did the same across from Gerrik. In reach were wooden cups filled with some fermented beverage and two bowls of bony fish soup. The chief said, "It is an honour for the chief of the Chippers to visit my lands. I have seen with my own eyes the improvements your knowledge has made to this village in such a short space of time."

Gerrik bowed his beak slightly. "It is merely what I do. It is an honour to help a village as grand as Fibeslay."

There was silence for a moment, and Gerrik could perceive subtle signs of unease in Bard's body language. "There is something troubling you."

"Well..." the chief began nervously, "Fibeslay has a history with Chippers, back in my predecessor's time, and-"

"I harbour no ill feelings about this village's past, if that is your concern," Gerrik interrupted. "This village is hardly the place it was thirty years ago, and you're quite a different man to the last chief."

The chief's jaw and elbows relaxed in relief. "That is good to hear. The Chippers are the best source of new knowledge and skills that I know. I had feared that the actions of my predecessor had all but frightened them all away, for we rarely get visits."

"That is still somewhat the case, I have observed," Gerrik replied, "but I am harder to scare off than most. And I can see when there is nothing to fear."

Gerrik took a small sip from his cup before setting it aside in favour of the soup. The chief drank a mouthful of his drink before also picking up his soup.

Gerrik then spoke again. "I noticed something over on Hillisle."

The chief finished chewing on some fish bones before saying, "What did you notice?"

"There is a space you have reserved and cleared so you can build something, although nothing has been built yet. What are you planning on making?" Gerrik asked.

The chief set his soup down. "It's going to be a lighthouse, a sort of beacon on a tall tower overlooking the sea. Travellers will see it and know a village is here."

Gerrik stopped and thought for a few moments. "Interesting. And how did you come up with that idea?"

"Actually, to tell you the truth, it wasn't my idea," Bard Fiberslayer replied. "A group of travellers bearing a message from the Eventide Star suggested it."

"That group wouldn't happen to have consisted of the human huntress Susa, a lizard person, a really tall person, and some Mutilator-kin being?" Gerrik inquired.

The chief's eyes widened and his beak tilted towards Gerrik. "Yes, that is them exactly. How-"

"I met them on the way here. They even recommended that I visit this village," Gerrik said gleefully. "And now I see what they have been trying to establish."

There was a pause, before Gerrik continued. "So why is the lighthouse not being built?"

"It is a difficult task. We have never built anything of the sort before, and the labour required to construct it would be immense," Bard answered.

Gerrik flicked up a palm. "You're in luck, then. I happen to have experience in building big things. You have heard of the village I helped defend from the hordes, have you not?"

"Yes, but-"

"In under thirty days we had built sturdy walls about the whole village. It is a small extension to help you build this lighthouse."

"Now, Gerrik, you don't have to do this," the chief protested. "I'm sure you are a busy hain. I would hate to steal your time away from you."

"Nonsense," Gerrik retorted. "Anyone can learn and teach, but it takes someone special to coordinate a project like this. It is my god-given duty to fulfil such projects. If you will accept my help, we can begin planning immediately."

Bard Fiberslayer thought for a moment, then extended out his hand. "Alright, Gerrik Far-Teacher. I accept your aid to build the lighthouse."

Gerrik shook the extended hand. "Excellent. I look forwards to building it."



It began with designs and plans. Using the same medium in which Bard painted scenes of Fibeslay's heritage, Gerrik painted detailed designs for the lighthouse, down to each part which was necessary. Each log, brick, nail, stone and rope was accounted for. These designs were duplicated, and segments of the designs extracted so that they could be passed on to those who would create the individual parts. Without any looming threat to force the work to go faster, the pace of construction would be slow, with a small number of craftshain allocated to fashioning the pieces, and larger groups of labourers occasionally being volunteered for a day's work to fulfil the larger tasks. But Gerrik was unconcerned, for he had time.

The first step was to fell a few trees. Gerrik personally selected trees which had straight trunks and were made of sufficiently strong wood. For ease of transportation, Gerrik found trees as close to the site on Hillisle as possible. Once the trees were felled, they were stripped of branches, cut down to the necessary size, then carried using ropes and many strong hain to the site of the lighthouse.

These logs, of which there were five, would form the pillars which would hold up the beacon. These logs were tall, strong and sturdy, but the challenge was getting them upright. As labourers dug the holes in which the logs would be placed, Gerrik thought over this problem, using sticks and string to help him model it in small scale. He realised that if one log could be placed upright, then the others could be pulled up using ropes over the top of the first. But the toughest log would be the first, as there was no other point nearby which was higher than the log, and this problem baffled him for a while.

Eventually, though, he devised a solution, and put it into action. A wedge-like box was constructed, about as tall as a hain. This box was strongly reinforced with thick wood, for it would take a lot of the weight of the log. One end of the log was guided into the pit made for it, with a trench added to put it at an angle and guide it in. Around the other end was tied several thick ropes, all longer than the log. As three hain held each rope stead, the wedge was force in underneath the log, and more hain with a couple of long wooden poles, with the ends carved to match the log's curvature, helped push the log up. These hain all pushed and pulled, as directed by the keen eyes and authoritative shouts of Gerrik, until after much strain and careful balancing the log was finally upright, and fell a metre further into its pit, securing it in place. The other logs were somewhat easier to set into place, for the prior logs could be used as a pulley to lift the logs from above, rather than push from below. After putting these logs in place, labourers filled in the holes with dirt, to keep the pillars steady.

Gerrik then checked up on the progress of the other components in the village. The ladder, with which hain could ascend to the top of the lighthouse, had been finished a while ago, as it had been needed to get to the top of the standing logs. Of more interest to Gerrik was the wooden platform which would sit atop those logs. Gerrik's plans were very specific, and he wanted to be sure that no shortcuts were being taken. The platform needed to be sturdy, but it was also being constructed in parts, so it could be more easily lifted to the top of the lighthouse and assembled there. Progress was going well, so he moved on.

The final component was the fire pit which would hold the beacon. Wood was obvious an inappropriate material for this, so Gerrik had chosen clay. The clay was being dried into bricks, and these bricks would lay a foundation for the fire pit and also be used to build a roof over the fire pit to protect it from rain. After the base of the fire pit was laid, a continuous layer of wet clay would be pasted over the top, and when that dried it would form a sealed layer, which could allow the fire pit to contain oil. It would be a while before all the bricks were ready, though, for they had to dry.

When the parts of the wooden platform was ready, Gerrik had them taken over to Hillisle. As the parts were being carried over to the lighthouse, Gerrik spotted a particular hain circling the lighthouse and admiring the building.

"Hello Shammik," Gerrik greeted, "It's impressive, is it not?"

Shammik was taken by surprise at Gerrik's arrival, baring his palms to Gerrik. Quickly, though, Shammik regained his composure and tried to act calm. There was silence for a moment, until Shammik reluctantly answered, "I suppose it is."

"This is one reason I seek out and spread knowledge. It is so grand ideas like this one can be brought into reality by the hands of craftshain like us," Gerrik said. "Shall you stay and help us build?"

Shammik's beak flicked to the left then right. "Actually, I have other things that need doing."

Gerrik could tell Shammik was trying to avoid him, so he did not press the matter further. "Fair enough." He then turned to the labourers who had just arrived with the rest of the platform. "Now, first we will want to get these border pieces up to the top," he instructed.

And construction continued.

---

---

The dwarves had begun work immediately, hunting down alcohol as though their life depended on it. Basic brewing had begun, and while it was primitive at best, it provided just enough for excavation of the mountain to begin. They had struck the earth, and began tunneling. Work was proceeding fast, the dwarves at home with whatever tools they could find. Smelters had been set up within weeks, and bronze was being processed into picks.

The bleary-eyed dwarves scurried to and thro, small settlements being set up outside with the materials from the excavation. Though temporary, they proved to be rather high-quality constructions, much better than the dirt huts his subjects had used before. Many dwarves had begun to distinguish themselves, some hauling, others carving and constructing, even more mining, and a precious few specializing in brewing. The sound of hearty songs filled the air as the stout creatures improvised.

Much better than her old subjects and accommodations indeed. The shape of the mountainside entrance was quickly taking form, the natural affinity for the crafts showing. But the workmanship of the dwarves wouldn't be good enough. Lazarus, before her divine days, had learned the secrets of using divine energy. For the dwarves to thrive, they too would need to know. The hordes would only stay still so long, if at all.

For the next few days, she kept an eye out, watching the dwarves as they worked. It would be a tricky subject to select the proper dwarves, on one hand, she would want the most intelligent and capable among them, but on the other hand, if she took all the architects -- the ones that fit the bill the most -- the mountain hall would never be complete. She had to select the right amount from the right sections of the workforce.

Once her selection was complete, she brought them into the massive halls of the World Mountain, the rest of the dwarves having worked quickly to mine and carve them out. She began her teaching, connecting them magically to herself. They would draw upon her might, her divinity, for their powers. Lazarusian Magic had been born.

---

Mesera stumbled onwards. Ever since the Realta had invaded, the tribes in the local area had been devastated. As far as the pair could tell, the Realta were hunting them. An aversion from what the both were used to. They had been forced to flee, Furem receding to hold back the pain from the Tounic Calligraphy, and Mesera continuing onwards in the physical world. The two always had an affinity for working together.

There had been little in the way of food and water in the savannahs, a relatively harsh land of steppes. Despite her natural affinity for healing, Mesera could not heal herself all the way through the journey. At this point, she wandered aimlessly, her only goal the mountains in the distance. Not that it mattered anyways, everything was getting blurrier and blurrier as the body weakened.

While Angels generally stayed in the Valley of Peace, ever since the battle against Grot, a small minority of Angels had decided to explore what lay beyond their home and fly into the surrounding areas. It was one such group that spotted something below. Curious, they descended closer to the ground. While they could not determine what sort of creature it was, even they could tell that it was not faring well. “You down there!” one of them called out. “Do you need some help?”

Mesera looked up into the sky with bleary, masked eyes. Though the mask blocked sight of her eyes, she remained capable of vision. While she tracked the Angels with her dizzying eyes, her mask made it impossible to tell exactly what she was looking at. She briefly consulted with an also exhausted Furem in her mind, before responding. “Any help you could provide would be greatly appreciated!” Her voice was patchy and parched.

The Angels looked at each other, reaching a silent consensus, then descended to the ground to pick Mesera up in their arms. Together, they began making their way to the Valley of Peace. One Angel began using Purity magic, healing Mesera of any wounds she may have received. It would do little for things such as hunger or thirst, but it would certainly keep her alive for the time being.

It was a relatively short trip, thankfully, due to the speed at which the Angels could travel with flight. They brought her into a white wooden hut and brought her various small fruits, as well as a cup of water, in hopes that Mesera would recover.

Neatly stripping the fruits, she fed thin strips through the mouth slit of the mask, which too acted as a full facial cover. The cup of water went down in a similar manner. She sat there for a small while, satisfying her hunger and thirst before speaking. “Thank you,” she said to the Angels, directly after finishing off the last fruit.

The Angels watched as she ate, curious about their new guest. They had never seen someone like her before, and her mannerisms were completely foreign to them. At first they were at a loss for words, merely looking at each other for assistance. Eventually, however, one of them, a pink-haired male, spoke up, “So, who are you? What’s your name?”

“My name is Mesera. I’m a Kitsune of healing and mercy,” she calmly responded, mask still hiding her face. She swept her head about the room, the mask lingering at each Angel before continuing on. “May I ask the same of you?”

Mesera’s answer already raised more questions about her. The Angels definitely had not heard of a “Kitsune” before, but they knew now that they should answer her question first before asking more of their own.

“I am Saniel,” the pink-haired one introduced himself, placing a hand on his chest as he gave a short bow. “These two are my friends, Haziel and Maro,” Saniel continued, gesturing to the two on his left. Haziel, a blue-haired female Angel, and Maro, a blue-haired male Angel with yellow eyes, gave a short bow to Mesera as well. “We are Angels, the children of Mother Niciel. Right now, you are inside the Valley of Peace, the birthplace of the Angels.”

Mesera nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Saniel, Haziel, and Maro. You have very flowing names. In my home, names were usually very, well, gaunt. Guttural,” she responded to them, returning the short bow as a courtesy. “It sounds as though this valley is a rather kind place.”

“It is,” Haziel replied. “Mother Niciel has made sure of that. Causing harm to anyone is not allowed in the Valley of Peace.” Maro took this opportunity to interject. “We’re sorry we can’t get Commander Falas to see you. She’s gone to visit a place called ‘Alefpria’, the home of Lifprasil. I won’t bore you with those details, though. Perhaps we should start at the beginning. What happened to you? You were quite fatigued back there.”

“I had to flee after the metal beings came, they hunted me in particular. I’m not sure why. They killed everything around them, including the tribes I wandered between. Immediately, I didn’t have time to hunt, or to find water. Once I had gotten further out, it was simply too late to do both. I was on open savannah,” came the response, slow and deliberate. She continued to scan the room.

“Metal…. beings?” Saniel asked, confused. “What are they?”

“Whatever they are, I hope they don’t come here,” Haziel said. “We’ve already fought one battle, and I really don’t want to be in another.”

“I don’t know who they are,” responded Mesera, “I just know that they kill everything in their path. Why? I don’t know.”

“That is terrible news. I am sorry about your village.” Maro said, concerned.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” Haziel asked. “You could stay here, if you wish. I don’t think anyone would object.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” came the response.

---

Lazarus stood within in the rapidly carven halls of the citadel of Dundee. She crossed the main hall in a rush, dwarves respectfully ceding passage to her. Soon, she reached a small entryway in the stone wall, a side passage. Entering the shadowy corridor, her divine senses reached out to show her what lay in the black.

It was mostly her packed tools and experiments, everything from her old gem and blueprints to more recent artifacts of arcane function. She would need some of these instruments for what was to come. The dwarves already knew to leave the side passage alone, on threat of death by the psykers she had installed within their ranks. She picked up one tool in particular, a hammer inscribed with a variety of arcane runes.

With a whisper, and a tap on her chest, the magic was set into motion. The passage lit ablaze with divine energy, bringing forth light as it rebounded across the walls. She was forced to hold in her scream as the divinity stored within her began to crack and split.

Lazarus went limp, collapsing on the ground as she felt the unbearable pain of the sensation of being split in every direction, contained in the frail body she had wished for. It would kill her, she knew, if her physical being was any larger, if it were to use up just another ounce of energy. But it was working. Her soul visible in her mind, she could see everything that made her who she was, everything that was so desperately trying to contain itself, but there was something in the divine cluster that differed. Something that pulled away from the rest of her, something independant. This new entity would be the first of something never done before, created from the secret only Lazarus knew. This being would be tied to her by soul forever. It was no longer her, but someone else.

The light faded from the room.

A nameless figure lay in the room, disoriented and barely conscious, too exhausted to move. Lazarus stared at the figure with bleary eyes. She let a minute pass, then said to him, “Hello?”. “Hi,” was the entity’s simple reply. It closed its eye and took a deep breath. “What is this? Who am I? What am I?” It held its hand in front of its face, curiously. Everything in this world was new to him.

“I’m Lazarus, and you’re an extension of me. That’s who and what you are.” responded Lazarus, slowly regaining her breath. She slowly climbed to her feet and wandered over to help the figure up. The figure attempted to sit up, albeit with not much success. “Do I have a name?”

Lazarus paused for a moment, thinking. “Your name is Altair,” she shot back, beady eyes struggling to stay open after the ordeal she had put herself through. “Altair,” he murmured, echoing the sound of his name. “Thank you. What happens now, Lazarus?”

“I’m not sure,” responded Lazarus rather simply, still holding out her hand to help Altair up. The dwarves could be heard working outside the small side chamber. Altair grasped her hand, pulling himself up, trying his best not to fall back down. “You created me, right? What was your purpose?”

“Purpose? I never had a single set purpose, and I never will,” came the response. “You had no reason for creating me? No reason at all?” asked Altair. “Nobody does anything without first having a reason. What was yours? Tell me.” He was already beginning to seem significantly livelier. “In a land of enemies, an ally is invaluable,” she motioned to him, “and you are that ally.”

Altair nodded. “Alright. What should we do next?”

“For now, we rest,” Lazarus said, before returning to the floor. Altair followed suite.

The Angels had been minding their own businesses. Some were lounging around. Some were chatting with others. Some adventurous ones were flying around, taking in sights. All of them were relaxing and having fun in their own way. A good rest was what everyone felt like they needed. Peace and quiet in the Valley of Peace. It seemed like nothing would disturb them.

Suddenly, chaos erupted. A multitude of images and ideas flashed through their minds. Shiny pointy sticks, with the name "swords" accompanying it in their minds". Curved wood with string, firing other pointy sticks; "bows and arrows". The images were more than just weapons, however. There were buildings made out of blocks of stone, and a number of appliances that made it easier to live in them. They appeared much more comfortable than any hut the Angels had made as well. Visions of new food appeared as well. One image of a Hain was shown working a lump of something, turning it into a type of food called "bread".

The visions seemed to last a lifetime, but in reality, only a second had passed. The Angels soon returned to normal, each having their own reactions to what had just happened. Most were confused as to what they had just experienced, while others were already quick to pretend it didn't happen. A few brighter Angels realized what the visions were: knowledge of the outside. There was so much that could be done with this knowledge, and inspiration was striking them. These Angels began to share their ideas, gesturing and pointing to emphasize their points. Not all Angels listened to them, but there were a few who did.

The 4 Archangels were particularly interested, having experienced the same visions as everyone else. Under an unanimous consensus, they began to gather together these fine minds to hear more of these ideas and determine which of them could be applied.

Progress was beginning.

---

"We don't really have the materials for making proper equipment, but we can definitely substitute some and achieve the same results. The Holy Trees make wonderful wood, and with some creative use of our power, we-"

"And the leaves from the Holy Trees, they do so much for other Angels' wounds. They're not as strong as Pure energy, but Pure energy won't always be around to help. I'm thinking-"

"Perhaps we could carve our way in the Nice Mountains, make living spaces there. It would take a lot of work, but the benefits could really outweigh the cons. Of course, we should probably asking for Mother Niciel's permission for that, but-"

Ideas were spewing out from various Angels, and the Archangels were listening and nodding at everything they had to say. Finally, Archangel Michael raised a hand to silence them. "Thank you, everyone, for your contributions. If you would like to make some prototypes for any of your ideas, feel free. We will assist you in any way we can. You are dismissed."

After the Angels flew off, Michael turned to the other Archangels. "What are your opinions?" he asked them.

"Certainly a lot of potential with this new knowledge, but only time will tell which of it can be applied practically," Sarina confessed, a pick-haired Angel with blue eyes and wings.

"The equipment and medicine would go a long way toward future battles. We had been woefully ignorant in our last one, and I do not intend to make the same mistake next time," Sabathiel declared, a yellow-haired Angel with yellow-eyes and wings.

"You act as if we should be expecting another battle," Raphael, a blue-haired Angel with pink eyes and yellow wings, said to Sabathiel. "We should really be looking for ways to prevent them, and by doing so, prevent Angels from dying unnecessarily."

"An idealistic way of thinking," Sabathiel scoffed. "There will come a time for battle, whether we wish to or not. We should at least be prepared for it when that time comes."

"That is enough, you two," Michael said, raising a hand to silence them. "We all have our ideas, and we shall meet again when the time is right. Remember to report to Commander Falas upon her return. Dismissed."

The air was hot, the day was dry, the sun was sighing in the sky, and Yara sat in a small lit room along with two other priestesses and ten children.
‘Yes, and this word?’
‘a-um, aanii…tt. Anit.’
‘No, close, try again.’
‘Aneet.’
‘No, you were closer before.’
‘Anot?’
‘Where are you getting these "ee" and "o" sounds from? Do you see them written there?’
‘Oh, ant?’
Yara nodded in tired approval, ‘yes, good. So, “The great ant”, what’s next?’
‘The great ant eww…aa…zz. The great ant was waall…walleekk-ing. The great ant was wolliking tt-’
‘Wolliking? Are you sure about that?’
‘Uh, wilking?’
‘No…’
‘Polting?’
‘What? Where did you get the-’
‘Mother Yara,’ Malikhet suddenly interrupted, ‘you are wanted in Sister Olakhat’s class. Leave this class to me,’ on hearing her, Yara leaned backwards on the stool and stretched her aching back. Sitting hunched on a little table while trying to get a child to read was going to claim her back, she was certain. That was the price of sowing the seeds of literacy, she guessed. What did it matter if she eventually became an old crone with a spine so disfigured she walked bent double like one of those Sculptors? Or ‘Azmundian Horrors’ as they were better known in Vetros. That was, of course, if this seemingly mortal body of hers did indeed age and did indeed die.
‘Can’t Sister Akanit or Sister Golanaz go instead?' she said, gesturing to the other two priestesses in the room, 'I’ve been sat here so long that I may well have to teach my feet how to walk again,’ but despite her melodramatic response, Sister Malikhet smiled and shook her head.
‘Sister Olakhat insisted that you come and teach the group of older pupils some of the details of the human body which she has not had the chance to study properly.’

‘Ah yes, she never did like all those grizzly details. The dummy always made her queasy, poor thing. Very well Sister Malikhet, I leave…uh, by the Master, my mind has grown so numb that I’ve forgotten the boy’s name. I leave him with you.’
‘I believe that’s Naafeh, Mother,’ Maliket said helpfully, smiling that little knowing smile of hers.
‘Ah, yes, Naafeh. It’ll sink in eventually I’m sure,’ she sighed before getting up and half walking half limping out of the room, holding her back and muttering in pain at the aching and sighing in relief that she could finally move.

Not long after the birth of Chjekaya’s first child – a girl whose face was the gold of Mamoor and whose eyes were as bright as the blessed Ayzof! – Chjekaya had suggested that they dedicate a few hours of every day to teaching children from the temple’s locality how to read and write. Over the past three years the number of pupils had increased and the classes had grown, with those who had come in previous years returning to learn more. And so they had moved them on to more complicated things – rather than just reading and writing, they taught them history, religion and – at the highest levels – about the human body and the basics of medicine. There were currently three waves, one for each year, and each wave had approximately thirty students, with three classes to each wave (for they had deemed classes of ten overseen by three priestesses each as sufficient.)

While the temple was large and the priestesses many, there simply were not a great many parents who were interested in having their children educated. They had in fact received complaints from some families in the area, demanding they stop their antics on the basis that children returning home with their parents were ‘noisy’ and were not doing anything ‘useful’ in the temple. Yara had had relatively little contact with these, and with the parents in general, and so she had not given the matter, and what it indicated about Vetruvian society, much thought before - other than the fact that it made sense for them to object, for of what use was reading and writing for people who ploughed the earth and raised families? It was far more important that whatever children they had be taught at an early age more useful, practical skills rather than reading and writing. And so the number of pupils remained very low, as was, to Yara's mind, really quite natural. But perhaps, had she considered it, she would have had a less idealistic conception of not only Vetruvian society, but the human condition in general, and maybe even the condition of all thinking beings from the lowliest human or hain to the greatest of gods.

'So, Bakintash, one more time, the first raids began during...'
'During the reign of Prophet Primus' successor, Priest-King Sequndus. It was in the latter half, some forty years into his reign, according to the records and the conventional calender. Others date the first raids to the reign of Sequndus' successor, Priest-King Marutkaman, though such reports have been deemed spurious at best.'
'Good, and what was the state of the Horse People in those days, as opposed to the present? Malkiya, stop staring at Bakintash and tell us,' the girl in question sat up in surprise, her previously glazed eyes focusing on Sister Olakhat.
'Uh, sorry...well. Can you repeat the question?'
'Saqeer, what was the question?' Olakhat turned on the youngest of the pupils sitting in the circle.
'The question was: what were the Horse People - better known as the Rukbans or Rukbanians; the inhabitants of Rukbania or Rukbany - back then like, as opposed to what they're like now,' he responded.
'Well,' Malkiya scratched her cheek, her quick mind putting two-and-two together, 'we know that they had learned to ride the horse at that point and were socially more or less as they are today - barbarians living in tents and so on. They were, however, far more politically divided at the time. From what little we know of them at present, we know that they celebrate figures such as Mu'aykala for his effective assaults on Vetruvians - and who appears to be in Vetruvian records also, as the mastermind of one of the more devastating early attacks on Vetruvian villages - and others such as Huntalla, Ma'Erkoz, Dhul'Dhanab and other such tribal chiefs. Their state then differs from the present, where the Horse Peop- uh, Rukbans appear far more united. A great chief - or "Qa'id Adheem" as is his title - called Shaqmar, who is of the relatively small "Azad" tribe, has in the past decade or so managed to unite much of the Horse Pe- Ruban tribes under his leadership. There remain others, most notably the "Ma'Erkoz" tribe which has been amongst the most vicious aggressors against Vetruvian lands and-'
'Good, good, that's enough on that little bit of history. As you know, today we are discussing medicine rather than history, but this gives us a good basis in the beginnings of the study of the human body and medicine here in Vetros. While Prophet Primus taught us much, it was in later years - particularly following the beginning of the raids - that knowledge on this area began to flourish. Who can hazard a guess why? Saqeer?'
'Well, Priestess, from the manuscripts you recommended we look through in the library, it is clear that while the bodies of Vetruvians are to be immediately cremated on death, no such ruling applies to the bodies of the heretic Rukbans. This meant that their bodies were generally experimented on by medicine-men serving in the army. These bodies proved beneficial to our knowledge of the human body, and future experiments on live subjects furthered our learning. However, the coming of the Witch-Priestess has caused a heretofore unprecedented leap forward in medicinal knowledge, though it is currently only the Temple here that is truly making use of her expansion in this field of knowledge, and which is why people from far and wide choose to come here for cures rather than any other Temple.'
'Very good Saqeer, it is clear you have read much on the subject in preparation - however, remember that a simple and concise answer is sometimes better than displaying all that you know, tempting though it may be,' she smiled at the boy who grinned and rubbed his head in embarrassment.
'Sorry Priestess.'
'But as you have clearly done the research, and as the Witch-Priestess has yet to arrive, tell us more about her history,' leaning forward excitedly, Saqeer began.

