Killing the Wizard God and conquering his land

A chorus of dissonant footsteps grew closer toward the boundaries of node 22. Tireless offspring marched through dusklight, purposely timed so that their approach might be masked by the blackness of night. Above the horde rode not Grym but Peninal aboard an anxious Akky, who mingled rather stealthily with the night sky. Peninal, now with a gaping hole in his chest, had been placed strategically in the air with his spear while Grym (still disguised as Monica) marched with Dorian at his side.

A few dozen ‘flyers’ accompanied Peninal in the air. They were grotesque winged offspring with spacious gular like that of a pelican and, were it not so dark, one could see each of their pouches were brimming with swarmers. Various forms of grounded offspring made up the remaining bulk of Grym’s reserves. Despite their unbecoming appearance the offspring had organized, with Grym’s guidance, into a deliberate military force. At the front were about two hundred bombardiers, who were ranged specialists capable of dispatching volleys of infectious projectiles; behind them stood the meat of infantry, totalling roughly seven hundred offspring of various close-range combat types [Juggernauts, Thralls, Rushers, etc.]; and hidden from plain view were some hundred Stalkers that covertly burrowed beneath the ground.

Offspring had been advised to kill and infect fleeing mortals the further they advanced toward the heart of Brey’s land. Refugees from node 22 would have probably made the resident God aware of node 23’s invader, but they wouldn’t be permitted to spoil this surprise visit. Grym had sent the rest of his warriors ahead with a single accompanying Stalker, to scout their path and utilize the Stalker to communicate relevant information. They were advised to maintain a low profile and take post as close to the heart of Brey’s settlement as possible prioritizing the gathering of relevant information until the assault force caught up.

When the invasion arrived it would be surprised. The technology level of Node 23 was modest, to say the least, but there seemingly hundreds of thousands of people in the Great Library’s city. The City of Molbrew’s soldiers were armed with copper tipped arrow bodkins, but the bows themselves were very well crafted. The people had brass knives and were armed surprisingly well for such technologically backwards folk. But that was not what was the most off putting, nor was the fact, the Wizard God brandished his magical axe in the anticipation of an assault.

The defenders also had fliers. Many thousands of Mages flew through the air, capable of unleashing devastation on enemies, far in excess of their technology level, with weaponized spells that were far superior even to ranged weapons that would be compared to flint lock muskets. In the mean while, there was an army stationed in the enchanted library. These magicians unleashed magical illusions to confuse the monstrous, corrupted swarms to attack each other. Brey, from his observatory, came down from his study and immediately alerted the defenses. Illusionists from the safe walls of the library could unleash their spells from the windows.

Magical illusions of auditory and visual hallucinations would assault the invaders. The infected would be surprisingly vulnerable to these spells, as their minds were dulled. More ever, healing mages, enchanters, and all magicians knew the arts of Alchemy. Healing potions, poisons, sleeping potions and others were ready to be unleashed.

Finally, enchanted wards were set up to alert the city folk when the invaders entered. This way mages could be alerted to intercept them in case any managed to get through the defenses.
Although the Node was not enchanted with a message of alert, it lay in the heart of the city, inside the Great Library, and possessed an enchantment that blinded any with ill intent inside the grounds. Any that would make contact with the walls technically counted as being inside.

These were not the only preparations Brey had laid on the city and particularly it’s library. Enchantments would make it difficult to set fire to anything. Lastly, not only was the city of Molbrew very surprisingly large for it’s level of technology - the fact remained that there were tens of thousands of mages ready to strike.

Reports from the city walls revealed it to be far more structurally fortified than initially expected. He had to commend the resident God for preparing so quickly, though the offspring thrived in situations where warm bodies were so heavily concentrated. Upon approach, Grym stopped some 500 yards outside the walls before continuing to the foot of the with only Dorian at his side.

He cleared his throat in a ceremonious manner before letting his steady voice boom through the entire node realm. “I am Monica of the northern alliance. I came here seeking Brey. If I cannot speak with him, I’ll reduce your city to rubble.”

It was a quite the threat. His attitude toward this incursion had shifted in wake of this node’s advancements. Perhaps killing Brey would be a disservice. All the more reason Grym hoped his grand gesture would draw Brey out, if only to respond to the incredible threat at first.

The large wooden, double doors open, and out came the powerful Archmage, Brey. “Come inside. I have been expecting. . . something like this for quite some time now. I give you my word. There will be no trap waiting for you inside.” The Wizard God was serious, but surprisingly hospitable.

---

While Grym’s stiff mug could not show it, it was offputing how nonchalantly Brey had taken his appearance. The elderly man had opened the door, greeted him, and invited Grym in with his back turned. Was it gross naivete or explicit confidence; he couldn’t say. It was only when a current of red danced in his peripheral that Grym reeled himself in, turning to look just as Dorian had wound up. The giant of a man had cocked one arm back with an open palm, materializing what looked like an enormous ballista bolt he was primed to drive forth like a piston straight through the geezer’s chest. Grym stepped in the line of fire, shaking his head frantically and waving his hands.

“But I thought you said to go for the kill first chance we g-” Dorian’s response was muffled by Grym physically using his hand as a muzzle — the sensation of a rotting hand suddenly cupping Dorian’s mouth did evoke a few stifled gags. Panicked Grym does a double take, praying Brey hadn’t noticed the almost assassination. Thankfully, the old coot kept walking.

“I’ve changed my mind.” Grym whispered.

“Just now?” Dorian matched the whisper.

“Just now.” He confirmed.

“Why?!” Dorian’s tone became harsh that it nearly echoed through the tunnels of this large doorway. He was justifiably frustrated.

No answer Grym mustered would paint his whimsical decision in a better light. Brey’s ingenuity had intrigued him, so he wanted to see the rest of the city before deciding. It was an understandable position, had he the forethought to consider it ahead of time. Instead Dorian scolded Grym like a troubled child and threw his arms forward in unison. “Lead on, then.”

Giggling in near silence, Brey snapped his fingers once again, revealing blue shimmering energy surrounding him as a force field. He continued to walk to an open space, surrounded by book shelves, but with a long table with delicacies and various foods on it’s surface. Brey’s famous honeyed fish and venison lay there, awaiting the hungry mouths of whoever would eat.

“It’s normally inadvisable to be serving a feast during battle, but this food is enchanted with healing properties. However, since there is no need for them right now, the spell also enhanced the food’s flavor.”

“Should you feel the need, sit, and eat. The wizard god sat at the far end of the table. “So. . . I have questions for you. I assume you have questions as well.”

Grym gladly sat at the table, while Dorian stood a ways back from the table staring daggers. He reached for the honeyed haddock and yanked the whole fish off its plate, waving it indicatively at Brey before tearing a chunk out of its midsection.

“I think my -gulp- initial intention is pretty obvious,” Sputtering bits of fish flew from his jaw as he spoke. “But your library and your knowledge interest me. Your mortals also appear quite capable; I’ve not heard of mortals who can employ divine magicks-” Just then, it hit him that he had still been slobbering over haddock still dressed as Monica. He dispelled the illusion, revealing himself, and smacked his chest to clear his throat.

“I am Grym, at your service. Disregard my previous appearance, as its intended purpose no longer applies. I was not present during the birthday party, but I suppose I am a divine. My goal is to understand the Crucible in its entirety and I have recently met someone who may be able to bring me closer to that goal. Now that I’m here I understand your proficiency for knowledge and its acquisition, which I now believe is worth preserving. I’d like to share ideas and tell you what I’ve learned, but I need to know if we can be friends, old boy; if you are amicable to cooperation in spite of our rocky introductions.”

“Don’t worry about it.”
“ I have a proposition. You can join my little cadre of deities, and in return, I will tell you everything I know.” Brey smiled at Grym, nodding to Dorian as he spoke. “Your friend is not a polite dinner guest.”

“Oh, Dorian? He’s actually just mad at me, for reasons.” Grym elected not to elaborate more than that. Dorian did not react to being thrown under the bus and instead took a seat at the table, snatching the haddock out of Grym’s hands for himself.

“Fool needs all the help he can.” Dorian mumbled inaudibly before digging into the exquisite feast.

“Your cadre, huh?” Grym leaned back in his seat, stewing in the implications of Brey’s proposal. “Might I be so bold as to speculate this coalition includes your neighbors, Vatarr and Asvarad?”

“Yes. That is a very accurate assertion.” Brey confirmed. “We are not fools that we would forsake such a powerful ally.”

“Let me be transparent with you, Brey old boy. I know of these individuals, but I do not know them. I think you and I have much to discuss, between your knowledge and my learnings of the Crucible’s true nature. I think there is something to make of our commonality. I would like to tentatively agree on an alliance and set terms with you specifically, with the stipulation that I should meet with these others first before officially cementing the pact. That we, you and I can set terms now and I will uphold my end of the bargain to introduce myself hereafter.”

“This is acceptable.”

“Wonderful!” Grym rose from his chair and skittered over to Brey’s side of the table where he sat down again. With a momentous clap there lay a full and ripe watermelon plopped into existence upon the lavish hickory table.

“Then let’s get boring terms out of the way so you and I can move onto the fun stuff!” Using one of the steak knifes to slice even wedges, he distributed a succulent slice to Brey and Dorian both — and then one for himself of course.

“My primary request is that you share permission of your node and future nodes with me, while I will do the same in return. I would like this to be true of Vatarr and Asvarad as well, which I will voice during our meeting. This only benefits the progression of our unified strength by permitting each of us to advance our territories regardless of however many nodes we individually own. In addition, I would request a number of magi from your reserves. I ask this for a few reasons: to bolster my current forces, to employ them as teachers of divine magicks for my own people, and to utilize your peoples’ overall knowledge to expedite the development of my territories. In exchange, I would guarantee your protection and my military aid in the event of an incursion. You will also be supplied with a sort of ‘messenger’ that would allow you to contact me, or anyone else in our coalition, instantly through my Cradle’s information network. I hope my long-windedness didn’t spoil your melon, but please give your honest opinions in regard to these two conditions.”
“These are acceptable if we are to be allies. In fact, this is most equitable. I might request permission to keep access to Node 23 and work on the land. Other than that, these are fine conditions.”

“I will grant permissions to 23 upon my return and I hope you will be able to do the same for 22 for myself. That much is fair. In addition, I would also request a trusted delegate from your court to act as an arbitrator in my dealings with Vatarr and Asvarad. I don’t exactly come off as trustworthy, you see. Having someone that can vouch for your endorsement and the agreements made here will hopefully soothe any misgivings they harbor.”

“You may have my most competent apprentice, Duncan as your delegate. All other conditions are in agreement with me.”

“Then I believe we can settle things for now. I’d like set aside time for us to discuss future logistics such as trade routes and general interactions between our peoples, but for now I’m content. Now then…”

Grym reached around to cup Brey’s shoulder in a half-embrace like they were old schoolmates. “Let me tell you something interesting, Brey old boy. Do you remember the memories our dear Pops showed to us before his death?”

This question had clearly piqued Brey’s interest and Grym bombastically recounted the event of Garravar’s revival and the conversation that ensued, detailing possible secrets of the Crucible that yearned to be discovered; all except for the deal with Garravar. Now that conditions had been discussed and agreed upon, Grym finished his dinner in Brey’s hall. Toward the end of the encounter one of the thralls was brought into the dining hall. Its malleable organic body morphed into a static monolithic receiver. Any of the Cradle’s offspring could fulfill the duty of communicating, but Grym didn’t want to spook Brey nor draw concern by having a thrall wander the domain; so he jury-rigged this particular offspring into an innocuous sort specifically tailored for communications.

"Duncan, come along." Grym beckoned like one would lost pup. "Gather 500 of your scholars to make the journey with me to 22. I promise my hospitality and will grant your permissions to the node upon my return. We’ll be in touch~”

---

Three days past before Brey could prime and muster five hundred of his best to accompany Grym. They were sure to be skeptical of being sent to serve a mysterious new ally. In the meantime Grym apologized to and filled in Nea's group who had been left on watch for hours in "enemy" territory during his little soiree.

"Dorian, I cannot believe you left us outside that whole time." Nea fumed.

"Why are you mad at me?! I went in thinking we were going to kill the geezer and split! I nearly did, but-"

"BUT then that moron changed his mind; I know. You still stuffed your face and brought fuck all for the rest of us."

"Master Grym did exit rather abruptly-" Duncan softly interjected before being cut off.

"Shut your hole, Duncan." She snapped and stormed off.

"Don't take it personal, lad. The big guy drives us all to madness, he do." Dorian snickered and gave Duncan a hard slap on the back, causing the timid mage to shuffle forward from the impact. When their faces met however, Duncan's expression only looked more concerned than before.

Once preparations had been completed, Grym left with his lot back to node 23.

Standing Lunaticism

The Mirror Marches had gained their name in part for how desolate they could be, villages of ice fishers existed in the frozen lakes of the highlands and the greener valleys housed Tsillara, one of the gemstones of the Dusklands, with a textile industry kickstarted by night cotton, but now home to workers of silk, tsillo, and much more, the core of the node, the plains, however, had so far only housed llama herders and some minor mining communities.

But that had suddenly changed.

Countless tents were now spread at the 'shores' of the salt flat, the light of bonfires lighting up the night sky. Men and women with stern faces walked about, most wearing armour or uniforms but even those in normal clothing lacked the typical flair of dusklander fashion, metallic sounds echoed from makeshift forges while servants walked about carrying bowls of a red-ish type of honey, known to induce dreams upon those who consumed it.

Nearby the tent city stood the totem called Mirori, Magistrates and officers swarming around it, most guiding people near and away from it while a few stayed taking notes on the matter. The introduction of paper and writing from Node 12 had been a blessing to the endless bureaucratic sector of the dusklands, even if the mind of the average Magi was trained to hold numbers as accurately as the written word, the added practicality only helped their work to be more efficient.

Most of them stood in a central larger tent, fancier with symbols in black and turquoise, which slowly crept as the main colours of the goddess' reign. At the back, the goddess and her family sat trying to paradoxically be 'comfortable' and yet imposing at the same time. Against her bosom, Dzallitsunya held her son Llohar while her daughter Dzillikiri rested on a blanket spread over the ground, right by the fur of the nameless wolf king. One would guess she was insane for letting her infant so close to a chaos infused beast that was able to devour a child whole, but the goddess had taught the beast already that its thoughts were not as fast as her sword hand, even if she was distracted with breastfeeding and reading the latest military reports. Zed stood by her side, the actual "leader" of the house, but well aware that was as much of an illusion as the idea Tsunya would ever love him as much as he loved her, still, she was happy and he was content enough with that, though this talk of travels to far lands did put some doubt in his heart.

"One to five, hmm?" the goddess whispered while staring at the paper notes and the paper white-skinned Magistrate. "Topami while leading the archers managed one to seven, but I am not giving up on Llotir yet, next time, let's induce a more defensive scenario, see how he handles the troops when he is not worried about flanking."

The Magi nodded and moved back with a few more to Mirori. The totem, initially made to train the goddess, was now being used en masse to simulate battle scenarios with entire squads of troops. Dzallitsunya was in a rush to reconnect with the south and claim her far off node, but she could not leave her people unprotected for so long.

"My goddess." Zed started, still not understanding the sudden turn on doctrine. "When you said that you had the Magis record everyone living in the dusklands and aimed at having all able-bodied youths come here to train, I thought you were exaggerating... but wow, now I see that was no joke." he outright whistled at the constellation of lights from lit fires in the campground.

Tsunya chuckled. "It is not that many people in here right now, you are also confusing my words." she shook her head. "Everyone of age will have to come here sooner or later in the incoming months, but most will just turn back and go home, the actual size of a military we can logically support is not that big, in fact, right here and right now, we are already overstretched."

"We are?" he questioned, surprised at that. "So far it seemed to be running smoothly."

"More people were retained for further training than I expected, see, I am not only picking soldiers here, I am picking the military leadership of said soldiers. Through tests in and out of the dream, we picked those who can lead and have been testing them on integrity and strategy. Furthermore, even the common soldiery needs further screening, to see who goes back home, who becomes a normal soldier wearing the iron and bronze, who gets to be the elite clad in Tzurkortze." she sighed. "Add to that the people I am picking to be sailors, and we have quite a crowd, a crowd that will need to stay in here for months probably."

"Truly?" Zed gasped. "Will we have to live in this cold tent instead of our palace back home? Our little, warm, perfumed palace?" common sense said no, but knowing his wife, he was never sure.

"We will only stay for this initial period. I need to be here. Soon there will be more people elected officials oh... and there is the fact I had to re-organise so many Magistrates to this task...

"Because the Magis work like your eyes within the dream battles, right?" Zed said proudly, for once he understood and remembered her explanation, sort of.

"Errr. Sort of." the goddess seemed dismissive and distant, Zed's face turned with suspicion. "You are right, unlike most mortals, I can read their memories, they are also great at initiating the dreams perfectly to my request, but... well... their qualities you see, they would be good for many tasks involving strong sharp minds, but the people made to turn into priests and bureaucrats are not exactly the people good in active situations..."

"You mean combat? Is every aspect of our society militarised now, my goddess?" Zed asked with suspicion. "Feels a bit excessive for merely defending ourselves, no?"

Dzallitsunya turned with a soft expression, smiling and shaking her head. "No. I could have meant Navigators for when my ship sets off, yes?" she explained and yet she stood up, giving both of her babies to one of the nurses before wandering off the tent, into the water and salt fields where a perfect image of the moon was reflected, the starry night sky always calmed her spirit and from where she was it almost seemed like she was standing on the moon, as if she could dive and reach far off lunar lands, away from the crucible, away from the chaos and hostile gods. Of course, actually diving would just have one meet the hard bitter reality of things, in this case, a layer of salt rock dense enough to break a nose.

So she closed her eyes, clenched her hands, and turned back to face her husband, who was predictably following her out of the tent. "We do not struggle with banditry in the Twilight, so you probably don't know them, but my magistrate spy on foreign lands and I know how marauders act, do you want to hear?" he was startled by the sudden stern words, it didn't matter, she continued.

"They start with nothing, 0%. They find a nice village full of nice and lovely people and they start raiding its edges, words are exchanged, the village wants to seek peace, but the bandits ask for 100%, ludicrous things, and threaten equally unrealistic danger, that they will go on a full-on assault and leave no one alive. Now, most bandits cannot actually do that without losing most of their numbers, but they don't have to do it, because the village will start offering them, hmm, 25% of what they requested, bargain it down to even 10 or 5%. The village will think they won, they saved themselves and avoided the battle, but 5% is more than 0%, and the bandits can just go and attack other places, maybe in ten years they come back, and since their predecessors gave something, the village gives them yet another 5%, or more. Because stealing a bit here and a bit there, the bandit group has only gotten larger, fatter, overwhelming others like the sun overwhelms the stars." she shook her head.

"We love our lands, we love our peaceful people, we are not greedy or violent, if given the chance, we would raise no army. And that is why we must, otherwise, those with weapons will be the sociopaths, thieves and warlords. Love can induce respect but fear guarantees it. So when the bandits come, they will learn those who threaten our village will not be granted even 1% of their demands, instead, the only decision we will be forced to make will come when they fall on their knees and beg for our mercy."

She thought she was perfectly logical, she had tamed a chaos wolf with such a mentality, surely Zed, smart as he was, would follow her. But he seemed to be more bothered than in the tent. "Those are harsh words my love. And I am not sure I follow you, as you said, I have not seen most of the danger this world has to offer. Just tell me if this army and if these soldiers are truly just here to protect ourselves."

Dzallitsunya smiled. "Most of the training dreams are of defence scenarios, most soldiers are archers and slingers, best at defence, and who are less likely to die in the clash of swords. Our elite tzurkotze troops are led by the lovely Hatzur and her wife Marana, you know them, right? They carry spears and shields, being a stern and dense wall. All of this training is to give the soldiers a veterancy without a fight, so they will know how to survive in battle. Most of the people here will go home with little more than a small defence training to protect their villages and evacuate their families should harm pierce into our lands."

She seized his hands, continuing to smile. "I know it sounds scary, but you believe in me, right? Just imagine it like, if you lived long ago. Before we existed, when the stars were born. You'd think anything in the sky becoming larger than a star would surely be another sun, so when at night you saw something growing larger, you'd think, oh for sure now there will be two suns and what was gentle night will now be a second day. But, then, that would grow into the gentle moon, shepherding the stars in the sky. So think of me like that, I know this makes me scary, but it is to scare away the troubles, not you, not any other of my beloved dusklanders, nor our friends abroad."