'The Witch-Priestess rose to prominence in Vetros about-'

'Sister Olakhat, did Mother Yara come here?' a voice suddenly interrupted the boy. Breathing heavily at the door was Sister Keliptria.
'No Sister, we are still waiting on her. Why?'
'There is an urgent case she is needed for. A man has been brought in and is struggling to breathe, we don't know wh-'
'Have you pushed upon his chest as the Witch-Priestess showed us?'
'Yes, and Sister Lilaneem gave him the kiss of life, but nothing is working.'
'I see. I did call for the Witch-Priestess, so she should be here any moment now.'
'Yes, of course. I will wait for her then,' Keliptria looked at the circle of ten pupils and gave an apologetic glance to Olakhat, 'very sorry for disrupting your class, Sister.'
'Not at all, it is clearly a matter of urgency and importance. We will just have to continue this as a history session then. Now, Piraqa, can you list the Priest-Kings we have had since the Prophet Primus?'
'Yes Priestess. We have had Priest-King Sequndus - who is recorded to have lived through one hundred and ten floodings of the Mahd -, Priest-King Marutkaman - who is recorded to have lived through ninety-eight floodings of the Mahd -, Priest-King Marutkaman II - who is recorded to have lived through one hundred and twelve floodings of the Mahd -, and the current Priest-King Akthanos, who has seen the Mahd flood ninety times, seventy times as Priest-King.'

As the class went on, Keliptria waited at the door with growing panic. The moment she spotted Yara, she ran to her and near enough fell apart before the Witch-Priestess, who quickly calmed her down and had the priestess tell her what the issue was. And though there was some distance between the more recently constructed 'school' building, to the right of the Temple's right wing, and the wards on the left wing dedicated to caring for and curing the ill, Yara and Keliptria had soon arrived.

'Mother, we don't know what's wrong with him,' Sister Lilaneem immediately told her, 'he appears to be having difficulties breathing, but he was not drowned or anything of the sort.'
Frowning, Yara placed a hand on his chest and felt for the man's heartbeat. It was erratic, and his inhalations were coming in pained gasps.
'I mean, air has to...' she muttered to herself, 'it's not the nose, that looks fine...throat...hmm. Well, there must be some kind of blockage. That, or his two air-sacks are not functioning. I see no logical reason for the latter, so I suspect it is the former. Bring me those seeds on the fourth shelf, Sister Lilaneem. Quickly.'

As the priestess went to do as Yara bid her, the dormant-goddess prodded the man's chest and massaged his throat area slightly. There did not seem to be any swelling, so the blockage was probably further down. When Lilaneem returned with the phial of seeds, Yara bid them raise his head and turn his nose upwards, so as to pour some seeds in. On so doing, there were a few seconds of calm. The man blinked and sighed, relaxing in their arms.
'Ah, that feels better,' he murmured, and Yara smiled to herself. The man sat up and took a few breaths, feeling his mouth and throat.
'That's good. Rest a while and- my God, he's going blue. That can't be good,' the man was once more gasping, clawing at his throat in pain and frothing at the mouth. His neck had very suddenly and swiftly - before their very eyes - swollen nearly twice the width and length it had been before. The man was clearly in extraordinary pain, and the priestesses were rushing around Yara in confusion - some bringing cups with water and putting them to his swollen lips, others bringing wet pieces of cloth and dabbing at his neck and forehead in an attempt to cool it and ease the swelling and the pain. Others brought him pillows, attempting to get him in a position that would ease his breathing - but nothing seemed to work. And all the while Yara stood there, partially confused and partially thinking on what the issue could be.
'Mother! Do something, work some kind of spell for the Master's sake!' one of the priestesses - Sister Hebatel - was screeching. Panicked and angered by the commotion and noise all around her, Yara turned on the poor priestess in vexation and slapped her across the face.

'Be quiet! Be quiet and leave. Now,' Hebatel looked visibly shocked, and the others around her froze all at once and were aghast. Saying nothing, Hebatel backed away and quickly left the room. With silence all around her - other than the gasping, frothing man - Yara turned back to him and considered Hebatel's words. A spell, she had said. Furrowing her brows in anger, Yara put the thought aside. She would do no such thing, not here in her capacity as a human and a healer. If there came to her those who sought her more fantastical services, that was one thing, but here was a completely different thing. Here she was just Yara, just Mother Yara.
She looked at the others and pursed her lips, and once complete silence had dawned and the man had become utterly still, a little sigh left her mouth.

'I am not a god.'

And with that she left. She contemplated going to her room, but decided to return to the school instead. She was in no state to teach, but she thought having children around her would soothe her somewhat. As it were, she found herself wandering the main courtyard for a good while, and by the time she got to the school the parents were already flooding the place. Most did not recognise her, for she had left the interactions with the parents to others, and so none stopped her or got in her way.

'Sorry, you are a priestess here, right?'
'Huh?' she looked around herself, and a huge man, easily twice her size, was suddenly before her.
'I'm just looking for my son's class. His mum usually gets him, so I don't know where he is,' the man was saying.
'Uh, yes. Of course. Your boy's name?'
'Naafeh.'
'Do you know which wave he's in?'
'Uh, wave? No, no I don't. Though I thought I heard his voice when I was praying in the temple earlier,' Yara nodded absent-mindedly at his words.
'Yes, we sometimes take them in to pray, lets see now. Naafeh...Naafeh,' she looked around herself until she spotted Sister Akanit standing outside the class she had been in earlier, 'come, let us ask Sister Akanit.'
Approaching the priestess, she asked her if they had one Naafeh in the class.
'Ah, yes. Naafeh. I'm not sure. Sister Golanaz, did you see Naafeh?' the other priestess frowned and shook her head slightly.
'I think...he went to pray some time back and didn't come back. Sarik told me he went with his cousin or something of the sort,' watching this display, the father seemed clearly perplexed.
'What do you mean his cousin? Where is the boy? You're telling me he's not here?'
'Oh no no, don't worry. I'm sure he's somewhere around here. Lets go check the prayer hall,' Yara muttered more to herself and began walking off, the father in hot pursuit. Yara suddenly stopped and turned around, 'ah, sorry. The prayer hall is the other way.'
The father frowned deeply and muttered darkly to himself as they retraced their footsteps and made their way into the temple's main building - it was a rather awkward walk, and Yara prayed she would not have to walk it back with him - and into the prayer hall. They looked around for a few moments, but other than the odd worshipper or priestess, there was no Naafeh or cousin to be seen.
'Do you see him?' she asked the father, who groaned and smacked a pillar before turning away and walking quickly back towards the school, Yara following close behind and looking around in case the boy was walking around somewhere.
When they returned to the Sisters Akanit and Golanaz, Naafeh had not appeared there either.
'I'm sure he'll turn up, he can't be anywhere other than here,' Yara muttered monotonously.
'What do you mean "you're sure" he'll turn up? Where is the boy?!' the father was now fuming and looking around himself, anger apparant not only in his voice, but also in his eyes. Then he looked once more at Yara, 'what are you doing standing around looking at me for?! Find the damn boy! What kind of no-good place is this? What rubbish! By the Master, this whole place and all of you are worth less than the dung of one of those horsebeasts! Why'd I listen to that stupid woman and brin- Find the boy, by God!' Yara watched the strange display numbly, not quite believing it or taking it in.

'Uh. Um. Just...calm down and...we'll find him. Wherever he is-'
'Stop talking and go do something!' he roared, pushing her aggressively with a giant hand which immediately floored the Witch-Priestess.
'Hey!' the other two priestesses made to step towards the man and restrain him from further violence, but they were very quickly surrounded by other parents. And Sister Maliket, along with another woman and a little boy, were suddenly beside the fallen Yara.

'What do you mean he was praying?! Where? With the women?!' she heard the father's voice.
'Bro, just calm down. The boy was with his mother and a priestess, he was safe. He was praying. For the Master's sake, calm yourself.'
'Here, here, calm down. Look, Naafeh is here, see?' a female voice.
'You collected him? You didn't even te...'

Their voices slowly faded as the commotion moved further and further away from where Yara lay on the floor. At last, Sister Malikhet bent down and helped her up, along with Golanaz and Akanit.
'That was qui-'
'Just...take me to my room,' Yara murmured flatly, her eyes glassy, her limbs limp, and her head leaning slightly forward and drooping to the right. The three other priestesses looked to one another anxiously, before they half walked and half carried her away. She did not sleep that night, but lay in bed staring blankly at the ceiling. And yes, a part of her cursed her foolish naiveté. How did that strange poem she had read once go, the one she had not truly understood at the time? She lifted herself up and made her way tiredly out of her room and towards the library, where she fell into a seat and looked around her at the shelves. At last seeing the tome she suspected the poem was in, she lifted it from the shelf before falling onto the closest bench. She leafed through the pages, her glazed eyes barely registering the words, until she came to the familiar page - for she had marked it where it read 'burning pyre' (the words had faded and could no longer be read, and so she had replaced it with something that seemed appropriate if not truly correct). And she read:



Perhaps, she thought to herself, she understood it somewhat now. Perhaps she understood it now that she had seen what she had seen today. She knew not why - perhaps she had just become unduly sensitive following the incident with the patient, or perhaps because she had not had any interactions with parents before - but what had occurred had hurt her deeply. It was not so much the fact that he had pushed her - though that did shock her greatly - but rather, the fact that he had been as he had been. She had not realised humans were capable of the very same wickedness she had thought she had escaped when she fled from the life of the gods and took up the life of mortals. She had been a fool. She had not observed them long enough. She turned the page and found there another poem. The ink was worn and nothing could be read but the last part. And it read:



Her eyes widened and she slammed the book shut, before getting unsteadily to her feet and - she did not even return the book to its place on the shelf - rushing back to her room. There, she slumped on to the bed and did not move for a long time.



'Mother, a few people are requesting the Temple settle a case according to the divine law,' Sister Malikhet leaned in and whispered to the Witch-Priestess, who was sitting in the Miracle Room staring blankly at two phials which appeared to have more or less the same substance within them.
'What? Sorry, didn't quite catch tha...' her voice faded and she continued staring at the phials.
'Some people...want you to settle a dispute between them, Witch-Priestess,' Malikhet repeated, frowning slightly at Yara.
'Oh, really? That sounds interesting...'
'Shall I call them in?'
Yara raised her head suddenly.
'What, bring them in? Why?'
'So you can...well, settle the dispute between them,' Malikhet said slowly.
'Oh. Yes. That. Can't you do it?'
Malikhet pursed her lips and shook her head slowly. Sighing, Yara slumped into her seat.
'Fine, bring them in and lets get it done,' bowing ever so slightly in respect, Malikhet turned away and hurried outside to call the ones who had sought the Witch-Priestess' aid. They soon walked in and Yara surveyed them. There was a young woman accompanied by an older man (probably her father), and a young man accompanied by another older man (probably his father).
'Yes, what is it?' Yara asked brusquely.
'You are the Witch-Priestess?' the girl asked.
'No, I'm an Azmundian Horror about to tear your head off. Get on with it,' came Yara's snappy response.
'Uh, yes. Well. Three years ago, this man,' and here the girl pointed at the young man, 'promised to marry me after this next flooding of the Mahd. We decided to go ahead with the Taal-e Aqd and wait to exchange rings and bracelets till this coming flooding. He has now had a change of heart and wishes to undo the contract and go back on all his promises. I am here for justice.'
Yara looked at the young woman for a few seconds, nodding slowly.
'O-ok...' the Witch-Priestess said, 'uh, well. What do you have to say?' she looked towards the young man.
'Witch-Priestess, it has been a long time since we signed the Taal-e Aqd. It can no longer be valid as marriages are usually sealed quickly after the Taal-e Aqd. That is the custom and way of our people. I am not doing anything abnormal or unjust by informing her at this stage that the Taal-e Aqd has become invalid and I am not bound to her in any way. There is no justice for her to seek, no injustice has been done,' Yara raised an eyebrow at his words and looked to the girl. The poor thing seemed on the verge of tears.
'I-I'm glad I'm not marrying so horrible a person. All I want is justice, and for him to get his just punishment for the years of my life and youth I wasted as I waited on the fulfilment of his empty promises.'
Yara rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes.
'Should you not have realised something was amiss when he told you to wait so long?' Yara looked towards the woman accusingly.
'Uh, well. I...I thought the Taal-e Aqd pretty much confirmed everything. I never imagined he would try to invalidate it on the basis of time passing. I never thought that was even possible,' with these words barely out of the young woman's mouth, Yara turned on the man.
'That is true enough. It may be customary to marry quickly after the Taal-e Aqd, but there is nothing customary about invalidating the Taal-e Aqd due to more time than usual passing. It is written quite clearly in all the books of law: the only way to invalidate a Taal-e Aqd is through an explicit dissolution of it by a priest or priestess, and with the consent of both parties,' Yara's cold eyes gored the young man, who visibly seemed to shrink before the blunt dread of her dead gaze.
'It is not written anywhere in the law that one must go ahead with a union against their will, either,' he at last lashed out.
'Of course not,' Yara responded coolly, 'and it is not my intention, nor, I believe, the intention of the accusing party, to bring about a union. You must return to the maiden what you took from her with your false promises,' at this the man frowned.
'I have taken nothing from her - we exchanged no bracelets, she gave me nothing of her wealth and I gave her nothing either.'
Yara turned to the young woman and appraised her for a few moments.
'I...there is no bringing back the time he stole from me,' she muttered miserably, though in the large dark room her mutterings did not go unheard. Yara looked to the man once more.
'And there you have it,' and for a good while all in the room were silent, till realisation dawned and a small laugh escaped the young man's throat.
'Wait? That's it? You want me to give her "time"? If that's even possible, she can have all the time she wants!' the words had hardly left his mouth when a strange stillness came about him. Yara smiled at the young woman.
'Do you want it?' she could not speak - was it fear or awe? - but nodded quietly, 'he has offered you all, but you seek only what he took. I shall take the surplus offered as payment.' And so she wrote upon the parchment, and it was sealed though no word was uttered by contractor or contractee.

No sooner had she put the parchment away, then, before them all, black and white vapour poured from the young man's body and converged above the young woman's head. One year fell like a drop of water upon her head. A second fell upon the same spot, quickly followed by the third. And though there did not appear to be any great change in her outward appearance, she had regained what she had thought forever lost. Such balanced contracts were the stuff to make Reathos dance with joy, and even Vowzra would have to bow his proud head and concede that none crsfted calligraphy so balanced and beautiful as hers. Who could write so that Time, and souls, and Death itself bent around their strokes as though there they had always belonged?

A small empty phial leapt from one of the shelves on the wall, and the rest of the young man's Time poured into it and condensed until it was a thick, translucent grey liquid which bubbled and frothed eerily within the sealed glass. Yara looked at it for a few moments before it floated away and settled itself on the shelf behind her, another acquisition to add to her lengthy list of concoctions and treasures - and this time, behold!- she had seized Time itself!

'Your matter is settled. Justice has been served. The accused party has paid all costs. You may go.'

Yara did not look at the parties as they departed, busying herself once more with staring at the two phials. She neither heard the girl's words of thanks, nor saw the look of horror on one father's face as he looked upon a son who had, within seconds, become twice his age or more. Beware, you loose-tongued ones, of what you speak in the court of the Witch-Priestess!

It had been a fortnight since the night the dark night sky crashed down onto Galbar, when a beam of energy shot up from the plains to the southeast of the Deepwoods. A beam of energy so powerful that the shockwave broke the very earth for miles around. Cracks had formed along the land, crevices, which swallowed animals and plants whole into the endless depths of the planet.

One such crevice had attempted to swallow a humble man from a fledgling village nearby. Phylas, the local full-time explorer, part-time hunter.

Phylas had plans that night, and being swallowed by Galbar was not one of them. He didn't care if the beam of energy was some kind of divine message or one of those crazy metal beings the new town madman screamed about all the time, he had work to do and a family to go back to.

Long, wavy, unkempt and dirty brown hair lay flat against Phylas' back as he hung from the root of a barely secure tree, about five feet from the surface. Below him, an endless pit. Well, maybe not endless, but the fall would surely kill him.

A bird flew by and he felt a weight fall on his right shoulder. The smell hit him a second later.

Phylas liked to think of himself as an optimistic, tolerant kind of man. But he could absolutely not tolerate a bird shitting on him while he was trying very hard to not fall to his death, thank you very much.

With a mighty pull, Phylas hoisted himself up and grabbed the angled trunk of the tree. The tree shook under his weight and threatened to finally fall into the crevice, but Phylas kept calm. There was no point in fretting over such details when the only way up was by climbing the damned thing.

Five minutes and some careful climbing later, Phylas reached the surface and stood on his own feet. He fixed up his furs to keep modest and then started walking. It was already midnight, and he didn't want to upset his wife too much. She was carrying his child, after all.

He didn't notice the Beast stalking him throughout the night.

---

The night air of the city known as Xerxes heavily smelled of Sin. Not a pleasurable scent to Keriss, but one she would have to live with, considering her alliance with Sin itself. The lizard was not meant to be in the city at this time, but she had returned to size up the defenses of the city. The physical ones, anyways.

Her eyes scanned the city, looking at the mortals which were so worried of her going on another rampage. All she truly saw was warriors who would be forced to fight should the time come- until she saw a small human girl sifting through rubble from the fight between Keriss and Sin. "What are you searching for, girl?" the lizard asked, a condescending tone coming to her voice.

The girl turned to see Keriss, a look of terror came across her face before she ran off without answering the demi-god. A sigh came to Keriss. Why were mortals so afraid of her just for destroying their homes and slaughtering people? Totally unreasonable, these people, though it was of no concern to her.

Keriss looked around, taking off to fly towards the protective walls of the city in order to properly study them. Gongs rang in the distance, and her flight left the sound behind along with the rest of the rubble. She did take a liking the walls, finding them well enough to keep out a mortal invasion well enough. Her eyes studied the cracks and stone that made the wall what it was, marvelling at the fact that these would be able to protect a city such as Xerxes- Though she knew that so long as the gods were involved, these walls meant nothing. On the other side of the walls were slums, a portion of the city that still could not compare to the buildings within the walls.

Another sigh, Keriss needed to get her head into the fight, she needed to be able to trick Vestec when she truly did report back to him. The lizard sat on the wall and gazed past the city, to the wilderness, to the moutains. Behind those mountains was the very place Keriss was sent to, the Venomweald. Her eyes gazed up to see the chunk of rock that she was birthed on, where she had met her parents; Vulamera and Vakarlon. Keriss longed to see them again, knowing that Vestec's words were untrue, her parents were alive.

Another wave of sound from the distant curfew gong, as if to clear the smell of destruction. As it faded, another, sharper noise took its place. A violin wail, shrill, predatory.

Keriss' wings crowned her silhouette, an unmistakable target atop the wall. And not so far behind, atop the Cipher Pyramid, a second shadow looked down on her and took its chance. The doggedly patient ophanim leapt into their chase, their shining plumes flashing over Keriss in an instant as they passed high above, selling out stealth for speed. As horses in a chariot, their rider flew on below them.

Pulled on by the full speed of her Bludgeons, Tauga crossed the length of the city in a single, smooth leap, and braced herself against the long haft of her executioner's hammer in the moment before it struck.

THNACK.

The hammerhead smashed into Keriss' shoulder, tossing her from the top of the wall as Tauga reeled and spun in the air, barely keeping her grip on her own weapon, swinging from the ophanim on her unseen reins. That was a bad idea, flickered Tauga's thoughts faintly, but she was already preoccupied with trying to recover from the wipeout. Where'd she go?

Keriss had not been expecting to be attacked in the slightest. Laying on the ground with her back on the dirt, she groaned just a bit before anger filled her being. The demi-god looked around for a few moments, desperately trying to find her attacker. That was when she sensed the one with the warhammer above her. Her eyes grew black as she focused on the mortal.

Tauga would feel that same that Sin did, someone trying to invade her mind, wanting to find what makes her tick. The next thing Tauga would feel would be pain, pain all over her body as if she had just been hit by a rather large object. It showed.

"Fuck!" The peasant language, though muffled by her mask, was clear. The suited figure flicked and strained against the air, dangling, as if trying to maintain her grip on flight.

"Foolish mortal. What makes you think attacking a demi-god would be such a smart idea?" Keriss asked, her tone was very so angered as she caused pain to the mortal.

But all her intrusion could find in the Blowfly's head was echoes and determination. She fell, slowed, convulsed and landed on one knee. Dropped her hammer to clutch at her head, then snatched it back into her hand as the shock faded. Behind the mask, her eyes were closed.Damn it. She wasn't done yet.

Responding to a signal and acting on its own, one of the Bludgeons plummeted from the sky at the end of its cord, plumes and moonlight glinting on the huge iron sphere. Only loosely aimed- Close enough. Falling to crush the monster that so easily yanked at the strings of Tauga's mind.

Keriss crossed her arm, as she watched the mortal who had attacked her. How foolish could mortals truly be?

Then, the moons became blocked out by some unknown object. Keriss looked up with a confused face to see a giant metal ball coming down on her, it was certainly a surprise. Instead of diving out of the way like a normal person would, the lizard actually flew up to meet the falling object. She grasped it with her hands and flapped her wings as much as she could to slow the ball.

Her mind attack on the mortal had to cease for she needed all of her strength to prevent herself from being crushed. When Keriss made contact with the ground, she was supporting the sphere with all her strength. Down on one knee, her muscles straining against the weight of such a disproportionately massive object. Shoving it off to the side, where it shot back into the air, Keriss released a loud huff before looking back at the mortal.

"Why must I do the things I do?" Keriss pondered, talking to herself. If one were to think that Keriss was not in pain; that would be the wrong assumption. Her upper body hurt as a result of doing her little stunt, but it was well worth it.

Still kneeling, Tauga couldn't do much more than wheeze. "You tell me," came the words, finally, fainter than they should have been. Then, on unsteady feet, the hain in the flight suit staggered upright. Stared at the other fighter down the length of the street. She wasn't much more than half the height of Keriss.

"Start with why you're killing my city."

And then, despite everything, in the face of divine wrath, she lifted the hammer and began to run fowards.

As Tauga began running at Keriss, the lizard could only grin maniacally at the foolish mortal. "Perhaps you could explain why the city is filled with sin," Keriss suggested, not moving an inch from her spot.

In the moment that the hain was in range, Keriss spun around, allowing her momentum to carry through her tail in order to knock the mortal aside. Tauga sailed several meters and hit the facade of a house with a heavy smack. Moonlight glanced off the bronze hammer as it fell onto the dirt. The weight of her regrets began to set in somewhere between the pounding heat in her cranium and the crack in her shoulder. This had, indeed, been a bad idea.

Only now, in the bitter clarity of defeat, did Tauga comprehend the full extent of her stupidity. Her thoughts were drifting on a puddle of pain and there was blood between her shell and her suit, and still, somehow, they made more sense than they had for weeks.

"I didn't ask for this." Forcing her arms to bend again, Tauga peeled herself off the wall she was slouched against, mumbling. Not yet exhausted, though even she was bright enough not to push any harder either. "I didn't want it to happen like this. It was meant to be happy. Everything was meant to be fixed when the Énas Amartia came back." She was hardly even talking to Keriss anymore.

”What are you talking about, mortal? What does Sin have to do with this?” Keriss inquired, strolling over to the mortal. Her eyes narrowed up, approaching the Hain, standing over her with an intimidating look about her. The mask lay motionless. Underneath her goggles, Tauga's eyes focused on the towering demigod, and took in, for the first time, the full scope of her primeval warrior's body. She wheezed a few words.

"Who are you?"

"I am Keriss, daughter of the gods Vulamera and Vakarlon; destroyer of Chaos," Keriss answered proudly.

Tauga's hand abruptly fumbled with her mask, grunting, jerking at it in panicked motions until the latches released. Showed a face, blinking, gulping air, much like any other mortal. "It's- The- It's in the name. Sin brought the sin. Two months back it was- Good. When I- Held it- It was fine." She breathed a hoarse rattle, ran her tongue along her beak. Her eyes weren't much less empty than the goggles. "Did you think Xerxes was- Always this way?"