Finally, the man sighed and kissed her forehead and then her nose. "Fine. I never doubted you, I was just confused." he held her back. "Shall we go back to our base then?"

Dzallitsunya shook her head. "I still have more bureaucracy to deal with. Go ahead, take care of the kids and warm up the bed for me, yes?" the man nodded and left, leaving the goddess standing there, standing on the mirror image of the moon, wind blasting, making her cape flow and her sword and knives clink against each other.

She sighed.

"Halla Miradja." she whispered at nothing.

"Yes my lady?" the nothing answered back, revealing itself, a figure clad in black cotton and gold symbols, a umbrium tinted mask of a canine over her faceless head. Sure, she had been training magistrates to be navigators in dreams of sea journeys, but she had been aiming for something more practical, an active solution finder to her issues.



"Thanks for serving me as my guard, you were as discreet as I expect, I doubt anyone but the wolf even noticed you."

"Thank you my goddess."

"But I need you to do something else now. Tellum'Vellik mocked me. I sent them resources to build defences southward, towards the hive, and they built them north and east, towards Benea. They also continue to give support to brigands striking at the paladins."

"So I need you to do a covert action for me. Break down all gates but the south one, destroy all ballistas but the south one, break the carts, arrows, and tools being used to dig ditches and prepare for war. Then pick a guard of your choosing, drag him to the dark, and remind him that the city is allowed safety under my word, and that Anak'Thas should hurry and answer my message, holding no delusions of making it to the city before setting up a deal with me." she stared at an angle, eyes fixated under the mask, even though invisibility and a light cotton weave did not make it possible to find the exact face of the Magistrate, the goddess could feel them. "But do not actually harm anyone under any pretext. Be gentle with the poor lad you will deliver the message to."

"What tools should I use for the sabotage of the gates? Has the Halle Kemiha found the burnable oil she sought?"

The goddess seized her hand and focused, infusing the agent with an amount of godly power, making her strength far greater than her thin body would suggest. "Kick it down to the ground." That and the arrival of far more dusklander peacekeepers to the region ought to make the message clear, the goddess thought.

Benea stood at the wide bow window of her room. Xavier had been kind enough to let her stay at his own massive home and to commandeer one of the rooms. The room itself was very fit to Benea's likings with almost all the trappings of her home back at the pristine palace. Her bed was ridiculously large, her walls thickly decorated, and the floors polished to such a marble shine she could see herself in them. Despite all of this, none of it fetched Benea’s eyes and instead she found herself staring outside at the purple night sky.

The starry expanse blanketed the city, each speck of light reminding her of who had made it. Every memory put a stone in her stomach, until she was feeling nauseous with anxiety. So much had happened and none of it according to plan, she wasn’t sure if any of it was scavengable at this point and just the thought of that sent the blood from her face and made her feel light.

In fact, since she dismissed herself from Xavior and sweet Monica earlier, she had been trying to nap — hoping sleep would help. Unfortunately, all napping did was give her terrible dreams, a nasty case of bed head, and wrinkled her slip to the point that she wasn’t sure even Jermane could straighten it out without the biggest hot iron available. But she had bigger things to worry about.

She closed her eyes and let out a breath, only for it to come out as a shaky sigh. Benea felt cold, her arms wrapping around herself as she turned back to her enormous bed. Taking small, dread filled steps towards it, Benea eyed the biggest blanket the mattress had to offer and reached for it. Before her fingers could even wrap around the fabric, a hand gingerly wrapped around her arm, tugging her back away from it.

The Goddess gently spun as the owner of the hand turned her around. She turned only to smack face first into Garravar’s chest, his arms folding behind her and embracing her. Benea froze, her hands held out, not knowing where to go as the god held her close. Tears began to well in Benea’s eyes and giving up, she leaned into the embrace but didn’t return it.

“Do you forgive me?” Garravar’s voice came down from above.

Benea hiccuped on a sob, “no.”

“We can start over now, try again.”

“You did this, Garravar,” Benea closed her eyes but didn’t pull away. “This is all your fault.”

“You know it isn’t.”

Now Benea pulled back so as to look up into the god’s eyes, the crystal blue pools as cool and calm as ever. Benea’s own were fiery with emotion and tears. “You certainly didn’t help! So many… You did this to us.”

“I didn’t.” Garravar growled and let go of Benea. “You drove me to this, you drove it all into the ground. I gave you a choice-”

“You gave me an impossible choice!” Benea hissed back.

“It was one life!” Garravar retorted. “One life for all the others, you were greedy.”

“I was compassionate!”

Garravar let out a loud laugh. “And look where that got you, where it got the other.”

“You can’t blame me for your spear. Murder was your own choice.”

Slapping his hands with every word, Garravar enunciated. “You left me no choice.”

“There is always a choice…” Benea took a step back.

“Olipha.” Garravar frowned.

A pause.

Pushing a hand through his hair, Garravar reset his stern look with a softer one. “It’s over. This isn’t the seventh anymore, this is a new one. We can make the choice again, I offer you the same deal. What’s the matter this time, the gods of this crucible are nothing like the ones of the seventh. They don’t even like you, have no purpose or love for you, and neither you should have for them. We don’t even need to sacrifice just one.”

“You’re speaking nonsense.” Benea’s voice came out soft, a hollow horror echoing from her chest. “Please go away.”

“It can be just us,” Garravar continued, starting to pace as he thought out loud. “No troubles, no worries, a perfect paradise. The crucible over, just you and me like we wanted.”

Beana’s voice was barely audible. “I don’t want that anymore.”

Turning to the goddess, Garravar arched a brow. “What do you want?”

She simply shook her head. Benea's legs were shaking so much she walked backwards until the bed came up under her to catch her sit. Crossing her arms defensively, Benea looked away. ”I don’t know, I already messed everything up. Again.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Garravar defended. He bit his lip and turned to look out the window. “We have been given a second chance at this, my plan will work, I just need you. I always needed you.”

“Garravar, you killed me.”

The words seemed to linger between the two for a while. Slowly the winter god’s expression changed to a dark and angry one. He grit his teeth and squinted his eyes and Benea could feel a tension rise. She went to speak but hesitated, the winter god’s fingers curled and uncurling, shards of ice trickling down onto the floor.

“Think on it.” His voice finally came. “I’ll give you a second chance. We can end it all, or you can continue to play pretend and hurt everyone and everything.”

Another long pause. “I won’t let you get in my way again.”

Cracks formed over the winter god and them with a sharp break, he burst into a cloud of ice. The flakes dissipated and left the Calla Lily Goddess sitting on her bed, alone, with a pain in her heart.

The waves lapped the shore as fish swam through the sky and birds flew through the waters of the sprawling river delta leading out into the ocean where that endless blue met the 12th realm. Ships plied the waves, but despite what might be expected of Xavior’s mercantile people, there were few trade ships plying the waves, for beyond the numerous floating towns dotting the marshy lands, there were few ports to be found on forighn shores.

Thus most of the merchant ships that did make their way down to the ocean were here to bargain with those who did ply the wider salty waters. Fishers, divers (and the odd pirate) ruled the waves, roaming far and wide on their new dusklander made sails across seas mostly uncontested by other nations, and reaping the bounty without much foreign competition.

All this piled into the local markets, where it was either bought by the herders and farmers of the plains on either side of the river delta, or purchased by merchants and shipped upstream to feed the ever growing and ever hungry capital.

One such merchant was Jubilee, a russet woman clad in fashionable yet still practical dark robes and with a wide brimmed hat covering her long curly auburn locks, who had passed up the stalls of micro penguins and regular fish and was instead at that moment examining a little shelled thing with critical amber eyes.

“And what is this then? And how is anyone supposed to eat one?“ she asked the tanned and athletic man who was trying to sell her it

“We call that an oyster ma’am. You gotta pry the shell open first you see, to get to the meat inside” he said, taking out an old bronze knife and offering it to her. She waved him off and drew an immaculate blade of her own, which bore the signature mark of the god of merchants.

“Seems a bit fiddly” she said, as she gave it a go, before finally wedging the blade in there and cracking the shellfish open with an “ah, there we go” before frowning a little at the contents.

“That doesn't look particularly appetizing” she said, before squinting at something else inside. She reached in and picked up the anomalous object and then interrupted the man while was telling her to not knock the shellfish meat before she tried it to ask “what is this?”

“Hmmm? Oooh. Lucky. That’s a Pearl. Pretty rare to fund one of those. Pretty isn’t it?” he said as they both admired the shiny stone.

“Very…” Jubilee replied as she turned it over in her hand, before asking “How much for it?”

“Ah you found it so it's already yours Ma’am” the seller said, to which Jubilee raised her brows and then after a moment pocketed the pearl.

And then she had second thoughts, her mercantile instincts set in and booted short term gain aside.

“No no I can’t. Do you know how much I could sell this for back in the capital?” she asked, and then answered her question when he shook his head with: “Quite the pile of golden godheads, that I assure you. Why I could take all your oysters and even if I fail to sell a single one and have still made a profit, I’m quite sure”

“Oh? For that little thing? You're Joking Ma’am… You are joking, right?” the fish seller replied and then went pale when she told him she was deadly serious.

“Now, how many of these can I buy off of you? The pearls I mean.” she said, before waving an hand an adding ”oh and the oysters too I suppose”

“Well I dunno how many pearls there are, but they are rare, so that might be the only one in the current batch.”

“Oh well, can you get more?” she asked, and then when she found out how small their team was they said that they should just just hire more people and do more dives, something the merchant disagreed with the ease of.

“Oysters are tricky to get, you gotta dive down for them and that’s risky even for me and the lads and lasses who’ve been doing it since we got there, let alone for an amateur. This guy Kenny came with us a week back and nearly drowned, the stupid guy” he explained “Plus, even we have limits. We can't exactly breath under water after all,” he joked “so there’s only so deep we can go for em”

“You know what… tell me about more about this operation of yours, let me in on it so i can work out just how profitable it can be, and maybe, just maybe, we can do something about that little human limits issue” she replied with a smile, as her hand subconsciously caressed the handle of her divinely crafted knife.

---

*Clink*

*Clink*

*Clink*

*Crack*

The freshly imported steel pick finally broke through the tunnel wall where it had sounded hollow, and the dirty miner had to shield his eyes at the sudden and impossible glare coming in from the newly open hole.

“Oy. Derik! What’s the hold up” came a shout from the shift leader from behind the miner

“It’s…. Its…” Derik stammered as he blinked while his eyes adjusted, and then starred as he saw what he had unveiled, “It’s beautiful”



The miner starred out at the vast underground cavern that he’d found, one impossibly filled with both light and life. Massive fungi towered over mossy floors and cavern walls, through which crisp cool water flowed and pooled into lakes and ponds that reflected light coming from the swaths of massive crystals that sprouted from the floors, walls and ceilings. The glow of the crystals was not static, however. No, instead it ebbed and flowed as raced around inside the crystals, causing the room to pulse, as if it were alive.

It was oppressive and yet at the same time alluring, resulting in the miner and his fellows stumbling into the subterranean world, causing jewel encrusted cave lizards to scatter into hiding in response to their home being invaded by outsiders.

Once they overcame their initial awe they explored further, climbing up fungal roots and avoiding the predation of larger gem beasts, and as they did the older among them were reminded of the long march through the unformed realm and the story of how it had been tamed. Indeed, they stood in the roots of the end of that story, within the roots of the ore filled mountain storms end, which had been used to earth the living lightning predator.

Yet they had dug that ore for an age and it had been mundane.

So it was instead an earlier part of that story they found to be the source, tales of a titanic blast of metal shards used to unsteady the titan of thunder, and it was one of these they found, suspended in the crystal heart of the cavern, out of which the rest of the resplendent shining wonder filling the caves had grown, the lingering essence of the predator once more refusing to die.

The wise might well have seen this, and, having learned of the nature of this place, left the primordial crystal well alone.

The humans, of course, saw it as a treasure trove and soon enough had raised their pics and gotten back to work.

---

Xavior sat upon his throne, a wooden affair which was decorated with an ever expanding number of intricate carvings that he one of his favorite traded tributes, in a distracted state. Since the mysterious snow god had drifted on by Benea had locked herself in a guest room, insisting that she not be disturbed while she rested. Given what he had learned from Monica about the ‘familiar’ god he almost could not blame her, though he was concerned that only he seemed to have been ignorant among them. He seemed to have missed a revelation at the dawn of his life, and now he worried about what else he did not know, because given what he just had learned, what you didn’t not know very much could kill you..

He had directed scouts to try and track the figure, as well as warnings to his dask land and queendom embassies, but as he knew all too well from failed attempts at messenger sending, having mortals try to catch up or outpace a god was unlikely to succeed. Still, while uncertainty and dangers loomed, the affairs of state must go on.

In this particular moment, that involved the god king was holding court, a time during which supplicants, suitably filtered by his priests performing their oldest of duties, came to barter and beg for his divine support. Those mortals crowded the back of the long throne room in which he had met Fredrick a few days earlier, waiting to be brought forward to make their case.

“Madman Jubilee and company, please step forwards” spoke one of the robed priests, now marked more by their divine seal bearing garb than their no longer unique horns of office, prompting the merchant to step forwards, along with a mix of her ship’s crew and the divers with whom she had set up a joint business venture who all carried several chests between them.

“Xavior, our divine patron,” Jubilee said, giving the god a bow before making her case, saying “I present to you the bounty of the ocean, fetched from its floor by brave and stalwart swimmers who have dared its depths” before her help set down the chests and threw them open, revealing a glittering bounty within.

Xavior leaned forwards and looked closer at the contents of the bulging cheats, which were positively overflowing with colorful corals, radiant seashells, sharks teeth, vials of poisons and toxins and, most precious of all, pearls that had been growing since the seafloor was formed.

“And these aren't the only things we have acquired, but I assumed you would not appreciate the scent of shellfish, so we have left those outside, but can also provide those to your kitchens and storehouses within the hour” she added, “I assure you, the rich meats are quite delectable”

“I think I’ve had some once or twice, but I thought they were quite the rare dish due to the difficulty of acquiring them in any number.” Xavior said mouth slightly watering at the memory, before noting that “You seem to have increased diving operations”

“I have, and it is with regards to that that I have come to bargain with you” she said, before pausing for permission

“go on,“

“As you said, the dives are quite difficult. Taxing. I have helped uncover the worth that can be gained from the ocean floor, and this has brought more people into the diving profession. However, there are limits, of course, to how deep we can go, leaving the greater bounties out of reach. Even those with the strongest wills can only hold their breaths for so long after all” she explained

“And some of the new divers have pushed themselves too far” added one of the treasure bearers.

“There have been some…” she picked her words carefully “Unfortunate incidents yes,”before insisting that “but that is something that my request could prevent!”

“And it is?” Xavior said, eyes narrowing upon finding out that there had been a cost in blood for this treasure.

“The ability to breath under water” she replied, which surprised him and it showed. “Or at least the ability to hold breath much longer. There are beasts who can do both, so I’m sure it's possible?”

“It is, of course, but to change people is a costly endeavor” Xavier replied slowly to ensure she knew the weight of what she was asking.

“But think of the benefits. So much more of our shoreline becomes harvestable, perhaps even farm-able. You can see the benefits to the whole nation, not just myself, yes? I’m sure there are, uh, military applications as well?” she tried, which did set Xavior thinking beyond the scope of her own desire for this boon.

He leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard as he did what he sometimes did, which was to take the request and boil it down to what they really needed rather than what they specifically requested. People did not always know what they wanted after all, plus, it always did to tinker with a request to make it more university applicable in his opinion.

As he thought he looked over the others waiting to meet him, and saw among them a group of miners, and was reminded of reports of the air underground becoming toxic or simply unbreathable and the accidents that had occurred as a result, and had a thought. Breathing water was difficult, but producing breathable air? Well, that was what plants did already. All they needed was a little boost and perhaps…

The god stood then, and walked towards the chests of treasures without a word plucked from the glistening piles of treasure a stray strand of kelp that had been included by mistake while the chests had been packed. The mortals looked embarrassed or shocked that the god seemed to be nitpicking their offering but then all stepped back as he cupped the kelp in his hand and a burst of flame erupted between them, consuming the plant.

Then he opened his palms and revealed a set of seeds. “Take these, plant them and grow them in sea water. Then harvest the fronds. When exposed to breath in an enclosed space, they will rapidly turn that very breath back into breathable air”

“Ex… exposed to breath?”

“Indeed. Fill a bag with the cuttings, and place that bag over the moth and nose. I imagine the dusklander’s wax will help in ensuring the bag and seal is airtight” he explained, before adding that “This should be useful for more than just you, you understand, as those working around smoke, or down the mines, or in other places where breath becomes difficult will also benefit. So I’m sure the state would be interested in entering an arrangement with you to acquire it for those purposes, yes?” handing the woman another business opportunity to add to her sub-aquatic farming and harvesting plans, and tacitly suggesting she enter into an exclusivity agreement with the city’s government when it came to trade of the kelp.

“I… yes, thank you my god” she replied, graciously taking the seeds and cupping them close to her chest as if they were worth more than their weight in gold. Which they, of course, were.

“Good good. Kyle will be able to help facilitate that future trading, and, perhaps, sponsorship of your burgeoning business by myself or the state at large” Xavier added, calling up a priest to handle the fine details “and the transfer of the rest of your tribute, of course”

“Of course… of course... Thank you again, Xavior” she replied. Despite being not given exactly what she had asked for, she had gained something even greater. Her fortunes, and those of her associates, were assured. What were a few chests of treasures when compared to that?

“My pleasure” Xavier, who had just increased the nation's food supply and the safety and efficiency of its mining, forging, burning for demon creation and other operations that put people in contact with dangerous air, replied, before adding “I look forwards to watching your career and your development of this resource with great interest” before returning to his throne.

The merchant and her supporters stepped away along with the priest helping them work out the fine details while their tribute was dragged to sit beside the throne by other priests. Then the next group was called, who turned out to be the very same miners Xavior had noticed earlier and been inspired by, which boded well, he thought, as they were introduced and started to make their own case.

“And that’s where we found these!” Derik, said after explaining the discovery of the hidden subterranean ecosystems, before unveiling a cart filled with large glowing crystals, which caused gasps to echo among the assembled group.

“Remarkable” Xavior said, before flicking a finger and causing one of the smaller hand sized crystals to leap from the cart and into his awaiting hand “and you said these were simply growing down there”

“Yes my god. We cut a line in the rock near one, you see, and in a few days it had gotten ever so slightly bigger. We even tried planting one and it seemed to grow too, though they seem to need to be deep down to do so” Derik explained

“A renewable resource you say? How useful. We could maybe replace torches with these?” Xaviro mused

“We’ve done so aye. Good to not worry about smoke and such, though the pulsing is a bit annoying if I’ll be honest” the man admitted before someone could stop him from devaluing their goods.

“So. Pretty. Somewhat useful. I’d say these were quite valuable, and I’m glad that the lingering chaos within has not produced anything harmful” Xavior said, and was about to ask what they wanted from him before he was interrupted by one of his priests

“Pardon me, but could I see that, Xavior?” The man, who had the red skin of a demon and who’s ascension had resulted in him sporting a pair of towering curved horns and very little in the way of wing or added bulk, stepped up beside the throne to ask.

The god tilted his head slightly before saying “Certainly Damian, here” and handing him the crystal.

The demon, who had had the privilege, and the will and determination, to try and decipher the small and haphazard assortment of spellbooks Xavior’s people had managed to acquire on the black market (and which were of very dubious quality as a result) when the attempt at a deal with Brey fell through, turned the crystal over once in his hand once while muttering about it calling to him. Before Xavior could even turn back to the miners however, the rock suddenly started pulsing faster and faster, the lazy heartbeat of power rapidly quickening from that of a slumbering whale and to that of a frantic mouse.

“Fascinating” the Demon said, even as Xavior’s eyes went wide, the sight of that energy building sending his mind back to when he had faced the node’s thunderous guardian. The god made a grab for the stone, snatching it from Damian’s hand and pushing him away before the god pressed the pulsing crystal (which now had streaks of red lighting arching over it’s surface) to his stomach and curled up around it.

And then he exploded.

Xavior’s immaculately carved throne was reduced to burning splinters and the god himself slammed into the wall of the throne room as the crystal detonated, leaving the god slumped against the back wall, his body slightly scorched, his garb a tattered burnt mess, and his expression dazed.