Keriss looked at the details of the slumped hain, focusing on the mortals face. "Indeed. Filled with scum and scum and villiany."

Eyes narrowed. Something invisible brushed Keriss' face.

"You do," said Tauga, voice flat, but not weak. "Then who built- the wall- I just knocked you off? Randy humans and a drunk troll? Some bored- Gluttony cult?" Again, a wheeze, this time almost impatient. "Wrong."

"I have yet to see otherwise. Besides, what does it matter? The only thing that does is the coming war." Keriss growled, grabbing the hain by the throat and lifting her until she was eye level with Keriss. The lizard narrowed her eyes, silently gazing upon the hain.

"It matters," the dangling figure replied, now clearly talking to try and find a way out of the situation, pressing against Keriss' chest with her legs, grappling her arm. Her shock and awe had gone. "It does matter. If the war matters then so does this. I'm not gonna fight for the City just to let it- Rot in anarchy."

A distant whistling sound wavered through the night, immediately stealing Tauga's attention, if only for a second.

Keriss' attention wavered, her eyes darting to the sound of the noise almost as if she had sensed something. "Father," she said, releasing her grip on the hain. Letting the hain fall to the ground, Keriss began to stare in the direction of the noise. She spread her wings, a true smile of happiness coming to her face as she felt Vakarlon's presence growing ever closer.

But the father never came. Even at touching distance, the aura was too faint. A pink creature with a tube tied to its back drifted through the night, swaying merrily.

"Go home, Pumps," warned Tauga awkwardly as she jerked at Keriss' distracted fingers and fell to her knees. The sweetheart didn't let up, and let out another cheerful whistle, waving one of its tendrils towards the towering demigod. Its uncharacteristic disobedience went a long way to easing the tension. Tauga flicked her eyes back up. ...'Father'?

"You know Jaan?" The connection eluded Tauga. The mysterious warrior didn't look... That way.

Confusion wracked Keriss’ face, finding only anger to be slowly building up until her thoughts said one thing. ”Kill the imposter,” eyes turned black, and the sweetheart shrieked, deflated, began to convulse before falling to the ground. ”How dare you mock the essence of Vakarlon! Unholy abomination!”

Tauga turned her back on the raging lizard, taking brisk steps to the dirt on which Pumps was squealing pitifully, wracked by pain and guilt. She picked it up like a cat, making half-hearted hushing sounds. Comfort wasn't something she knew how to give, or likely could. The dying sweetheart was unresponsive, lost in its own personal hell. Truly, it had meant nothing but love.

"He's mine. Won't get anything from killing him." Her eyes caught on the silver tube, the mission she'd procrastinated for so long. "You want this?" Without waiting, Tauga untied the bottle and tossed it lightly at Keriss.

Catching the bottle in her hand, Keriss released the creature from its torment. Her eyes returned to her standard yellow shade as she gazed upon the creature. ”I sense my father in it, Vakarlon. What is this?,” She inquired as her gaze flicked towards the hain. The bottle was strange to her, but she could sense her father and other magics within it.

Despite her situation, Tauga only gave a small shrug as Pumps hugged her neck, still crying. Her respect for Keriss as any more than a childish bully had thinned. "Dunno. Craft material. Got it off the Fae God. Jaan. Yah Vah. Whatever you call him."

Keriss gave Tauga a look of skepticism, not fully believing that this bottle was procured from a god. She looked down at the bottle for a moment before a voice spoke from behind the lizard, a voice familiar to her. ”Keriss, it has been too long.”

The warrior froze, her eyes carrying her to turn and see her father, Vakarlon. Keriss felt tears began to fill her eyes before the curly-haired man began to take steps towards his daughter, a faint halo at his back. All that she could do was stare, disbelief in her eyes, knees weakening at every step. Eventually Keriss fell to her knees, not bothering to hold back her tears any longer for she was too happy. Vakarlon embraced his daughter in a hug, the one true act of kindness that he'd done to her in all her life.

It was how she had remembered, even, maybe, wished for. And nothing more. Vakarlon began to speak, his voice fluent and comforting, his words incomprehensible. The warmth of his touch dissolved in a night breeze, and his arms became weightless. With a smile, and with more words, the heterochromic godhead stepped back, the backdrop of the street highlighting how colourless his once-bright eyes had become. When Keriss blinked, he was gone.

On her palm, grey arksynth had crystallised in rivulets, spilling out from the tube, as if by its own volition. Its surface was splintered into hair-thin hypodermics. Glowing afterimages faded from her vision as the happy thrill of the hallucinogen wore off. The 'synth had served its purpose, and could do no more.

To one side, Tauga cocked her head and stared into the empty air that had so fixated the stranger. Nothing. "You look like you just tweaked on thornapple," she snapped heavily at the crying demigod. All too easy to lose patience with the emotions of others when your own have run dry. Or if stewing in your own blood.

Keriss couldn't do anything except cry, all because of what she saw and what she had felt. ”Father, don't go,” were the only words that could possibly come out of her mouth at this point. Her eyes drifted down to see the tube and its contents, feeling some in her hand as well. ”I thank you for this, mortal. Whatever you did brought my father to me.”

Slowly getting back to her feet, Keriss wiped away her tears with a hand that did not have the strange material on it. She then turned to the mortal, staring at her with eyes not of hate but instead of happiness. ”Tell me, what is your name?”

"Tauga," responded Tauga reflexively. Then, with a pointed jerk of her head, "the Blowfly." That probably meant more, though Keriss didn't seem like she knew her way around Xerxes' hierarchy of power. "Now pass me that hammer," she slipped, then stopped, blinked.

It dawned on Tauga that she was already talking to Keriss as to a peer. Realised shortly after that despite the crack in her bone, she really didn't care; and it probably didn't matter. Something about the hulking warrior's way of seeing the world made her feel like she had seniority. She shrugged. "I got work to do. At least try to get out the way if you're not gonna be useful."

Keriss could only bow to Tauga, folding her wings and holding her arms to either side of her as a sign of respect. ”I am in debt to you, Tauga the Blowfly. I shall aid you in any job you desire, until my debt to you is repaid.” The lizard slowly rose back to her feet after a moment, smile still clear on her face.

Well-honed political opportunism kicked in immediately.

"...You're good at killing things." Tauga turned to Keriss and addressed her clearly, face-on, the way she'd learned. "Stand. There are people who need killing. And sometimes I don't know how. I have a sword I never learned how to use. You'll help me, Keriss."

Pumps was slowly re-inflating in her arms. Tauga pet him once and tossed him lightly into the air, picked up her hammer, held it low, fists clenched on the haft. The air whipped and tensed around her. Hurt, but unbroken. "There are other people, who need to live. You don't know how to spot them, so you break them along with the rest of the trash. I'm not gonna lie to you, Keriss, I've stopped caring enough to try and scrub the blood off my hands. I kill shit. But there are ways to crush a man without even touching him." A moment while she tried to remember the right word. "Dominance. That's it. Killing chaos isn't everything. You have to rule it. I'll help you, Keriss."

"Can we agree?"

”Why, yes we can.”

"My name is Edda. I am a chipper and these are my friends. We mean you no harm.

"We have been travelling for some time now. We counted the days. Sixty-three days at sea.

"Yes, it was horrible. Our friends and family died around us where there was not enough to eat. Others died from sickness, pus-filled wounds, and the like. None of us complained because turning back to Xerxes was worse. We could not go back after the Énas returned.

"Before, when the army of the heavens stormed the city to take the Énas away, the Blowfly began cleaning removing the people who hoarded selfishly and harmed others. With her in control, we were united and orderly. We were building something better together. Though the responsibility to my family meant that I had not travelled for some time, my days as a chipper had granted me wisdom enough to know that Xerxes was headed somewhere great. It was unlike anything the world had seen.

"Of course, the Énas returned before we could reach true prosperity. The Blowfly did not have the power to oppose him, the Énas both being sired by gods and flanked by a new army. We escaped in the dead of night before he could destroy everything.

"It was risky. We got together our closest friends and their families and pooled coins for food. Tokgos, one of the trolls that arrived with us, he owns the cog we sailed in with. He used it for trading before now.

"We sailed away from a scream on the docks, followed by a riot. A goblin servant of Tokgos flew into some kind of rage and tried to kill us on board. The goblin was not the angry type, but he simply screamed and struck at us. We were all terrified that we would be similarly afflicted. Thankfully, we must have escaped in time. The city burned on the horizon that night, but none of us went mad. We had to throw the goblin overboard, the poor soul.

"The next matter was which direction we would go. South was full of territorial Rovaick and the unending stroke of Teknall's hammer. There was no viable land there. East was open ocean. None returned from there seeing anything more than waves. We were to head north, skirting the coast.

"No one followed us. It was peaceful, even optimistic. We sailed and rowed every day for weeks on a prevailing wind to get far enough away from the Énas’ reach. True trouble started when we saw huge pale crystals covering the coast. No one knew what they were, but they had a deathly humour when we neared them. Everyone began coughing up blood. We tried to sail past as fast as we could, but there were only more of the crystals. After a day, we stopped coughing and our bodies began to change.

"We could scratch and peel it off at first, the little grains of sand that were growing on our skin and shells. They kept growing. They…they covered us, transforming us. We would have panicked, but we all became lethargic. We were about to accept our deaths. However, seeing my family succumb, seeing all my friends about to die, I tried to weep, but I could not. Everything built up.

"Without any outlet, I beseeched the gods. I closed my eyes and pleaded. 'Please, gods of Galbar! Teknall, the great mason! Illunabar, the dream matron!' I called out the names of all the gods I knew of to be kind. None answered initially. I became desperate and named the rest. 'Mammon, the demon below! Please help us! Toun, the porcelain creator! Forgive our imperfections and help us find a new life!'

"It was that last prayer that I uttered. That did it. I fainted from the crystals constricting my lungs and had this dream. It was like I was floating in a sun. It was so white and bright. I could feel a godly presence all around me and there was no presence like it. It was Toun himself; the clay devil that created and forsook all hain in the beginning.

"He did not speak my language to me. He instead presented a sequence of symbols that looked roughly like southern Rovaick writing, but...purer. Even only having a passing knowledge of the writing, I knew exactly what it read as.

"'This is my command to my chosen hain. By the ascent to perfection, render onto those cast out servants a new paradise. The promised goal of Yorum; the grand walls on the north-east corner from the moat of Cornerstone shall house countless hain to better themselves. Building these walls shall not be gods, but the hain who ascend to their ambition. Let them be free of the brutes of mal-nature. Let them become greater than the meddling that scarred suffering into this world. You, chosen hain, have been born with an eye for battle and war, an eye for inspiring your fellow hain, an eye for leadership, and an eye for the gods. Around you are tools to see Yorum grow from the ground. Redeem your people and your flaws shall be lifted. Rise up and hold the world with no fear. Your creator demands your purpose fulfilled. This shall be made perfect.'

"I floated, confused at the concepts flung into me. I may have been a chipper with plenty of knowledge about other things, but I wasn’t a war leader. I had little knowledge of battle or leadership, and I was no particular scholar of the gods. I felt as if I was not the chosen one that Toun addressed. I spoke as much to Toun, not seeing myself worthy.

"There was...disdain from the god, only for a moment. Perhaps I had misinterpreted? Or disappointed him? I cannot know. His answer was simple.

"'Go to Yorum. Search. Find. Build.'

"I woke up. I heard the ocean again, I was still on the ship. I looked to my body and found no trace of the crystal. Those around me awoke in turn, just as healthy. Well...most of them. Some lay dead. Free from the crystal, but dead. Too late to save. My last partner and my last child were among them."

She raised a hand, covered in red markings. "Please, it has been long enough for me to grieve. Let me continue.

"We found ourselves on the coast as we were before, but no crystals were visible. We had sailed past them. Far past them. I believe Toun had brought us out of that hell so we could serve his will. A fair trade for the likes of us, I suppose.

"We kept sailing. Our food ran out and the fish and coastal foraging were not enough to sustain us. We had been dying, one by one, mostly from getting sick or needing food. We landed here as this was the first settlement that we spotted. It is bigger than I expected. Not as big as Xerxes, but it appears prosperous here. What is this place?"

A wave broke on the beach to apparently end the chipper woman's recount. The hain warrior in front of her nervously ran one hand over his stone club while the sculptor sitting between them translated.

Most of the warrior's discomfort was from being in the presence of the sculptor; a gaunt, eyeless human woman with stony skin and many grafted arms hanging from her torso. Edda, at least, was glad that she had accompanied them from Xerxes to help translate.

"Caress, that is what you said your name was, Jaanic thing?" The warrior confirmed. "Tell Edda this. This home of ours is named Loralom, and if the giants do not take her friends, they are welcome. Jaanics are not permitted in the town. As well, tell her that Yorum is the name of this entire realm, from the coast to the jungle in the north-east. There are many towns like this. I am afraid there are many, many more hain as well. Your mission will not be easy if you wish to find just one." The warrior shifted in place. "Those markings on your shell. They are the symbols you saw, aren't they?"

The chipper woman was tall enough without her straight posture to sit taller than the warrior, but not the sculptor. She sat cross-legged and straight-backed with her hands on her knees. She offered a nod once Caress had forwarded the warrior's words, though the bright red glyphs that covered her entire shell made the question almost rhetorical. Even seeing a few of them offered a glimpse into the hope and purpose that her previous words had conveyed. To a hain, they were the opposite of a second hatching -- beautiful and comforting.

"They are," Edda answered. "I moulted before we arrived and they were on my new shell. We originally set out to find a new home, to build what Xerxes could have been, I will also find this chosen hain. I believe he or she will be the key to making this all possible." Edda ended her statuesque demeanour with a small shrug. "Besides, surely there are only a few in this land that fit the description given to me."

After Caress translated, the warrior chuckled with a strain, raising his beak. "You have a lot more hope than you are letting on, but you will find little enough hope amongst us." His voice lowered into a grave drone. "You say we look prosperous, bah! The reality is that this is all recent rebuilding. Slow and with reused bricks and columns. Warlords rule these parts, knocking it down where they can. The blinding purge wiped out any small peace that we had. And now? This scorched land is now littered with cracked shells from the fighting."

Another wave broke on the wide, flat beach. An emaciated group behind Edda stood silent. It was made up of three trolls and two goblins, all of which had three red symbols on their hands; five humans; and seven hain, one of whom clutched two eggs closely to her chest. They went from tense to nervous while Caress translated.

Edda cut through without hesitation. "Then we must all do better."

The warrior paused again. His palm slowly turned upwards. "You had best meet our king. You two will like each other, I think."

A Realta descending upon a hain village. Boom. A Realta pursuing a lone Sculptor. Boom. A Realta burning a section of forest. Boom. Two Realta trying to fight a band of Sculptors, Ur'Telem and Fiberlings on the border of an Aclaya forest. Boom. A Realta bombarding a human village. Boom. A Realta approaching a Lensling grove- wait, what was that?

The world became heavy. Not in weight, nor gravity. But Teknall watched as the energy pulse from the god's weapon zipped towards it target, who would have never had time to register its own death let alone see the cause of its destruction. Yet each instant it drew closer, it slowed, and the world around him grew to a halt. The trees no longer rustled in the wind, for there was no wind. Through viscous air the Realta flew and through syrup space the bullet traversed.

And then came the voice.

"Teknall, I have come."

In that instant Logos suddenly was. Interposed in the space between the bullet and the Realta, his wings spread wide to shield his child of fire and metal. His deliberating eyes turned to bore into Teknall's, as he outstretched his open palm towards the bullet in that fragmented moment.

Velocity: negated. Temperature: lowered to that of the air. Opposing Magnetism: Inversed.

Time resumed. The Realta paused in its flight, pulsing with white fire and sparks urgently as it looked upon the two gods. The bullet fell to the earth, drained of its destructive power, now no more harmful than a common river rock.

"You have been busy," the King stated, his gaze never leaving the Inventor. In his hands he held a sliver of darkness; the perfect cylinder of an event horizon contained, Singularity. Even from his distance from Logos, Teknall could feel the pull of his divine core towards that blade.

For a couple of moments Teknall was frozen in place, not from any of Logos' spells, but from his own fear. He knew that his actions were going to attract unwanted attention from Logos, but the God of Physics was so much more intimidating in person. The penetrating gaze, although their eyes couldn't actually meet through his armour, made Teknall feel like a mere insect in comparison. And that sword. Teknall knew good craftsmanship when he saw it, and he knew that Singularity was terrifyingly powerful.

Keep calm, Teknall thought to himself, trying to recover his resolve, and don't let him intimidate me that easily.

"You've been busy too," Teknall stated in reply.

Logos simply bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Small stones, large mountain," he mentioned cryptically as he drew closer to Teknall, who took a step back. "Jvan is a shadow of her former self by my hand. My grievance with her has been settled for this aeon."

Logos tilted his head, almost intrigued by the advanced armor Teknall wore in comparison to his own vulnerability. "Your betrayal though, remains to be settled. Do not assume your actions surprised me. The possibility existed, however slim. An error on my part. I shall not suffer it again." Logos warned gravely. The Realta was flashing rapidly now, saying something in its language of light that apparently only Logos could understand. He nodded, and his eyes narrowed at the weapon Teknall held in his hands. "Did it please you?" the God asked.

Teknall cocked his head, not entirely clear about Logos' question.

"Did it please you to murder my children indiscriminately?"

His children? Teknall thought. Well, this is awkward.

"Not really, no," Teknall replied, which was true, as it was a brutal yet necessary course of action in his mind. "Did it please you to have your children indiscriminatly murder the people of Galbar?"

Logos kept his silent gaze for minute longer, his expression unreadable.

Then, he cast his gaze downwards to the Lensling grove beneath them. The world around the two gods became smoke and heat, the landscape erupting into molten slag as the briefest thought from Order tore open the crust from the mantle. The corrupted life and lands were sent tumbling to be purified by the fire of Galbar itself.

A fiery wind ruffled Logos's feathers as he looked back up at Inventor, his eyes cold.

"You do not understand," Logos assessed at last, his words stinging with a tone of disappointment. "You, who are to blame. You, who failed the Codex. You, who allowed the Cancer to spread through a world you watch over."

Suddenly, Logos was directly infront of Teknall, Singularity to the side. There was no movement, merely the barest of flickers. "You, who permitted Vowzra, your brother, to fall at Jvan's hand," he admonished. "Who are you to judge Me for my retribution?"

Teknall leaned backwards as Logos stood over him, and took a tentative step backwards. Teknall's eyes, his solid metal faceplate notwithstanding, flicked between Logos' face and the black slither that was Singularity. The Mirror Armour shields seemed to thicken slightly.

"If your sole target was Jvan and her creations, that would be understandable," Teknall answered, "But your servants threaten to burn half of Galbar. And the crystal trees you've planted- Jvan only has a very small amount of very localised terrestrial flora, while those crystal forests are far from localised or selective. You fight not just Jvan but the whole planet."

"Better that half burns, than all perish," Logos retorted. "If I were so inclined, this world would be torn asunder by my whim. It would be of little consequence. There are millions more like it. Waiting."

Logos's wings spread wide, suffocating Teknall in an all encompassing coccoon of aetherial feathers. The hellfire beneath the two faded as the world faded in Logos's embrace, solar winds and aurora dancing in the edges of Teknall's vision. The Mirror Armor had been designed to protect against blows, but nothing could block his words.

"I see the fear in your eyes, Brother. You are not a warrior. You do not breathe death as I do. You can only build. In the beginning, I cut light and broke gravity. Now, I bend minds and devour flesh. The mantle of Vowzra has fallen to me, and I have come to purify the world he held dear. I give you a magnificent chance brother; the chance to build a better world out of the ashes of the old."

A hand as dark as the void of space reached out and grabbed Teknall's chin, forcing him to look upwards into Logos's apathetic stare.

"These mortals worship you for what you should be. For what you represent. But the mind of a child and the heart of an infant are within you. Surrender and I will stop this attack.”

Teknall shrunk back within the metal shell of the Mirror Armour at Logos' touch, although the armour moved nowhere, surrounded by Logos' wings. Cornered.

The railgun, which was hugged against Teknall's chest, dissolved into a light shower of golden light; it was of no use to him at the moment. Carefully, Teknall spoke. "You are right that I am a builder, a craftsman. And as a craftsman, I work with the materials and environment that I have to make it better, and I admire the creations of my fellow craftspeople. And this is, I think, where our perspectives differ. You want the World to conform to how you and you alone want it, whereas I see the World as a collaborative project between all the gods. Why else would Fate have brought all of us here, after all?"

Teknall sighed before adding, "I still fail to see why this destruction is necessary; what overwhelming threat the creations of Jvan and the others present."

Logos looked at Teknall for a long moment, before only shaking his head.

"Do not speak to me of Fate. Every step, I have defied him. Mighty is He, but Mightier still is the perseverance of Order. Why then, would he allowed Vulamera to fall? Why then, would Reathos fade? Why then, would Julkofyr cease?"

Teknall shrugged. "I don't know, but this Universe is home to more gods than just you or I."

"They have done little with it. An entire universe, and this is all of the work they have to show for it," Logos caught the Inventor's gaze once more. "This is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that is barely out of its womb. I am old, Teknall. Older than the Universe itself. So try then to imagine how insignificant I find the sentiment that any of us are subject to Fate. This universe was built on the memory of the last from my actions, made possible from the laws that I wove. Jvan is simply an abstraction, a plague, from one of its many possible predecessors. She would seek to tear down the tapestry."

"And yet the tapestry has not fallen. It has been painted upon by all of us to form a richer whole. Perhaps not the exact painting you wanted, but all of us have a share in this Universe. Jvan may not fit the style you want, but so far the Universe is still intact, and I haven't seen how she constitutes an existential threat."

"Then you are blind," Logos chastised, somewhat harshly. "Open your mind."

Teknall hesitated. Was it a trap? But with at least two reports of Jvan being an existential threat, could he afford not to? Teknall breathed deeply, then tentatively lowered his mental guard.

Logos cocked his head to one side slightly, as if genuinely surprised that he had obeyed him. Then, his ghostly eyes glowed slightly, and a tiny white orb zipped forward into Teknall’s mind.

Teknall would have used the word “unimaginable” to describe the pain, but that would have been incorrect: he was experiencing it. Of course it was imaginable. It was not the the screaming, splitting agony of a burn, or the wet, prickling torment of a cut, or the dull, throbbing ache of a broken bone. Rather, it was as if all of these things had been combined and then had their excesses trimmed away. The common element was isolated and distilled into what Logos was forcing him to experience. And the vision he saw, the vision that racked him to the core was the shadow of something-

No.

It was the dream of the reflection of the shadow on a still lake on a starless night. It was a glimpse of something, something horribly unnatural. Something Other than Real.

When the vision faded, Teknall was left trembling, from the pain, from the vision.

“This is but one of her creations. Locked beyond the Walls of Time, barred from this world by the Gates of Sleep. She is the lock and the key to their entry. They would kill Reality itself if given a chance. She created them; you permitted it to exist.”

Teknall was still stunned speachless, his mind reeling. Eventually, though, Teknall managed to regain rational thought, and tried to tie it all together.

"It- it- it-" Teknall stammered, mostly to himself, "it's different. The Blueprint. The Other wasn't dangerous on the Blueprint. Something happened. I- I need a seat." Teknall turned and brushed past Logos' ethereal wings, taking a few unsteady steps across the earth, then sitting down upon a stone stool which rose up from the ground. He leaned his elbow on his knee then held his forehead in his hand, or as best as he could with the Mirror Armour on. "Did Jvan do it? But why? She lives here too, so she needs reality intact. Does it have any connection with her other creations? The ones which live here and don't threaten reality. Just because she can, does it mean she would? But she might. When was the last time I spoke with her? Does it justify destroying the world? She lives here, she creates, there's some Other stuff, but they seem completely different. But she holds the key, holds them back, can let them out. Cause ruin. But can't we all? This is different. Who can harm reality itself? But would she?"

"Cease," came Logos's command. The Lord of Order swept down to his brother, and folded his wings tightly against his back. "The abomination now lies locked within a prison of my own design. But the task left me drained, my power spent. And beyond it, I saw countless others. And the Cancer's spread yet lives." he said, quietly. For the first time, Teknall saw his brother's fingers tighten around the blade he held in his hands, whether out of fear or anger, he knew not. "You shame me for the destruction on one planet. I tell you this; the fate of all worlds is meaningless to her. This universe is her plaything. When the Tapestry unravels, she will slink through the cracks to the next, and to the next. Unless she is stopped here."

Teknall did not meet Logos' gaze as he spoke. The finality of his statements was jarring. After a few moments, Teknall replied softly. "You have given me much to think about." There was a pause, before he slowly stood up and added, "I need to go talk with her. A serious talk. Like rational people."

A familiar giggling seemed to wrap around the two Gods. Multicolored light coalesced into Vestec's form as he lounged on a ball of Chaos energy. "Teknall, Teknall, Teknall. So easily swayed by words, yet so hesitant to take action. Vowzra tried to be reasonable with Jvan, when that failed he tried to be reasonable with you, Kyre, and Yangy. Yangy killed his avatar for it and you all blew him off. Talking is no longer an option with Jvan. Regardless!" Vestec clapped his hands together, looking at Logos. "That's not why I'm here."

He held his arms out wide. "Logos! Brother! It's been too long! I'd go to hug you but I suspect you'll try to stab me. You've pissed quite the number of people off, Logy my boy. Quite a lot of them are not pleased with your Realta at all. Teknall being the quickest to action. I have a proposition-"

In that fragment of Time, Logos has flickered across the distance to Vestec and swung Singularity wide. He watched the god's head seperate from his shoulders and fall to the floor.

Multi colored blood sprayed through the air, Vestec's colors freezing in an instant as his masked head fell to the ground. For a moment, the God of Chaos' body stood swaying in the wind, then it fell to the ground, more blood gushing onto the ground, pooling at Logos' feet as he turned his back on the corpse.

A giggle interrupted the silence.

With almost a sigh, Logos turned around, to face the reformed giggling God.

Vestec's body picked itself up, juggling his head for a moment before plopping it on his shoulders and twisting it into place with a click. "Got it out of your system Logy?" Vestec paused for only a split second, then continued, his colors flashing merrily. "Good. As I was saying, I have a proposition. Rather than you fighting half a dozen Gods and tearing Galbar to shreds in the process, losing all of the Realta you brought, and probably resulting in more Godly death, why don't we settle this in one location, hmmm?"

Vestec brought his hands up, creating a 3D vision of Xerxes. "Bravo on conquering my ungrateful son's mind and making him serve you. He's made an even bigger mess of Xerxes now and has attracted the attention of my other son, Lifprasil. They're going to have a lovely show down in Xerxes and try to kill each other. You know, typical family affairs! I propose that we all settle things there. You bring all your Realta, we bring our chosen, and we all fight to-"

Singularity was brought down, cleanly splitting through the Mad God's skull and through his chest, bisecting the Lord of Chaos. With a twist of his wrist, Logos pulled the blade out of the god's chest and with a flap of his wings took to the air above the remains. An all too familiar scream of Logos's power coursed through the air, a beam of molten light connecting the two. Teknall could see the cold mask of apathy on Logos's face, even though his action burned with emotion.

"Why Vowzra felt the possibility your continued existence was necessary, even I cannot fathom." Logos whispered as he watched the stream of liquid iron turn the remains to ash.

The ash picked itself up, pulsing with different colors, and formed Vestec's body again. Wings of ash formed and brought him floating to the sky, reaching Logos' level. By the time Vestec was at the God of Order's level, he was already reformed fully, Chaos energy wings flapping in mockery of Logos'. Vestec put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot in the air. "Are you quite done? As I was saying-" Singularity was thrust up under Vestec's jaw, sealing his mouth shut, impaling him firmly on the event horizon of existence.

Vestec's mask split open on his forehead, a mouth forming. "AS I WAS SAYING. You bring your Realta, we bring our chosen, and we all fight to decide the actions on Galbar afterwards. Winner is whichever mortal side holds Xerxes at the end of the fight. If Amartia holds Xerxes still, I will join you in your mass and careless purge of Jvanic entities, and you won't have to deal with me continously bothering and distracting you while you're trying to fight the other Gods and purging things. If Lifprasil holds Xerxes, you go home and stop smashing Jvan's things. Wherever that is. Deal?"

To his credit, Logos actually paused his assault. With a gut wrenching splatter of chromatic blood, he withdrew Singularity from Vestec's brain matter. "My children stay out of this. Bring any forces you wish. I will be there. Regardless of your actions, I will benefit."

Vestec held up a finger, wagging it. "Ah, ah, ah. If you want your children to have a chance, you'd better bring them. Otherwise Teknall here, or someone else, will kill them all while you're busy."

Logos turned his gaze now to Teknall and was silent, his wings folded infront of himself almost like a shield. "Why?" he asked, both Gods.

Teknall glanced to both sides before offering an answer. "We live here and don't want our home turned to glass."

"There are nigh infinite worlds in this universe. I can assure of this; I have counted. One planet is not worth risking the Tapestry. You will find and populate another."

"Try telling that to everyone," Teknall replied.

"You place the desires of mortals above those of the divine?"

"He does. I just like playing with them." Vestec shifted his jaw and clicked it into place. "It's nice to have you around Logos. Everyone gets so upset when I play one little game with the Mortals. Poor Grot."

Teknall looked between Logos and Vestec, although it seemed that Logos was ignoring Vestec for the moment. Vestec's words had a grain of truth, but- "I was more referring to the rest of the pantheon, who have similarly invested in this planet."

"They need only obey," Logos assured Teknall. "Were our influence to remain bound to one sphere, the expanse of reality would have been considerably... less." Once again, the ever slight inclination of the head, the examining eyes. "I thought you would understand the notion of prototypes."

"Regardless of the expanse of our abilities, a single planet as detailed as this one is no small investment," Teknall replied, "We would rather it not be reduced to ruins if it can be avoided, and you have not consulted the creators of this prototype, as you say, before deciding it needs to be scrapped. Destroying half the planet is a fairly inefficient way of removing the creations of a single goddess."

"Do not attempt to twist my words," came the warning. "You are as naive as the mortals you so love. You paint upon my canvas, Teknall. If I had so wished it, I would not have needed my children to rend this planet. This solar system. Using them was a mercy."

"The thing is, none of us acknowledge your claim to sole ownership of the Universe," Teknall said. "Sure, you have some seniority, and you designed the underlying physics, but all of us are independent beings. You could destroy Galbar and crush your enemies, but that would be conquest, not a right to ownership. Fundamentally, we disagree."

Logos slowly turned his gaze towards Vestec. "The machine was set into motion in the beginning. Every whim disrupts it. I saw an ally in this one. I was wrong. Everything in this world will fall apart now. The center cannot hold."

"Logy Logy Logy!" Vestec drawled out, walking around the God of Order. "You seem to be under the false impression that you're the strongest being around!" Vestec giggled, nudging Teknall with his elbow as if they had an inside joke. "Let me remind you of two very important people who gave us the power to create this world. Amul and Fate. You remember them, right? Good ole mom and dad? Well. Good ole quiet enforcer, and his...I actually don't know what Fate does. Anyway! The point is! It's not your canvas. It's their's." Vestec pointed up towards the sky.

"If you decide to start wiping out the solar system, because you love overkill, every single one of us would begin asking Amul for help in stopping you. I'm sure you'd be breaking some law, Zephy did and hasn't been seen since. So next time you start dropping words like 'My canvas' and start throwing your regal bearing around as if we can't stop you, remember this; you were created from nothing, same as the rest of us. They can send you back just as easily and get someone new."

Vestec threw his hands wide. "So you have to play our games Logos! Otherwise, Amul will get someone who will.." He tilted his head at the God of Order, a sudden thought striking him. "I need to test something." A flood of pure Chaos energy washed over Logos' form, blasting from Vestec's mask. Screams, howling winds, grunts, giggles, falling rocks, and a multitude of other sounds echoed from the multicolored lights as they spewed out.

Logos was swift in his response, wrapping himself in a cocoon of feathers to pass the storm. The tidal wave of improbability broke like rain against a mountain, and the Herald of Order stood fastly anchored against the corruption. With a flurry of wingbeats, Logos freed himself of the torrent, looking, to Teknall's eyes, perhaps a little more tired, and closed the distance once more between himself at his anthema.

"Call them," Logos stated, as Singularity took Vestec's arms. "Bring them forth. Let another walk the Road. None would dare." The blade found the Mad God's heart and bit deep. "If they wanted, they would have stopped me by now. They would have stopped her."

Vestec slumped dramatically as the blade punched into his heart. He began to slide slowly off the blade, the silence stretching out.

Finally growing bored of the act, Vestec straightened up with a malicious chuckle. "Logos. I'm the other half of your coin. If I wanted to I could change the Road." His arms had regrown, and he pulled himself closer to Logos on the blade. "But I won't. You know why, Brother? Because it'd be boring. You haven't pushed their buttons. You haven't challenged them. Even I'm not foolish enough to do that, and you do not possess Zephyrion's arrogance. Do not try to make yourself seem favored. We're all just play things, dancing for their amusement."

Vestec began to laugh, his shoulder's shaking as he remained stuck on the blade. "Don't you see Logos? It's perfect! I can't harm you. Teknall would have been hurt by that, no offense Teky. But not you. You can't kill me. Teknall nearly died, and you sundered Jvan in half. But your blows didn't keep me dead. We're meant for each other! The perfect balance. Two sides of the same coin. Brothers." He wrapped his arms around Logos. "For eternity."

Vestec lost those arms.

Again.

Followed by his head.

“You dare,” he muttered, and Teknall could hear him only because there were no other sounds in the world. “You dare!” he boomed, once again assuming the resonating voice that came with being a god.

Vestec began to reform, giggling as he did so.

He crossed the distance between the two of them faster than even Vestec could see, then batted him across the continent with a backhand. The madgod felt several of his bones break despite his enchantments as he was thrown across the land to collide with the mountains. He sagged down to land next to shattered stone.

“You dare call me that? You who have no right?”

There was a sickening crunch that sounded all-together too close to Vestec, and a pain shot through his head. Logos’s hand reached out and grabbed his face, thrusting it upward until he was looking directly into his eyes. He felt a trickle of blood run down his neck.

Order had removed the head of Chaos with as much severity as plucking the wings off a fly.

“You have taught even me something today. If this cycle of eternity offers nothing but madness, then I shall savour breaking you.”

Vestec began to laugh. "You can't break me Brother. You can't break those already mad." His reformed foot kicked the Herald of Order up through the mountain, creating a lovely skylight for whoever wanted to move into the newly designed cave, while he himself returned to Teknall's side.

"Shoot me in the shoulder."

"What?" Teknall said, bewildered. The battle between Vestec and Logos had been a terrifying display of power, but also a show of futility. Teknall had been keeping his distance.

"The shoulder. This thing." Vestec tapped his shoulder. "Mortals have it too you know. You designed the Urtelem with them even. I don't know what's so hard to understand about it. You've surely shot Realta in it before!"

Teknall let out a sigh. That wasn't what he had meant, and Vestec knew that too. "If you insist."

Teknall took a step to the side and the railgun rematerialised in his hand. He leveled the railgun at Vestec's shoulder point blank and pulled the trigger.

"OW!" Vestec howled, stumbling backwards, blood spurting from a large hole in his shoulder. "Yep. That's what I thought. Good news for you Teky, I'm your best weapon against Logos and you can still hurt me. Everyone wins! Well. Except for all those Hains that got wiped out before now."

If Vestec is my best weapon against Logos, I'm going to need a better weapon, Teknall thought. "It is of some solace to know that you aren't completely unstoppable," Teknall added aloud, his railgun dematerialising.

"Awww. You thought I was unstoppable! That's touching! I'd hug you but you'd actually kill me if you reacted like Logy did. So, I suppose that's the end of our meeting Teky! See you at Xerxes!" Vestec began to disperse, preparing to teleport away.

"Before you go-" Teknall interjected, Vestec rematerialising, "I have a small question. Why did you smash a mountain into the south pole?"

"Oh." Vestec waved a dismissive hand. "That was the remains of Reathos' body. I smashed it into the ground to make a home for Lazzy's dwarves to live. They won't be of harm or danger to anyone for a century at least. Well. Maybe the Rovaick, but Toun seems to have them ready. Or brainwashed. He does so love to enslave the minds of things." Vestec clapped his hands together. "Anywho! Things to prepare, plots to ensare, and war to declare. See you at Xerxes. Toodles!" With that, Vestec disappeared.

Teknall looked around at the sky after Vestec vanished, checking for any signs of Logos, but there was none. Logos had gone elsewhere, it seemed. Teknall made preparations to depart. Teknall sat down on the stone stool and, finally alone, lowered his Mirror Armour shields and removed his helmet. There was a hiss as air rushed to fill the vacuum inside, and Teknall's countenance was dry and haggard. Part of it was the past day he had spent locked inside his Mirror Armour killing Realta, but he had also been left rattled by this confrontation with Logos. Teknall had got off lucky, he thought. He needed a few moments to reorient himself.

Through the eyes of Goliath, Teknall saw that the Realta were retreating. No longer were they threatening the inhabitants of Galbar. Accordingly, Goliath disengaged from the Realta and left them alone, heading back into orbit.

Despite the Realta no longer being a problem, Teknall still had many things to attend to. Jvan. The Other. Aclaya. Xerxes. Amartia. Lifprasil. A weapon. The Codex. Dwarves. So much to do.

The Mirror Armour dissolved into motes of golden light and Teknall stretched his shoulders. At least his upcoming tasks didn't involve combat and threat of death. Teknall stood up, and then vanished, leaving the scorched and battered terrain.

A relatively remote hain tribe lay within the Venomweald, still actively playing the role of hunter-gatherers. Unfortunate enough for them, they happened upon a sleeping Keriss who sat on her knees. Of course this beast had to be within their territory, now they needed to drive it away. 

Suddenly did they attack the sleeping beast, shouting their war cries and throwing spears to send the beast packing. That was not the case as just as the battle was strating, it ended with all the attacking force crippled and rolling on the ground. Pain had come over them, stricken them to no end. 

"Mortal filth. What makes you all think that I did not sense you? Your stench clogged my nose, your feet were loud" Keriss hissed, getting to her feet. The Demi-God strolled around the mortals, chuckling as they attempted to recover from their pain. So went the normal going of Keriss as she brought only pain and misery to those around her. Her attention changed when she noticed a mortal getting to his feet, confusion following her. 

"I will not let you kill my people, monster!," the hain said, his voice wracked with pain. Against the will of Keriss this hain stood, an admirable feat for a mortal. 

"You show an admirable amount of resolve for a mortal, as you can see my powers tend to bring most to their knees. I must ask, what is your name, mortal?" Keriss inquired, a small, arrogant smile coming to her face.

"What does it matter, monster? Do you not plan to slughter us to appease yourself? If so then you must fight me first," the hain growled, holding up his spear. 

"Do not be overly dramatic. If I had wanted to kill you and your people, I would have already. Needless to say, you are not the one whom I wish destruction." Keriss stated, her smile only growing more arrogant as she listened to the mortal. The blackness in her eyes receeded, allowing the other mortals to recover. "Again, I must ask. What is your name, mortal? Surely, you do not wish for me to refer to you as mortal for th rest of the time I spend in this place, do you?"

"I am Ki'Tral," the hain began, keeping his spear raised as his allies scrambled to their feet. Some refused to raise their weapons once more, instead retreating back into the forest. Ki'Tral refused to move from his spot, "You will leave this territory and never return."

Suddenly, Keriss was upon the hain, his spear's head having been snapped off and a large hand around his neck. The hain surrounding Keriss watched in terror as their comrad was grappled, helpless to truly help out of fear. The lizard could only laugh maliciously before a more serious face come to her. "I shall stay for as long as I wish. I am above you mortals, born of divine blood. I am Keriss, daughter of Vakarlon and Vulemera."

"A- as, you command," Ki'Tal coughed, falling to his feet as Keriss released the hain. 

"Take me to your people. I am in a pleasant mood and wish to spread my good will by blessing your kind with my divine presence," Keriss commanded arrogantly. The hain proceeded to begin melting back into the forest, Keriss following them.  

It was but a few minutes away, the hain had led Keriss to their people, their home. The Demi-God looked over the small settlement ever so, children ran and played while their mothers or older siblings did some tedious tasks of making clothes or other supply. Soon they all stopped as they felt a certain weight on them, heads turned to see the giant being of Keriss who towered over all hain. 

Silence fell over the forest, no soul daring to move. Moments passed before Keriss put her hands behind her back, taking large steps towards the settlement before stopping in front of a mother hain with two cowering children behind her. The two stared uneasily at each other until the beast that was Keriss began chuckling to herself.

"All of you are truly this speechless? I suppose any divine presence, such as myself, is but a mere foreign concept to you. 'Tis no problem for you, but it makes me uneasy that such simple life has not a temple or shrine to at least one of the dieties, not wishing to involve themselves in the affairs of their creators." 

The hain still did not move, the beast and her words were both unnatural and foreign. 

"Speak!" Keriss commanded, snarling at the hain in front of her, scaring the children who now cried behind their mother. 

"Cease your aggression beast! Unnatural creation of this world!" A hain commanded, enamoured in fine looking clothing and baring a magnificent crown of stone. He spoke with dignification, despite having been appalled that this creature dared show itself to his people.

Moving over to the hain with large strides, Keriss bore a face of anger, insulted by which what this mortal dared call her. "Who might you be, mortal? Judging of your design, you are the leader of these poeple, yes?" the giant on inquired, her eyes staring directly into face of the well-enamoured one.

"Indeed, I am Chief Vel'Krux. These are my people and not those of some beast who does not know the way of our people," the one in front of the beast stated, not daring to let the arrogance in his voice faulter. A large hand soon around his throat, slowly choking him.

The warriors raised their spears once more, but remained frozen in their spots. 

"And I am Keriss, born of the gods. Know your place and know it well. I do not take orders from mortals." she growled, releasing the chief who fell to his knees and began coughing violently. Looking around, she saw only the terrified expressions of the hain people. "Continue with your lives, I shall not intervene."

The people slowly began going back to their normal routines, hurrying their actions to attempt to have the time to get away from the beast who dared invade their home. The warriors began melting back into the forest, soon Keriss spoke once more.

"Ki'Tral, you will be staying with me."

"Why?" voice filled with disgust

"I desire to learn the ways of your people. You may see me as a brute, but I am a brute who desires more and more knowledge by the day. Thusly, we will be spending much time together as I wish to know every little detail of your little gathering here." Keriss chuckled, earning a sour look from Kri before he slowly made his way over to the beast. She sat, he sat in front of her.

"You desire knowledge? Well let us start with the history of my people first."

---

Hours past, soon followed by days which turned to weeks, with Keriss being taught the history of this hain tribe and their way of life. She had come to respect it, along with the other members of the tribe. Likewise, the hain had grown accustomed to the presence of Keriss.

Tonight was a special night, a night where the people of the tribe celebrated children turning to adults. Keriss was attending, not to become a full member but instead to watch this process of boys turning to men. She lied thrice over to Kri'Tral, claiming that it was a pointless endevour to attend before she finally told the truth to him. The two had grown close over the weeks, good friends.

The two were currently returning from a small trip to go sight seeing, mainly showing Keriss where important events took place and the likes

"Come Keriss, it is almost time to watch the ceremony." Kri'Tral stated enthusiasticly, moving quickly through the forest. Leagues ahead of his brute of friend who lacked the agility of a hain. 

"If these blasted trees were not in the way then, perhaps, I could keep up with you." Keriss growled, not as enthused as her small friend. It took much willpower to not stop and destroy every last tree which seemed to want to keep her from attending this ceremony. 

The hain warrior could only lightly laugh to himself as he stopped to let the brute catch up. Facing the way to the settlement, he could see the light of the fire and hear the laughter of others.

"Damn you hain for being so nimble," Keriss panted, finally coming up behind her friend. Her figure gigantic when next to him. Looking down, she gave a small smile to the oter warrior. "Shall we?"

"After you," Kri'Tal said, motioning for Keriss to go to see the camp. Eyes still watching the settlement's lights, excitement showing by his facial expression.

Keriss walked forward, a large crowd of hain gathered at the center fire with another group dancing around the fire. Pleasant voices filled the air as others sand their songs, made music with crude yet simplistic in nature. Her head cocked, never before had she actually seen this sight; a sight of pure happiness and people not treating her like an outsider. It was exciting to say the least. 

Kri'Tral followed shortly behind, running ahead of Keriss to join a group of his friends, leaving Keriss to her own devices. 

The Demi-God walked up to the crowd, watching the dancers with no problem of sight as she towered above the crowd. How strange of a sight this was to the warlike creature that was Keriss, perplexed and entranced. 

After what seemed like an eternity of dancing and singing, the crowd came to a sudden stand still. Immediately, all were down on their knees and Keriss followed, albeit slower than the others. The dancers join the crowd, a group of adolescent hain rushing up to replace them. 

Soon, the chief joined the ceremony. 

"My brothers, sisters, obnoxious Demi-gods..." a small ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, "...it has come time for more of our youth to join the ranks of us more grown and experienced. These boys and girls shall join in keeping our community alive, our community pulsing with an everlasting life."

Vel'Krux turned to pick up a large stick off the ground, a staff to the smaller hain. He waved the staff around, chanting some form of encantation as a few other hain prepared bowls with some form of broth. Without warning, Vel'Krux slammed the staff into the ground. Slowly did his gaze come back to those in which were becoming adults. 

"You are now one of us, youngl- no, brothers! Now we partake in the drink to all merriment and to our new brothers and sisters!"

Bowls were passed to around to all, even to Keriss who was not officially member of the community. 

"To our brothers and sisters!" The crowd shouted before they all began drinking the broth in their bowls. 

Keriss looked down at the substance, it was milky and a light shade of green; an awful smell consumed her upon scenting.  A hesitant look came to the Demi-God,  was she going to let some foul smelling brew claim victory over her? Of course not, she raised the bowl to her mouth and began gulping it down. 

Suddenly she blacked out. 

---

Light suddenly filled the eyes of the Demi-god, a yawn came to her as she looked around to discover she was in some sort of hut. She spotted Kri'Tral sitting on the opposite side of the hut, sharpenning a spear. A feeling came to her side, something that felt soft and comfortabe. Her eyes wandered down to discover she was laying on a comfortable mound of soft plants. what was stranger was that something had a presence within it. 

She cleared away some of the mound with her hands to discover an egg within it. Shock came to her face. "What the fuck?" Keriss asked herself, using some language she picked up from Tauga. 

"Oh, you speak. For a moment, I thought you were still in your little trance." Kri'Tral spoke, walking over to Keriss hugging her. 

Keriss gave a dumb founded look before pushing the hain off of her. [color=green]"What do you think you are doing?" She questioned, eyes narrowing. 

"Hmm? Do you not remember the night in which we became one? I know I do not remember it, all I know is that it happened," Kri'Tral answered cryptically, giving Keriss a small smile at her sudden outburst of confusion and anger. He then went on to give the full story, "Afterthat night, you acted strangely, like a trance, where you went about gathering plants and other material which encompasses the egg that you layed immediately after. I was the only one who could get close to you. You acted so visiously towards the others that they considered that they would have to kill you. Hint, they didn't."

"How long was I like that?" Keriss inquired

"At least two days before laying the egg and it has been ten afterwards."

Keriss could not believe what she was hearing, the fact that she had mated with a mortal brought sickness to her. The Demi-God rushed from the tent before spewing bile onto the ground. 

"Father forgive me. This wasn't supposed to happen." Keriss ws ashamed of herself, ashamed that something like this were to happen to her. 

Kri'Tral casually walked after the Demi-God, facial expression unfazed by anything that Keriss had done. "Trust me when I say I did not want this either, Keriss. However, I have come to terms with it."

"I am trying to process this, you dolt. I need time to think, alone." Keriss growled, turning her head towards Kri'Tral. Taking a few moments to return to her full height and looking down upon the hain. 

"I shall let you think, but do it with the egg. I cannot stay for I have to hunt."

"Go." Keriss snarled before walking past him and back to the hut to be with this egg which seemed to belong to hersef, not wishisng to believe it. She inspected the egg, scented it, everything to ensure that this did not belong to someone else and that this were not some joke.

She sat in a meditative postition, closing her eyes to calm herself so that she may think. 

There was no time to think for her, as a subtle sound caught her attention. Opening here eyes, she looked at the origin of the sound, the dreaded egg. A crack appeared on the surface, it moved, it did everything to show that something was hatching.and that being's mother could only look on in disgust. 

The cracks grew and grew until a small peek poke threw, a shrill screech sounded and soon the entire being made it's way out of the egg and into the nest that Keriss had constructed. A being covered in scales, not porceline plates, a beak, not a snout, and beady eyes. 

Keriss' large hand went forward to obtain her child, she inspected it. and narrowed her eyes. She was disgusted to no end, anger began boiling as she looked at the child which only screeched. If she were to care for this child, she would have to forfeit her quest to kill Chaos, an occupation closer to her than any other. However, she would make a new warrior to fight by her side, loyal to the death just as Keriss was towars her parents. 

"Child of mine, you were not meant to be born. If you had been born in another circumstance then perhaps I would care for you. I have a duty to my heritage, an honor that cannot be forfeit." the Demi-God said in a surpressed tone, wishing not to display anger. She put a thumb under its throat, still held in one hand. A small pop soon sounded as Keriss killed the child. "You will bare no burden"

Anger filled the soul of the Demi-God, angered by what she had done and angered she had been forced to take the life of a being of pure innocence. The anger only grew as she looked at the corpse of the child before the air around her seemed to compress. The very air seeming to grow in anger. 

With a mighty roar of anguish the air shot out and destroyed the hut, going around to destroy everything. Earth shattered, trees crumbled and dissolved, hain evaporated. Nothing was safe from the destruction, the settlement in it's entirety had been erased. 