Several things happened at once in the moments that followed. People panicked and some tried to flee the room, while both the miners and the Damian where sized by other priests (and even a few other supplicants) as accusations of “assassins” and “traitors” echoed throughout the room

“I swear, we didn’t know it was dangerous!” Derik the miner insisted, his hands raised and with a knife at his threat, while as Damian shoved off his own would be arrester with a “get off of me you idiot" and declared that “we must dispose of these crystals before they destroy us all!” which brought everyone’s attention to the massive cart filled with explosives currently sitting in the room they were all in.

There was a pause, and then several rushed to try and do so, only to be halted from a shout from their god.

“No wait” Xavior, who had been stunned more by the shock of being hurt at all than the actual damage of either impact, said as he picked himself up off the floor and pushed past people trying to help him and, with a strange manic look in his eyes and a wide smile on his lips, declared breathlessly “We can use these”

---

“Shit… That was too close,” murmured Manek, a pox-dotted hand rubbing a sun-blistered neck and adjusting the wet turban fashioned from rags that sat atop his head like a cowpie.

There came a groan from his left. “I think that son of a bitch dislocated my shoulder…”

“Oh, shut it, Sadwa, you dumb bitch. You reap what you sow - you go for the biggest guy, the biggest guy breaks your arm, simple as.”

The small man with the bulb-like shoulder grit his teeth as he glared at the knife-wielding skeleton of a man who was arguably more lice-infested beard than meat and muscle. “Oh, well, your statement must be a whoooole grilled pheasant, that, because that sounds rich as all hell. Who pushed me at that fat lump, huh? Oh, let me guess - his name rhymes with– agh! Ow, ow, ow.”

The boned man squeezed a laughter. “Oh, widdle Sadwa aw owie-owie? Arm aww hudhie?”

“Skinny, stop kicking the ox,” silenced Manek and slapped him over the back of the head. Skinny tilted forward and pecked at Sadwa’s shoulder with his forehead, inciting a pained squeal. As their argument intensified, Manek groaned and sped up. Ahead of the three of them, a fourth man made stoic steps through the woods, greasy black hair glittered with forest floor detritus flowing down a moth-eaten reed sack that functioned as a tunic. A blood-crusted sharpened stick that doubled as a walking stick filled his right hand, and his weak body needed all the support it could get. Despite his frail appearance, though, his grim, wrinkled expression radiated loyalty to an unnamed purpose. Manek cleared his throat and lowered himself slightly with great respect.

“Krassus,” he greeted. The man offered him a grunt of acknowledgment, barely audible against the background cacophony of the other two idiots. Manek continued, “What’s the plan now? I mean, that was–...”

“Another fluke,” the leader stated without turning his head. “Scipio was out of position; Fat Luck wasn’t fast enough; Skinny and Sadwa were…”

“Skinny and Sadwa?” Manek finished.

“Precisely,” Krassus concurred coldly without casting a glance backwards, yet it seemed as though the simple mention of their names came as a windshear that shut the two up in shame. Manek rolled his eyes at them and sneered at Krassus.

“Remind me again why–”

“You will not finish that sentence,” Krassus warned and stopped. Manek froze in his steps. Skinny and Sadwa blinked like a pair of puppies. Krassus shared a glare with each of them and sighed. “It seems that after every blunder, we must remind ourselves what we are…” He pointed at Sadwa. “Raper. Shunned and cast out from your home for grotesque and animalistic acts against your brother’s wife. Rumour says she will never bear a child again. You are an affront to gods and men alike.”

Sadwa hung his head in shame. Krassus spat on the ground and turned to Skinny. “Murderer. Four people, nonetheless - all because, what, because you wanted to? Why, Skinny?”

Skinny swallowed. “They, they were looking down on me and–”

“And what? You thought killing them would prove your point? You disgust me.” The colour drained from Skinny’s skin, excentuating the hollows between his bones.

Lastly, Krassus turned to Manek. Manek made a hard face back. Krassus eyed him up and down. “What, you aim to meet the truth with pride? Tell me, Manek, what pride is there to be had in infanticide, hmm?”

“You’ve proven your point, sir…–”

“Oh, no, I don’t think that I have, Manek” Krassus hissed back. “You ask me every single time – without fail – why I shepherd the most worthless, ungrateful and hopeless looters, brigands and highwaymen on this side of the 18th Node.” The three winced. “The answer – every time – is that we, Manek, are scum. Filth. Waste that not even the rats will dine on. We are subordinate to cockroaches, that’s what we are. Do you know what that means, Manek?”

The shattered, pox-dotted man didn’t dare to look up. “We stick together with whom we’ve got.”

“That’s right,” breathed Krassus coarsely. His eyes shifted slowly between the three of them. “We stick together with whom we’ve got. When the world turns its back on sinners like us, we have no choice but to live in the darkness with those who dwell it with us. We hate each other, but we depend on each other. No man an island; no wolf a pack. We lie, cheat and steal so that we may live another day. We hunt the most dangerous prey of all - redemption. We dine on rotting dogs and drink filthy water in the hopes that, one day, a little droplet of light with penetrate our darkness and grant us that chance - that once chance to forgo all the consequences of our actions and step back into the day.” He stuck his hand into his tunic and took out a bronze-coloured dime. On one side was the unmistakable horned head of Xavior.

“Whe-where’d you get that, boss?” whispered Skinny as though they were in a temple.

Krassus cast him a short-lived glance and spun on his heel. “We keep moving.” As the black-haired man stormed off deeper into the woods, the three remained for a second to exchange uneasy looks. Manek sighed.

“I’ll… See to that shoulder, Sadwa. Here, take a seat…”

---

By nightfall, the little band had found an enclave in the woods at the border between node 22 and 26 that they were sure hardly even the trees knew about. So hidden was this place that they were uncertain whether they would find the exit again. In order words, it was perfect. Here, the group laid down to rest, lighting no fires as they didn't trust their hiding spot that much. They probably weren’t being hunted, but one could never be too sure.

However, around an hour past midnight, Sadwa rustled to his feet and let out a silenced yawn. With filthy feet, he strolled his way over to a nearby tree to answer nature’s call. As he let the streams flow freely, he remarked the somewhat odd sound at the impact point. Rather than the deep, hollow drum of liquid pouring over the forest floor, a wetter, flatter pitter-patter instead dominated the soundscape. Sadwa frowned and looked down. There, just barely visible in the forest darkness, he could make out, well, something… A rock? It was… Somewhat gray, he supposed, so why not. He shrugged to himself.

Then it moved.

“AAAAAAH!” came the scream that awoke the rest.

“Sadwa, that dumb cunt,” groaned Skinny and rolled to a seat. Krassus and Manek were already storming into the woods in pursuit of the sound. It didn’t take them long to reach him, laying there whimpering on the ground caressing his splinted arm, which had been twisted into an inhuman angle. A fist took him by the hair and jolted him from the ground, a sheen of metal closing in at his throat.

“STOP!” shouted Krassus. The metal halted on a soft indent against Sadwa’s skin, a trickle of red dripping down the quivering throat. The moon revealed it to be a knife as silvery as fish scales, held in the tight grip of a uniformed man in a long silver cloak with dripping wet hair. Manek swallowed.

“Shit, it’s a fucking paladin,” he squeezed through frozen lips and looked for escape routes. Krassus instead held up a hand. He put down his sharpened stick and reached out his other towards Sadwa and the captor.

“Evening, sir. See you’ve got my friend in your hand. What would it take for you to let him go?”

All he got in response was a flaring, nasal breath like that of a furious bull. Sadwa tried his best to stifle his sobbing as every hulk ground his throat up against the knife. Krassus reached forth his other hand and held them open for the assailant to see. He nodded for Skinny and Manek to drop their weapons as well. “Hey, we’re not going to hurt you, sir. That man there is a good friend of mine - if you don’t hurt him, we won’t hurt you.”

The man scoffed. “You think you can hurt me, huh? Huh? Is that why you pissed on me, huh? To taunt me?” The breathing intensified. “IS IT?!”

Sadwa sobbed as his every orifice expelled what it could expel in an effort to empty the body. Krassus tried not to break eye contact with the man despite the shameful display. “I’m sorry, he did what to you? Oh, that’s awful! I’m downright ashamed on his behalf, sir! Downright ashamed! If you give him back to us, I will make sure he doesn’t eat for a weak - swear before the gods.”

The man heaved a deep breath and pulled the knife back a little. Then not even a second later, he put the blade right back where it had been and pulled at Sadwa’s hair with such violent strength that he threatened to scalp him. “This is a trick, isn’t it? You’re, you’re trying to trick me - make a fool out of me like everyone else. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

Krassus took a small step forward. The angle of the moon allowed him to get a better look at the stranger’s face. What had no doubt once been a well-kempt beard, fine hair and stoic features had been twisted by an eternity in the woods. He looked wilder than them - not even wolves had such savagery in their eyes. “No tricks, sir. You’ve got my word.” He feigned a polite chuckle. “Hell, do we even look like the sort who eat multiple times per week?”

The man softened again. “... Eaten, beaten, robbed of my node, sent on the run and now peed on? I’m… I’m no better than some stray dog…” A flash of silver left small blindspots on their eyes as the moonlight sheen reflected off of the dagger dropping to the ground. “I’m supposed to be a god… Here I am, smelling like a pigsty with no followers, no friends… No one but the voices, _{oh the voices…}” He released Sadwa, who dropped to the ground with a snotty thump, and started slapping himself in the face. “Do you know how that makes me feel?! DO YOU KNOW HOW THAT FEELS?!”

Krassus had to employ every inch and drop of discipline in his body to maintain his calm. He had been skeptical of Manek’s hypothesis that this had been a Benean paladin on the run, but a god? Could it be? Could they have have found their ultimate haul? He tried as subtly as he could to swallow his excitement and gestured for the man to continue. “How does it make you feel?”

The man froze mid-slap. “... What did you just ask me?”

Krassus felt sweat accumulate on his forehead. “H-how does it make you feel? What you just said?”

The man blinked. “You… You actually want to know? A-are you approaching me with… With interest?” Instinctively, another knife appeared in his hand out of thin air. Krassus heard slack-jawed whispers behind him and felt the tremors in the ground from the shaking feet of his companions. The man held his knife arm spring-loaded like a cat ready to pounce. “Is, is this a trick?”

“Not a trick, divine one - no, Magnificent One,” Krassus corrected and bent the knee. That knife - all the proof they needed. His companions, save for the already-floored Sadwa, both prostrated themselves in an instant. “If something ails the Ultimate Being, then we as servants must naturally know so we can help repair it!” He bent the other knee and lifted his hands to the man in prayer. The man was stunned.

“M-M-M-Magnificent One? Ultimate B-Being?” he whispered under his breath.

“My humblest apologies, Master of the World. My useless, unlearned tongue cannot precisely formulate adequate cognonyms to describe your superiority over us and everything there is. I cannot regret my mistakes enough–”

“No, no, that’s… That’s fine…” The man tasted the monikers under his breath. “W-well… Since you asked… It… Makes me feel… Aaaangry,” he explained slowly. “... I feel like… I don’t get the… The respect… That I as, as y’know a divine being, deserve. N-nobody… Nobody listens… Ever. P-people can’t, can’t just… Shut the ffffffffffffffuck up… And, and, and, and that pisses me off. _{It pisses me off so much}… So much, so much, so much, SO MUCH, SO MUCH–”

“Celestial Master,” Krassus implored calmingly. During the man’s outburst, the three hand closed in on him slowly. Manek and Skinny were tending to the whimpering Sadwa while Krassus adressed the god. The man eyed the three of them with glassy eyes and that bull-like breath again.

“A-are you going to leave me?”

Krassus frowned at the very question. “My Eternal King…” He bent the knee once more. “... We are your loyal servants. Your wish is our command - we would never leave you. In fact…” Slowly, Krassus reached out and gently took the knife from the man’s hands without resistance. He permitted his eyes to scan its appearance; his hands to feel its weight. This was unlike any metal he - and anyone he had ever known, he suspected - had ever held. It looked as sharp as polished obsidian. He cut as softly as he could across the top of his palm, crimson streaks flowing out immediately as the metal effortlessly parted tissue and flesh. The blade was so fine that there was hardly any pain until a few seconds after the deed was done. What a magificent weapon… He rubbed the blood across his palm and touched his face, leaving a bloody print. “Let this hand be the symbol of my loyalty, Great Master. Should I, Krassus, ever leave you or your service, let it serve as a reminder that you may take my hand, my head and my life. Please, let us know your name so we may swear our oath formally.”

Now it was the man’s turn to stare slack-jawed. A good minute passed before he started fidgeting and patrolling in a small circle, whispering to himself. Krassus remained motionless, while his companions exchanged worrisome looks. After another minute, even Krassus had to shut his eyes in blind hope that this would work. The adrenaline pumped in his veins - every part of urged him to run in case this wouldn’t work. But if it did work…

“_{No… No, no, no… Yes… No… No, that’s stupid… Crimson Hands…? No, bad metre…}”

Krassus opened one eye. Could it be…?

“VERY WELL,” declared the man louder than he needed to. “... I have… Elected. That you three - four, sorry, four–” Sadwa cried as Skinny and Manek tried to pop his arm back into place with a great deal of effort. “... Will serve as my eternal disciples… Servants… Followers…” He swallowed and pointed at Krassus. “Henceforth…” A second of quiet passed. “... You shall be known as… As…” Another second. Krassus swallowed. “Krassus.”

Krassus blinked and nodded slowly. “I, I thank you for naming me–”

“APP! Not finished. Don’t interrupt me.” The man stared into the distance with thoughtful eyes. “Krassus… Krassus…” He tasted the name. “... Krassus… King Krassus… Prince Krassus… Cardinal Krassus…” Finally, the god pointed a second hand and declared decisively, “Krassus Ecclesiast, Grand Synodite of Cotazur, Cosmic King of the Crucible."

There was a moment of silence.

“I thank you for my title, Cotazur, Cosmic King of the Crucible.”

Cotazur nodded in approval. “Please, Nestor Over Nodes and Nations will do just fine,” he threw out smugly and moved on to the rest. “You, shit-stained bitch,” he said as though it was a compliment. Sadwa, Skinny and Manek all looked up with horrified smiles. Cotazur kicked Sadwa gently and, with the most sickening, cringing and ear-shattering sound known to man, every bone in his broken arm and shoulder twisted itself back into place. Sadwa didn’t even scream. The pain was too severe for that. Cotazur didn’t seem to care and nodded approvingly. “Taking it like a chomp, a champ. You shall be known as… What’s your name?”

Before anyone could answer, Cotazur continued. “Well, it won’t matter. It was probably as stupid as you are for pissing on me.” He drilled a finger into Sadwa’s temple that threatened to pierce both skin and skull. The others could do nothing but watch. Sadwa had long since passed out. “You sure can handle your pain, huh. Then it’s settled. You shall be known as Lazarus Delendum, Grand Bulwark of Cotazur, Unrelenting Destroyer of Enemies.”

Stepping on the passed-out body as he moved onto the next, he faced Skinny who was at the break of tears. “What’s your–”

“SKINNY!” he squealed.

Cotazur frowned. “Well, that’s no way to speak to your master.” With a surgically precise grip, he forced open Skinny’s mouth with one hand and conjured yet another knife in his other. “Maybe that tongue of yours needs readjustment.”

“Nestor Over Nodes and Nations,” Krassus pleaded.

“Krassus, didn’t I tell you to call me Eternal Lord of Lords and Lands?” Cotazur spat back as he held the knife right over Skinny’s mouth. “Hmm… That beard, too - you look like a tumbleweed, y’know…”

“Eternal Lord of Lords and Lands,” Krassus corrected. “His name is Skinny. Forgive him, please, he is just nervous in the presence of the Almighty.”

Cotazur looked at Krassus and then back at Skinny. Then he spat a laughter into the bearded mess of a face. “Your NAME is Skinny? Oh, my word, what a pathetic and disgustingly descriptive name. It’s almost so hopeless that I nearly want you to keep it. Nearly.” As he grumbled on a new name, the knife tick-tocked from side to side over Skinny’s still gaping mouth. “No, you’ll need a better one. I won’t have one in my battle battalion by the name of Skinbo, no, no, no, siree… Still, what can a walking anatomy lesson like you do for me…”

“‘Eaah…” pleaded the gaping man.

“I’ve got it! Henceforth, you shall be known as Excels Supremitus, Grand Assassin of Cotazur, Utopian Prince of All Creation. Your skinny frame is sure to let you sneak in all over the place, hmm? Hahahaha.” He let Excels go and moved on wordlessly while the man massaged his jaw tearfully. Manek resigned to his fate and stood still in the face of danger. Cotazur nodded with respect.

“Look at you. No fear in those eyes. I admire that. Much like myself, you possess an unyielding fighting spirit and cannot even fathom of the idea of retreat. You stand your ground, like me.” Cotazur’s fist punched Manek’s shoulder, and anyone without the god’s rose-tinted glasses could see that the blow had knocked him several steps back and nearly dazed him. “What is your name?”

“M-Manek,” replied the weakened looter.

“Oh, no, that won’t do. Such a small name would be invisible next to your peers’. You shall henceforth…” He drummed his fingers on Manek’s other shoulder, leaving bruises. “Rictus Erectus, Grand Commissar of Cotazur, the Alpha, Omega, X, Y and Z of Literally Anything You Can Think Of.”

Rictus could barely stand. “I think, I think you punctured something…”

“Yes, Rictus, I could not have said it better myself. I have punctured something - the stagnant state of this world. With you four lieutenants at my side, my ambition to shape this world into its true form can be realised.” The following dramatic pause gave the others a chance to breathe. Krassus jumped on the chance to speak.

“Then… Where are we heading, Cosmic King of–”

“Just Cotazur is fine. How many times do I have to repeat myself here?”

“Cotazur,” Krassus corrected instantly. “Where are we heading first as part of your grand plan?”

“Plan?”

Krassus nodded. “The plan, yes.” There was a pause. “We have a plan, yes?”

“No, that’s your job, you ffffffffffucking IMBECILE. You are the GRAND SYNODITE! This is what you FUCKING do!” Cotazur kicked over a tree.

Krassus nodded. “Forgive me, Cotazur–”

“MASTER Cotazur.”

“Master Cotazur. I am still adjusting to your magnificent tasks. I have a plan already, you see.”

Cotazur blinked. “You do?”

“Oh yes, oh yes. A grand plan. A plan to assure your rule for all eternity.”

Cotazur nodded approvingly. “Well, then, no time to lose. You will share it with me on the way. We journey northwards,” he proclaimed and walked off.

“The Master is as wise as he is mighty - north is indeed where we’re going!” yelled Krassus after him before kneeling down to help his companions. Lifting Lazarus up by the arm, he glanced over at Excels and Rictus. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Are you insane?!” whispered Excels sharply. “If we go with him, we’re dead, you hear me? Dead!”

Krassus sighed. “Look, I don’t disagree with that assessment, but this is a god we’re dealing with. Imagine what he could give us.”

“Yeah! The slowest fucking way out! He nearly killed Sadwa - Manek here is going all pale!”

“I don’t feel so good, boys,” Rictus sloshed and coughed. Krassus sighed.

“This won’t be a forever thing, okay? We’ll stick around with him for now… We’ll find him an army of brigands in the north–”

“Fucking Fat Luck’s plan, dude?!”

“Yes, Fat Luck’s plan. I know some people in Tilum’Velik - we couldn’t convince them before, but… Maybe we can do it now… Imagine the loot, Skinny…”

“I AM NOT ONE TO WAIT, MINIONS!” came a shout from the woods ahead. The four of them hurried. Excels shook his head as he supported the increasingly paler Rictus.

“... And I thought I was crazy…”

The trip from the Northern Queendom to the Daman lands is a long one, or at least usually. Renault, being a paladin, had access to a few resources that sped up the process, ost notably the kiss of chamomile. The blessing had been such a hit that the Queen herself set up a monument in the Alpine Duchy that anyone could pilgrimage to and receive the kiss. Since then, it had become a tradition for paladins to journey to after completing their training and then again after five or so years (when the blessing started to fade).

Renault, however, had the original blessing and so found himself in the Daman lands faster than a Goatlander with an Ambrosian-powered horse. The journey itself was uneventful, with the Blade of Benea (or so he was known) having a few tricks to keep himself hidden and discrete as he made his way through the northern path.

His boots skidded to a halt in the deep snow. A shaggy fur cloak covered his iron banded armor and hid his various weapons. The cloak itself was speckled with snowflakes, giving him a peppered appearance as he journeyed through the colder region of Node 10. But for now, he had stopped, abruptly.