Keriss cared not for the destruction, she was oblivious to it. The child was her focus, the child who should never had come into this world in the first place.

She pitied herself and soon began flying, flying away from it all and trying to forget as much as she possibly could. 

The stars were out, white pinpoints of light against a black backdrop. Two glittering bands stretched across the sky, Auricolor slowly traced out its path among the stars, and the eye-like moons Vigilate and Scitis watched down from above. And Gerrik Far-Teacher was outside, lying in his hammock, looking up at the night sky as he liked to do. The stars were so distant, yet visible all the same. Many analogies had been drawn between the stars and things on Galbar, but all were lacking, so the heavens remained a mystery. And to solve that mystery, to truly understand how the heavens worked and what the stars were, Gerrik felt that would be the epitome of knowledge.

Although Gerrik could only make educated guesses at the functioning of the stars, he was familiar with the ways of the sky. So Gerrik was quick to notice that something was amiss with what had first seemed like a shower of falling stars. Falling stars, which Gerrik had previously observed were not the stars themselves, were mysterious objects, but they normally don't last this long, and they definitely don't change course mid-flight.

As Gerrik realised that one of these objects seemed to be getting closer, and quickly, he rolled out of his hammock, picked up the Eenal Bow and his quiver, and got to his feet. The object approached, wreathed in fire and travelling as fast as one of his arrows, until it came to an abrupt halt over Fibeslay. Only then was Gerrik able to see the thing clearly.

It was angelic in form, that much was obvious. Two arms, two legs, a head with a face, and a pair of wings. Yet this was no creature of flesh and blood like the angels of the Horde. This being was instead made of a substance like shiny stone and burning white fire like the sun. It drifted slowly over the village, eyes scanning for something. Swiftly, Gerrik ran closer, to catch it within range of his Perception. Yet the burning angel found what it was seeking first.

Its gaze locked upon a particular tent. Hidden inside was a young hain girl who was suffering through her second hatching, a temporary residence so other hain would not inadvertently look upon her shell. Discarded outside the tent were dry Needle Fae corpses, a common sight around such tents. And it was these the Realta noticed, and it stretched out its right arm.

Only now was Gerrik close enough to perceive the Realta, and it was with shock that he realised what it was about to do. The outstretched arm, the surge of power in the palm, it was very similar to the angels of the Horde with their magic, and this being seemed much more powerful than those angels. Gerrik pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it on his bow.

Before Gerrik could shoot, a cone of white fire flared from the Realta's hand and engulfed the tent. The heat was unlike anything Gerrik had ever seen before, but what was obscured from normal vision was plain to his Perception. The flames incinerated the tent instantly, then wrapped around the girl. Her porcelain shell charred and her innards boiled, and moments later, unable to scream in pain, she perished.

"No!" Gerrik cried, then fired the arrow at the Realta. The arrow tore through the air, leaving a streak of golden light, and struck the Realta in the lower back with a sharp clang. The impact pushed the Realta back a few metres and halted its immolating, but it still hovered, and it spun around to see where the blow had come from.

It's not dead, Gerrik thought. Granted, the blow had damaged it, and it had what could only be described as a wound where the arrow had struck, but nothing Gerrik had fought thus far could survive a direct hit from the Eenal Bow. The Realta started flying closer and stretched out its arm to Gerrik. But it's angry now.

Gerrik nocked another arrow, but had no time to fire it when a cone of fire was launched directly at him. He pulled up his left arm and the Guardian Shield grew into a large hemispherical dome as large as Gerrik, shielding him from the plasma blast. The fires licked harmlessly against the shield, but scorched and melted the ground on either side of Gerrik. The Realta maintained its barrage for a few seconds, then stopped, assuming its target would be completely vaporised. Yet as soon as the fire had stopped the Guardian Shield shrunk down to a more manageable size and Gerrik, completely unscathed, launched another arrow. The Realta saw the bow being drawn and began to dodge, but failed to anticipate the divinely enhanced speed of the arrow, so was unable to evade completely, getting struck on the left wing.

Yet the Realta was still in fighting shape, so it redoubled its pursuit. More flames came from the Realta's arms, and Gerrik began to flee. He didn't run because he himself was in danger- the Guardian Shield had demonstrated itself to be an adequate defence. Instead he was running because the Realta threatened the rest of Fibeslay, its plasma bursts igniting fires in the village, so Gerrik wanted to lead it away.

Gerrik vaulted onto the roof of a hut, leaped down onto the other side, and ran down the open space between the huts, and as the Realta aimed for another shot Gerrik spun around and quickly fired another arrow. The Realta evaded the arrow, and the golden bolt streaked over Fibeslay and towards the ocean, but that bought Gerrik another precious second to get further from the village. The Realta fired a bolt of plasma at Gerrik, but he deflected it with his shield.

The Realta then flew overhead, easily travelling faster than Gerrik, and landed ahead of him. The Realta reached out and down to grab Gerrik, but Gerrik sidestepped and rolled under its reach before springing back to his feet behind the Realta and resuming his sprint. The Realta fired another cone of plasma, but Gerrik had managed to get beyond the cluster of huts and tents which made up most of Fibeslay.

Gerrik blocked the plasma with his shield and prepared another arrow. As soon as the cone of plasma waned Gerrik nocked the arrow and fired it at the Realta. But the Realta had learned from last time and anticipated the attack, managing to fly up and over the arrow before returning with a continuous wave of white-hot fire. As soon as its right arm tired of throwing fire, it swapped to its left arm, not leaving a gap long enough for Gerrik to shoot an arrow.

Unable to retaliate, Gerrik retreated further under the cover of the Guardian Shield. He needed some cover which wouldn't stop him from using his bow. He also needed to keep moving, because although none of the plasma touched him the air was still made stiflingly hot. Quickly he surveyed his options. A forest was nearby, but it was too far to any trees with trunks thick enough to provide adequate cover. Some of the mud huts were probably fire resistant, but that would mean endangering the village he was trying to save. Then there was the beach, with its water, and he had a plan.

Gerrik quickly changed course, giving him a few moments free from the rain of fire, allowing him to sprint properly. As the fire chased behind him, Gerrik made it to the shore line, hopped across several rocks, then dived head-first into the water. Plasma licked at the surface of the sea, boiling off water, but Gerrik had time to swim further out to where the water was a bit over a metre deep. Gerrik lowered himself back-first onto the sea floor.

Above Gerrik plasma ravaged the water, steam streaming off and water warming, but the sheer bulk of the ocean resisted the extreme heat. The boiling surface sent a deafening roar through the water. His eyes could see nothing beyond the searing white incandescence, but Gerrik didn't need eyes to see by. From his prone position, Gerrik lifted up the Eenal Bow, pointed it towards the Realta, and drew the string. This time Gerrik didn't use an arrow, but instead funneled willpower and energy into the bow, and a bolt of pure golden energy cracked into existence. Gerrik's lungs were burning, his body having expended a lot of energy without being able to breathe, but he held his aim steady. Satisfied with the alignment, Gerrik released the bowstring.

A beam of energy lanced out of the water, through the plasma cone, pierced through the Realta's skull and travelled another twenty metres before fading. The wave of plasma faded immediately, and the Realta fell from the sky, its inner fire dying, and crashed heavily into the ground.

In a burst of water and with a great gasp, Gerrik surfaced from the sea. Breathing heavily to recover spent oxygen, Gerrik swam then waded onto the beach and walked up to inspect the corpse of the Realta more closely.

Beyond the generic hainoid body shape, the Realta's structure was extremely alien in form. No recognisable organs could be identified, or even unrecognisable organs like in some Jvanic creatures. Now that it was dead and its fiery energies dissipated, the Realta was nothing more than a husk. In this regard Gerrik identified it most closely with elementals, who were also creatures of energy, although the physical form of the Realta was notably more physical than that of an elemental, even an earth elemental.

This husk was of especial interest to Gerrik, for it was made of a material he rarely ever saw. It was similar to the alyum nayam bones of the white giants, or the needles of Needle Fae, and he had seen small quantities of other similar materials in the clothes and adornments of Lakshmi. This material had interesting physical properties. It had been strong enough to absorb a lot of the damage of the Eenal Bow, although the Realta's supernatural qualities may have contributed to that. And Gerrik observed the wounds he had inflicted on the Realta, and was fascinated at how it had bent and distorted the material, unlike stone or wood or bone, yet despite being bent it was still hard. With a new material like this, the possibilities were endless, if only he could figure out how to work it and where to get more.

By the time Gerrik had finished inspecting the metal husk and stood up his breathing had returned to normal. He looked over to Fibeslay, and saw that it was in a minor state of disarray. This was no surprise. There was panic resulting from the attack from the heavens. There were people rushing to put out fires. And there were the mournful wails of the parents who had lost their adolescent child when the Realta made its first attack. The only fatality of the Realta's attack.

Gerrik walked back into the village, along the path melted and scorched by the Realta, until he made it to where the girl had been killed. The fire had been so intense that not even ashes remained; everything had been melted down into slag. Yet it was not completely unrecognisable, for the plasma had only sat for a brief time. The Needle Fae needles were still vaguely recognisable, albeit melted beyond all use. The thicker pieces of woodwork were noticeable, although had been reduced to frail charcoal. And the porcelain shell of a young female hain had resisted the heat enough to still be barely identifiable as a hain shell, although it was burnt black, and all the flesh had been vapourised and carbonised.

The parents stood on the outside of the wreckage, sobbing and wailing in grief. Gerrik too lowered his beak and and held a hand to his head. Only one death in the whole village from the attack of a being so powerful was a brilliant outcome by the numbers, but people are more than numbers, such that each death is tragic in and of itself, especially for someone so young.

There was nothing Gerrik could say which would improve the situation for this grieving family, though. As such, he soon moved on to help with the more pragmatic work of repairing what damage the Realta had done.

Huddled together, whispering, a group of craftshain - Shammik at their centre - quickly dissipitated as Gerrik approached. They gave him a few cautious glances, and Shammik - as he turned to clear up the wreckage of one of the homes with a few others - was quite clearly hostile. They were quiet as they worked, and they seemed to actively avoid Gerrik. Darkness dawned and the hain of Fibeslay settled into sombre mourning and shock at what had occurred. Groups gathered and spoke and dissipated, before gathering again elsewhere with others. None slept until the early hours of the morning, and shock and trauma seemed to have, by morning, been joined by paranoia.

'And it is my view, and you disbelieved me before but now a cutting proof has come from on high, that we have strayed and this heretical stranger has brought on us misery and death and, which is worse, the wrath of Stone Chipper,' Shammik was announcing to a large group of craftshain some distance from the village, out of earshot, 'and you have heard what has been said in the night, and you know that even the people, despite their ignorance regarding this matter, have grown suspicious. And sometimes they look at me or Maro oddly, and Maro was even asked, "you people have given up that old cult of yours, haven't you?" and they seem this close,' and here Shammik brought his hands as close together as he could without them touching, 'to driving us out and persecuting us once more! Do you now see what your foolishness has brought us? Do you now see what lack of caution and hastiness has done? I say we must repent sincerely and drive this heretic out, and we must bring down his demonic tower of light - more like darkness! - and pray that Stone Chipper forgive us for straying from his path.'

'Shammik, be reasonable. It cannot be that-'
'By Stone Chipper, hain! Do you yet have doubts regarding that heretical imposter? You still think that he came with truth?'
Feeling the hostility towards what he was implying, Maro quickly back-pedalled.
'No, not at all Shammik. I fully support us having Gerrik leave, but there is no need for tearing down the lighthouse. We built it and worked hard on it, and it is of use to the people,' Maro looked around, 'and it is not our creed that bids us take away what is beneficial once it has been granted.'

There were murmurs of reluctant agreement, 'but as you say Shammik, let us this instant go to Gerrik and bid him depart.'
'No! The heretic must die! A life for a life!' Shammik declared suddenly, but rather than the roar of approval he was expecting, he got something akin to a mewl, 'though I guess eternal banishment from our lands is good too.'

With their position decided, the group marched back to Fibeslay and sought out Gerrik. Finding him, they created a large circle, in the middle of which sat Shammik and Gerrik was invited to sit before him. And the zealous Chipper spoke for long on Gerrik's supposed crimes and the punishment which had come down upon them all due to his evil trick.
'And were the decision mine, I would surely have had you executed!' Shammik at last declared, 'but we faithful Chippers have spoken to one another and are of the view that you should leave and never again return to our lands - and my heart bleeds for the innocent Chippers you will lead astray with your evil! But so has the group decided, and so shall it be. So what say you Gerrik, will you depart with your heresies, or will you force our hand?'

Gerrik sat in intent silence as Shammik spoke his accusations. His head held still as his eyes bored into Shammik, eyes growing ever narrower. Although Gerrik had dealt calmly with Shammik before, his tolerance was now worn thin as Shammik threw his baseless claims and accusations. In bitter irony he, the chosen of Teknall, was being branded a heretic. Yet this time Shammik had fear on his side, and while Gerrik would have grappled with Shammik alone on this matter, be it verbally or physically, popular opinion was against Gerrik.

When Shammik finished his slanderous tirade, Gerrik left a small period of silence before he gave his reply with defiant confidence and authority, his voice cutting clearly through the gathered throng.

"You accuse me of spreading lies. You accuse me of defying the will of Stone Chipper. You accuse me of being a heretic. Yet in truth it is you, Shammik, who have done these things! You have spread lies to these hain, telling them to do the very opposite thing to what Stone Chipper desires of us. I am Stone Chipper's prophet, his apprentice. Here is evidence that my claims are not empty." He gestured to the Eenal Bow slung over his chest and the Guardian Shield strapped to his left arm. "The bow and shield gifted to me by Stone Chipper, made by his own power; you saw the other night that these are not mundane tools. What authority do you have to tell me what the will of Stone Chipper is?"

At this, Shammik and a few others gave the bow and shield suspicious looks. Gerrik glanced around to the gathered crowd. "Last night I saved you, you know that? If it were not for me, that fiend from the stars would have burned all of Fibeslay to the ground and killed every last one of you. Why do you jump to the conclusion that Stone Chipper sent this as some kind of punishment? If this were retribution for my supposed crimes, then why did it not seek me out, or attack the light house? Why did it instead first target a hain girl going through her second hatching? That was not a random attack- I saw it searching. What crime had she done? Stone Chipper is a precise and careful craftshain. If Stone Chipper had wanted to punish me or us specifically, he would have done so. You assumed Stone Chipper sent the star fiend, but did you consider that it may have been another god who did it, for their own reasons?"

Gerrik's gaze snapped back to Shammik. "And yet you want to have me banished. Executed, even, although how you could have possibly achieved that eludes me. You have no authority to do any such thing. Such judgements are the position of the chief alone. You would not supplant Bard Fiberslayer, would you? Perhaps you should follow his example as someone who does not act on paranoia and arrogance."

Gerrik turned his attention back to the crowd. "You remember what started all of this, thirty years ago? There were people in these villages who were arrogant, and would not listen to reason, and they got paranoid, and then they wanted to execute people." He pointed at Shammik. "Has not this hain become just like them? His logic is flawed, his premises false. He arrogantly maintains beliefs which are long outdated. And now he seeks to inspire paranoia and hatred amongst you. If you are indeed faithful Chippers, I implore you to think for yourselves rather than lap up Shammik's rants and accusations."

Gerrik paused for a second as he scanned the crowd. The craftshain looked from one to the other, some guiltily and some defiantly. But out of them all, Maro, who was perhaps the wisest, looked down in dismay. Gerrik could tell from their subtle body language and physiological cues that there were some who supported him, none dared speak against the crowd, who were all following each other, who were following Shammik. Before Shammik could muster a coherent rebuttal, Gerrik stood up.

"But if you so desire, I shall depart. Not because of any alleged crime I have committed, not because you hold the authority to banish me, but because you no longer welcome me here. I do not stay where I am not welcomed, and those who do not welcome me will not receive the blessings of Stone Chipper. The world is moving forwards. Times are changing. The lighthouse is proof of that. Stone Chipper had hoped that Fibeslay would lead the way, be a light to the world, but it seems you would rather stay in darkness."

Gerrik looked around at the crowd one last time. His chest rose and fell visibly, breathing heavily from the exertion of his speech. Finally, Gerrik said, "I shall pack my things and depart. Send word if you ever set aside this foolishness and decide to be Chippers again." With that, Gerrik walked out of the circle and left the craftshain.

Shammik watched as Gerrik departed, and once he was out of earshot the victor stood and looked at the others.
'Let not his devious arguments find a way into your hearts. He has the tongue of a serpent. With his coming came wrath from on high, and with his going will come peace once more. That is the greatest and mightiest evidence of all. So watch, you faithful ones, and I shall also watch with you.'
And though there were some who were still uncomfortable with what had come to pass, they all dissipated and waited on time to confirm the truth of their view or condemn them for their erring ways.

Once Gerrik had bundled all his belongings into a bag, he passed by Bard Fiberslay before departing. Bard was tending to what damage had been done to his village, consoling the villagers. When he saw Gerrik approach, he came to him and said, "I must thank you for your courageous actions in saving our village from the star fiend."

Yet Bard's bright greeting was met by Gerrik's gloom. "Unfortunately, not everyone is so grateful."

Bard was confused for a moment, but he was a savvy chief. He had seen the craftshain gathering, talking quietly, conspiring, although about what he had not heard. "Is it the craftshain?"

Gerrik nodded, then said, "I think you have a right to know..." Gerrik went on to explain all that had unfolded to Bard, regarding Shammik, the accusations and the attempted banishment. Gerrik concluded, "That is why I am leaving this place. My work is impossible in such a hostile environment."

"Ah..." Bard replied, and was silent for a few moments. "I apologise that things have turned out this way. It is with great sadness that I see you leave. But at the same time, I agree that it is indeed wisest for you to depart, given the circumstances. Most hain aren't as aware of the divine as you or I; their awareness is limited to what is around them."

Gerrik nodded sagely in reply. Then Bard continued by asking, "Do you know why the star fiend came and attacked, though?"

"I know for sure that it was not Teknall or Stone Chipper. It was merely a coincidence that I was here when it attacked. But-" Gerrik was cut off by a voice which only Gerrik could hear. A second later, he continued. "The star fiends were sent by another god, a distant god unknown to the people of this world. It was not just Fibeslay that was attacked. The star fiends attacked almost everywhere. You should hear of these other attacks soon enough. The threat has passed, though, so there should be no more attacks."

"Thank you once more for all you have done," Bard said.

"Before I leave, I have a few things to request," Gerrik said, "You should be able to finish the lighthouse with the plans I have left. There isn't too much remaining. And also," Gerrik looked over the village remosefully, then continued softly, "make sure they don't demonise me. You control, to a degree, the legends and stories that circulate around here. I, or a successor of me, should be able to return here a generation or two later and not be driven out for the lies spread today."

"I'll try, but Shammik..." Bard replied.

"Do what you can. I don't ask you to turn Shammik- he is beyond reason anyway. But Shammik won't live forever, and as long as this animosity does not become ingrained then it should fade after he is gone," Gerrik said, "It's not a small task, I know. Do what you are able. Fibeslay will benefit in the long term for it."

Bard nodded.

Gerrik said, "I had better get going while it is still early. Farewell, Bard Fiberslayer."

"Farewell, Gerrik Far-Teacher."

And Gerrik walked from the village of Fibeslay, leaving it behind and heading southwards.

Palpable fear gripped the population of Conata's home since the realta attack. The fat fingers of an unseen corpulent titan pressed on the backs of every single person until they shook and broke down in public with no immediate reason. No one judged those who wept, for they were never much further from weeping themselves. Everyone had lost someone dear. Everyone had been injured.

All that most could do was rebuild what lives they had left. Those that had not developed a phobia for the outdoors were safe under the protection of Majus, at least.

Conata was a lucky one. Only friends of hers had died. At least she had loved ones left, unlike the militia instructor she was drilling with.

"RRAH!" Clack! Conata's oversized wooden practice club clashed against the staff of the troll opposite her. She immediately wheeled around her iron-skinned arms, hefting the club as if it were hollow with her unnatural strength. Wvvv! "HAH!" Clack! The second blow was checked just as easily.

"Keep going. Use your knees to boost the swing, forgefingers."

More shouts and splinters echoed across the slopes of their mountain home. Little green sprouts were already poking out of the blackened ground around them, but their footfalls crushed them back in.

This militia troll was one of the few survivors of the initial attack amongst the clan's warriors. He was at the right time and in the right place to avoid immolation. His brothers were not.

Conata bared her teeth and went in for one last overarm strike. "GNAH!" This time, the troll instructor took the blow directly in the centre of his staff in front of himself. He even had to take a pace back against the blow.

"Enough!" The troll bellowed. His tone calmed as he held his staff in one hand. "Let us move on to something else. Practice your technique in your own time. You are doing well, but you still have to set the memory in your head."

"Why do I have to train with wood anyway, Krex?" Conata said with annoyance, even if her iron complexion was turning to copper again. "I can hit harder and truer with metal. I don't have to grip so hard with my hands if I can just control it. Can't I at least have a copper band or two on this thing?" Conata held forward her club as if it were defective.

Krex turned on his heel to walk towards the straw scarecrows they used for target practice. "A few reasons, forgefingers," he said, beckoning Conata to follow. "With all the refugees streaming in for Majus' protection from the realta, we'll need more people who really know how to fight so they teach others. Every one of them is taking Sularn's oath, but we both know that alone cannot protect them."

The next reason was given with more sincerity. "Secondly, you might kill me or someone nearby if you swing around metal in melee. I've seen what you can do, forgefingers, and take no offence when I say that I do not trust your restraint just yet."

Krex stopped and turned around when they reached the targets. "Most importantly..." He pointed to Conata with a finger the width of her arm. "I've seen how you move when you control the metal. You control the big blows with your body movements. If you learn how to handle a wooden club with the best technique, your technique with metal will be more than just slogging around without defences. You will be a warrior, not a brawler. Understand?"

Conata lowered her brow and sighed towards the targets. "I understand."

"You don't want to go back to cauterising wounds again, do you?"

"I understand!" Conata crossed her arms and went fully iron again.

"See that you continue to." Krex scooped out a handful of bronze ingots from a nearby sack and held them out. They were each about the size of Conata's palm. "After all, you were the one who talked me into teaching you how to fight. If you want to beat one of those...realta things, do not treat this instruction like some distraction to take your mind off your friends."

Conata pursed her lips and the air above her tied-back wire hair began to distort with heat. "It's not just that," she mumbled. She extended one hand and the bronze ingots floated towards her. Conata faced the targets and whirled her arm around her head, sending the ingots into a steady orbit around her. Stepping side-on to the targets, she extended her left arm, using two extended fingers to aim. Her right arm, still marked red with her Sularn's oath, was near her chest, her cupped palm facing her first straw victim.

"You heard the news from the runner. Your azibo friends will be back once they have finished helping the hain village rebuild. Now is the time to focus."

"I am focussed," Conata complained through her teeth. With a sudden movement, her upper body turned as her aiming hand pulled back and her cupped right hand jabbed forward. One of the ingots orbiting her body flew out in the shape of a sphere and struck one scarecrow directly in the chest, causing its limbs and head to fly forward in a reaction to its exploding straw innards. The scarecrow fell and thudded against the ground.

"Are you?" Krex opened one hand out to his side and caught the ingot as it floated back into his hand. He did not even need to look, their routine was so set. "I can see the heat wave off your body, that means you are still angry. You cannot fight if you are angry."

The comment made Conata's iron hair begin to glow a dull orange. "I'm fine!" Her body turned again, but this time Conata extended one curled finger with her hand rather than a cupped palm. This time, the ingot pulled into the shape of a spike as it flew. The next scarecrow did not fall over. It simply shuddered and began shining daylight through a clean new hole through its neck.

Krex curled his large fingers around the next ingot as it returned. "If something is on your mind, you had better sort it out as soon as you can. Do not let it stew."

Conata took a deep breath to try and concentrate. The next attack was something she had been having trouble with. She turned her aiming fingers towards the next scarecrow and jabbed out a flat hand, palm turned up. The next ingot flattened into a sharp disc as it flew.

Ping!

The disc ricocheted off the side of the scarecrow and fluttered into a tumble behind it. "Misaligned your cut," Krex declared.

Conata slumped her shoulders and arms with a frustrated groan. All the ingots still orbiting her thumped onto the dirt at her feet.

"You need to better stabilise that blade, Conata."

"I know!" Conata stomped her foot and leant into her shout with more of her extremities glowing orange. "You've told me before! You don't have to rub my face in it!"

Krex was unflinching, but he could feel the heat now. After a pause sizing up Conata's iron anger, he frowned and spoke in less of a bark. "You are bothered more than usual today. You cannot improve while so distracted, so let's pack up." Krex placed the ingots he held back into the sack. "Conata, I suggest you try to get some help with what is on your mind."

---

Conata laid awake that night, staring in copper at the stone ceiling with her red eyes. Martial instruction had been helping her to cope with all the horrible memories of the past couple of weeks, but it was something else that bothered her. Something she had been trying to put off.

Damn that mean bastard Krex. There was nothing you could hide from him. He had a way of bringing Conata's worries to the forefront without even touching on them directly. Now it was stuck in her head.

"Demigoddess..."

The word was so foreign her mouth. Conata had never thought of herself as anything but a misfit with some talent with metal. 'Demigoddess' seemed like blowing that way out of proportion.

She turned onto her side and pulled up the woollen blanket to her shoulder. "Nah, demigods are powerful. They don't just fling metal around," she grumbled.

It didn't help that Majus said that her father had apparently driven off the realta as well. When she asked Choukkud out of vain interest, he provided very believable denial. Choukkud had not a single burn on him, not to mention that Conata had heard and smelled what happened to other tedar out there...

She halted her trail of thought, but it was too late. Her heart was pounding. Her skin turned into pitted magnesium and she scrunched her eyes shut. She felt sick again.

She breathed.

Her heart wouldn't slow down.

"No."

She was determined not to shudder and cry herself to sleep again tonight.

Conata threw off her blanket and sat up over the side of her bed. She breathed in again through her nose and let an even breath out. She was looking down and saw her thick nightgown, but the woven pattern didn't solve her anxiety any more than the back of her eyelids did.

She had to get her mind off of it. Majus' words kept on coming up instead.

Conata pulled a mocking sturgeon face. "Conata," she said in an annoyed impression of Krex. "I suggest you get some try to get some help with what's on your mind." She frowned and lifted her upper lip in disdain. She hissed out frustrated words in response. "Where on Galbar am I meant to get that, huh? Sularn's too busy all the time and the only thing closest to a god around here is..."

Her face relaxed and her skin turned to bronze. Conata tilted her head sideways and stared at the floor. She blinked and looked to the side.

It was worth a shot.

---

The number of times Conata did late night forging meant that her parents had given up trying to stop her sneaking out. Tonight was no exception, though her destination was somewhere with more altitude.

Others would have been easily tired by climbing up the snowy mountain outside their home in nothing but a nightgown and a thick bronze belt. Conata was never much interested in mountain climbing compared to other things, perhaps because it seemed too easy for her.

The cold was biting, but the biggest risk was slipping or getting buried in snow. That was what the belt was for. Conata could melt or drill through any amount of snow and make pitons for herself with a flick of her fingers. If an avalanche came down, well, she could use the metal to fling herself over it and out of the way. She had never tried before, but that didn't stop her little sojourn any more than the other hazards.

The light of the brighter moons made the giant armoured figure with the pole hammer easy to see at the top of the mountain. Despite being surrounded by snow, Majus stood out like it was built to stand out.

Conata's blue silhouette struggled up the final ledge until she was finally on the same plane as Majus. She might have struggled to breathe had she not been raised in the mountains. She looked around at what little area there was to share with the avatar and settled for the jutting rock next to where he stood. Clearing off the snow was easy with the belt. She took a seat on the dark rock after the metal wrapped around her again.

Majus had not taken any notice of Conata. Conata looked up to it unsurely, holding both hands on her seat and waving her legs over the precipice.

"Um. Majus? Servant of Toun, correct?" Conata asked. "Can you hear me?"

The statuesque appearance of Majus ceased as its helmet bowed forward and turned to face Conata next to it. A drift of snow slid off the top and tumbled down the mountain slope below.

There was a silence. Conata suspected that Majus was contemplating.

"Demigoddess." Its deep, booming voice said it again. It didn't feel any less confusing for Conata. "I heard you when you began climbing up this mountain. I have been hearing you without interruption since then."

Conata wasn't sure whether to feel guilty for annoying the avatar or just patronised. "Okay. Good. That's good." She glanced down and back up to Majus again, remembering why she came in the first place. "I was wondering about something. A few things, actually. What you said when we met the first time."

Majus loomed without shifting a muscle. He waited.

"Uh, would you like to sit down?" Conata awkwardly extended a hand. "My name's Conata."

Majus slowly rotated its bowed head to look at the ledge it stood upon. "What is the purpose of sitting down in this instance?"

Conata wondered whether this was a good idea. "Well, you don't have to. It just might be easier to talk to you."

"Are you having trouble hearing my voice?"

"No! No, you're loud enough. The whole clan can hear you, probably." Conata waved both hands down and shook her head. "Don't worry about it."

Majus' head turned to Conata's awkward head movement, angled up at him as it was. "It is possible that you would be inflicted with a sore neck. I understand now."

"Er, no, it's...ugh."

Majus had already knelt and repositioned itself into a similar seating position to Conata. Conata placed her forehead into her raised hand and closed her eyes until the giant was done with its awkward movements.

"Is this satisfactory?"

Conata shifted her hand over to look at Majus with one eye. It was so tall that she still had to look up, but its head wasn't as high now. "It'll do."

Now that the first pointless debacle had been sorted, Conata moved her palm across to the side of her neck and formulated her questions properly. "Majus, what makes you think I'm a demigoddess?"

Majus kept its featureless face in Conata's direction. "You have divine power in you. It is obvious to any who can see it."

"What do you mean? I don't have any divine power."

"You are incorrect. Metal obeys your whims. Ascending to this ledge has left you with enough energy to perform the same act ten times over. No mortal holds such power innately."

Conata looked ahead. There were many powerful people in the clan. She had thought that she might have been talented or something, but nothing on the level of gods. Perhaps she was the level of gods and this was as high as it went. She didn't feel like she could create worlds, though.

"You have more questions. Speak."

"Hm?" Conata looked to Majus with surprise. The next question had only just come up in her mind. "Um...if I have divine power, then how do I...you know, do godly things?"

Majus looked on silently. His voice came through after much contemplation. "It may be dangerous to do so here. You are inexperienced."

Conata exhaled through narrow lips with frustration and leant forward with her cheeks on her hands. "Can you at least tell me who my parents are?"

"Your guardians are male and female tedars. Their given names I overheard to be Wutni and-"

"Not those, you idiot!" Conata shot wide eyes at Majus. She thought he was acting real thick for a servant of the gods. "My godparents...my parents who are gods. If I'm meant to be a demigoddess like you say, that means my parents are gods, right?"

More contemplation passed. "If you do not know, there is a reason. I cannot tell you, for endangering that reason."

Conata took up the challenge. She leant towards Majus and prodded his porcelain arm with a finger. "But you told me he was driving off the realta, didn't you? It wasn't Chokkoud, I know that, so that means you gave me a hint. That runs against what you claim wouldn't it? Endangering the reason, as you say?"

Majus looked ahead with his bowed helmet. It went back to Conata after a second. "I cannot tell you the identity of your-"

"Aw! Come on!" Conata threw up a hand and kicked forward, leaning back onto one hand. Another possible thought came to mind and this time she beat Majus to asking. "Is it Toun?"

"No."

"Is it...the life deer? The one the hain talk about sometimes?"

Majus caught on. "I cannot tell you anything further."

Conata turned to shining iron, bowed her head, and held it up again. "Can you even prove that I am a goddess?" She counted off her fingers in front of Majus. "You cannot tell me who my parents are, you cannot tell me how to use my godly powers. I bet you are making it up to trick me!"

"You are incorrect."

"Am I? Or are you trying to be wily? You've got something dastardly planned! You want me to do something stupid, like try to fly or something."

"You are incorrect."

Conata turned her head slightly and held her arm verticle with a finger extended towards Majus. "Well if I am a demigoddess, wouldn't you get in trouble if I do something stupid because you mislead me? You seemed pretty concerned when you found me and you obviously don't want to anger my parents with that 'reason' you mentioned."

"You are correct."

Conata stood up with a grin and put her fists on her hips. Now she was getting somewhere. She leant forward slightly to get to Majus' seated eye level. "Then you had better make sure I don't do anything stupid. You had better prove that I am a demigoddess and teach me how to use my power so I don't do anything stupid, right?"

Nothing on Majus' face hinted at anger, confusion, or anything that would have explained its next actions. First, its hand twitched to life. With a precise, gliding movement, Majus' arm extended and its fingers wrapped around Conata's waist.

Conata's grin disappeared. "What do you think you're doing?"

Majus stood up to its feet, lifting Conata with it. Conata's feet dangled and kicked helplessly as she tried to pry Majus' porcelain grip off her. She looked up to Majus and began to pit with magnesium.

Majus lifted Conata up to its eye level. "You are correct."

As if being pressed by the same fat fingers of the corpulent titan of fear, but from below, Majus and Conata launched up into the sky. Conata screamed out in fright, her nightgown fraying at the speed of the air roaring past them. Majus' featureless face did not break eye contact as they ascended.

She screamed on but they continued upwards. It didn't seem real.

They slowed to a stop at twice the height of the mountain to the sea. Conata couldn't feel the pull of the ground below but she could see further than she had ever before. Or had she? It seemed oddly familiar.

Between her panic and the deja vu, she hardly noticed Majus' hand opening. It was the wind roaring the other way that made her start screaming again.

She tumbled back down to Galbar at terminal velocity. Nothing was firm around her except the belief that she had made a poor choice of goading the servant of a god. How had Majus even flown like that? It didn't fly to get here. Conata had not seen it fly. It just had this energy around it. Conata could feel it before. It was just like a memory in the back of her head.

She was sure she could do that as well.

If only she could just...

Conata stopped screaming and tumbling. She slowly turned in place to face the approaching ground head first and took on a wide-eyed determination.

She willed herself to turn her fall horizontal. Her body carefully levelled and she shot along at the same speed.

She was flying!

She kept turning upwards.

The magnesium was replaced with bright polished bronze and screams of crazed laughter.

She was flying! It was easy!

It was exhilarating, freezing, and oddly familiar at the same time. If she had all night, she might have flown around the entire world. However, she did not want to get lost. She opted to try and find Majus again.

Conata eventually found the peak of Majus' vigil and saw the porcelain warrior standing just as it was before. That was when she noticed an important detail.

She didn't know how to stop.

She gasped and threw her arms over her face right before colliding with Majus. Majus turned its head to Conata in an instant and the whole world spun and wrenched around.

Conata was still. She lowered her arms and carefully opened her eyes to find herself face-to-face with an upside-down Majus. The giant was holding her by the feet in front of itself. Her bronze belt was the only thing keeping her tattered nightgown from falling over her face.

"Alas, my actions may bring retribution after all. I defer any further education on godly powers to other entities. It shall be up to you to fulfil part of your oath and improve what you have learned so far."

Conata was out of breath. "Wow...I...that was godly, wasn't it?"

"You are correct."

Conata flinched. Thankfully, Majus had no further lessons. She spoke between breaths again. "Um...where could I find these...um...'other entities'? Maybe they might know who my parents are?"

"In the land of Alefpria is an emperor named Lifprasil. He is a demigod, the same as you. He is unlikely to lead you astray if he is willing to tell you."

Another demigod! Conata would have been more excited had she still not been calming herself from flying. "Alefpria. Lifprasil. Weird names. Got it." Conata flashed a wide grin. "Thanks, Majus! Can I fly some more, or are you going to hold me upside-down until I get dizzy?"

"It is time you returned to your bed, Conata."

A very different and unfamiliar energy surged from Majus. It spread straight to Conata's eyes and she had trouble keeping them open. The upside-down world went black.

---

"Conata! It's time for breakfast! Don't sleep in or you will miss out again."

Wutni's voice made Conata shift on her bedding. She felt cold without her blanket on. She reached for it. Why was it all the way over there?

"Wait," Conata whispered. Her eyes shot open.

She looked down at her tattered and filthy nightgown. That's when she noticed the white scrapes across the floor of her bedroom.

Everything from the night before came flooding back. Lifprasil, where had she heard that before? Should she go? She held a hand to her head, it was so overwhelming.

"Conata!"

Her head shot to the entrance. "Coming mother!"

Conata's immediate thoughts went to how she would explain her nightgown. She decided to try and find a place to bury it later.

Then she could find where she fit. Where she came from. How to beat the realta. Who her parents were. Everything.

What's an emperor?

There were the shouts of hain, the clacking of spears against the ground, and the rustling of arrows in their quivers. Today was the day when these hain would stand united to defend their homeland against the threat of the horde. They had been training and arming themselves for a month, gaining from the peerless combat skills of Wind Striker and industriously crafting armaments under the guidance of Gerrik Far-Teacher. And now the horde advanced, and would be upon them very soon.

Gerrik walked along the defences, shouting orders to the warrior hain which assembled themselves. As the hain coordinated themselves, Gerrik made his way up to Wind Striker.

"Is there anything more that needs to be prepared, Wind Striker?" Gerrik asked.

Wind Striker stared out into the wooded marshlands for a few moments before responding. "No, everything is in order. Get yourself ready, Gerrik, for they will arrive in a few minutes."

Gerrik nodded and left for his own post. He lifted his bow from over his shoulders and held it in his left hand. With his right hand he counted the arrows in the quiver by his waist, despite the fact that he already knew the exact quantity. This task being inadequate, he used his Perception to count every arrow in the village. This task was finished in moments, and there was no point in counting them again, so Gerrik's only stimulus was to watch the horizon and the forest for any sign of the horde.

It was only a few minutes, and Gerrik was completely conscious of that, but they felt like the longest minutes in his life. The whole village was silent in anticipation, sensing that the time was near. Every breath, every rustle, seemed amplified tenfold. Gerrik could feel his own heart pumping harder, and he Perceived every other heart on the wooden walls doing the same. Every heart, that is, except for Wind Striker's, who seemed unnaturally calm despite the nerves which were ubiquitous across the village.

Wind Striker sensed this too. So he turned to the assembled warrior hain and projected his voice as he spoke to them all. "Hain, the time for battle is near. You are nervous and fearful, and you have every right to be, but do not let your fear consume you. We have trained. We are prepared. We will be victorious!"

A wave of courage washed over all the hain present, and the warriors all raised their fists and cried out a cheer.

Moments later, something could be spotted flying over the treetops. All the warriorhain quickly snapped to attention and watched the approaching flying figure. Although it had wings, it was also humanoid, and unlike anything which the other hain had seen before. Soon two more joined it, and as they approached around forty more of these winged beings could be seen flying over the treetops, well behind these forward scouts. As soon as the first angel had come close enough to be seen clearly, a glowing spear of amber light appeared in his hand and was raised above his head, waving to the ones behind as some kind of signal.

Suddenly, those three angels dove towards the village, thirsting for the first blood of the battle, heedless of the walls and weapons that were defending the village. As soon as they were in bowshot, a few of the braver warriorhain loosed arrows at their airborne enemies, but a translucent wall of blue light appeared between the angels and the hain, deflecting the arrows as if they were nothing. The angel with the spear lifted it up to throw at the hain below.

Yet Gerrik was faster. He had Perceived the angel's muscles preparing to heft the spear, deduced that its function was similar to the Eenal Bow, albeit with less power, and saw the necessity of action. He had to shoot first, or those he had been charged with protecting would be struck down. Swiftly an arrow was fired from the Eenal Bow, streaking a path of golden light through the air, smashing through the magical shield, and tearing through the spear-angel's chest.

As the slain angel fell, there was a battle cry from the hain defending the village, and arrows were shot at the two startled and retreating angels, wounding them. At this moment, the other angels of the horde all crossed over the tree line, and from the forests burst forth a ravenous horde of two hundred hain, screaming and wailing their own vicious battle cries.

As the chaos hain charged up the hill, brandishing their crude axes, spears, clubs and bows, they were met by a rain of arrows and javelins. Many were wounded and fell, to be trampled by the hain behind them. Yet before the chaos hain could reach the village the fallen angels were upon the defenders.

In all this time, Gerrik was frozen in horror. His Perception gave him a gruesome vision of the battle which he would not have wished upon anyone. He saw every single wound inflicted, every bone broken, every artery burst, every organ ruptured, every ragged breath and fading heartbeat. The violent death of every creature within his Perception was seen in full detail, inside and out, and the sheer volume of this terrible scene was utterly overwhelming.

Gerrik was thrown back into reality when his left arm jerked up above his head and the Guardian Shield grew to block an energy blast from one of the angels above him. The angels were attacking, some firing bolts of energy from the air, some landing behind the defenders and engaging them in melee combat. The shields cast by the angels made it difficult for the hain to strike back, and those wounds they did inflict were healed before their very eyes by some other magic. Simultaneously, the chaos hain were assaulting the wall and trying to climb it, now that the attention of the defenders was divided.

Although the horror was still great, the will to survive was greater. Gerrik nocked an arrow and struck down the angel who had attacked him. Gerrik then fired another arrow through an ethereal shield and slew the blue-haired angel projecting it. But shooting down the angels one by one would be much too slow. The defenders were in a dire situation.

Side stepping a spear thrown at him and shooting an arrow through the skull of a chaos hain trying to climb the wall, Gerrik shouted at the top of his lungs to the defenders. "Group together! Use your shields! Do not get split up!" As trained, the warriorhain assembled into tight rows, spears bristling from behind shields. Between the two rows, facing each way, were the archers. Three of these clusters were formed. This was a formidable formation, but there were not enough defenders to effectively defend from all directions. It was still vulnerable, and would not hold against the entire horde.

The effort of their manoeuvre was far from wasted, and the swooping angels visibly reacted to the display of defensive discipline. A ripple of hesitation swept over the onslaught, a startled moment, like a flock of birds disturbed. Only one among their number did not move. A solitary angel with hair of coal-smeared straw, hovering high, with a carefree heart of broken glass. From her neck whipped something like a scarf of black and red. She whispered.

"Do you see that, Violet?" A brief tightening of the scarf. "I like it." The eerie fabric made a faint rustling noise, and the fallen angel giggled. Then she screamed, and plummeted into freefall.

"RALLY! Farshteln, ershter! Shverd, aroys! Roseve tsu mir!"

Converging on her as fish to a bait, the winged fighters aligned in a messy order as they fell. The command made immediate sense. In the chaos, the angels had been fighting in loose teams, the three powers haphazardly mixed. Now the blue shielders became the spearhead, pushing through the rising arrows, as golden lancers sheltered in a loose ring behind them, healers in the center.

"Crush them!"

The wedge formation fell into the inner-row of one of the clusters and burst, shields forcing the melee apart as healers and lancers scattered overhead, blasted and were shot, cut and were cut down. The scarf whipped behind the angel as she flew, frayed into tendrils, and flicked slingstones at her prey with whipcrack speed. Two curved sabres materialised in her hands, and she laughed as she spun over the dissolving rows of warriorhain.

As things were starting to seem dire, the wind rustled over the treetops. While this might have seemed mundane, at the last second the source of this breeze came into Gerrik's Perception. Djinn. There were but nine of the greater elementals, but an army of hundreds of little Flickers followed behind them. And they were closing in on the airspace above the village.



With the passing of the last few days Ventus had managed to gather about a mere fraction of the grand host that he had imagined; where Teknall and Zephyrion might have expected him to muster some grand communion of skylords that could conjure a hurricane, Ventus had about him...eight djinn of high standing. But that would be enough, for this battle at least.

As fast as the wind, nay, swifter for they pushed the wind to greater speeds than even it yearned for, they made for that one Hain village where Teknall had requested their aid. To his satisfaction, Ventus observed the Horde already beginning their assault. There would be no waiting.

With but a thought, Ventus ordered his following to attack corrupted angels. With their minds connected to one another in a grand communion, they did so decisively and with flawless coordination.

The vengeful wind swept over the battlefield and the flanking djinn immediately attacked those angels that had been closest to the settlement's walls. With varying degrees of cruelty and ruthlessness, they disposed of ten or so angels that had been taken by surprise.

One found itself suddenly swept up by a storm of winds so powerful that they broke his wings and left him spiraling helplessly down to his doom. Two others were slammed against the wall itself and battered by the fists of djinn. The concussive blasts of air left those victims far beyond death.

As in for Ventus, he remained amidst a stormcloud and observed from afar. A stormlord alongside Ventus busied himself with hurling lightning down upon the angels. The aim of his first bolt was true, and in an instant he incinerated one foe. The second missed its mark and struck the wooden walls of the village. Paying no need to the defending mortals, that lord continued his work and simply bombarded the airspace below with more lightning. The lives of the Hain within the village and even those corrupted ones attacking it were of no matter; their sacred task had been to fell the angels, and so that was what they would do.

The angels had been hapless and taken by surprise at first, but upon witnessing the demise of their brethren they became aware of their own peril. In like manner to how they had attempted to block Gerrik's magical arrows with barriers of their own magic, they began to shield themselves from the lightning above. The stormlord paid that no heed; he simply prodded at their barriers until he found a gap or weakness, then struck.

As in for those zealous djinn that had engaged the angels directly, they were quickly turned upon by magic of a more offensive nature. Blasts of raw chaos magic were hurled at the vaporous form of one djinn, and as the concentrated barrage of magic struck him it fused with his essence and devoured his very form. With an otherworldly howl, that djinn met his end.

Never before had any of them fought with living creatures in a battle such as this, and indeed they may have been the first of their kind to experience this strange sort of battle. They had expected these angels to have been as mindless and helpless as a flock of birds, and were of course taken aback by the angels' retaliation. Birds and the like dared not oppose the forces of nature; what wretched vermin were these?

With both sides spurred into a fervor to avenge their fallen, they fought with even greater brutality. While those bound to the ground below fought and died, another battle of equal vigor raged above. One angel was seized by a hundred lesser elementals and savagely torn apart. A grisly rain of blood fell down upon the warriors below.



In the carnage, the momentary unity among the angels did not survive. Social by nature, the warriors continued their ragged teamwork, at times coalescing for the span of a few seconds into bundles before splaying out to dig their teeth in. But as the scarfed angel watched, in glances and glimpses between the blood of battlefield survivalism, she knew that her chances of rallying them again were slim. The inky scarf, stained with far more red than it had been patterned with an hour ago, tugged and tickled at her neck. Their message was obvious. Urgent.

"Alright," mouthed the angel in a breath. "I'll run."

For a moment she crouched, then leapt at the sky. The air blurred before her, and driven by vicious instinct, she whirled, threw both sabres, and watched as one, then another lesser spirit exploded into motes of golden dust.

Others were gaining. Drawn to the scarf that marked her out like a target. Violet shuffled, then loosened their grip.

"Go," said the angel. "I'll come back for you."

Violet held her tightly with a woven arm, then slipped off into the open air. The moment slowed. Their hand was still outstretched. Feathers flicked. She was just out of reach. Violet watched the arrow cut through her wing. She began to flounder. Wind shear seized her in an unseen grip and hurled her out over the plain. Another arrow pierced her belly. She was out of reach.

No, breathed a voice in Violet's mind as they fell.

And then she was gone.



Murmur breathed deeply and reveled in the Storm: its beauty, its power, its cruelty, its awe. With each spear of lightning that the Stormlord conjured, Murmur beat upon his chest, and there was a deafening boom of thunder to accompany it. The crackle of lightning, the cries of those below, and his drumming came together in perfect harmony. Another masterpiece.

It had been too long since last he had accompanied the Stormlords and made his Voice heard.

Perhaps his Crusade was drawing ever closer to its end; he would be allowed at last to rest, and perhaps then recover the peace and content his former occupation had given.

But then he saw it, and the air itself grew deathly silent. One of the abominations, this one a hideous mass of fibres all bound together by an unholy Jvanic magic. Right before his eyes! Armed with deathly purpose, he rocketed through the skies towards Violet and steeled himself to sing a more violent song.

Basheer hung humbly in the presence of Murmur, his own harmonious music overawed by the Thunder god's cannon strikes and the delirium of the raging slaughter. As he watched, he could not completely grasp the purpose behind it all. He could see no difference between those attacking and those being attacked. For instance, look at the little white ones. Look, there on the walls, were those not them? And look there, those ones assaulting the walls, are those not them also? This was akin to fire djinn fighting fire djinn! Or wind djinn warring with wind djinn - it made very little sense.

But then again, he had not been hunting down wind djinn and fire djinn and creatures of all types? Had he not hunted them down for the corruption within them? Perhaps there was a corruption in these attackers that his eyes were yet too weak to see. One who stood in the darkest caves had to have faith in those who stood upon the peaks and could see all that lay on the wide horizons.

As Murmur left the clouds above and raced downwards, the living explosion that was his body rippled through the air and left out a low rumble of a din. In each and every shudder upon the sky's back, there whispered a voice, "Noble Basheer, let us find your vengeance."

The lethal core of intent in those words sank deep into the air. Violet fell through an atmosphere tense with looming violence of which they knew they were the target.

And yet the lost creature's thoughts sprawled wider than that. As Violet curled and began to mat, the hollow of loss began to fill with watery emotions that they did not understand. Questions without aim only gnawed at the empty listlessness. What now? What's left of me? Who calls my execution? Should I let him?

Violet's form continued to tighten in on itself as it fell to earth. They bundled up mass and knotted each hair intricately into a single weave, a dense, flexible hunk of keratin, hiding from the outside as the inner voice only echoed, louder and louder without the release of an answer- Why?