Frowning, Renault looked directly in front of him. A little old lady was walking in the exact same direction as him, at a fraction of the pace. He had no idea who she was or when she crossed his path but there she was, directly in front of him, ignorant of his existence as she waddled down the slope to the small town at the bottom of the hill. Tucking a slant into his cheek, Renault fell to a painfully slow walk and stayed behind her, not wanting to be rude.

Together, even if blissfully unaware, the old lady and one of the most dangerous mortals in the north walked together into town. The snow turned shallow as the duo found the simple road that webbed between the haphazardly built homes and businesses of the Daman town. Renault couldn’t help but look around, taking in all the differences between the culture of the Damans and the Queendom. Slowly, whispers of the townsfolk found his ears.

“Who is that?”

“I don’t know, but she must be someone pretty important, look at her retainer.”

Renault blinked in surprise.

“I think that’s a pure human!”

“She must be rich.”

“Maybe one of the slaver barons from the south?”

“Hey lady!” A gruff bark cut through the whispers.

Now Renault was standing behind the old lady while the largest Daman he had ever seen stood in front of her, a crude bronze blade pointed at her little surprised face. The Daman was a man twisted with the features of a dog, giving him a drool where mismatched teeth protruded from his mutilated face.

“Oh my,” The little ferret-faced old lady dropped her wicker bag in shock, onions rolling onto the road. The robber-to-be stared at the vegetables as they bumped against his shoe.

“I don’t care if you are one of the slaver barons, you made a huge mistake coming here with only one of your beasts of war — stand and deliver.” The bandit reasserted his blade between him and the old lady, who was now shaking with confusion and fear.

Renault’s hand slowly moved the little old lady behind him as he looked to the bandit and said, “drop your blade and beg you dog-faced jackass or feel the full might of my impatience.”

“What?” The bandit growled, only to freeze as he caught Renault’s gaze. The dark brown eyes of the paladin were swimming with a certain aggression that made the bandit shake with a sudden burst of doubt. He pointed his blade at Renault, albeit with less confidence.

“Behold!” Renault whipped a hand from his cloak and the bandit flinched, expecting an attack only to open his eyes to Renault holding a closed fist between the two. “The limits of my patience.”

The hand threw something at the ground and a sudden plume of dust enclosed the fighters. The sound of flesh hitting flesh erupted rapid-fire only for it to end with the shriek of a blade freeing itself and then the gurgled scream of a dead man. With a poof of air, Renault walked free of the cloud, his cloak hugging him and hiding any hint of what might have happened.

From that point on, everyone gave the little old lady a wide berth.

Brey
"Well, I'm not going to let my enemies get away with destroying all of my work. Anyone who gets in here anywhere near the Node will have a nasty surprise, well two nasty surprises." The wizard god puts the Node on an alert spell, much like any god can do. He then casts a powerful enchantment over the Great Library. No other god than Brey can cast 0 level spells unless they have his permission. Brey returned to his study, thinking on what the next days of the future would bring. He would attempt to ensure, when the time comes, that his people and allies would be ready for anything. Moreover, he was not sure he could trust Grym. These things he thought on for a moment, before he began to meditate.

“It’s magnificent, my Lord.” One of the Chosen said as she stood beside Anak’thas. Both of them, and more Chosen as well, looked at the beautiful building that crawled itself out of the ground. It was made from the whitest stone in existence. Its edges were pristine. It was surrounded by a pristinely kept garden. On the east side of it were a few greenhouses in which incense could grow. Together with other plants that would put the average human being into a trancelike state. A wonderous garden with winding paths and even a serene orchard was on the west side. Behind it, to the north, was a graveyard filled with underground tombs. Ready to receive the charge of the place.

The building’s insides were filled with large half-circle halls filled with raised benches. The acoustics were divine within. Each hall, small and big alike, was ready to receive its effigy and the choir that would imbue it.

“You should count yourself lucky to see it.” The Chosen, Anak’thas knew her name was Selora but never acknowledged her by that name, sneered at the demi-human put in chains beside her. “This is what the Verdant Realms would bring to all lands. If only you’d respect a speck of civility.”

Anak’thas did not share Selora’s disdain for the Foxman. However, he understood why she was so hard. After all, a few days ago she begged him to head for node 10 and conquer it. Her family were settlers in the north of Node 14 and raiders had taken them. She wasn’t sure if they were taken as slaves or slain somewhere along the way. The uncertainty had developed into a bitter hatred.

The beastman had served its purpose really. He told Anak about the soul magic that was developing within the Daman Lands. The god did not wish to take more from his people than their faith. But Benea and Dzallitsunya were forcing his hand.

“There is still the Dusk Goddess’ message.” Another Chosen said. “She has been pressing. Efforts to sabotage her reign in Telum’Velik continue but it would appear that she has employed some Shadow to work against such things. My Lord… You should make your will known.”

Of course the Chosen would push for war. He made them to fight. They helped him now in Node 15 and 16 against the Chaos Monsters. It only made them realize just how hungry they were for a fight. And if his Chosen were this willing to fight, he could not imagine how the Dawnblades must be back in Tanaäth.

“Soon.” Anak’thas said. “Soon we’ll move.”

“And the message?” His Chosen asked.


The Lantern-God summoned a ball that contained the message in his hand and let it fly. “It is answered.”

The bees were buzzing and the fish were flying in the gardens around node 12’s temple. The first were trying to eat the bees, which were new to the area, but neither the bees nor their keepers would have any of that. As a flying minnow was swarmed and stug rather viciously while a figure in thick black cloths that covered all of his body body expect their eyes (which had red volcanic glass lenses over them instead) huffed and puffed into the bag of oxygen rejuvenating kelp as he ran after a housecat sized Tonnikala with a wooden staff, trying to get it to either die or at least just leave.

“Let me get that for you” came a voice, before the fish was suddenly gripped by the air acting under Xavior’s command after which the god flicked his wrist and tossed the wannabe bee eater high into the sky where it belonged.

“There we go. Curious things those, but I’m sure they’ll learn soon enough just as they did with the gardens proper” Xavier said as the beekeeper stopped to catch his breath and offered muffle thanks to the god

“Think nothing of it. Now then. I'm told there has been a breakthrough when it comes to the nature of what Dzallitsunya’s bees produce in the 12th realm?” he asked, and was quickly directed past the rows of artificial hives to a little workshop, and upon entering saw a familiar face working away alongside a pair of assistants, both lesser demons.

“Ah, Damian, good to see you working with something other than the blast crystals” Xavior greeted the long horned demon, who had had quite the turn around on his opinion on the explosive crystals since his first reaction of trying to get rid of them all when they had harmed the god.

“Ah, Xavier, my god, good to see you as well” Damian turned to the god, and presented his new Ambroisen arm to shake (which the god accepted awkwardly) only to inform Xavior that “but in that you are entirely mistaken, for I have been investigating what occurs when you mix ground up crystals with the bee’s produce”

“After already mixing it with everything else under the moon” one of his assistants noted dryly.

“Quiet you. It paid off in the end after all. Its like I have been saying, persistence and experimentation, they get results!” he insisted, before admitting with a side tilt of the head and a sheepish smile “Eventually”

Xavior who, while not entirely pleased with some of the consequences, did see this self sourced innovation to be a beginning to a relieving lightning of his own burden as arch-inventor, moved to tacitly encourage it by insisting that Damian “Go on, tell me what you’ve found”

“Right right yes, my discovery!” the mage-demon said, perking up again before leading the god over to a table which had a yellowy line of wax on it that sparked softly with a rainbow sheen wherever the light caught it “This is a mix of the bees’ wax and crushed crystals” he explained simply, before adding “now watch what happens when I touch it with just a bit of power”

Everyone else stepped back instinctively as the demon reached out his remaining flesh arm and tapped one end of the line of wax laced crystal, but rather than explode the part he touched started to glow. The glow pulsed out in both directions of the contact point, at one end earthing itself harmlessly in a mass of pure wax, while at the other exposed end it sent a shower of red electrical arcs sparking out

“It didn't explode” Xavior noted the obvious in order to invite Damina to explain further.

“Indeed. The wax seems to dull or even nullify the power of the crystals, and unlike other substances we tried, it survives that interaction without degrading or igniting or worse. All the others have been a toss up to whether reaction goes out of control or not, but this? This works near perfectly” he explained, before saying, matter of factly “you can see what this would be useful, yes?”

“You could remotely detonate crystals with a long trail of this” Xavior noted, but it seemed the demon had thought of so much more.

“Well yes, but also you can use it for timers. Using a coil of wax-crystal mix surrounded by more wax and ending in a blast crystal would make far more reliable tossed explosives for example. You could use it to create a weapon as well, that produced that lightning at the end or near the blade of course” he explained “and I am sure there are other uses. My muse is singing of them as we speak. About ways to signal or conduct power with these and a dozen other things, you see, but I can't quite get them to fit right at the moment. But I'll get there, oh yes I'll get there.”

The god nodded, commenting that “that all sounds very interesting” before congratulating the mage “well done Daminan, for figuring out one half of this insectile conundrum. I’m sure this will be infinitely useful.”

“Thank you, thank you” the demon replied, giving a little bow before adding that “Oh and I've done a bit of investigating into the honey as well, but all I can say is that it is very nutritious. An admittedly large sample I had has kept me awake and working for ohhh, two days now?”

“Two… days?” Xavior echoed, before inquiring “And you haven't eaten anything else?” with a concerned tone

“Oh no. I’ve been much too busy. My muse has been just as awake as myself, my mind abuzz with thoughts that I can't quite nail down. But when I do. Oh, when I do! Then you’ll see, they’ll all see” the demon said, before giggling for a second before the laughter ended suddenly and he said “now be off with you. I have more experiments to perform”

Xavior glanced towards the man’s assistants “have you all taken this as well?” to which they both shook their heads

“I… didn't know he’d stayed up after we retired last night. I thought he just went to bed later and got up earlier… Damian this isn't good for you” the one who had snarked earlier said, now showing his true colors

“Nonsense. have never felt more alive, ha ha, alive!” Damian insisted, already moving to start mixing more wax and crystal to optimize his discovery, before pausing and saying “but perhaps I could do with some more honey”

“Absolutely not!” Xavior broke in, before addressing the pair of apprentices “Both of you, make sure Damian gets some actual food to eat. And water. Feed him if you have too and then as soon as this wears off get him to bed” he commanded them, mainly to put official weight behind what he was quite sure they were already going to do now that they were aware of the issue.

As the god and Damian’s apprentices fussed over the demon and tried to convince him to stop working and to go to his room and lay down for a few days, someone who was dealing with the exact opposite called out to him.

“Xavior,” Jermane skulked under an entrance archway, not quite entering the area proper.

The god called out “one moment!” and then after resolving the situation, or more accurately putting it fully in the hands of the apprentices, stepped outside. He raised an eyebrow at who it was who wanted his attention “Jermane, yes?”

“Shield of Benea,” The man stood up straight, giving Xavior a subtle memory of when he first met Frederick.

“Ah yes, her right hand man” Xavior said, his memory properly jolted, before asking “how is she faring today?”

Jermane swallowed, betraying his emotions. “That’s what I wanted to talk with you about.”

The giant man looked past Xavior before gingerly reaching past him and closing the door. He then looked both ways, as if a spy would come tumbling out of the shrubberies of the garden. Putting a fist in front of his mouth he said. “I need your help getting into her room.”

The god raised his eyebrows in surprise, but acknowledged the man’s desire to keep this out of the public eye and walked past him while justuring him to follow him inside. A few moments later they found them inside a private meeting room, where the god finally asked “How bad is her… seclusion?”

“She’s locked the door and refuses to not only leave but answer me,” Jermane all but whispered. “I don’t think she’s eaten or drank anything either.”

“We don’t exactly need to,” Xavior said “but I get your point” before stroking his beard for a few moments and then asking simply “In what way do you think I will have more luck than you?” not unkindly, but instead to gauge the exact intent in this request for help.

“She trusts you more than most, if not me — then you.”

“Hmmm,” Xavior thought for a moment, before agreeing to help the man ”we will combined forces then”

The pair stood outside Benea’s room. The hallway was well lit and well adorned yet even so a shadow seemed to cling to the stark wooden door that separated them from the goddess on the other side. The guards were still there of course, but wore a worried look on their face as if they somehow had failed in their duties. Jermane waved Xavior to stand next to him and the pair approached the door.

Giving it a sturdy knock, Jermane called out. “My Queen?”

Nothing.

Another knock. “My Queen, Xavior is here to speak with you.”

Nothing.

The bodyguard looked at Xavior before stepping out of the way and motioning for him to give it a try.

The god frowned even though he had been told this was what had been occurring, and then made his own opening attempt “Benea, this.. Shutting yourself away entirely is quite concerning. I am aware that the… appearance of this snow god is quite disheartening, but surely this isolation is not the answer? I do not know if you are planning, working or despairing in there, but we need to stand together in this dark hour if we are to survive it”

He paused as a dark thought crept across his mind, prompting him to ask “Could you, at the very least, give us a sign that you are alive in there?”

A small shuffle could be heard behind the door, beckoning for Xavior to lean in. With her ear almost to the wood, the hinges suddenly creaked and Benea’s arm came bursting through the opening. Her fingers grabbed Xaviors collar and in one swift motion, pulled him into the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

Inside the room Xavior stood. Benea was behind him, already slumped back against the door, her back keeping it closed. She had her hands between her knees and her eyes were puffy with stress and perhaps sadness. Her usual dress was an icy blue and the veil that Tsunya had gifted her was lost in the mess that was the bed in the corner. The bow window was closed, and her dresser had been moved to block it.

The god whirled around to face her, his expression panicked till he saw her, at which point he was instead stunned and then, finally, once he had a moment to collect his thoughts he released a breath and with a mix of pity and concern asked: “Benea… what has happened to you?”

Before she could answer however he said “No, wait. We’ll sit first, and then we can talk this through” and then offered her a hand to help her rise, adding “If that is alright with you?”.

Letting loose a sharp sigh, Benea snagged Xavior’s hand and tugged on his arm until she was standing straight. “Very well, dear.”

Xavior waved his hand and pulled the table and chairs that the room had been furnished over so that they wouldn’t have to go far, let her take a seat and then took one himself, before asking “oh and would you care for some tea?”

Benea looked up from her seat for a moment before letting her forehead slam onto the table, her arms outstretched. “We are all doomed, darling.” She mumbled from her new position. A loud inhale. “So sure, tea.”

Xavior raised an eyebrow at her comment and. while internally it worried him a great deal, nothing would stop him from trying to be an impeccable host. As such cups and a teapot floated over and some water and tea leaves vanished from the temple kitchens and found themselves in the pot and cups respectively (something the chefs where more than used to at this point) after which the pot was quickly raised to the boil in Xavior's hand.

A few moments later, the god poured them both a cup of tea, then the pot was set down and after steeping for a bit the leaves were banished from the room. Xavior lifted his cup, gently blew on it and took a sip, the warmth and taste setting his own nerves as much as it was meant to help Benea, before he set it down and finally asked “So… how doomed are we exactly?”

Peeking up, Benea eyed her tea and sat up straight. She quickly hooked a finger on the arm of her cup and sipped at it. At the touch of the warm drink, Benea sank into her seat — some stress falling off her shoulders.

“I don’t know what is going to happen anymore,” She finally admitted. “First Anak’thas goes and does who knows what for whatever reason and now Garravar is somehow back. I can only imagine the rest of the crucible is imploding at this point.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know what to do, dear, I thought I did.”

Xavior wanted to put down her believing she knew what was going to happen to arrogance, but that felt unkind. “It is an unexpected event, that is for certain. That there is a godkiller on the loose, and one with more age and experience than us at that, is concerning” Xavior said somewhat academically, having only a second hand account of the vision of the ice god’s proven lethality “but if the path is no longer clear, then all we can do is improve, adapt and together overcome this new threat.” he suggested as a new path, before trying to be optimistic when he added “We at the very least have the numbers and, presumably, something of a headstart when it comes to amassing supporters, resources and artifacts to combat him.”

“He’s killed more gods than you have fingers, and he did it without any help, nodes, or frie-” Benea paused and frowned. She sipped her tea. “Garravar is a smart man, and worse still he already has a plan and we’ve already played into it.”

Xavior, teacup half raised to his lips and now halted there, paled at that information “That… is bad” he managed, shocked enough at the revelation as to not yet question where it had come from.

Benea retreated further into her chair and finished her tea in silence before adding, “I’m sorry, sweet Xavior.”

“For what?” a slumped in his chair Xavior replied, having set his cup down, stomach churning far too great to allow him to drink another drop, and then managed to at least try and regain some cordial demeanor while saying “This, this is dreadful news, but it is better to know it than to live in ignorance. I cannot blame the messenger…” then he paused, his brows furrowed as the back of his mind that had not been drowning in doom pointed out an inconsistent too him, which caused him to sit up a little and then finally ask that fateful question “but how do you know all this?”

Benea gaped for a moment before answering. “Which part?”

“The… all of it? Monica told me she saw the creator’s last moments in the old world, and the death of his leader at this ice gods hand … but this goes so far beyond that. How do you know so much about this Garravar?” He asked, his tone only slightly accusatory. Mostly he was just confused.

Letting out a long breath, Benea furrowed her brow. “I lived it. I was there when it all happened.”

“I…? What…” Xavior was stunned, and then, head held in his hands, his mind went into overdrive over several seconds before he thought he put it together “The creator... No... Peninal… his will wasn't too weak. He wanted his queen to win the crucible, so it gave him the closest it could. It gave her a second chance.” he looked up at her “You a second chance.”

“It was planned,” Benea affirmed. “It was the only way to get rid of Garravar, or so we thought. We also didn’t expect… the others.” She tucked a frown in her cheek. “We didn’t expect you, Anak’thas, Monica, any of you.”

“Why would running this again be needed to get rid of him…” he began to ask, and then stopped himself and then simply asked her to “just… explain it all from the beginning please.”

“Oh dear,” Benea furrowed her brow. “The beginning was a long time ago now, even I don’t know where it started…”

A pause.

“Before this crucible I was Queen Olipha and I commanded every god and every node.”

Xavier was, at this point, numb to revelation, so he just leaned back in his chair, picked up his unfinished tea and let her tell her story without interruption.

“Well anyway,” Benea continued, “there were 14 other gods under my command, including Peninal, his brother Faringdal and of course Garravar. By all means the world was in complete peace under my reign, as it was supposed to be. I am not exaggerating when I say that thousands of years went by without conflict, pain or suffering. Everything was in accordance with my will and we knew that if the triggering event were to happen, nothing would change under that will — we all knew except Garravar.”

A long pause as Benea collected her thoughts. “He was always different from the others, you see? He was clever and sharp, with a discerning eye and contagious voice. Something always bothered him about the nodes, and in a similar sickness to Anak’thas he eventually found himself obsessed with them — except obsessed in their study. I told him it was best if he let them be and let the peace reign but he was upset with the idea, he called it blissful ignorance and continued with his experiments.”

“Is this all making sense so far, dear?”

“Given what I know of our lot I’m both surprised and impressed you managed to wrangle 14 gods I’ll be honest,” Xavior admitted “but go on”

“The gods then were different than the gods now…” A sad look found Benea’s face. “But Garravar, as I was saying, was different even to them. He was our champion before he was our enemy. Now and again near the end of the peaceful reign we would get a chaos beast or two and every time we would call upon Garravar. He wielded a spear he named Tolbog and so long as he held it, he was unstoppable. His first victim was Auriel, the kindest goddess you could ever meet. Monica reminds me a little of her, and perhaps that was Peninal’s inspiration. She was helping him study the nodes, at my behest. I was foolish but optimistic in thinking that having her nearby would guide him gently away from the path he was taking, but no — she was murdered.”

Benea — Queen Olipha — looked into Xavior’s eyes. “She didn’t expect it, how could she? She was stabbed in the back by Tolbog.”

“And then… Everyone else. One by one,” Xavior said, already seeing how the story went, voice hollow as he asked, redundantly “and no one could stop him?”

“We killed him several times,” Benea answered almost chillingly, “but each time, he would simply be reborn. Anyone who had been bit by his spear but not killed became a vessel for him upon his death and he would burst from them. At some point all of us had been bitten and so the only way to get rid of him was to… let everything restart. Somehow he returned, and I’m not sure how. I’m scared, I have no idea how he broke through into a new crucible, especially after all we did to ensure he couldn’t.”

“Forgive my ignorance, but surely it would be Peninal?” Xavier pointed out, “It may have been a delayed return, but it was a return in the same manner nonetheless, if we consider the erasment experienced during the reshaping of the world under a god’s will as simply a death? Unless the reset you performed is more… intense than I am thinking it is?” aware that he was likely missing something.