It was a question that, from time to time, racked the minds and souls of all beings with wakeful minds. And suffering gave them even greater cause to question. Could they be counted, the times when Basheer would wail that self-same question to the ephemeral winds. Could their pain be realised, those eons when his tormented freak-song clawed at the sturdy roots of the towering mountains, and struck upon the proud peaks whose whiteness was once a sign of wisdom to the little spryte? But he had lived long enough to know it was not out of wisdom that the peaks whitened, but out of arrogant pride and apathy to the suffering of others. For had they been less proud, they would have come to his aid or died in the endeavour to do so - and so their peaks would never have lasted to become old and white, but would have erupted in a blaze of momentary - yet ever-lasting - glory.

One who knew not the meaning of suffering could not ask, 'Why?' One who was merely blind to the bliss in which they lived could not wonder, 'Why?' It was a heinous error, a grievous crime, for ones such as those to so much as utter - think - 'Why?'
For they did not have the capability to answer. Only those who understood suffering in its truest, gravest, and most terrible sense could ever hope to attempt a successful answer. So ask not 'Why?' ye ignorant ones! Aye, do not ask, but give up the soul forthwith and simply die! And so saying in the depths of his flickering soul, Basheer gushed forward, the calm of his flowing wind song giving way to the terrors of a death song. And sound and wind whirled one within the other, and with all that he was, Basheer drilled forth through the ether towards the waiting ground and Violet's keratin form.

Why, pulsed the thought, a stubbornly apathetic fever working towards haemorrhage.

Murmur advanced in kind, and in his path the lesser elementals and angels alike scattered. Yet even winged angels could hardly outpace thunder, and so he washed over them like a nova of flame and through them like a hundred swords. A namesake from Murmur was all that it took to create a thunderous blast of compressed air that flew towards Violet. What would pulverize beings of flesh might only batter a fibreling, but Basheer would surely finish the task. With that in mind, the Djinni Lord turned his attention then to the angels about, and smited them down as his Vizier had willed.

Between zephyr's teeth and cannon's shot, the bloodstained sable bundle heaved with pressures all its own, blind in emotion and far removed from the violence they had all so readily joined. Willfully. Ignorant of consequences. Destruction came in bursting air that forced shimmers through a convulsing atmosphere. Destruction came.

For Vestec had given his faithful a gift, and the arms of His horde accept all. Violet's first magic ruptured from them and split the sky asunder.

WHY

Every question and every doubt found its culmination in the Mera-Sidie's twisting soul and burned out into the world, and everything it found was gripped and torn and shredded in a unified instant of raging loss. Murmur's shout integrated with the Chaos and only blasted further the shock of that moment that tore atom from atom in a vain attempt to find something in between, some answer, anything that would fill the hollow of grief.

Basheer's song was lost in the explosive snap of magic, and his fluid body was blown far by the initial burst. Murmur and Violet's painfully colliding energies had stunned the field of battle with sound, and as aftershocks cracked violently from Violet's unravelling form, spatters of molten sand particles ricocheted from the shells and walls of the fighters through a wave of hot air and dust.

Scorched, battered and fragile in the wake of its own power, the Insidie fiberling stood for a moment in the wreckage, a dark figure aglow with red whorls. Four knife-like eartips crowned a lithe silhouette, slowly becoming aware of the noise and the chaos, returning to the world.

Then the figure collapsed into a streak of hair that burst and burned and ruptured its way down into the soil, fleeing the sky and the invisible monsters that roared dominion over it, tunnelling to find safety in the cool earth where Violet unfurled over the bedrock and crept through the earth like a mould.

Violet could feel the faint weight of something small in their strands. An angelbone hairpiece, an heirloom of Hefin from ages past. It had tangled with them while- While they fell away. They held it.

Great bodies creaked through the stone on their way to the surface. Violet felt their vibrations and waited motionless as they passed, rippling the lightless earth like whales. But the rising Stonemen did not hinder the freak in their mist, for they sensed no danger in Violet. Only sorrow, and bitter thoughts of the future.



As the winds themselves fought against the angels and drew them away from the hain, they were able to redouble their efforts to repel the invading hain. The spear walls rearranged into a much more favourable formation and began to force back the corrupted hain. The barrages of lightning were of no help, striking down defender and invader alike and weakening their defensive line, but the best they could do was press onward.

However, in the prior chaos some of the hain had managed to scale the palisade and get into the village. Rather than pick a fight with the defenders, they ran deeper into the village, seeking out the non-combatants who were hiding in their tents. The other defenders were all preoccupied, so Gerrik was about to divert his efforts to stop those hain, when he Perceived motion from beneath the ground and remembered the reinforcements Teknall had promised.

The marauders had found a family hiding in a hut, and advanced upon the family who were screaming in terror. But they were saved as a hand of stone burst up from the earth and crushed the chest of one of the marauders. The hand was followed by a whole Urtelem, who smacked another marauder into the dust as the rest fled from the stone man.

More Urtelem rose from the ground in the village, and the mere sight of the chaos hain threw them into a terrible frenzy. They rolled towards the invaders, mighty limbs of stone shattering hain shell and crushing hain limbs. Urtelem sunk into the ground behind palisade and rose up on the other side, crushing and scattering the chaos hain who were still attempting to scale the walls.

The chaos hain may have been bloodthirsty, but they were not senseless. The Urtelem were forcing them to scatter, and without the weight of numbers in their attacks the skillful defenders were gaining the upper hand. There were some shouts to retreat, and the chaos hain turned to flee. The defenders fired a few parting arrows, and the raging Urtelem gave chase as the hain of the horde fled into the trees.

Finally, there was calm. The chaos hain had fled. The angels had been scattered. The elementals had dispersed. The Urtelem were wandering off. All that was left were the survivors of the village, the bodies of the dead and wounded, and the gathering crows, drawn by the scent of death.

With adrenaline wearing off, Gerrik was left trembling, his breathing shallow and bile rising in his throat. The wounds and mutilation across the bodies strewn across the battlefield was horrendous. Gerrik closed his eyes, but he was not spared his Perception, which showed him more detail than anyone else could possibly see. Gerrik had never seen death on such a scale before.

The other hain were grieving, shaken, sombre, or mournful. Those who were able were tending to the wounded among the warriorhain. Some were crying over the dead.

But they had been victorious, had they not? Though it had required the forces of the sky and the earth combined to ensure the victory, the horde of chaos had been crippled and scattered, not to return. But was that really a victory? Some of the hain of this village had been slain. The walls were smouldering. The earth soaked in blood. It hardly felt like a victory.

Gerrik took stock of the situation, counting. Counting helped take the focus off the wounds. He realised that though the battle had been intense, and far bloodier than anticipated, the dead among the village hain numbered only fourteen out of forty three warriorhain, while one hundred and seventy out of two hundred and eight chaos hain and forty nine out of fifty seven angels had been slain. By the numbers, this was a reasonable result. Granted, the majority of the warriorhain had been wounded, but they would recover if they could be kept from succumbing to infection. But still, the death toll had been surprisingly low. Every death was felt hard, of course, but things could have been so much worse.

It was then that Gerrik realised that the hain of the village were looking to him in expectation. Were they expecting him to say something? Could not Wind Striker say something instead, speak more of his inspiring words of courage and bravery?

But as Gerrik looked through his memories of the battle, for he always remembered every detail of everything ever since he had first been blessed by Teknall, he knew why the hain looked to him and not Wind Striker. Wind Striker was no longer here. And Wind Striker was also the reason that more hain survived than expected.

For Wind Striker had been amongst the warriorhain, fighting valiantly. And those around him also fought valiantly. The hain who fought by the Great Combatant's side could not be shaken, and though they might be struck and wounded, they kept fighting, as though driven on by divine will. Their spears held firm, their arrows flew true, their shields stood strong, their hammers struck hard. Even as the elementals rained lightning carelessly onto the ground below, those who fought by Wind Striker's side did not scatter and did not fear, and seemingly by luck most of the bolts missed the hain of the village. As the chaos hain attempted to breach the walls, Wind Striker was there to hinder their efforts. Yet, as the Urtelem emerged, tipping the scales of battle one last time, Wind Striker simply vanished into thin air, defying notice until Gerrik carefully replayed the scenes in his mind and found the discontinuity.

Wind Striker had been a god amongst hain. He had allowed the battle to inflict enough pain to ensure that the bitterness of war was known, but not enough to cripple the village, such that this battle could be retold as a victory, an example to other hain, and a warning to the forces of chaos. And, once his task was done, he had quietly left, allowing the hain to take their own lessons from the experience. Where he had gone, not even the gods knew, but he was no longer amongst mortals.

The hain of the village were still waiting. They needed words of encouragement and support, and Gerrik would give them those words. He stood boldly and spoke in a loud and clear voice, "Hain of the village, we have won a great victory today. He have stood firm in the path of the horde of chaos and repelled it. It was by no small cost that we won this battle; I too mourn for the fourteen who were slain today. But know that their sacrifice was not in vain, for by their bravery, and the bravery of the other warriorhain, and the tireless work of everyone in this village, every other life in this village and the lives of every other hain the horde would have reached are safe. Know that the world is a safer place now because of our actions today. May we also thank the gods for sending the spirits of the air and the men of the earth, who provided much needed strength in battle, as well as their emissary Wind Striker, who had prepared us and fought along our side.

"Some of you are wondering where Wind Striker is. He is no longer here. Towards the end of the battle he was spirited away, for he had finished the task he had come to do. But let us focus no longer on the past, for the present brings its own concerns. Some must bury the dead. Some must burn the remains of the enemies. Some must tend to the wounded. Then we can return to our lives."

There was no cheer, for this was a time of sorrow, but there was agreement. Some went to undertake the grisly task of gathering up and disposing of the corpses of the chaos hain and angels. Some began preparing the funeral rites for the deceased among the villagers. And some, including Gerrik, tended to the wounds of the surviving warriorhain. Gerrik's travels gave him knowledge of a few good remedies for wounds which would decrease the chance of infection, which came as a boon to the village.

The clean up lasted a day. Mourning lasted a few days longer. Then, slowly, after thirty days of disruption, the regular rhythm of life began to return to the village. And once his duties were finished, Gerrik departed from that place of horror and death. The battle had pushed him to be tougher, braver, but it also left him with haunting images. Though he could not forget, Gerrik could at least do what he could to not remember, and also to try and not let such conflict happen again.

Misty day. Dangerous day. Turn a corner. Find a gang.

Get stabbed.

Tauga had ways of seeing around corners. Her tendrils splayed into the surrounding streets, tracing the warm taste of loitering bodies. Some of them were neither warm, nor loitering. A handful of her loyalists were still reporting the bloodthirsty and the missing to the Rotfly Watch, for what it was worth. Safety danced elusively through the City, flickering away on the breeze and leaving knives in its wake. The only reliably empty roads were those she made herself. This was not one of them.

Keriss had cleared the streets leading to Westwagon Gate at Tauga's request, this time without her supervision. She'd look back later to see if the work had been done safely enough for her tastes. For now, and judging by the tense, wary vagrants that were milling on the road she herself roamed, it looked like they'd been pushed out of that area with some success.

More resistance in Tauga's way. She hardly noticed.

Seething, rustling hair followed her and her Rotflies, the vast body of Amber supporting a wheeled platform on its back, loaded with fearful eyes and tightly held children. The squadron flanking her moved at a practiced jog to match Tauga's own inexhaustible stamina, and had quickly learned to trust her pace, even when she was running at an unmoving obstacle.

The street party quietened before she was even in view through the mist. The aura of Sin was powerful, but within the roaming grip of the Blowfly's tentacles, for the brief and lucky seconds when Tauga was close, Order was stronger.

Fearful to give up the thrill of the madness, she felt their hands move to fists and spiked clubs. Her own hands slid Help's scalpel from its sheath. They signalled the Watch to a sprint.

She saw the whites of their eyes.

Tauga's blade flicked out across the man's belly, twisted, arced back again in a blink of gleaming black. She thrust herself past his thigh, a shove of her oh-so-small hain palm casting him aside for the Rotflies to jump over. The others began to run. They didn't run fast enough. She leapt with both feet, smashed a woman's face with her boots in the air, landed on it and moved on.

The rest of the street was clear, but for the drunk and the dead. Her convoy rolled on.

Westwagon Gate was empty, as expected. Tauga stepped aside, the squad dividing in two without orders, half continuing the escort. As they secured the platform to waiting oxen, Amber slunk out from below and curled up in Tauga's pocket, all two tonnes of it.

"Where are we going?" asked a human voice from the huddle, thin and very young.

"Out," answered the masked figure without thinking, motioning her troops to start the next run.



Some time ago.

The boots of the Blowfly made soft clacks on the cobbled road as she moved, echoed by four others and the melodic hoot of Pumps. Far from the usual cracking retort of a sprint leading the loping black masks of the Watch. No, Tauga would do this slowly. She was determined to do that. No need to scare them off. We're not here to kill. This was a time and place to be happy. The celebration of the return of Énas Amartia was in its second... Third week.

Celebrations were nice. Tauga's goggles flicked out over the faces of the men and women who glanced at her and the Rotflies at her side, taking knowing looks before slinking into the shadows as if it was on their way. Festivals are good.

It was a dream come true, really. The God-Emperor had returned to his beloved City. The whitemasks had been conquered, enslaved and brought home single-handed. Food was plentiful and wine ran freely, and every day was a carnival. It's nice. It'll just keep on getting better. Accidents happen at carnivals, like they always did. Pumps fluted a high note at a cluster of murmuring drinkers and Tauga's hand flicked to her khopesh.

Things are back to the way they're meant to be.

Coloured lanterns ahead bobbed in a breeze, the massive bonfire ahead shining. The crowd closed up again in the darkness behind them.

Oyur tapped Tauga's shoulder and requested permission to light a torch. Tauga nodded and watched her jog to one side, following her with her tendrils, the crowd parting only minimally for the Rotfly alone. She came back. Tauga exhaled. Etti shrugged his hefty Tedar shoulders restlessly.

The three of them left the light of the fire. The sound of revelry was still distinctly close.

A wandering tentacle picked up the source of the scent they were looking for nearby and they moved in.

Eleven revellers were standing in a semicircle facing them. Their eyes were clear and without shame. At their feet, stripped and tied and bleeding from the face, was another Rotfly. Hair matted with blood and oil. Oil everywhere, puddled in the road.

The bonfire. They'd been feeding it all night. It was far too large.

Pumps whistled happily.

Tauga lunged, her scalpel flying from its sheath, the Rotflies moving to back her. At least three of the culprits drew swords of their own and Tauga forced her way through their number, splitting the group to single them out. They'd avoided her swings, but Etti had been a trained soldier and pressed into them as they moved, wounding one and killing another as Oyur flanked a man with a sword.

Obsidian sickles scythed out, Oyur ducked under a slash and Tauga opened the man's side. They still weren't running. Oyur's long-honed instincts drove her back into the fray and Tauga followed the swordswoman's lead.

The torch flashed, pressing them back, and Tauga moved, her footwork clumsy but fast. Oyur stepped into the panic she made and picked off revellers with measured blows.

Wounded fell beside the dead and more came up. Tauga felt Etti being pressed further away from them as he fought, hulking, fast, outnumbered. Oyur's torch wasn't alone. Unnoticed, the carnival had grown louder. Had moved closer.

Around them, the streets were being blocked.

The masked figure flicked a pocket in her shoulder and threw Amber at the closest part of the mob, the vast fox-tail exploding into the mass of knives and bared teeth, but the maddened people of Xerxes had planned for the Blowfly's antics, and Amber recoiled at their torches, unable to leap into melee. A flung rock hit Etti's eye and he took a shoulder wound.

Everywhere was people- Crushing press of muscle and hate with lethal intent, swarming over their blows.

Crash. Screams. Crash.

The Bludgeon took off, underside painted with blood. An instant later, another side of the crowd was pulped. Madness reigned. Tauga grabbed Oyur by the waist and leapt into the sky, Amber flowing around her ankle and around them like a cloak, scooping up Pumps as it moved. The noise was left behind in a rush of cold air.

She could hear Oyur's heart pounding through her mask. She could see the pyre below. She could taste oil.



Moments later.

Tauga set them down by the outer wall of the barracks and Amber compressed back into a niche in her suit. Oyur took a moment to regain her balance; She'd never flown before. "Sir?" The hain inclined her goggled face towards Oyur and said nothing.

"Tauga?"

A faint sound of breathing. Behind the mask, Oyur couldn't tell if Tauga's eyes were open, but she had her doubts. "You know what you saw. Report that to Sen and tell him to put the city into lockdown. Scatter that festival. If there are leaders, have them burned. Use everyone you can. Stick together." She motioned with her beak. "Go. I'll join you soon." Oyur nodded, and sharply executed the order.

Tauga felt her pass out of sight, and slumped heavily against the wall. Pumps made frightened and concerned cooing sounds, which she readily ignored. Slowly, rhythmically, she began to bang her head against the brickwork. "Everything," she began, "is fine."

"The return of Énas Amartia is a glorious thing. This is all under his control, and his plans for Xerxes are what's best for everyone." Bang, bang, bang. "The City is prosperous and its people are happy and healthy. If something seems wrong, that's just my fault." Bang. "I'm just not working hard enough." Bang. "Fuck."

A scraping noise of boots on cobble as she felt herself slide down the wall, lying almost prone in the alley. "Fuu-uuu-uck."

Tauga's scabbard dangled from its strap and rested on the street. She had no idea how to use it. Her recruits were better fighters than she was, and tonight two more of them had died at her hands. Bang. Her fault. Oh, and some forty sin cultists. Bang.

Every morning, the funeral pyres burned unnoticed with the bodies of those who died in the dark carnival. Bang. On the city outskirts, her loyal slaves were on the verge of revolt and nobody had the least idea why. Bang.

Breathe. She pushed herself to her feet.

"Guess I might as well stick to the fuckin' hammer from now on," Tauga mumbled, rolling her wrists. "Go home, Pumps. Tonight's gonna be messy." The sweetheart moaned softly, gripped the back of her head, and obediently ballooned off.

Somebody had pissed in the street and Tauga saw herself reflected in the puddle as she walked past. The Blowfly, cold and heartless and unstoppable. Business as usual.

She'd figure something out. As always.



The present.

Tauga had a room. It was high in the citadel Eye, and it was accessible from the sky alone. It surprised her little that this palace responded to the touch of her tentacles. She could open doors without even looking at them, reveal hidden compartments and chutes and peepholes and caches of weapons carved from the whatever it is that made up the uncanny pyramid. It was not secret knowledge that the Eye of Cipher had been of Yah Vuh before it was of the Énas, though the latter had made it his own.

Drifting through the circular hatch that opened before her, suspended from the Ophanim like a marionette, Tauga landed on her toes, stumbled, and fell chest-first on her bunk. Clumsily flicked the latches of her mask and left it to one side. No, as it happened, the Blowfly was not inexhaustible. She could only sprint and fight and train for so many days without sleep. The portal slid closed, its interior side translucent, a one-way window.

Pumps was whistling and spinning his usual whirligig dance now that she was finally back, missing a beat every now and again ever since Keriss had at him. Tauga mumbled something, but the sweetheart stopped only long enough to wrap its arms around her neck in a cool hug.

She felt nothing. All she could feel was tired and tense. It was something about coming back to find Pumps, coming back from a torn city, mad and maddening, to- A small, comfortable room in dim light, completely alone but for a creature that was utterly unaware of the Hell developing below, and would scream if it knew even a hundredth part of it. This... contrast. It's like a dream. Bad, sick dream. That wasn't right, either. Surreal. That's it. Surreal and lonely enough to let me think that everything else is a dream... Tauga didn't notice herself tumble softly into sleep.

When her eyes snapped open, the nightmare began.

Motionless and utterly silent, Heartworm filled a dark room with crossed limbs of bone white, vast grey visor eyeless and staring. Tauga's heart stopped- She jerked. Her tentacles writhed everywhere and not a single one ever touched the horrorsome deity, never winced away to warn her it was there, a towering sensory void that dwarved her and threatened to swallow her whole. Pumps slept soundly. It did not move. Not even to breathe.

It loomed like a hallucination at the foot of the bed.

Despite Tauga's extensive failure, she will not be terminated yet.

Tauga didn't realise that the words had been spoken aloud until the shock began to boil away, and after that, the fear. What was left of her was hollow and apathetic, a broken dream that no longer seemed to be from her perspective. She'd spoken to God before without hurt- But then, that had been on neutral terms.

"While prior loyalties to a dead society have obfuscated attempts to predict your behaviour, the results of the project are not unfavourable. Your presence has stimulated a significant change to the course of events. The survival of Xerxian culture in diaspora can be used as a mechanism to spread arksynth technology quickly across the northern hemisphere." Heartworm's left limb extended across the length of the chamber, a slender, pale arm adorned with iridescent cloven hoof below the wrist. "Your mission continues."

Heartworm's bladed fingertips moved independently over a shallow circular indent in the wall, tracing a command symbol. The organic shapes came alive at its touch. That side of the room shivered and slid away, its organic shapes coming apart as a jigsaw, turning and realigning with others that settled into an entirely new shape with frames, bowls, and faint light nodes over a workbench. The hoof split apart and a familiar grey tube fell from it.

Working with shimmering claws and hypodermics, and tentacles that extended from its core, Heartworm spilled liquid arksynth into a basin and began twisting and dividing it, bathing it in choking aromatic fluids and stretching it into ribbons as it grew. It made the work look easy, graceful- Effortless. The task Tauga had ignored for months was done in moments.

Even when Heartworm finished Tauga's simple laboratory, its hand remained outstretched in the dark of night, body balanced perfectly on the other limb. "Second attempt. You will learn quickly, manufacture any substance or mechanism you find of use, disseminate this knowledge among your followers. War is coming. Mobilise."

The hand panned aside to hover over Pumps, asleep beside Tauga. The sweetheart began to stir awake, eyes flickering open, letting off only a faint whistle at the disturbance. "This one will continue to assist you." Bismuth claws fell in a measured arc, cutting open the sweetheart from head to belly, slicing through the neural cortex.

Tauga felt nothing, said nothing.

Delicately, Heartworm excised and removed several threads of deep red tissue from the body, laid them out on the desk. "To be consumed with caution." The hand retracted. Silence in the dark once more. Tauga just stared. The voice came again.

"You may find it helpful, Tauga."

Then Heartworm slit a dark passage into reality, slid through it and was gone. Silence. Hours and hours of silence. Tauga didn't notice her muscles aching with stiffness. She still hadn't moved.

Very slowly, dawn began to leak into the room.

Tauga felt herself pull away from the bunk and reach over to where she'd left a bowl of water, and drank hoarse gulps. She tried to sleep again, and succeeded, though her life seemed no different when she woke up a few hours later. She chewed lamely at some dried fish and stretched her calves. Noonday light fell onto motes of dust in a stream that came nearly to her toes. She stopped thinking in words, or counting time in moments.

Eventually, Tauga pulled herself to her feet and over to the benchtop. Pumps' carcass smelled faintly like an abattoir, only sweeter.

Hesitantly prodding the strips of flesh left for her by Heartworm, she lifted it and put it on her tongue. It tasted of sugar. Tauga swallowed.

Very quickly, she came to understand.



Days later.

Alien sounds rasped around Tauga's head. Every now and again she realised that the clamour was nothing less than her own pounding heart and rattling breath, thick, crackling gasps like a dying animal. Then she'd take a few more steps, forget, and realise again. Her back slouched forwards, and her arms hung, spasming, fingers twitching. Through darkly bloodshot eyes she stared at the ground and the sky as she walked, each step requiring several seconds of work. Only her tentacles guided her way, semiautonomous as they were.

The memories were continuous and clear as glass, but her ability to recall them had collapsed as she came down. Images and words floated through her brain unbidden.

It was broad daylight when she descended, letting herself drop effortlessly to her feet on the deck of the ship. Sunshades and marquees had been erected above the wooden slats and rugs had been laid down on them. Her tentacles expanded into the pleasure barge, tasting everything, scanning it all, driving a thrill of precognitive terror into the naked nobles, their slaves, their kidnapped toys.

In the moment it took to draw her khopesh, she locked eyes with the bejeweled captain spread-eagle on the pillows before her. 'My ship now,' she mouthed, opening her pockets as she blurred into the mess of bodies.

One of Tauga's legs forgot how to walk and she tripped on air. By miracle alone did she pull herself back to her feet, swaying.

What the hain Victor saw as he moved from the shadows was not pleasant. With her mask off, the Blowfly's eyes could be seen, bloodred, the thin skin encircling them pulled taut as they sulked back into Tauga's skull. The black goggles of her mask were almost more human.

He knew she was there, and she knew he knew. It was part of her game. Two of his sisters had already died this way. That much was clear to him, now that he saw himself facing the same fate. He did not fear death. Only reviled the means and purpose through which it should come. He bared his steel.

If anything, it was, at least, a chance for him to spite the Jvanic Entity and all its malcreations.

Minutes later, the Blowfly wrenched her hammer from what was left of the Victor's skull. Her muscles burned, an almost pleasant sensation she didn't really feel. The new training regimen was suiting her well.

From the waist up, Tauga was slowly losing balance, her path meandering left and right as she vainly tried to restore her balance. This time she didn't get up when she fell. Lying there, she could hear voices coming closer. They were dimmer and further than the memories.