"It shouldn't have, Peninal destroyed himself. Tolbog has never worked on the dead before." Benea ran a hand through her hair.

“Ahhhhhh piz” Xavior swore uncharacteristically after giving it a few moments of thought and realizing who was likely to blame “Grym did this. He reanimated Peninal‘s body and, presumably, allowed it to count as alive enough for Tolbog to return”

Staring at Xavior with wide eyes, Benea slouched back into her chair. "Well at least it wasn't a new trick."

“If I wasn't already going make that monster suffer before…” Xavior began to swear, before sighing, slumping into his chair like Benea and saying defeatedly that “I take it your box trick won't work either?”

“It didn’t really work well the first time,” Benea admitted. “Besides, he's a bit bigger than a lantern. Though we do have one advantage right now.”

Xavior’s sat up just a little at this hint of hope and asked “And that is?”

Sitting up to match Xavior, she continued, “Not every node is taken. He won’t execute his plans until every node is calmed. Granted we can’t just let the nodes stay unclaimed, but if we are smart about it — well I don’t know yet, but it’s a starting point. The only concern is those such as Anak’thas or the southern people who aren’t exactly amicable to plans and cooperation.”

“Perhaps the existence of a tangible and universale threat will be enough to bring us together, at least temporarily” he said, not entirely confident, but the fact that they had time did hearten him somewhat “You righend for thousands of years” he said, the magnitude of that sinking in a bit more “do we have that kind of time, or does something start to go wrong if a node remains unclaimed for too long? Speaking of, if he is not going to take nodes and attempt to win for himself, which I assume is Anak’thas’ plan” he phrased that partially as a question before specifically asking “what is Tolbogs?”

“Talbog is a spear, darling,” Benea corrected (cursing Xavior to turn slightly redder than he was naturally in embarrassment) “Garravar is the one we are talking about. But to answer your questions in order, I doubt we have thousands of years — the triggering event is rather random.” She hesitated. “Garravar… wants every node to be claimed, and then every god that has a node to be killed.”

Xavior scratched his head, trying to understand why “To what end? Also how do you… No we’ll get back to that,” he stopped himself from going on a tangent no matter how much he wanted to follow that thread and focused on “Garravar first. What could he possibly achieve from this other than guaranteed annihilation?”

It was Benea’s turn to look uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat for a bit. “I don’t suppose just saying he is a madman with crazy delusions would be enough for you?”

“I’d prefer there to be no more secrets between us” Xavior replied matter of factly, before adding “but if it helps, I swear on my life I will not be taken in by this murderous agenda, whatever it may be” quite seriously.

“I trust you,” the queen added. “Garravar was once my…” She paused and made a face. “Well you know.” Quickly she shook her head. “Either way, that’s how it all started. He wanted to find a way to bypass the triggering events or to trick the crucible into stagnating so that the existing reality could continue in perpetuity. I didn’t take well to his original idea, and so we were at odds ever since.”

Xavior caught himself as he did indeed start to be taken in by that very agenda, and discard any thought on the prospect. Besides, even if it were one life traded for that of the world, he did not approve of that sacrifice being forced by this killer’s hand. Also there was also the key problem with this plan, which was “Why did he even think this would work? It sounds like it would just guarantee the end of the world” he said, before theorizing that “besides, now that we have seen that both you and he have survived a transition, this immoral gamble seems wholly unnecessary. If what you care about is the survival of the people, and I certainly do, then you could create some kind of, say, soul ark to carry them along with the will of the node owner.”

Olipha just seemed to purse her lips at this. “I won’t pretend to understand everything that goes through his mind or how his experiments brought him to these conclusions, but there you have it. Hopefully you won’t ever have to hear about it from him himself.”

The god shrugged, though he did file his own idea away for later, and then went back to the other line of questioning he wanted to ask about, saying “So do you know the trigger event is random? Because I would think you would need to know about more than the last one to make that assessment, yes?”

“Xavior, dear,” Benea slowly went to stand up. “I think that’s enough questions for now. It’s already been heavy on my psyche and as much as I want to answer everything for you, it’s too much for me all at once.”

Xavior frowned, and then shrugged and said, simply, “later then”

“Just, one more thing,” Benea looked down at the god. “If something were to happen to me, I want you to take my nodes and those who follow me. I want you to take all the nodes and I want you to see the next crucible is a paradise like how mine was. Even if nothing happens to me, you still may be our best bet.”

The god suspected he was being told to fill a walking corpse's boots, and did not know how to feel about that. “We’ll bind this little alliance of ours tightly enough that it can survive your fall” he agreed, somewhat, to her desire, before insisting “and make it strong enough that won’t come to that in the first place” while promising himself that he’d learn from his creators mistakes. If nothing else, he’d insist they burn his body.

“Someday one of you gods is going to need to make a commitment,” Olipha mused with a furrowed brow. “Only one can spearhead the triggering event but I guess that can be a conversation for a different time.”

A pause.

“And thank you, sweet Xavior.”

“Any time. This has been elightnenting” Xavior replied, before getting all the way back to the original point of all this “so… does this mean you will be leaving your room anytime soon?”

Benea was already pushing Xavior through the door. “I think that’s enough for now, dear. I’ll come get you when it’s time to make our plans and name our successor, because we are going to need to do that… Tsunya should be there too, and our darling little Monica.”

Jermane was standing on the other side, wide eyed as Benea glanced over him and then back at Xavior. The goddess took Xavior’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you once again.”

“It was my pleasure,” Xavior replied, before the door was closed before him.

A few moments passed with Xavior grinning thoughtfully until he saw Jermane in his peripheral vision and he remembered what the whole point of this had been in the first place.

Benea… no Olipha, still hasnt left her room.

“Ahhhh, piz.”

---

The journey was swift and serene, as Monica soared across the skies to the edges of Maelite. She could not easily fly in the land of darkness, so she descended to where the road of light began, and resumed her journey once more as she started walking. Soon after she softly spoke to the shadows surrounding her and the shimmering road after she had passed the borders between the 12th Realm and Maelite.

Her quiet voice wandered away from her, lost in the prominent dancing darkness. There was no response. She continued onward along the road of light with the wind carrying her, hastening her hovering step. She did not stray from the path, where the icy cruel cold sank its teeth into the living, where the savage children of Maelite may seek her out and attempt to feast on her flesh, where there were no means without magical aid of navigating the land aside from blindly fumbling forward.

She spent time among other travelers and shared a few words with them, enjoying the ephemeral conversations that periodically interrupted the screaming silence between encounters. She would ever prematurely depart though, insisting she must be on her way before long. Calling upon her sacred power, she summoned supplies that she provided to her fellow wanderers, along with washing away the fatigue and fear they felt. In return, she simply asked them to pray to the Divine, and avoid straying from Benea’s light lest death finds them in the sea of shadows.

Monica finally reached the node that she had stabilized so long ago, and once again called out to the absolute blackness that enclosed everything around her. The Shepherd of Shadows revealed its looming presence with its ethereal voice repeatedly resonating where the limited light and demure darkness danced together. The unseen colossus told her of what had transpired in Maelite during her absence, and asked if she wished to see the fate of her children - those that were lost, and those that had been found…

“No. I am afraid I cannot accompany you and my children in this world yet. I must continue my journey a little longer, but I will come back.” She said, with sorrow in her heart. A more and more familiar feeling after all that she had seen and experienced. There was yearning and joy that swelled within her as well, for she was with her family.

The Shepherd of Shadows merely murmured to her that it would await her return, and that it would continue to watch over the node and her children while she was away, for which she expressed her gratitude. Before she bid her champion farewell, another sound came from the darkness. A small creature about half her height emerged from the darkness; a creature that was only a silhouette in the light when it appeared. It was bipedal, standing upon two legs that were large compared to the rest of its shape - at least consisting of the vast majority of it. It possessed four more spindly limbs that reached out from its core as it approached her.

However her eyeless spawn became sluggish, struggling just to stand when it stepped into the much warmer light, so Monica came to it instead. Her hands touched its cold carapace, compassionately caressing what was her child as it began to claw apart her arms and stomach. Silver blood seeped from the accumulating wounds, but she continued to croon and gently stroke its shape as it assailed her. “A little one... She needs to be loved… My beautiful daughter whom always attacks me whenever she sees me.”

All of her children sought to slay her, all of them suffused with her fear and agony. Before she suffered further injuries, she let the Shepherd of Shadows pry her daughter away, bringing the child back into the darkness. Monica began healing her numerous bleeding lacerations, and mending her attire before cleansing it. Afterwards, she further contemplated the matter of her aggressive children and came to a conclusion that would assist both Maelite and those beyond its borders. With cosmic clarity, she called upon the forces of creation and forged an artifact that manifested upon one of her fingers.

It was a silver ring that she would name, Althea, which possessed incredible healing powers. With it, she could sacrifice sections of her body to her hungry children and swiftly regenerate. With more of her divine might, she cast an intricate spell upon her attire that she named,Alessia, granting it great resilience. With it, she could spend more time with her hungry children without the supervision of the Shepherd of Shadows keeping her safe. Monica felt a small satisfied smile form as she finished her task, but black tears were trailing down her cheeks because she must leave again.

She said her farewells, and traveled along the road of light back to the 12th Realm. She flew to Eunomia and entered the temple, navigating it until she reached the node. She stepped through the nexus, and appeared in southern Maelite where she performed one more task. She set a warning system on the node. Soon she would grant Benea permission to access the power of the node, letting her sister teleport here as well. As Monica’s thoughts turned to Benea, she hoped that Xavior and Jermane helped her recover from her ordeal. Monica then returned to the 12th Realm through the nexus.

"It is impossible. Out of my hands at this point. The Halle Kemiha will need to cope with the fact the south is out of our reach at the moment."

"But my lady." the pleading Magistrate was equally faceless to the saboteur Dzallitsunya had sent south, but unlike her, her aura was soft and delicate, after all, she was not one of the agents of the night under the Halle Miradja but of the esoteric learning group of Magistrates, the previously mentioned Halle Kemiha. "If the fabled tower of the mage god or the tablets of endless knowledge were to be studied by one of ours, surely, magic would be within our grasp, and so would the secret of this world."

"And yet, we cannot even communicate with the Magis down south due to the mess at Node 18, the ship project has also been fully derailed until Anak'Thas ends his agression." the goddess let out a tired sigh, arching back and then stretching. "How about the Daman, the Metzeh Kiri, yes? It's a peculiar wildland, and from what we hear, a land of people able to grow special plants and put to use the energy of their souls."

The faceless scholar had a shocked expression. "But... isn't that land... full of slavers and man-eaters, worse of all, a land of no sanitation and no baths?"

"You want me to be willing to cross the chaotic seas or brave the swarmed lands but you cannot show the same zeal when it comes to dealing with a few uncouth wolf-people?" Tsunya teased.

"Given the war, I take we will need to brave the mountains, sigh..." she adjusted her hair. "Fine, for the sake of knowledge I can do it. But if I end up as the breakfast of some giant frog, it will be on your consciousness."

The goddess's eyes widened. "You will be protected by capable hands during the expedition, I will make sure of that, the dusklands already lost their most clever mind once and I will not suffer that again" the words were sharp, no hint of the casual friendly conversation from before.

The magi, caught by surprise, was speechless for a moment, thinking of what to answer, ultimately, she was saved by an approaching messenger.

"My goddess, a report from the embassy in the 12."

Dzallitsunya took the message and at first, she had a smile, mentions of pearls, beautiful crystals, and things that could help her to further develop the dusklands. Then, the mention of the cold winds of a floating entity, and later confirmation of any suspicion from Xavior himself. As if the entities in the current world were not enough, shadows of the past seemed to have crept back up.

The crucible was a cruel world, and she was so tired.

---

The creature protecting the 9th node was by far the fiercest of the chaos beasts she had faced, with a metallic body, razor-sharp wings, a vicious boar-like face and the ability to breathe fire so hot it would melt the ground itself. This was the third time Dzallitsunya faced it, last time it was weaker, but unlike the chameleon beast of the north, Dzallitsunya had only not been victorious because she had chosen not to win, sparing the beast for dubious reasons.

Today, on the fourth battle, she had an excuse, as she was guiding the expedition to the Daman lands.

Dancing around the fire blast and chaotic molten ground, using the shadow petal to ward off flames, the goddess delivered slashes upon the beast's limbs and struck its head with a hammer before casting chains to hold it, temporarily. Panting, she returned to the group of dusklanders.

"This will hold it until the journey is over." she said as she regained her breath, quickly guiding the magistrates and guards away, across the rock expanses that looked as if an ocean had been petrified in the middle of a storm, with stone 'wave' structures and splashing craters. The chaos beast and its spawn seemed to be able to temporarily revive said ocean with its fire.

"Goddess? Is that not the node?" a keen-eyed Magistrate asked, pointing at the tall black obelisk.

"I have no need for these lands and see no project with its shape and inspiration, so I am letting it be."

In part, this was because she wanted to prove to herself that she would never be as sick as Benea had described, that she could resit the temptations of the node system. In part... because it was relaxing. The dreams of battle were good exercise to the knight goddess, but the real deal, with real fatigue and real pain, could not be beaten. Whenever she was truly out of it, she would enter the node and fight off its chaos and let the frustration and anger be burned away in combat. So she had kept the dragon and its node.

"Now, let us continue and finish our journey before the dawn breaks."

---

Outside of mysterious roaring noises in the chaotic node 9, along with tracks that seemed similar to that of wheel carts, the time after she had seen off her agents was uneventful. Without a long term objective or exciting combat, her mind had returned to her immediate worries.

And that was how she would explain to Benea that she would return Node 13 to Anak'Thas.

Simply put, she was tired, she was a deity of lofty dreams but whenever she tried to focus on them lesser issues would consume her time. At first, it was the chaotic mortalkind, the loss of Croll, but the gods were equally chaotic and overwhelming, Benea had thrust her into this issue and expected her to fight and kill without ever asking for consent, all her reports did not make Anak'Thas seem that threatening and...

The Hive.

Garravar.

It all seemed to be more pressing than Anak'Thas.

Benea would have to understand.

Due to the route, she took to avoid the chaos, the goddess found herself walking into the dusklander fort town of Vallora, in node 13. It brimmed with life and commerce despite the tension in the air. It would also provide the infrastructure she could use to make her decision known to the land, to move the magistrates' capacities to transfer the land and set up a deal so as to not harm those who were helpful to her or the dusklanders who had come to settle the land.

And of course, to explain her decision to Benea, each word would have to be measured, and the very idea filled the dusk goddess with anxiety, a cold pit in her stomach.

"I will give myself some time off" she confessed as she entered the town, she needed to eat some good food, something sweet and honeyed too, take a nice bath, rest well, then she could return to bothering herself with the world and face the challenge of giving up on Node 13 for the sake of peace and focusing the fight against the chaos, the murderers and the slavers.

The 13 was a sunny land, even Vallora with its dusklander compound, could not be magically shielded from it, thankfully the shadow petal could become a cape with the added feature of a hood, something to spare her face from the overwhelming light.

It also helped to keep herself mostly anonymous, since it was midday most dusklanders were inside or in the covered arcades, she was curious to see how commerce worked in a foreign dusklander compound in case she ever wanted to go back on her ban of the mercantile class.

The exorbitant price of a cupful of honeyed peanuts quickly killed any sympathy for it, Xavior forgive her, even a goddess who could summon gold from between her fingers felt ripped off.

After having that and something to drink, she noticed a small crowd of sunlanders in a plaza, watching some sort of play. It was about two siblings, a girl who created the stars and a boy who created the sun. She had heard of it, one of her agents had told her about it after previously watching it in Tellum'Velik.

She always loved it, it expressed many of her feelings, especially the dangers of unchecked ambition, the boy, in his envy, would create the sun just to show off, an obscene and excessive light, for an equal ambition to outshine the world. At least that is how she interpreted it, she had been theorising about the astral for a long while, and by now she was sure the sun had an addicting blinding effect, since that was easy to realise just by noticing how a strong light made all else darker she imagined that had been the inspiration of such a play.

And yet, the crowd cheered for the boy as the lamp he held exploded in light. The goddess was truly perplexed, what was there to cheer for in the actions of the sun-creating brother? She had little time to think about it, however, as her cape was hit by a small stone.

Turning to face the thrower, she saw a familiar faceless face in a nearby building, the masked agent she had sent to Tellun along with two more, all in a building, as no Magi could stand walking out in open sunlight. The goddess was impressed they were already back from the mission, but this was useful, it meant she could deliver her message faster and focus her mind on defending her land. As soon as she entered the building, however, the expressions of those within told her something bad had happened.

"My goddess." The Halle Miradja with the canine mask bowed. "I have news. Anak'Thas has sent his reply to our messages."

"Truly?" Dzallitsunya said with a certain surprise, she had been waiting for so long until Benea or Anak'Thas answered her pleas for help against the hive. "Well then, do share it! I must know what stance to take forward."

The magistrates looked at each other, not answering the question at all, this turned on the alarms within Dzallis' head and she did not wait until they answered, she dove into their memories to seize it.

Return Node 13 to me or suffer the consequences.

The goddess stood in confusion, eyes darting from magistrate to magistrate trying to confirm the facts, instead, she learned just how much she had been ignoring. What they had heard the paladins talking about, the rumours of a troop called the Blade of Dawn? Why had she bothered? Why had she given them all so many chances?

She felt weak and found herself walking into the dimly lit room without thinking, leaning against the nearest table.

"Just so to be clear in case my ability to read the memory of my magistrates fail me. No mention of the hive, no mention of peace, no mention of a trade deal or cooperation, no mention of MY WORK on this land, that I DEFENDED and PROTECTED for no reason other than appreciation for his people."

"My goddess, it is their belief that you are an invader."

"Haha... An invader... I walked away from his accursed city! How many gods would do that? Preserve lives above all... and now this maniac wants to force my hand, as if I wronged him? I am not worth at least one non-threatening or demanding sentence to him? After I was so gentle to his people and his land, after I worried myself for his sake? That bastard."

She banged her hand against the table. "And here I was doubting Benea. I still might. But I do not care. Be he sick or be he just a moron. I will not have my face spat on like this. Treat me like I was a vermin, something he could just ignore, as if I was beneath him? No. That is not how it will go. I pleaded. I was willing to negotiate. He denied it all. And he will regret it. He will wish he could deal with Benea again."

The magistrates stared at each other and back at the goddess. "Does this mean you will be joining the blockade instead of just occupying parts of the node?"

Dzallitsunya shook her head. "It means I want him dead. Enough. I am tired. So tired. I could be sailing the seas in search of knowledge, I could be with my children, I could be designing the latest city for our peaceful nation. But I was handed this war I have never asked for... Fine! War it is!" she launched off back to the centre of the room, waving her cape, the magistrates tried to follow but stopped as she walked out, into the sunlight.

The goddess looked up. "I am so tired of you too. Your wretched light, so proud of being annoying, so proud of your oppression, that you can overwhelm the gentle night, in a sense, you are so similar to that accursed lantern. Perhaps it is not the nodes but you the true source of the sickness. Cooking brains with your heat." she ranted, then looked again at the crowd, bitterness burning inside her in silver flames. "But did you forget just what I am?"

She picked something from her pocket which the magistrates could not see quite what it was, she then looked at the horizon, extending her hand and then clenching it as if seizing the infinite border between land and sky. Where previously was midday blue suddenly started to have a hint of red and orange, like an early sunset.

To the left, a woman whined as the fire of her oven started to dim up. To the right, one by one, commemorative candles started to go out, and the sunlander priest overlooking them tried to turn them on again but not a single spark would come out of his rock. The people who were previously walking peacefully started to stop in confusion, looking at the sky and at their own shadows, yellow and orange starting to creep up, darkening the world.

By this point, half of the crowd watching the play was shocked to see the sky, the other, was shocked to see the sun boy and his lamp, which previously was a lively flame, fed with expansive oils the lantern was supposed to keep a bright light for a whole hour, but now, it was dying, shadows creeping in closer as the overwhelming flare turned into tamed ember despite the excess of fuel left. By the time it fully died the screams started.

The sun was being eaten.

Night had declared war upon the day and shadows spread up and down the horizon, meanwhile, the previously regent sun was slowly being covered by a growing dark plate. The magistrates now felt safe enough from the sunlight to step in close to the goddess and it was just then that they noticed exactly what she held. Umbrium, the material of the Maelite.

It had grown into an abyssal dark blade, as thin as the horizon line, as ever-present as the horizon line, as it ate the light from the world it gained hints of orange and red on its edge.

Finally, the goddess, no sarcastic or desperate smile on her face, moved the blade off the horizon and up against the sky, brandishing it against the conquered sun, reduced to a ring of light and barely able to keep the world alight.

"I am a god." she declared to the orb of fire, now reduced to an ironic crescent moon shape.

Dzallitsunya V

He could not be trusted. Asvarad knew that even as he watched Vatarr, his new ‘ally’, vanish into the depths and shadows of the metal forest. A peer already capitulated. The worm-king’s appeal to pragmatism was sensible, but he’d only made it after all but gloating that this world was doomed even beyond death. Vatarr offered no assurances, and Asvarad was not inclined to offer his own. Not to someone so pleased with this prison and its cycle of violence.

For now, though? The serpent would have to stand beside his peer against others not merely surrendered to the supposed inevitability of a cycle grown old and decrepit with repetition, but willing participants in it. Vatarr had not been wrong when he said they would be coming. If Asvarad was to honor his word and keep all those labouring with him to escape their supposed fates safe from the maddened players of a sick game, he would need more than just himself. He would need an army.

He was caught in the thought by a gentle shove, and at once was reminded of the sapling who’d woken him. Had Vatarr not encountered that obstacle… Asvarad didn’t recall creating the young tree, but it had not hesitated to protect him. An encouraging fact, given the serpent’s last foray into creating life. Asvarad turned to face the human-like sapling and thought to it reassuringly, “He is gone, and any danger with him. For now.

It regarded him skeptically, face akin to a gnarled carving long since disfigured by growth, and pointed in the other direction from where Vatarr had gone. Towards the chaos of node twenty-four. The Forest’s Sentinel, for that was the sapling’s title, conversed with Asvarad in a language of intent and thought, but its meaning was no less clear than if it were spoken. It feared the darkness more than any ‘god’. It did not understand why its creator would defend the madness beyond the world when it had almost killed the serpent.

“An understandable fear, if a shallow one,” Asvarad’s own thoughts reassured the Sentinel, “I did not speak the full truth to Vatarr. Yes, I do seek to study chaos before banishing it, that was no lie. More than that, though, I mean to keep it here and contained because I believe it can buy us more time. All I’ve learned of the end prophesized by our world’s creator is that in his time it came after chaos was banished and one so called ‘god’ held sway over every node in existence. Securing chaos is all we can do to be different, at least until I, until we all know more."

The sapling, young as it was, listened to its creator and believed it understood. It even nodded it agreement, if not without qualification. If the world itself hung in the balance, then, and only then, chaos was a lesser concern. Even so, for all it’d sworn to ease Asvarad’s burden the Forest’s Sentinel was one being set against not just the darkness beyond but the clawing avarice of the great serpent’s own peers. It wanted to help but the odds…

Asvarad understood that feeling most of all. Imprisoned in flesh, chained by destiny, and evidently the only one of his abilities interested in doing something about it. The odds indeed. The serpent pulled himself up and cast his gaze from the young sapling and to the forest around them. If Asvarad’s power had given birth to one like the Forest’s Sentinel, intentionally or not, then it could surely give birth to more.

The answer was all around him. He slithered between the trees, his scales scraping at them and scoring the softer copper and tin trunks. The serpent swept about the forest surrounding the node, searching until he felt the telltale scrape of his body running against hard iron. Only then did the serpent stop. He turned on the Ironbark tree and, in a flash, struck.

Teeth reinforced by divinity cut into the dull metal and Asvarad beheld the heart of his creation. He felt its roots digging down, so deep that the earth would burn them were they not armoured, and bid them to fan out instead. The tree groaned, creaked, and shuddered as reality itself warped so that it could comply with the impossible order.

Ironbark roots shot out in every direction below the soil and the world seemed to shake as they did. They sought out their kin and dug deep into them. One by one Ironbark trees came under Asvarad’s sway. Each one added every other to its own being and so the web of roots grew and grew until there were not many Ironbarks in the forests of node twenty-five, but one.

Once the serpent commanded that one organism the countless saplings that grew from its body began to change. Reflections of the Forest’s Sentinel, as short as a human child or a tall as a building, they stood and unblinking though they might be they beheld the world with wonder and no questions as to their purpose. Asvarad had made a mistake with their first Servant, but not again. This great army would understand, from its very inception, the weight of its duty. It would be foremost in their minds.

And of those minds, there was one that would lead them. Asvarad instilled one command into his new army as he withdrew from the Ironbark and spit out the chunks of metal and wood that came out with his teeth. The great host that had been born from the body of their vast mother and the will of their divine father would answer to the first of their number and the only one who’d truly made the choice to take on the burden of a god.

“An army to make my peers tremble,” Asvarad addressed the Sentinel as he cast out, watching countless reflections of the young sapling rise from the soil around them, “And one you shall find more than sufficient to fulfill your… Oath to me.”

The Sentinel spun about trying in vain to see all its new kin as it thought to Asvarad. It was thankful, joyful even, to not be the only one, but its thoughts, as they were, came tinged with the fear of chaos. A vast army, beyond a mortal host, but not enough to fight Chaos. For that the Sentinel begged something more.

A newborn people, all the same and yet each one its own alien mind, would not be found wanting by their enemies. Asvarad agreed with the Sentinel and, grating as it was, spoke with a rumbling voice that carried on the winds and filled the forest with power, “Sentinel of this forest, warriors all, I task you with the defense of all who labour to secure this world against hateful destiny. I bid to you contain the Chaos of node twenty-four, the dark land to the southwest. Let none enter and nothing leave. Take on your duty and be fortified in spirit. Know you will have nothing to fear from disease or curse, that your body will never fail you.”

Countless young trees looked away from newfound hands and to the source of the voice. They heard it and each one took on their duty willingly, insofar as their thoughts could be understood at all. They made their way to the heart of the forest and their creator blessed with purpose and the strength to do their part whatever the cost may be.

They were terribly young, but that was not a thought the serpent ever had.

@DracoLunaris

Brey, sending message to Xavion via flying mages, finally delivers. "Lord Xavion is requested to send the knowledge, books and teachers of steel (The Medieval Era)."
"In return, Brey will reciprocate this knowledge with the generous powerful teachings of Magic."
"Brey has been busy with his duties. He could not immediately respond adequately to diplomacy with Lord Xavion until this moment."

“Woah! Well now wait!” Tael squawked. The crow was flapping haphazardly against the cold cobble of one of Eunomia’s alleyways. They didn’t choose to be here, and his broken wing kept him from escaping. Tael could feel his divine might frazzle, with most of it already expended in the fight. Now all the crow god could do was scramble against the cold stone in the shadows of Eunomia’s buildings, looking up at their assailant.

Two eyes as blue as ice stared back down at Tael. Black boots came to a scuffing stop, effectively blocking the only way out, a stone and iron privacy wall wedged behind the crow. Behind the wall, Tael could hear the bustle of the city, the steps of the everyday man or woman and the bleating of goats. On the other side, they could hear everything but on Tael’s side, there was silence. Only the thump of their heart filled Tael’s ears as they stared up at their killer.

Garravar was silent, his spear pointing down at the bird. Hate was in Garravar’s eyes, hate that snagged and entranced Tael. What could Tale have possibly ever done to this man to hate him so much. As if dumbfounded, through the pain, Tael asked. “Why?”

Tolbog came stabbing down and with a nearly silent thrust, Tael couldn’t hear anything anymore.

---

Above Monica, the azure sky suddenly clapped a crimson red, if only for a moment. It felt as if lightning had struck and bled the sky. The people of Eunomia froze when it happened, only to shake their heads in wonder as it disappeared as quickly as it came. In minutes, people weren’t sure it even happened at all, some laughing about it while others bit their knuckles in thought.

Monica tilted her head with curiosity, staring upwards at the sky briefly before resuming her journey throughout the streets of the bustling city. She studied the reactions of its people, and the many details of her surroundings, from an unobtrusive position upon the rooftops where few would even notice her presence. She silently flew from building to building, exploring more and more Eunomia while she observed its inhabitants performing their daily activities. It was the scent of death that distracted her from her spectating, when she flew over an alleyway and her senses warned of the ominous odor.

She stood at the edge of one building, peering down into the alley where she saw a strange sight. “Oa.” She softly called out to the lone figure by the corpse of a familiar crow, before she stepped off the edge and descended downwards. She alighted beside Tael, and kneeled beside the slain god as black tears began to trickle out from her eyes. “May you find peace and joy, wherever you have gone…” She said, then turned her gaze to stare into the eyes of Garravar.

“I would move away from the body,” Garravar said, his spear crackling into frozen dust as he freed his hand from it. Looking away he added. “It’s corrupted with the despondency.”

“It is beautiful and grotesque. An enigma.” She murmured as she stood and proceeded to introduce herself. “My name is Monica. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“You own 33 and 11,” Garravar recounted before taking a step closer as if to inspect the goddess. “I’m Garravar.”

“You own 33 and 11.” Monica repeated, and her voice echoed quietly in the alleyway. “Own? Possess? Numbers? I possess nothing as the embodiment of zero and an aspect of infinity.” She slowly flew closer by conjuring a wind that carried her, reducing the distance between them as well with an inquisitive glitter in her silver eyes stained with stygian tears that continued to trail down her cheeks as she stared at him.

Holding out a hand as if to say stop, the Winter god said, “on the contrary, you have stained two nodes with your will. As far as they are concerned, you possess them.” The god cocked his head to the side, giving Monica a long stare.

“You don’t know what you’re doing here, do you?”

She held up a hand, pulling the sleeve back to reveal it, then extending it outwards. “May I?” She asked, as she gestured towards him. Garravar shook his head.

“No.”

“Where is here?” Monica inquired, turning her attention to her hand, stretching her fingers and peering at her palm with an impassive look. She brought her hand upwards to her face, close enough to brush her lips with two fingers, and then hummed to herself.

“Did Peninal forget to complete you?” Garravar waved a hand, whipping up a cloud of ice around it. It expanded and with the crack of winter freeze, Tolbog appeared back in his hand. He let the but hit the ground and started to turn away.

“I fear I am unholy. As an enemy, I ask you, would you help me with my wish? Will you help me make a peaceful world?” Monica asked as she kept close to him.

“You remind me of someone I once knew.” Garravar’s voice came. “Speak your mind… plainly.”

“I am seeking paradise. Will you accompany me on my journey?” She replied, a surge of insistence resonating in her voice. “I am alone, and yet I am lost in an ocean of life. I am seeking a utopia, I think. It is a theory. A Ume theory.” She added, the lack of emotion and inflexion returning to her tone.

Garravar lifted a brow. “Why don’t you just make paradise. The nodes are right there for you, they can create a utopia. Or is there something else on your mind, as scrambled as it seems?”

“That which I seek cannot be created unless it is destroyed as well. A terrible cycle of rebirth and death that has imprisoned me. It has imprisoned you as well. You don’t know what you’re doing here, do you?” Monica intoned as she crossed her arms and shook her head back and forth. “You…” she whispered, lost in her thoughts.

“I do,” Garravar answered simply. He turned fully to Monica and stood straight, towering over her. “There is no cycle, there is no imprisonment, just your own existentialism. I’ve heard it before, trust me. In your case I’d say Peninal had some final thoughts of Auriel before he died, so I suppose I should apologize on his behalf.” A smile formed on Garravar’s face and he let out a single laugh.

“Perhaps there is a cycle for some.”

“Yet there is no cycle. Closer and closer. Hmm… Trust you? Do you trust me? There is love and hatred in my heart; a love and hatred for you. The one who is beautiful and grotesque all at once. Shall we betray each other then?” Monica replied.

Squinting his eyes Garravar leveled his spear so it stood between them, its serrated point aimed at Monica’s gut. “Would you step forward and impale yourself on Tolbog?”

“I cannot. How does one impale that which is impaled? How does one impale itself? Would you stab me with your spear? I am curious where Tolbog and Garravar and Monica go… I see the darkness that awaits ahead, and the light that follows from behind. Pierce me with one and see if I remain zero, is that the question?” Monica moved forward, pressing herself against the tip of the weapon, letting it touch the fabric of attire as it peel back and opened, exposing her belly.

“The choice is yours,” Garravar answered, holding the spear still.

“Cease the lying. You wield the weapon. The triggering event, the calamity, all of that which came before and all of that which has yet to come. Do you purposely avoid the truth? There is no choice now. Will you help or hinder me in making a peaceful world?” Monica’s wings extended outwards and curved, the pinions reaching towards Garravar.

“You don’t even know what peace is.” Tolbog fell from Monica’s stomach. Garravar brought it back to his side. “Ask me again when you have a plan, if you’re still living. The despondency often eats the confused ones, see to it that you aren’t one of them.”

Monica mended her robe and sighed. “You are also amusing. Plans. Numbers. Trust. I am confused by the crucible, and the promise of paradise beyond this prison. The paradox poisons my mind, yet I am content. What am I to do with you?” She asked as her head lulled to the side and she faintly smiled.

Taking a few steps back, Garravar answered, “I’m sure there are plenty of others asking the same question.” He turned away and continued his walk. “Or maybe not, people are forgetful.”

“People… I am not people. Do you wish to be forgotten for eternity? Is that why you flee from me?” Monica asked from above as she soared to the top of the building beside them.

“I know when I’m outmatched,” Garravar answered as he stepped out of the alley and onto the streets. Tolbog was gone again and Garravar was walking through the streets with ease, the people giving him a wide berth without even paying much attention to him. He walked with a certain confidence, only pausing a thoughtful look to stare up at Monica and then back down again, shaking his head.

“Shall I console myself by believing we flee from each other. The promise of paradise insinuates that we will reach our wishes. An enemy must engage their foe to find conflict and create a peaceful world, yet neither of us… received a key. How frustrating.” Monica muttered, before she flew somewhere else to resume her spectating of Eunomia and its denizens. It was later when she discovered a small cut on her stomach and whispered to herself that perhaps she had enjoyed their conversation more than she had thought.

Eleanna sat on what must’ve been the shoddiest, most uncomfortable stool in the whole Great Daman Desert. It was made out of roughly cut, uneven sandstone and she was sure that if she made any sudden moves, her pilot jumpsuit would pay the price. So, she made sure to remain calm as she leaned on the small table and looked her present company in the eye. He had the pristine, clear eyes of a proper Paladin, accompanied by the pale skin that only those that came from the snowy regions of the world could ever attain. Obviously, those pristine eyes and skin were currently marred by the fading burn scars caused by excessive soul burning.

“So in short, you’re asking me to seek out your master, Benea, so that I can seek out an alliance and strengthen the position of your nation?” Eleanna asked, scratching her chin and scrunching up her nose in thought. Really, these Paladins were something else. In the last couple years, she’d had to refuse the requests of at least a dozen of them and had to execute a couple others, and yet they still kept coming like moths to a flame. They weren’t even all that impressive at combat…

“Yes, that's right. You told me that if I won any of the stages of the Festival, you’d listen to my request. You’re bound by your word to seek Lady Benea!” Rac nodded, a satisfied grin on his face as he crossed his arms and leaned back on his rather comfortable looking Silvan Leather chair.

“You’re cocky. I should’ve killed you when I first met you.” Eleanna sighed. “What’s wrong with me these days…”

“I know what’s wrong, you haven’t received the Kiss.”

“I’d rather eat a bowl of my own vomit than be touched by Benea once more. Don’t tempt your fate, I may be bound by my word but I still am powerful enough to make you disappear.”

“Bah, all empty threats. I know your type, Lady Eleanna. All you care about is open battle and renown. You wouldn’t do lame stuff like employ assassins or secret services.” Rac rolled his eyes and placed his hands on the small sandstone table, leaning in so that he was practically pushing his forehead against Eleanna’s.

After a moment, Eleanna chuckled and shook her head. “I swear, every time we meet you sound more and more like a Daman. Fine! I’ll meet with your Goddess, but not to request an alliance. I will seek retribution for the humiliation she caused me and will only consider making peace with her if she lives through it.”

Rac furrowed his brow for a while, balling up his fists before sighing and relaxing. “I guess that’s good enough. At least there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I seriously considered attacking you as soon as you said you wanted to hurt Lady Benea, but then I realised you’ve got several burly Lionkin outside this room, and I wouldn’t be a match for a single one of them.”

“Smart boy. Now scramble, I’ve got to refuel.” Eleanna ordered, motioning towards the curtains covering the doorway with her head. Rac wasted no time getting up and leaving the humble quarters. Soon after that, a Wolfkin child walked in carrying a big tray packed to the brim with the various delicacies of the Desert.

“Whew! Thank you, Little Fyan!” Eleanna’s stomach growled, with Fyan’s growling shortly after. The child blushed and looked uncomfortable, but Eleanna just laughed and deftly took the tray with one hand and picked up the child with the other. Walking over to her favorite sleeping corner, she sat down cross legged, set the tray down in front of her and the child on her lap, and gave Fyan a thumbs up.

“Same as always. Do a good job and I’ll let you and your sister have some food.”

The wolf-eared child nodded meekly and got to work, grabbing some of the pickled cactus and feeding it to Eleanna, who cooed in delight at the explosion of flavours and the smokey feeling in the back of her nose. She pet and nuzzled the little boy’s hair as she swallowed her first mouthful, knowing that a little bit of luxury was merely a necessity at this point, in order to replace the soul she’d burned during the first stage of the race.

She felt a chill go down her spine as Fyan offered her a roasted vegetable. She resisted the urge to gag and quietly ate the accursed thing, relishing the struggle she felt deep within her heart.

The returning march to 23 was a quiet one. The magi shuffled anxiously behind the horde of uncaring offspring, probably wondering why they had been pledged as tribute to such a sudden stranger. Grym’s warriors flanked in turn, in opposition to their forward placement during the intended invasion. One might get the feeling that they were watching for deserters. Grym spearheaded the march toward the node, with Peninal aboard Akky overhead.

Thoughts of his shortcomings and misgivings during node 22’s siege played on the mind; that old man had sated him in a dissatisfactory fashion. He couldn’t let himself be distracted again. He had the Cradle mobilize most of its reserves from 18 to converge at 23, considering his previous inadequate estimates. At about mid-day of the fourth day, Grym finally saw the silhouette of 23’s obelisk over the horizon. It was during this day that reinforcements from the north had caught up as well; considering the roughly equal distance between 18 and 23, and 23 and 22. Another thousand or so offspring seamlessly ordered themselves behind the warriors, nearly doubling their current ranks.

All of the warriors had seen the mass of offspring integrated from the north, but Nea was the first to break the silence. “Isn’t this a bit much?” On this rare occasion she sounded genuinely concerned, her gaze shifting between the subdued magi and flanking offspring.

“I think…” Duncan spoke up. “I think Master Grym is upset.”

Nea wanted to belittle Duncan and his unwarranted opinion, but something stopped her. There was a sensation of genuine understanding that he exuded in his response — one that she instinctively chose to listen to.

“Almost like he’s afraid, but.. that’s not it. If I had to guess, he isn’t satisfied with how things turned out — like he can’t accept what’s already done.”

“Why not?” Nea heard herself say before she had the time to think.

“Because he’s a gluttoun. Without taking the node or killing Lord Brey, it’s like his tail is between his legs right now.”

“But he proposed the treaty.” Dorian pointed out.

“Exactly. That decision represents compromise in the face of hardship. It’s a feeling I know too well, and the reason he blames himself — cowardice.”

Duncan was right. Grym brooded at the front of a force of thousands. His hunger had been stunted by the whimsy of a quirky old man; in all honesty, he’d been duped. Anger was not an emotion that came naturally to him, but in this moment this perceived inadequacy weighed heavily. He had spent so much time and effort preparing to eat a meal, only to settle for scraps. The only thing he could do was stew in this resentment. The group reached had reached the node, where Grym remained for a second time. 23 must be an unlucky number for him. Barely more than a day went by before one of Grym’s warriors, Talia, reported the approach of someone or something from the West. Talia was tall, at around 6’1”, with broad shoulders and tree trunks for legs. She’d been the one to spot Grym when he first skulked around the village in 18 and felt no hesitation in interacting with him, in contrast to most of the other warriors who were put off by Grym’s appearance and divine authority. It was she who insisted upon her employment as a scout in his service and, truthfully, the main reason his warriors operated cohesively.

The mist seemed to be moving toward the node from that direction, but there wasn’t any way to identify what it was or who (if anything) inhabited it. Reports stated that all plant life and animals corroded in the wake of the mist’s touch, dissuading Grym’s warriors from attempting to engage or interact with whatever this was. Whatever it was, Grym reckoned it would head for the node; considering most everything had a reason to seek the nodes. He readied himself and company in anticipation for the arrival of who or whatever dared invade.