There were nine of them. Scholars, a few, and the rest artisans, craftsmen. Slaves, all, a distinction that had become arbitrary to the Blowfly lately. Slave or no, she could do whatever she pleased.

Before them was a long table, and on that table was makeshift equipment, bowls, pegs, knives, scoops. Buckets of slop, raw meat and fruit. Powders and crushed leaves. Cups of arksynth. Nine tiny specks of red flesh.

"Sit. Listen." The slaves obeyed immediately. "I'm gonna teach you how to use it and make more of it. You're gonna figure it out and then move to the palace, where you'll fuck around with it as I say until I find a ship to put you on to get you the fuck out of here. Got it?" They nodded. One of them nodded hesitantly. Tauga caught her eye, lifted her by the throat and hurled her from the palace window, where she screamed until the ophan's razor cord caught her in midair.

The Blowfly picked up her share of the sweetmeat and put it on her tongue. Waste not. "Eat this," she said. They did. "Now we understand each other. If you so much as blink at me the wrong way, you'll join her."

Now, with the checks in place, the learning could begin.

Someone was lifting Tauga by the shoulders; She tried to resist, couldn't. One of the voices was familiar.

Tonight had been the first time the Rotfly Watch had spoken to her in days. The Blowfly didn't walk anywhere now, only flew. Nobody knew her plans. Not even Sen.

"Why are we doing this?" asked the captain, for the fifth time. No response from the figure in the suit, who was now smashing wine barrels with her hammer. Quickly and systematically, without wasting time on a response. Sen continued his own task, standing guard with the rest of the squadron as the slaves crushed boxes of fruit.

"No matter how much we spoil, the Énas will just make more. He visits these storehouses often. There's no way you can starve the dark carnival out of existence."

Tauga replied by snatching the torch out of Sen's hand as carts of large, sealed jars arrived from the palace. Between her and the slaves, the clear, sharply aromatic liquid within was soon dumped onto the stores. Sen sniffed. Faintly like vinegar, only sweeter.

The militiamen and slaves were motioned out of the storehouse. Tauga hung back only long enough to toss Sen's torch into the building. Immediately, the soaked straw flooring flashed alight. The whole structure was ablaze in moments.

"What fucking storehouse," muttered Tauga, and disappeared into the night sky.

Sen stopped calling Tauga's name; Her eyes were focusing on him but she clearly wasn't capable of speech yet. After a brisk exchange with the hain alongside him, they decided she was safe to move. He lifted the young beakie in his arms, and began a steady walk back to the barracks, flanked by his detachment.

She was light. So, so light.

The dark carnival seethed and roared below. Houses had been burned just to make room for some of the larger... Festivities. Dances that turned into orgies. Boxing rings that became brawls. Games that became lynch mobs for the loser. Despite everything, the madness had grown. Bonfires dotted Xerxes.

As the Blowfly began to descend, the ophan cords hummed a familiar dirge of scythed air.

The Bludgeons careened into the mass of people, ophanim scraping sparks from roads that quickly soaked in blood. A single sweeping movement blew each pyre apart in a flare of light and embers. Back and forth the iron spheres passed over the festival grounds, crushing. Bodies flew, bones crunched.

When the survivors scattered in the streets, Tauga ended her slaughter. She was splattered. Mangled people lay everywhere, some still moaning. That would scare the cultists off for a day or two, maybe. Precious hours to move men and supplies safely through the City.

And then they'd be back. She hadn't even dented them.

"Oh, Tauga," sighed Sen, setting down his general on a stretcher. The Rotfly Watch clustered around, filling the barracks, waking their comrades just for a glimpse of what had become of their Blowfly. "You poor kid."

Only faint murmurs stirred the militia. Broken-hearted Tauga, they whispered. The girl without a soul.



A few days on.

Light dazzled over the surface of Xerxes' harbour. The sun still shone a little too brightly for Tauga's taste, though she was recovering fast. The black goggles on her flight mask would resolve that much, once she could wear it without choking on her own breath again. As it was, she was walking around with her beak slightly open all the time to get enough air. It made her look like an angry drunk. She supposed she had been.

Mako and Ruthar were overseeing the last preparations before the ship cast off. Most of the crates and all of the refugees had been loaded; What remained were a few non-essentials, mostly trading materials that could hopefully be used to buy passage in distant lands. It was all being taken below deck, but for the odd, yellowish, mushroom-like rig that was being grown at the side of the ship. That needed to stay in sunlight. It was worth more than half of the rest of the supplies put together, if it worked. The only ones that remained were a few Rotflies standing guard on the dock before they left their home and army behind.

Sen shouted something, which Ruthar confirmed. Tauga realised that the masked ex-militiamen were not the only ones left, and, shortly afterwards, that she was being approached. She felt them walk towards her with her tendrils, not raising her head until they were close. "Oyur," she mumbled. "Erjang. You've decided?"

It was Erjang, the tattooed elder, who answered. "North," she said firmly. "They say it's populated, and the winds are good. Most of the ships are sailing that way." Tauga nodded. "Remember what I said about the... Crystal place." Words to fill the gap. Of course they would remember.

"We're here to say goodbye," she continued. "And thank you, Blowfly."

Tauga's eyes widened, palms rising a little. "Oh." It hadn't been something she'd expected to hear.

Erjang raised her eyebrows, then laughed softly. "I guess that's all there is to it." She turned and gazed back on the fleet of stolen and repurposed vessels, their inhabitants protected from the new Xerxes at such cost. "We do owe you, you know. More than you think. We might have watched the City die, but the People, the real City, well." The elder stretched her time-worn muscles and grinned, despite everything. Tauga shrugged limply.

Oyur shuffled, as if making a decision, then stepped up and wrapped her arms around Tauga, bending her knees to reach head head. "Thanks, Tauga. We won't... We'll never forget. What you stood for." Tauga tried to shrug, and couldn't. She lifted her beak a little, closed it in a hainish kind of smile. She guessed that was appropriate. Oyur let her go, leaned back, took a good look at her.

"And... I'm sorry. For..."

"Yeah, I know," said Tauga lamely. "Me."

Oyur choked a little, pressed her lips together behind her bandanna, stood to attention. Saluted her general one last time. Tauga nodded firmly. Without further trivialities, she turned and escorted Erjang back to the ship.

Tauga sighed. By the time Sen stepped up to her for orders, she'd fitted the Blowfly mask back on her face. Turning, she could see the reignited fires of the City, the dark carnival unending, just as the Énas Amartia had promised. Only now with no one sane left to save.

Stretch. "Ready for another round in Hell, Sen?" she said without humour.

"Sir," replied the captain.

Tauga stepped into the darkness of the streets, leaving the light of fresh dawn behind her. No one left to save.

That wasn't true. She was Xerxes, and Xerxes was her. And though the Blowfly was long past saving, well.

She'd fight anyway.

Lapis Philosophorum

Darkened gray smudges of wool threateningly surrounded the sky; like a predator would encircle its prey. A startling low rumble rang loud in the cool fall air, the sky roaring with satisfaction. Trickles of liquid hit the ground with as much force as a small child. Hungrily, drizzles soon turned into canon fires, barricading everything in its way. Streaks of pure white crackled against a stormy blanket of grey, shrouding hot silver clouds with its blinding incandescence, emanating the might of an imminent tempest. A sense of cleanliness caressed the atmosphere, washing away all impurities.

The rain bore down mercilessly upon the heart of Xerxes, pounding on the rooftops and turning the cobbled streets of the markets into a warren of slick stones and muddy waters. The downpour was so heavy that to be caught unawares meant being drenched to the skin. Each drop was as large as a cartoon tear and they fell like gravity had been turned up a notch. Every person able to run picked up their pace holding futile hands skyward to fend off the worst. As the world was cast into more sombre tones, others danced in the rain, moving along to the invisible beat of storm.

Amartía himself hated the rain. There is an intense anxiety to the rain, as if between the tumbling cloud and the earth it is fearful of never reaching its destination. The sound alone is enough to make him frown indefinitely, arms folded across a chest that rises and falls more abruptly than it should. The sound of this rain, so soothing to some, was enough to drown out every other noise.

He hovered high in the air above his drenched city despite his discomfort. Ironically, he felt peace its self ascending to the heavens, seeing the view usually bequeathed only to the birds, their birthright and domain. As the wind tousled white hair and whipped it about his soaked face he longed to extend time, to savor the moments, burn them to memory for a time when he was old and no longer able to fly with the birds.

Suddenly, he was laughing, an expulsion of menacing, doom-laden laughter rolled from his lips, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. He didn't fear death, death feared him. His laughter soon died down, and his face returned to an expression of disdain. He was no longer clouded by the dream of kingship with loyal subjects. He desired to to perfect the world, and Xerxes had become an example of what the world should have been. But just as his Victors truly surrendered themselves to thier carnal desire and shed thier weak flesh for that of sin incarnated, its was time for the people of Xerxes to follow suit.

"You are mine, and only through my undeserved kindness do I preform this feat for you. Take my gift, children of Xerxes and inherent my perfection." he bellowed, his voice washing over the city and stroking the passions of the people.

With a single flap of his wings, Sin soared into the air. Wind rushed through his hair and into his eyes, forcing him to squint against the downpour through the clouds. Lightning jagged across the night sky around him, but Amartía didn't flinch. Soon he emerged, no longer surrounded by the raging storm as was greeted by the sky, a deep steel blue. Clear droplets of water sparkled like tiny crystals on his skin, and cold wind battled the warm sun to dry him. Underneath, him, a blanket of sombre grey save for the band of salmon pink hovered, a dark canvass brilliant with light.

"Now the true work begins." he murmured as Sin allowed Wrath to consume him. Rage crashed into him like a rushing waterfall, burning him like fire. It was intoxicating, a blazing inferno that engorged him completely, scorched his veins and reddened his eyes. Without warning, Amartía slit his wrist. Blood leaked from the gash profusely as Sin savored the feeling. Searing fiery bursts pulsated around the wound, intensifying with each dragging second, jarring and brutal. His forehead puckered and his bottom lip quivered as blood cascaded down into the clouds below.

Sin, undeterred from his moment of pleasure, drew on the Stone, red energy crackling across is body and into the clouds. Just as his life essence made contact with the billow, it evaporated. His cadmium red colored blood soaked itself into the clouds as vapor, his life blood tainting the very atmosphere. Gloomy, black clouds transformed into crimson sacks of blood, absorbing and transforming his rage upon the stones command. The storm below grew wrathful, red lightning dancing across the clouds as thunder cracked and rolled.

"My gift to you, he murmured, satisfied. Amartía lowered himself back beneath the clouds, once again bombarded by the rains that plagued his city. But water no longer fell from the skies. Thick globs of boiling blood pounded angry against Xerxes. Above the fury of storm, Sin could make out the piercing screams of man and woman alike.

is perfection."

Sin eyes roved about his city, allowing the rage, fury, and bloodlust to wash over him. No longer did his city need protection, he gave them strength. He placed the power in thier hands, he showed them the pleasure derived from fulfilling ones desire, and nothing would change. Xerxes would still know pleasure, but it would only be derived from ripping thier enemies apart and feasting on thier blood, submitting to the infinite rage that boiled within them, that changed them.

"I have long since come to a realization, an understanding that there was a discrepancy in my nature." Sin mused. He no longer knew who he was speaking too, his people, Illunbar, maybe even Logos. "I was weak minded and stupid. I was clouded by the glamour of reverence and of idol worship. Mortals on this world are to be treated as toys, to manipulated at my very whim, but I failed at that endeavor!" he spat, rage overcoming him. The Sin Heart began to beat faster, growing restless as its masters fury grew. "I am no longer a child. I understand my nature! I understand my brand of chaos!" When had this understanding come? "You gods wish to face me, desire made real, sin incarnated!? Then I shall give you a fight! I no longer need a nation of mindless dependents! I need a nation to serve my every whim, and an army of mortal desire incarnated." Amartía body began to warp and grow, his Wrath engulfing him at limits he had never touched before. "This whole world will understand desire, under my rule!" His eyes had reddened, rage had bloated his body twice its original size. Pain seared through his abdomen better than a branding iron, his mind struggling against the torment, unable to bring a thought to completion. His fury had taken over, reached a tipping point in which he body struggled to control.

Abruptly, Sin screamed, dark clouds of smoke suddenly erupting outwards from every pore. The smog wrapped around Sin like a mother swaddling her child, but he felt no such love. In his intense silence he somehow screamed with his whole body. The eyes wide with horror, the mouth rigid and open, his chalky face gaunt and immobile, the fists clenched with blanched knuckles and the nails digging deeply into the palms of his hands while his body bloated broke.

Without warning, Sin fell from the sky, his face covered as he became a meteor of destruction. Strips of skin peeled of his body, burning as a trail of smoke peeled off his body in droves. His fury became a ball composed of pure rage whipping across the sky, barrelling towards the Cipher. Amartía could feel nothing, he could see nothing, his body had swollen to the point of bursting, pain had become his only companion, and rage was its catalyst.

An instant later, there was a blinding flash, like sheet-lightning, and a huge ball of blood colored fire belched upward, leaving a series of smoke-rings to float more slowly after it. That fireball flattened, then spread to form the mushroom-head of a column of incandescent gas that mounted to overtake it, engorging the smoke-rings as it rose, twisting, writhing, changing shape, turning to dark smoke in one moment and belching flame and crackling with lightning the next. Angry winds tore into the landing zone itself, ripping up and incinerating great chunks of stone and blood-drenched earth, tossing them violently back down hundreds of leagues away in explosions of raw destruction.

Out of this shock Amartía felt himself issuing amid a mass of terrible sensations: the fearful blow of the explosion, the noise of glass, the hoarse howl of people, the rushing of men, the sudden gulf, the awful gulfing whirlpool of horror, and unimaginable pain. Suddenly Sin could feel again, his body punishing him as he convulsed let out an ear splitting scream. His ire ripped apart his body, red flames burning off his beautiful white wings and replaced them with a festering sack of burnt skin that exploded outwards to reveal leathery bat-like wings twice the size of the former. White hair that was once held in dreadlocks darkened, now black, wild and untamed, reaching Sin's midriff and hiding his face almost completely. The natural part suddenly reached down to the center, stopping in the middle of his forehead; separating his long hair just enough to see the eerie, bloodcurdling changes to his face. The beautiful features that once adorned his cheeks, nose, and jaw now fusing with his flesh oddly, becoming part of his expression of power. His lower jaw, burned away, entirely replaced by a predatory mandible, as if his skin had been cut off to reveal what lay beneath. While his upper lip and the majority of his cheeks remained intact, his jawbone was now the only thing at the bottom section of his face. His tongue burned away, as was the base of his mouth. With his normal, human-like upper teeth replaced by a sharp row of matching fangs, and without a tongue or lower mouth, Sin could no longer speak normally; but his growls, grunts, and screams were all the more powerful.

Amartía's eyes had changed also. The sclera shifted to a midnight black, and the irises and pupils turn blood red, much like the energy that twisted around him in a near-constant torrent of ripping force. But these eyes were nothing but vestigial props; serving no function other than to terrify his enemies and instill fear in those who the glimpse face of fury. This was only made more unsettling by the fact that he no longer had a need to blink, allowing him to keep his eyes wide open, staring into the depths of those who challenged him. This, combined with with his primal, predatory jaw, pushed his appearance into the realm of horror.

With bare skin from neck to waist, the entire upper body of Wrath Sin was now visible. His clothes were soughed off his body, no longer capable of impeding his movements. Only his tan hide glimmered in the light, showing off his perfectly shaped body built in a trial of fire. Each nail had become a sickle-spear of sharp, white bone nearly two inches long.

The lower half of Amartía's clothing had been replaced by a seamless transition just at his waist. Deep brown fur now covered his muscular legs, making clothing pointless. His feet, which were still humanoid, boasted similar nails to that of his hands, curving upwards and then downwards like miniature sickles.

The skies above Sin were whispering to the world about the danger that was about to unleash destruction upon everything that came in its way.
The ashen billows that tumbled from his withering body indefinitely growled with thunder, flashes of light blinding any observers.

Like a tsunami breaking down a dam, the hot winds began to rage, screaming like madmen in pain. Everything felt its fury; the trees bent to the ground as humans scurried to their homes to hideouts. No one was safe from the hurricane of ash.

As rage did what it was prone to, tubular formations began to form themselves around his body like saucers of aliens. They spun and spun around invisible axes, gaining momentum and force as they gulped down the atmosphere. Once they hit the earth, manmade structures began to fall apart and creak under the pressure of the attack of his wrath, expanding as his rage boiled.

Sin, huddled in fetal position as his body accepted its change, released one last ghastly roar, arching his back so that his scream carried up towards the sky. The raging twister expanded outwards, gale-force blasts seemingly composed of pure rage whipping across the city and mountains, swaddling Xerxes completely.

Without notice, a hush settled upon Xerxes instantly. While the pitter patter of blood rain singing the city a lullaby, and the raging wall of twisting fury bastioned it, Sin slept. Innocence showed on his sleeping face, the peaceful and serene dreams blocking out the dangers of the outside. The soft breathing making the world seem to stand still. But only for moment. Sin's eyes opened, granting him a view of a forlorn world, his red gaze and black sclera never wavering as he relived his rebirth. The most basic and brutal of sentient emotions and actions, such as hate, anger, rage, war and killing, were suddenly at his finger tips and boiled in his heart.

Amartía rose to his feet, his black membrane wings folding across his back as he surveyed his surroundings. It only took him seconds to recognize the smoldering remains of the Cipher, his grand pyramid, the hallmark of Xerxes, now a skeleton sinking in molten blood.

From the depths of his belly, rolled forth a terrible roar, a primal scream of supremacy and battle that shook the very ground upon which he stood on. A bolt of white hot lightning broke the sanguine sky upon his call, cleaving the night in parts, but just for the briefest of moments before more screams joined his own.

Xerxes declaration of war, heard around the world.

The Workshop drifted in its lonely pocket of space, orbiting the only star on the plane, and occasionally jettisoning a batch of large metal plates. Rockets strapped to these plates fired, dropping their orbit closer to the star. The small chemical rockets were inadequate to get the Collector plates all the way into their required orbits, so as the Collectors orbited closer to the star and began producing power, they powered electromagnetic coils which coupled with the star's own magnetic field, providing thrust and orbital realignment without the use of rockets. And this steady stream of metal plates had doubled the population of Collectors in orbit around the star since last time, doubling the Stellar Engine's output.

And it was this power Teknall was hoping to harness in more diverse ways. The Stellar Engine was always going to produce far more power than the Workshop needed. Most of the energy produced went to waste, for the Stellar Engine Core could only hold approximately an hour of energy production from the Stellar Engine, so any excess energy was rejected into space.

Teknall did not have any plans for the present which could make continuous use of that energy, but he did have a couple of devices planned to use it some of the time.

So Teknall entered the Workshop, followed by Goliath, and was greeted by the clanking of machinery, the roar of furnaces, and the buzz of electric motors. What he was making today would not require the full manufacturing capacity of the Workshop, though, just a small portion of it. He walked over to a forge and anvil, turned a few dials on the side of the forge to request the desired ratio of metals from the Elemental Siphon, then picked up a hammer.

Teknall was now in his element. To take raw resources and fashion them into a something complex was what defined him. In the beginning he had favoured stone, the sturdy matter of planets and the ground. Then, as life emerged, he had adopted wood, the versatile flesh of plants. Now, as mortal civilisations advanced into the Bronze Age, he would adopt metal, strong and malleable refined elemental matter. Metal, the most important material in the advancement of civilisation. Metal, essential to most great technologies.

And with metal he would work today. The alloy was mixed in the forge and he poured it out into casts. A robotic arm came along the railing and deposited a few freshly extruded metal pipes onto a nearby workbench. With expert hammer blows he shaped and moulded the metal to his whim.

The device he was constructing looked like a metal nozzle and hose. The interior of the pipes was lined with highly refractory material, giving it heat resistance. The nozzle had an adjustable aperture. And the device was covered in radiators. The hose was equipped with actuators to allow it to move of its own accord, and the nozzle had a clip on it which would attach it to something such that it hung firmly about 15 centimeters below it.

This device he installed into Goliath. He cut a small hole in Goliath's back where the hose would emerge, coupled the start of the hose to Goliath's core, and then installed a hatch over the opening. The hose would spend most of its time retracted within Goliath's torso, but when needed it would emerge, coil around, clip to the underside of one of Goliath's arms, and be ready to use.

Teknall had made a flamethrower, powered by the Stellar Engine, which could emit plasma so hot that the flames of a Realta would look like a mere candle in comparison, or flames so broad as to engulf a whole army, although at the Stellar Engine's current capacity not both at once for any extended period of time. The capabilities of this flamethrower would grow with that of the Stellar Engine, and was another weapon to add to Goliath's already-diverse arsenal.

This was not all that Teknall planned to build today. Although Goliath had access to the Stellar Engine's power wherever it went, Teknall currently did not, and he planned to fix that. He needed a highly versatile device with capabilities for very high energy transfer which would be a conduit for the Stellar Engine to his environment and to his gadgets.

Teknall did not have to design such a thing from scratch, for someone else had already made something which possessed half the desired features. From his apron pocket Teknall pulled a live Needle Fae he had collected earlier, the tip of its blade anchored with a lump of iron, and set it down on his workbench to study. The Needle Fae's ability to absorb and channel near limitless power was what he hoped to replicate, and then adapt that to his own purposes.

So Teknall studied the Needle Fae and experimented for many hours, until he was finally able to replicate its abilities with divine machinery. Teknall constructed his conduit from a combination of metal and carefully harvested Other-matter, derived from more Needle Fae.

The end result was thirty identical geometric elongated tetrahedrons, about thirty centimetres long and eight centimetres wide, with the brassy-gold lustre of orichalcum. To connect with the conduit, a device of similar materials was plugged into the Stellar Engine. But while the physical components of the conduit had been built, it was not yet complete. By Teknall's will, the shards floated in front of him, and he imbued them with his power, implanting an intricate network of divine instructions to program them and govern their operation.

As the shards were granted power, they arranged themselves into a circle, their points all pointed inwards. In the centre of the circle grew a mote of incandescent yellow light, like a tiny sun. The circle floated to hover above Teknall's outstretched palm, slowly rotating as he inspected it. Then Teknall closed his hand, and the conduit did likewise, the shards folding together into a quasi-tetrahedron and the tiny sun disappearing. The conduit then folded further, disappearing away into higher dimensional space until it vanished entirely, stowed away for later use.

The conduit was a success. With that device Teknall would be able to unleash the power of the Stellar Engine wherever he went. He could use the conduit itself as a tool or weapon, or attach it to another device to power it. An additional feature the conduit had, inherited from the Needle Fae Teknall copied, was that the conduit could absorb energy just as easily as it emitted energy, putting the energy into the Stellar Engine Core.

Construction finished for the day, Teknall and Goliath departed the Workshop and returned to Galbar. Teknall had places to visit. Goliath had the other half of Logos' invasion to deal with.

Goliath flew over Galbar at a relatively leisurely pace before touching down in front of an Aclaya forest. This pathogenic crystal endangered Galbar's entire biosphere. The efforts mobilised by Jvan had helped stall the advance of Logos' plague, but it was hardly a permanent solution. The spores still carried across the burned trenches which had been established, and the beings who fought against the spread were not themselves immune to infection, and could not carry out such arduous work forever.

Goliath, however, was different. Goliath was a robot, and thus completely impervious to infection, and the Mirror Armour prevented any contamination by the crystal spores. Goliath was powered by the Stellar Engine, and thus could use up to 100 gigawatts continuously, without ceasing. And with Goliath's new flamethrower, it was well-equipped to eradicate the Aclaya forests.

The flamethrower hose snaked out and attached itself to Goliath's lower right arm. Goliath then stretched out that arm, the nozzle adjusted its aperture, and a blinding white glow and ferocious roar echoed across the landscape as the full fury of the Stellar Engine was poured out upon the Aclaya forest. Over fifty gigawatts of heat, unceasing, washed over the crystal forest in front of Goliath and melted dozens of square metres every second. The trees melted, bubbled and even burned, and the ground was turned into a tortured landscape of igneous rocks. Coldly Goliath walked along the perimeter of the Aclaya forest, systematically destroying it. Some of the crystalline guardians emerged to confront the robot destroying their forest, but they were dispatched by crossbows, railguns or the flamethrower itself before they could even exit the forest.

This process of extermination would take many years at the current pace, though, for the Aclaya had already spread virulently and affected a huge expanse of land across Galbar. So the work would be incremental. Proper exclusion zones of a few hundred metres width could be established, which would further prevent the spread of Aclaya. Then, once that had been achieved at all the outbreaks, the longer task of destroying the forests completely could be undertaken, by expanding that border kilometre by kilometre, until no trace of the dreaded crystals remained.

It would take decades of continuous work for the Aclaya to be destroyed entirely. The land would be scorched, although given time it would recover. But robots did not tire, did not grow bored. To enact methodical tasks without rest was their purpose. And the Stellar Engine's power was inexhaustible, running off the long-lived power of a star. It would be a long task, but it wasn't as if Goliath had anything better to do.