---

To say that everything in Vatarr’s wake was left corroded and dead was untrue. If anyone had cared to look behind the reported ‘mist cloud of death’, they might have noticed that fresh plant and fungal life was sprouting up in the aftermath of the destruction. However, as was the nature of mortals, they seemed to take more interest in destruction than creation.

The deer skull headed god had seen some of the ‘monsters’ that the humans had fled from at least two nodes for himself from the recently claimed Volcanic Bulwark that had formerly been called Node 28… and Vatarr had deemed the matter worthy of going on the offensive. Under normal circumstances he would have happily left matters as they were but… the creatures he had witnessed were not life.

They were a perversion of life. A sickness that corrupted actual living creatures in order to create an army that was shackled to the will of another entity. It might have been a deity at the center or it might have been akin to one of the chaos beasts that favored the unstable realm around unclaimed nodes or maybe even something else… but whatever it was needed to be stopped.

It was a corruption of the Cycle and if left unchecked, it would dominate the world for an untold period of time before it died, likely leaving the planet shattered and broken in the aftermath. It needed to be snuffed out now.

And so he made his way towards the Node, where he could commit to the purging of this region in a fast, timely manner before making plans for the heart of the beast as it were.

---

“Well, what is it then?”

“Couldn’t say, sir. Our best guess is it’s being controlled, considering the direct path it’s taking toward the node. Matter appears to morph and shift unnaturally in the mist, so much so that it’s impossible to pick anyone out that may be using it for cover.” Talia explained.

“Alright, alright.” He huffed dejectedly, waving a hand in ascribed direction of the cloud’s approach. “Send.. uuuh-hundred-ish offspring toward it to see what happens. Take Pops on Akky and watch from a safe distance to see what happens.”

Talia nods and gave the big guy a good smack on his shoulder guard, curling her lips into a sympathetic smile Some hundred offspring gathered at the beckon of a distinct whistle with Talia trailing behind the bunch; twenty Stalkers; twenty Flyers; the rest a medley of Thralls and Bombardiers. The idea was to breach the mist from the air, ground, and underground to see all possible outcomes of various approach options. In addition, Talia conscripted thirteen of Brey’s magi to accompany her in the flank. They were to employ their illusory magicks to give the impression that the grounded offspring would be mistaken for mortal refugees fleeing from the airborne Flyers while the Stalkers could ambush unnoticed from underground. One of the magi would be reserved to prevent the magi, and Talia, from being seen in the flank.

The plan had been organized and executed like a well-oiled machine with Talia at the helm. In no time the operation commenced toward the cloud’s beelining path. The screams of desperate mortals grew closer to the mist as the magi worked their magic, while Pops trailed behind the group of flyers ‘chasing’ said mortals. Grym remained by the node, sparks of excitement beginning to kindle his dampened flame. It was time to see how the mist, or whoever had brought it, would react.

---

Vatarr’s march towards the node continued, even as the screams and cries of mortals fleeing from the monsters reached his ears and gaze. Their pleas and screams would go unheeded and unanswered as he continued his advance and ignored them. While callous, there were several factors that decided this outcome.

The first and most important was that these mortals were already doomed; Vatarr’s plan to purge the region of tainted life would, by its nature, purge untainted life as well. Even if he took the time to assist these humans, there was no way they were going to make it outside of the region before the purge began. While it would provide little comfort, they were at least going to die without having to exist as meat puppets.

The second was the suspicious nature of this group of mortals. Even before he began his trip to claim the two nodes and set up the Volcanic Bulwark, the trickle of refugees from the invaded Nodes were already slowing down. For a group of humans to still be alive and untainted after all this time had passed was… highly questionable. More likely that these were actually meat puppets being employed for some kind of theateric ploy.
The last and admittingly most selfish reason was simply the fact that he didn’t wish to waste the strength to save a group of humans who, if they still were humans, were going to die soon anyway. The act of purging alone was going to be a taxing one and he didn’t know what other obstructions were going to have to be dealt with in order to get to that point. Better to be conservative then.

So if the ‘humans’ ran into the mist alongside their pursuers, they would die just the same as anything else as their organic parts underwent a swift and admittingly painful decay as flesh and muscle effectively melted off bone within seconds of exposure as it liquefied into an organic sludge that soaked into the soil and proved a fertile mixture to spout new life from that grew and decayed in the cycle that the twin mists represented.

In comparison to the surface and airborne, those creatures underground had a much easier time of things. While the mist did seep down into the ground, the ground itself diluted the effects of the mist enough that it would take minutes to rot and decay those in contact with it rather than seconds.

They would even be able to tell that there was a bipedal pair of feet that was moving at a divine jogging pace around the middle of the cloud… though those that tried to get closer wouldn’t live long enough to find anything else out. The first one that tried to burrow closer would be met with something punching through the surface of the ground to slam it directly, instantly killing it and flooding its tunnel with the same mist that purged life on the surface… alongside threatening any tunnels that connected to that one.

---

Predictably, a few stray ‘mortals’ were not enough to deter the mist’s path. Talia’s group observed intently from afar as the ground forces entered the mist and, one by one, their silhouettes shifted into the unrecognizable. From above, flyers bombarded the cloud with a payload of over one hundred swarmers. Many came in contact with the cloud, deforming and reshaping, while the remaining majority splattered into bits in the area surrounding the cloud; releasing infectious spores. All twenty Stalkers plunged upward from beneath the stranger not to kill him, but grapple him in place for what little time remained before they decomposed. Peninal’s swordspear cut through the sky with tremendous force toward the immobilized target — growing to a colossal size during its descent.

---

Truth be told Vatarr almost pitied the creatures digging up through the ground towards him. It brought back memories of the battle for what was now called the Ashen Plains region as its chaotic guardian would manifest tendrils, limbs, teeth and claws from any and all possible directions. By comparison, these creatures were so slow and predictable that he sensed the ambush coming long before any of them had truly gotten close.

Instead of playing his hand too quickly through, Vatarr instead focused a small bit of his power in order to alter his own form. When the creatures from below burst out in order to seize him, they latched onto something. Unfortunately for them, what they had coiled around and tried to lock down wasn’t Vatarr anymore, but rather something more akin to an exoskeleton or shell as the actual Vatarr abandoned it, bursting out of the side at high speed and punching through the Stalker that had been covering that side in a shower of shell and gore.

The new form that Vatarr had taken was in a way similar to his old one, though there were differences. He was a lot slender and faster, with a set of fly like wings buzzing from his back and sides as he darted through the air and took flight, hovering above the ground as he watched as a stupidly large weapon came down on his former shell, smashing it and its attempted jailers to bits.

No longer limited to moving along the ground, the now flying Vatarr turned and started to fly safely away from the ground as he started to zoom along the shaft of the giant weapon, intent on finding the wielder in order to have… words as Life and Death easily drifted behind their master while locked in his grip.

From the point of view of those outside of the mist, the center/source of the mists seemed to have changed from somewhere on the ground to somewhere in the air, it was now moving a lot faster then it had been before… and while it was still traveling towards the Node, it seemed to be following the divine spear that had attempted to slay it back to its master.

---

While Talia was finally able to see the being clearly, Grym only just glimpsed the rocketing blur emerging from the mist cloud into the sky; as the mist soon followed in tow. Whoever it was, had taken flight to avoid the ambush and now swept through the air.

“Akasha.” Grym called, once the spear had returned to Peninal’s custody.

She whinnied in response, nose-diving toward the ground at breakneck speeds her pursuer couldn’t hope to match. Just as she was to collide with the earth, she instead vanished in a flash of black smoke leaving Peninal’s spectre to meet the ground with a spectacular boom. Again, Peninal craned his arm back and again the spear flew through the air toward his pursuer. This time, however, the magi of Talia’s forward squadron dropped their own veil to produce an illusion around the spear itself — to make its trajectory appear completely off target. In reality, though, the spear barreled toward the assailant and split iinto a volley of one hundred identical spears during its flight.

Grym watched on in renewed vigor. I wonder which of the Gods was crazy enough to charge in alone. How audacious. With a twinkle in those empty sockets he relished the theatric battle, motioning with a preoccupied gesture for Nea and Dorian to ready the main force for direct conflict.

---

The fact that the next spear seemed to be completely off target seemed odd. The first throw had been completely accurate after all. It was as the spear entered the mist that the oddness of the situation clicked in the already questioning mind of Vatarr: The spear didn’t interact with the mist at all. It just kept flying through without the disturbances that a physical object passing through something like mist would cause.

What did cause a disturbance were multiple spear shaped ‘voids’ in the mist that were traveling rather accurately right towards him. There wasn’t enough time to dodge… Well, not all of them at any rate. Too many projectiles, too little distance of forewarning. That didn’t mean that all was lost.

It was a matter of an instant. While the result or the process to create it was by no means flashy, those more intune with divine power would easily feel the sheer amount of it that flared to life within the green mist for a moment.

The logic was simple: Since dodging wasn’t an option, resisting and enduring the strikes was the only real option. Since Vatarr didn’t want to find out if he could tank dozens, if not hundreds of divinely thrown spears in a matter of seconds by himself, he created armor. A divinely strong living carapace covered his body, inhumanly strong despite its seemingly organic nature, unnaturally light so that he could move and fly around unhindered and capable of changing its form in order to match whatever form he happened to be wearing at the time. It even boosted his speed and reflexes somewhat.

Trusting in his creation to protect his body from the worst of the onslaught, Life and Death were spun in their respective circles in order to provide a physical barrier between the attacks and his wings, for while the armor did provide protection to that region it was by nature lighter there and he didn’t want to stress test how much damage they could take.

Even as he weathered the storm, thoughts ran through Vatarr’s head as he felt the collisions of spears against Life, Death and his new carapace, but found that it was holding. He had wanted to keep some power in reserve for the fighting and purge ahead, but the requirements of staying alive had forced him to spend it early. Even if he pushed on, killed the god who had made this defilement and even claimed the node… he wouldn’t be able to cleanse the area.

Considering his current armements and new armor, there was a quick thought given towards outcomes of this fight. Had it been the army alone or even the deity in one on one combat, Vatarr couldn’t help but feel like victory would have been his to claim. But both at once… and without the divine reserves to deal with the changing situation that would no doubt come from the god currently in charge of the Node… the outcome was unclear.

The moment that the barrage of spears ceased, Life and Death were swung and their mists fired off in a path that was heading straight towards where the spears had come from in order to make it appear that he was continue his assault… while in truth Vatarr turned and started to retreat back to his own territory.

Considering the speed of the divine combined with flight, any of the abominations that might have a prayer of catching up with him would have had to invest so much in pure speed that they wouldn’t be able to do anything more than keep track of his progress. The rival god might be able to catch up, but unless they could already fly (not to mention the starting distance), they would have to tap into their own reserves of power to do so, alongside having to leave their army behind due to the fact they simply wouldn’t be fast enough to keep up.

If they wanted to throw away their advantages to engage in a one on one fight Vatarr wouldn’t mind, but surviving this skirmish meant that the war was only beginning.

---

It wasn’t accurate to say there was nothing to do about the fleeing juggernaut, though at this point it felt more wasteful to keep playing cat and mouse. From Grym’s angle it was plain to see the mist covering the God’s escape. If Grym were to go by the map, then he could handily surmise that it had been Vatarr. Duncan might be able to corroborate the theory as well, mayhaps, but that determination could be left for later on. Talia was sharp enough to recognize a lost cause, and withdrew to report her experiences.

“What a brute, ay T?” Grym whimsied.

“What is it with you and the nicknames? Nobody likes the nicknames.” Talia shook her head.

“That’s not true. Didn’t you see the smile on Garavarr’s face when I called him ‘G-money’?”

“The guy’s a walking catatstrophe, Little G.” Talia continued, consummating her own pet moniker in response and ignoring Grym’s attempts to further derail the conversation. “Could’ve killed him from the beginning if you hadn’t dawdled, but that armor he’s got is gonna make it even harder next time.”

“Oof, that’s harsh. I suppose I can’t disagree, though. I think we still have the advantage, assuming they in fact waltzed up here all alone. We’ll still invade the South; leave the rest to me.”

With the men readied, Grym spared only minutes before proceeding to march his entire force South toward node 26. The little time he’d taken was to relay two messages; one to Brey via the offspring and a written note to be delivered to Asvarad. For this second task, he sent Dorian and Duncan on horseback to find the elusive serpent.

The Dawnblades sat on their knees upon the plaza, with their heavy khopesh on their back shield on the ground. They had their head low in silent prayer. A soft droning coming from the chanting monks standing on the stairs of the temple in front of the plaza carried the swirling, unified thoughts of the legion higher and higher. Between the ranks of the soldiers walked the priests of their god, swinging censers with holy incense that deepened the faith of the soldiers. Despite the silence, tension was high amongst the soldiers. Many were yearning for this day since they stood in the field to receive their blessing. That tension seeped into the very bond that all of them shared.

From the temple more priests spilled out carrying small bowls with blessed oil. The censer bearers made their exit away from the temple as the priests began to make their way through the rows of the soldiers. As their shadow fell upon a soldier, he’d look up and receive the ointment. So the silent prayer continued.

Until the commander of the Dawnblades stepped up the stairs in front of the choir. “Dawnbaldes!” He bellowed. In perfect unison they all rose up from their knees with shield in hand. It was a testament to their discipline.

“Who will uphold righteousness?” The commander bellowed again.

“We will!” The declaration was shouted as one again, and echoed through the city of Tanaäth. It also reverberated through the bond that the legion had. A fire ignited with all of them.

“Who will fight the enemies of Anak’thas?”

“We will!”

“Who will shatter the foe, wherever he is?”

“We will!”

“Dawnblades!” The commander now bellowed even across the bond they all shared. “We move west.” As a perfect machine each row of legionnaires moved into a column that marched out of the plaza across the wide avenue of the setting sun, which would lead them towards the road of silver and towards Node 13.

---

Their sound was mingled with the chanting of the choirs inside the Bassilica Eques. In front of the choir stood a semi-circle of pedestals. Upon each was a statue that was twice the size of a human. Their legs were double jointed and they were crafted in the shape of armored knights. They were seemingly made from clay, on one knee and with its head forward as if it was in deep thought. Monks surrounded the statues. Some were inspecting their surface for any imperfections. Others were drawing silver glyphs in the air to bless the construct before them. Others still upheld strange instruments towards the statues. The air was fragrant with hly incense that burned in the various braziers in the room. The choirs chanting began to ascend into a crescendo as drums joined the rhythm.

At the same time the door on the side of pedestals opened up and a procession walked in. At the front were the monks softly chanting their own prayers from the tablets they carried. Behind them were the priests, dressed in white and silver. The last to enter were men and women dressed in red, fine robes. Though all of them had their backs exposed, showing the strange clay artifacts bound to their spine. The procession stopped as all of them had entered, and each of the red-robbed figures made their way towards a pedestal.

As they approached, the statue constructs opened their back like a flower, ready to receive their dominus. There was a moment of tension as all of the domini waited in front of their construct. Some were visibly anxious or nervous. Though their leader, taking the center of the statue, stood patiently with his arms crossed. One of the monks handling a brass, globe like instrument with a silvery light captured within gave a node and he stepped in. Soon the others were given the go-ahead and entered their knight. Once they did, the knight closed its back. The monks were getting visibly excited as many began to draw their glyphs faster and faster. For a minute nothing happened. But then each of the constructs began to quietly hum to the beat of the drums in the great hall.

“Knights of Tanaäth.” The words came from the center statue, its words clearly enhanced through brass horns. The statue from which it came was the only one dressed in red cloth. “Rise up.” Lines of gold lit up all over the armored statues as they slowly rose up from one knee. It was not as smooth a rise as the legions could outside but their rise had vastly more importance.

A large door opened to the side of the room as servants began pulling in long carts into the building. Each cart carried a weapon the size of a human. Each cart was drawn up in front of one of the knights as they stepped off of the pedestal. Behind them the monks kept chanting and drawing their glyphs of appeasement.

Each knight reached for the weapon specifically made for them. None of them gave them any fancy try-out swings. Absolute discipline was maintained. “Knights.” The leader addressed his people. “We march for war “



[hider=MP]Anak’thas Start: 5MP
- 4MP >> Bestow blessing: Create the Priest-Artificers. These artificers use the power from the effigies coming from the Chorus in Node 16, together with the Ambroisen fibers that have been growing in node 14 to create constructs. Anak’thas’ blessing gave them the knowledge of the glyphs and construction of these constructs.
Anak’thas End: 1MP

---

The paladins matched through a barren land. Where once prosperous piatouse farms and rich forests had stood, now there was only ash and ruins, which were interspersed with earthworks and stone structures built by Xavior’s forces as they prepared the land to hold it against the offspring of Grym’s cradle. Yet it was neither of these forces that had ruined the land, but instead it was the moon goddess who had demanded the people enact this devastation upon their own homes and to then flee to the north. Ironically into what was about to become another warzone, if the whispers coming from the far north were to be believed.

Eventually the marching soldiers found their destination at the end of the dirt road worming its way through the dead land. The camp they had sought out was a sea of tents which, while the greater structure of the camp had been organized with enough high level planning to have a central path through it, at the local level lacked any kind of cohesion, which very much matched the nature of the force presently calling it home.

As the paladins matched up the central avenue towards the command tent they got a good look at some of the parts that made up the aeclectic force. Horse archers from the nomadic tribes that had begun life in the 12th realm but had long since wandered beyond that. Small companies of demons, specialized to specific forms and strategies, from hulking armored burisers to swift winged skirmishers or athletic javelin throwers. They saw a pack of beastmen from the far north east, several of which had additional limbs grafted to them.

There were humans in flashy garb decorated with wolf pelts and velociraptor feathers and armed with hunting gear, burly mean and woman with large axes, dusklanders spending the day under wide tarps and umbrellas and, a standout among the camp, a pair of spinosaurus with reins and bridles on their long snouts, and large steel blades attached to their claws being looked after by a beastmaster’s helpers.

The bulk of the forces however, were common men and women armed and armored by the state. Many were young people from or immigrants to the 12th realm who had been looking for their first occupation when the call to arms came out. However alongside them where an almost equal number from people from the 13th realm, many the same people who the dusk goddess had ordered to abandon their homes in the south and, left purposeless by the lost of their land, had been an eager source of recruits who had personal investment in striking down (one of) the sources of their woes. The tension between them and the dusklanders was a constant source of quarreling and discipline infractions.

There had, to an extent, been too many people from the 12th willing to sign up, more than the army had expected anyway, so their gear was drawn from whatever they had lying around. As the paladins watched them practicing he saw the bronze, copper or even cloth armored soldiers planting rows of spears from all ages in the ground before they raised the only thing on which the state had not slouched its spending: hundreds upon hundreds of repeating crossbows.

While weaker than the nomads bows or the steel crossbows being presented to the paladins, the lever operated crossbows were incredibly easy to use, and could spit out volley after volley of cheap obsidian tipped bolts. Though the tips of the bolts were brittle, the naturally wickedly sharp stones worked well enough against the exposed flesh they were expecting to face when fighting the hive.

Past all of these troops, the center of the camp, was the paladin's final goal, a large commanding tent that towered over its lesser kin, and had a fair bit of flash too. Stylised goat’s head logos had been stitched into the milky white canvas in blood red thread at semi regular intervals, while the top of the central post had had a brass hydra figurehead wrapped around the black painted wood. The bigger show of wealth however was not the tent, but its guards. Steel clad superior demons who stood head and shoulders above even the tallest humans, and who’s great billowing wings would be able to keep them aloft despite that intense bulk.

Two of these stood in front of the entrance and crossed a pair of heavy axes across it when they saw the paladins approaching.

“Hold it right there,” one of the towering brutes barked, before the other began to apologize more politely “We just need to make sure the boss is ready to meet yo-” before the answer presented itself when the tent flap opened, a horned priest poked his head out of the tent, took one look at the paladins and then called back “yes it’s them,” before listening for a moment and then ordering the guards to let them inside.

A few moments later they were escorted into the tent and escorted by the priest past a set of personal quarters and a bulging treasury presumably used to pay the troops, and into the command room where a small assortment of humans and demons were clustered around a table hosting a map of node 13 and another of node 18. The node 13 map had various simple playing pieces for fortifications and troops spread out across a line each side of the central camp, while 18 had ones for the enemy’s locations on it. Or rather location.

There was also a group of pieces in the midst of being moved from one map to the other, to which a pale, bald, heavy set man in thick robes and a bit more jewelry than would be tasteful added a piece with Benean symbology too before he upright and greeted the paladins.

“Ah, welcome lads and lasses, I’m General Damio” he introduced himself as he strode around the table before reaching out a hand to shake the leader of the group “Pleasure to meet you all, I hope your journey was uneventful and your all fit and raring to go?”

A paladin dressed in steel stepped forward and removed a blue plumed helmet to reveal the stone stoic face of a woman who had seen plenty of violence. Her voice matched her seriousness. “The Artack Elites are always ready. Sixty from the second region of the Queendom and three-hundred regulars, all kissed, are happy to report our safe arrival. The Commander of the Pristine Palace also sends his apologies that more couldn’t be sent, with a new wave of recruits being sent to reinforce the quarantine. Though I understand General Frederick of the 12th Recruitment managed to send over one-hundred fresh greens before us?”

“Right you are” the general agreed with a toothy smile “I’ll direct your people to where they’re camped right away. Or Tom will, there’s a good lad”

The priest looked a little put upon by this, but nodded and hurried back outside to act as a guide through the unintuitively laid out camp.

“Despite being green I’m told they’re sharpening up real quick, some of the other companies could learn a thing or two from your lot when it comes to training. Or have, actually” the man said conversationally as he tramped his way back to the war table “I know some of the priests sent along have been furiously taking notes at the very least”

“Anyway” Damio took a seat in a comfy armchair at one end of the war room table, before inviting her to join him and his staff at it “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Juice Wine? The man paused and then corrected himself ”Actually it's probably too early for wine. Especially since, now that you're here, we should start spurring preparations for the attack up to a galop”

The Artack Captain took a seat before jabbing a finger at one of the staff. “Bring me a mug of boiled water, still warm, and a cup of broth.”

Turning her attention back to Damio, she added. “I’m Captain Pricilla. I feel like we skipped introductions.”

“Ah, my apologies for rushing ahead. Pleasure to meet you Captain” the big man replied as one of his servants rushed off to fulfill the Paladin’s moderate request which ironically ended up being harder to fulfill than Damio’s suggestions. It took a bit of time, and an excursion into the camp to find (and pay) someone with a broth already on the go, to fulfill that half of her request.

At least with how much the 12th realmers liked tea, boiled water was immediately on hand, and so that half of the request arrived a few moments after it was asked for via a recently boiled kettle.

Pricilla held her hand out, collecting a hot mug of water from the staff, her eyes still on Damio. “And you are General Damio. Good. So what’s your plan?”

“It’s quite simple really. You were the last group of reinforcements we are expecting, or significant ones anyway” Damio explained “Up until now, we’ve been focusing on arraying a defensive line across the flatlands between the sea and the mountains” as the general spoke one of his staff pointed out what he was talking about on the map using a wand.

“Now that’s all well and good. We’re keeping people safe, but the thing is, the taint hasn't shown much interest in moving out, so we’ve basically got a load of troops sitting about twiddling their thumbs not doing much of anything while that rotten mass does creator knows what. It's just sitting there, menacingly, and I don’t like it.” He shook his head at the thought of whatever doom was brewing down there, but spared her the speculation that had been going on since the current standoff had begun.

“Pus, I don't need to tell you how expensive that can be” he added with a ringing of his hands miserly “Especially with the state of the land behind us. Only good land for forage is ahead of us, and, well, while that’s contested ground it's not exactly safe to use. So we need to ship everything in, except some seafood from the coast that is, and that costs a whole load of godheads, let me tell you.” Indeed he could, right down to the last coin.

“So, with that in mind, as soon as you are settled and integrated into the army structure, we’re going to be taking the fight to hive. Root out that blight now, rather than sitting here and letting it fester,” as he said that, the group of troops on the border were pushed deep into the 18th realm by Damio’s assistant “and end this whole mess with one swift stroke”

There was a deliberate cough from one of the other members of the table, a scared woman with an Ambroisen arm, which reminded the general to tone it back a bit to “or at least get a solid first punch in.”

Pricilla sipped at her hot water silently and then looked off to her side. A plainly clothed staff member was standing there with a steaming cup of broth. She gingerly took it from him and then with a hand on each cup, started taking slow sips of each at irregular intervals as she thought. Finally, she piped up. “How does the enemy act in a fight?”

“We’ve got files on all the different forms of ugly mugs this hive produces. I can furnish you with copies” Damio replied, before gesturing to a servant who quickly brought over a set of sheets detailing observations of the creatures, complete with diagrams. They were, notably, light on details when it came to anything other than what could be gleaned by sight or shooting them.

“However when it comes to fighting, all we have on record is skirmishes. So the other half of the point of advancing is to be able to fight a battle that isn't entirely based on horse archery” the scarred woman who had couged stepped in to explain “and get proper iead of what fighting the hive is like”

“We shouldn’t commit to a pitched battle then,” Pricilla frowned. “We need to screen the forces and their capabilities before we put the lives of our soldiers on the line. In the Artack, rushing in means death.”

“And yet how can we learn how they fight without going blade to claw with them?” the woman, Angela, asked, before adding “In smaller battles if possible, of course.”

“Let me interrupt you,” Pricilla — did just that — “When subduring an enemy you have to cut it off from its resources to ensure it won’t spring back. The enemy must first be screened to make sure that a victory on the battlefield is indeed just that. Some enemies can hypothetically sustain greater losses than we ever could and even a decisive victory in a battle for us would be a defeat in the war, with us feeling loss heavier and our resources being burned quicker. We have to figure out what propagates the enemy, how to cut it off from its resources, and understand how to weaken it before we engage in an offensive battle. In the meantime, I suggest we stick to skirmishing it and pushing it south and then steadily claiming territory gained with fortifications.”

“Problem is, we haven't been able to identify any kind of infrastructure or logistics other than the one around the node here” Damio informed her “there's no farms, sub hives or anything of the sort that we have been able to spot. It seems to just sustain itself from nothing” he added with a frustrated tone.

“Now if we can find resources it feeds off of as we push in and get a chance to investigate the area more deeply, I agree, we should weaken it if we do find something we can threaten beyond the hive. The worry, and at this point the expectation, is that there will be none.” Angela noted, gesturing a hand at the map that indeed did cluster everything the enemy owned (that they knew of) around the node. “And that it will either come at us for a single pitched battle once threatened, or stay around the node till we siege it.”

Pricilla frowned, looking at the map. “Everyone needs to eat something.”

“Well, except the gods, and we worry, maybe some of the things they make” Angela said, supplying their current hypothesis “that said, our scouting is by no means perfect. Maybe there's farms tucked away underground somehow, or they use hunting parties that are too small to spot from a distance. Only way to find out is to move in with significant forces and then to occupy territory inorder to see what we can find/prompt by doing so.”

“We could attempt to capture one of them,” Pricilla suggested, “and study how it functions.”

Both cringed at the prospect, their experiences with the wolves of the 12th souring them to any interaction with this foe that was not exterminated.

“You're welcome to try, but it sounds like an unnecessary risk. Besides, It’s a monster, what are you going to do once you capture one, interrogate it?” Angela scoffed dismissively, but Damio had been having second thoughts.

“While I‘m not sure how much we can learn from one, as a propaganda tool It could be invaluable. Let people back home and in the north see the face of the enemy, yeah?” He suggested “Drum up more financial support as a result?”

“Hmmm. Could it be good for morale as well? Harder to be scared of something you’ve seen bound and caged” Angela admitted, before saying that “I still don't see what you think you can learn from a captured beast however” with admittedly far less disdain for the idea than she had had in her initial dismissal now that her gut reaction to it had passed.

“I was thinking more along the lines of splitting one open and figuring out how it lives and procreates,” Pricilla admitted. “I’m no scholar, but it would be helpful knowing the best way to kill them and prevent more of them.”

“Can’t we just use a corpse?” Damio asked, but Angela understood perfectly now, a cruel grin on her lips as she explained “Not if we want to learn how best to make it bleed, one cut at a time.”

“We can kill it after,” Pricilla agreed, “but we need information.”

“If this information gathering doesn't kill it first” Damio noted dryly, before drumming his fingers on his chair for a few moments and then saying “Alright, you’ve convinced me as well, we’ll add this to our list of objectives,” before nodding to an assistant who added to a literal list, and then continuing “We can work out the details of how we’ll do this later, but we have a beastmaster on the payroll who may come in handy when it comes to this capture attempt”

“Filler. Excellent… speaking of your payroll, tell me about the rest of your army.”

“Very well,-” Damio said, and then began to fill her in first on the state of the army, and then on all other military matters because the veteran paladin had quickly proved herself to be an invaluable source of real world expertise for the freshly formed army. Changes were enacted upon her recommendation over the next few days and then, less than a week after it was assembled, the south western coalition army decamped, leaving their lightly crew defensive line, and began to pick its way south.

And the war for node 18 truly began.

“See that? The yellow huts contrast with the green hills and fields! Y’reckon they did it on purpose, Mozzymoz?” Quiqui asked, her gold eyes glued to the warm, picturesque countryside that rolled on and on to either side of the Silvan Internodal 14.

The Chariot bounced and skid. They were hit from behind, sending an endless amount of bits and bobs flying around Quiqui’s half of the cockpit. She squealed and coughed as a flask of perfume broke and doused her in the extremely fragrant liquid. Mozmoz’s hatch opened with a hiss, with the Ratkin beauty quickly standing up on her seat and flipping off the Chariot behind theirs, all while maintaining control of the steering bar with her right foot. “Fuck off you freaks!” Mozmoz shouted, a bunch of barely-clothed beastkin immediately leaning out of the following chariot’s cockpit to cheer.

“MARRY ME MOZMOZ!”

“ANGEL SIGHTED! ANGEL SIGHTED!!!”

“WANNA PLAY CAT AND MOUSE WITH ME??!!”

“PLEASE STEP ON ME, MOUSE MOMMY”

Mozmoz growled and slid back into her seat, not even bothering to look at Quiqui before shouting.

“Stop spacing out, Qui! This place is like a warzone-”

“I’’LL KILL ALL OF YOU BASTARDS, THAT WAS MY FAVOURITE BOTTLE OF BENEAVOLENCE!” Quiqui roared, leaning out of her cockpit to shoot her arm-mounted crossbow at the chariot behind. The bolt struck the chariot’s front wheel, sending the vehicle skidding into a beautiful barn on the side of the road, where it exploded in a mix of purple soulfire, splinters, and the grieving moans of the desperate.

“Shit like this is why I love you, Quiqui.” Laughed Mozmoz as they sped forward into the Canyon section of the stage.



“The Ratcaves’ Beauty Pair speeds ahead, catching up to the second group’s lead, Bitall of the Strongteeth! Will their Chariot, the Rathaus, hold up this time!?”

“Meanwhile, the Mysterious Silvan Star maintains a comfortable lead on all other racers and is about to leave the Canyon section! The Anak’s Thas seems to have been built for this terrain, with- WAIT, WHAT’S THIS?!”



Rocks and debris fell from above, crashing against the cobblestone road and sending shrapnel everywhere. The Silvan Star swerved to avoid the ambush. Suddenly, Ballista bolts started to rain from above, with more than a couple finding their way into the Anak’s Thas chassis.

MASTEKEN watched this from behind as he struggled to avoid the bombardment as well. Suddenly, a piece of shrapnel penetrated his cockpit screen and lodged itself firmly into his clavicle. He yelped in pain, but managed to keep the Fang under control. Riding the damn Chariots was hard enough without being shot at, he thought with a growl escaping his maw.

It wasn’t just him suffering, he realised. Many chariots in front, behind or to either side of him were swerving right onto the cliffs or into falling rocks, or being taken out by well placed ballista bolts.

He didn’t want to use his trump card so early but as he felt his vision grow blurry and his grip slip, he pressed the release button on his dashboard.

He heard the thump of two plates released from the back of the Fang, and then he pressed the ‘Rock’ button. The recoil was enough to absolutely disintegrate the back of the Fang, sending MASTEKEN and his cockpit right into one of the canyon cliff faces.



“MASTEKEN’s done it! He’s shot both his catapults, and now the biggest rockslide I’ve ever seen is happening! The Silvan ambush has been taken care of! As expected of the Fang, he is honourable until the very end!”



Bitall laughed heartily, pushing his Bone-Grinder right against Eleanna’s Bronze Spear, making her swerve right towards a massive mound of debris.

“TOO EASY! And you call yourself a goddess, HAHAHA!” Bitall roared, as he piloted his Chariot through the only bit of road still clear enough to ride through. He didn’t expect to see the Bronze Spear soaring through the air and landing right in front of him.

“What the fuck!” He shouted.

“Don’t underestimate your Goddess, dumbass!” Eleanna shouted back at him, barely missing his head with one of her arm-ballista bolts as they cleared the Canyon section.



“Over half of the racers have already cleared the Canyon and are approaching the Marbled City! How will they deal with the silvan and soldier-infested roads? Let’s hope they’re prepared for some rough riding!”



The Silvan Star huffed. His long silver hair flowed in the airflow inside his cockpit, steam almost covering the entirety of the glass screen up until the moment he let the cockpit slide open. As soon as he did that, he saw the legionnaire fortifications up ahead. Ballistas, catapults, scorpions, as well as at least ten different watchtowers and a hundred men.

The Silvan Star bit his lip and furrowed his brow. “Bastards…!” He hissed.

Yet another shower of ballista bolts suddenly rained down from above. The very air crackled with energy as the bolts penetrated the cobblestone road and lit up, then exploded.

He saw a shadow shooting towards him and he twisted in time to avoid a ballista bolt that went straight through where he had just been sitting. It lodged itself in his seat and began to glow.

His heart skipped a beat. He grabbed the bolt and pulled it free of his Chariot’s fuselage and threw it as far as he could, shielding his face as burning splinters rained down on him.

With blood beginning to pour down his face, he focused back up front and saw a whole legion beginning to form up between him and the entrance to the Marbled City. His teeth chattered as he brought his finger upon the big red button on his dashboard.

“Freedom… It will be mine!” He declared, pressing the button.



“The Mysterious Silvan Star has just used his trump card, the Silver Sweep! He’s just shot a dozen crystal-laced projectiles at the blockade set up by the Silvan Legions! Wow, can he really get any cooler than this?! He’s just gone through the entrance to the city, and is now riding his chariot through the busy streets! Whew, was that a pedestrian he just ran over? Tough luck!”

“Meanwhile, Bitall seems to have given up and has gone off course! We all know Bitall though, surely he’s got some slimy thing planned? Who knows, but wolfettes and gentlebeasts, make sure to check the Silvan Markets this coming weekend! It seems the Beauty Pair, the Bronzed Bloom, as well as many other pilots are catching up to the Silvan Star, however! Will our favourite Silvan get to finally snag a win for his patrons, or is he doomed to fail prey to Daman Supremacy once more?!”



Eleanna hummed the Daman hymn as she rode the Bronze Spear through the packed main avenue of the Marbled City. She laughed as men, women, and children alike dove out of the way of her Chariot and tried to save their stalls and possessions from the onslaught of Chariots now pouring through their city.

Of course, she could see the military emplacements on top of the buildings flanking each side of the avenue, but all of that was beginner stuff. She only had to ride her chariot in their blind spots and she’d be safe… Obviously, that was something the other riders didn’t seem to know. She came to understand this much when one of the would-be racers that attempted to overtake her got blown to bits by a single well placed crystal bolt.

Soon, the critical moment had arrived. She turned a tight corner and veered off course, with several other chariots following her.



“The Bronzed bloom has gone off course! She’s heading straight for the most fortified section of the city – The Node itself! And following her are ten unmarked Chariots… They must be her Companions, who must have joined the race sometime during the Canyon section!”



Yenna came to a sudden stop right behind the Bronze Spear and hopped out of her Chariot to find Eleanna beating up an unconscious legionnaire. She had no weapons other than her arm-ballista, and no armour other than the purely technical chariot jumpsuit. And still she had decided to go through with her craziest plan yet.

Yenna herself wasted no time adjusting her armour and ran up to her Goddess, who picked up the legionnaire’s shield and bronze khopesh and walked fearlessly up to the still-open gates.

As Eleana and her companion approached the central Bastion great horns bellowed from its towers. From atop the towers gleaming particles began to gather, as if wind had turned gold. All the gates fell shut in an instant. All but one. The horns bellowed again. People ducked and jumped away. A beam shot for the parked chariots, practically evaporating the wood-and-bronze vehicles. The second Companion to arrive on scene was not as lucky as Yenna, for he was targeted by the beam the moment he slowed down. In the blink of an eye and with a resounding thunder, he and his chariot were turned into a smoking pile of ash.

Eleanna shut her jaw tightly and ran straight for the still open gates. Two, then three Chariots passed her and burst into the Bastion, with her Companions jumping out of the vehicles with bows and slings in hand. They shot at the men atop the walls and towers, taking cover behind their Chariots and shouting obscenities at the Silvans.

The Silvans were shouting obscenities right back, until suddenly an order was barked. From high up, the speedy beastmen could barely hear the word ‘knightfall’. All the archers and arcanii suddenly moved from the walls. Loud thudding could be heard from ahead. When suddenly a handful of humanoid shapes leapt from the walls.

In the bright sun the beastmen could only see the silhouettes of whatever was coming down. For a second the whole inner courtyard of the bastion was serene. Until – with great violence – a humanoid construct twice the size of a regular human crashed down with his spear into one of the chariots. Crushing the vehicle entirely and the driver underneath it as well. Two more of the knights crashed down beside the two remaining chariots. One chariot was pushed aside as another flung its axe at the driver. The last driver could get one good look at the shape that now stood before him. Its legs were double jointed like a horse’s, and its body was a dull, orange color with gleaming, crystalline eyes. These things were fashioned to look like heavily armored humans. “Hubris.” It scoffed, before raising its blade and cutting the beastman down.

Upon seeing such a display of awesome force, both Eleanna and Yenna stopped in their tracks just a few dozen metres short of the courtyard where the flaming wreckages of the Companions’ chariots lay.

“... Fuck.” Yenna gasped, immediately grabbing one of Eleanna’s arms.

“WOW! Cool chariots!” Eleanna shouted at the mechanical knights, just in time for five other chariots of her own to arrive. They skid to a stop in between Eleanna and the knights. A large lizardkin jumped out of the chariot closest to her and nodded at her, a massive grin on his misshapen face.

“Jaw!” Yenna cried out in relief.

“Those things are mine, Anna! Go away and let me have my fun.” He snorted, pulling out a positively massive club out of his chariot, his veins and arteries suddenly starting to glow a bright silver.

“What!! But I was here first, you turtle!” Eleanna protested, just in time for a battle cry to pierce through the air. She turned slightly to see one of her Companions charging at two knights, jumping through the air and above a swing of its axe to land on its shoulder, burying his spear to the handle in its joint. The knight’s arm fell limp just in time for the companion to yelp as she noticed a massive metallic fist heading for her. It hit her so hard it sent her straight through a wall and into a house.

“Ah, for struggle’s sake…” Eleanna groaned as she switched her normal arm-ballista bolt for an unexploded crystal-laced one that she found stuck to the ground nearby.

“Hey, what’re you-”

The air whined as Eleanna shot the bolt at the offending knight. Metal screeched loudly as the bolt penetrated the knight’s chestpiece and began to glow.

The twitching knight only had enough time to grab onto the bolt with its only functional arm before it exploded, pushing back the other knight that had rushed to its help. Pieces of the first knight rained all over the battlefield while the other knight struggled to get back up on its feet.

“Knock yourselves out. You owe me a dozen pints, Jaw-breaker.” Eleanna shook her head and chuckled, then followed Yenna into her chariot, as the Bronze Spear had been destroyed.

Having been left on their own device, Jaw-breaker and his friends focused on the lone knight in front of them and wielded their varied weapons. Their Souls glowed bright, and then they charged.



“Eleanna’s Bronze Spear has been destroyed by the Silvan Forces! There is no need to fret however, as she’s safe and sound and has jumped into everyone’s favourite Hyena’s chariot. Jaw-breaker, Mender, Punsh, Poqqi, and Bik have been left behind to distract the Silvan’s chariots! Everyone, wish for the Companions’ safety, even as the Marbled City burns in the heat of Soulfire and Adventure!”

The Announcer hummed.

“Aaand… Good news, ladies and gentlebeasts! I’ve gotten word that The Mysterious Sylvan Star has just passed the finishing line to the north of the Marbled City! I wonder what he’s going to ask from the Goddess… Money? Power? Maybe… Freedom?! Thirteen seconds behind the Silvan Star, the Beauty Pair cross the finish line in second place, followed by the rest of the losers!”