The Newt and Demon - Book 3 Chapter 66,67,68 (Patreon)

Chapter 66

Tero’gal

“Theo!” Tresk shouted. She struggled against the vines holding her tight, rolling herself over to protect Alex as she dug for her dagger. Each motion brought a wave of agony.

The Dronon said something in a tongue she didn’t recognize. Likely one of the damned demon tongues, but she could sense the confusion in their words. They all shared looks, even as the warriors in the group batted away hammers and awls. She didn’t like being toyed with. Not like this. And where had Theo gone? She couldn’t feel him nearby, but he wasn’t dead. She’d know if he was dead.

“I’m gonna claw your eyes out!” Tresk shouted, gnawing on the magical vines.

The Dronon mage turned to regard her, leveling his gaze. He was an older man, wearing ceremonial robes and hoisting a staff made of bones. It looked gross, and the vines tasted disgusting. It was like chewing on a pile of ants. “Where has he gone?” the mage asked in Qavelli.

“How the hell should I know?” Tresk asked, grunting. She withdrew a dagger from her shared inventory, but it clattered over the stones, out of reach. Cursing, she wiggled her hand through those vines. Those lacerating vines.

The mage approached, stooping low and paying no attention to the battle behind him. That assassin who tried to kill Theo came close, standing behind the mage and crossing his arms. “Where? You are his soul-bond. Both of you. Don’t struggle.”

“Have you tried checking in your butt?” Tresk asked, chuckling at her own joke. She winced when the laugh forced the spike of a vine into her side.

“You should take this more seriously,” the mage said. “What hope does a level 20 have against a 100?”

Yeah, that sucked. But the scaling damage on her poison might do something to them. Enough to make an arm fall off or something like that. Good enough trade for such a smug piece of—

The mage rose, squinting and looking southward. Tresk did everything she could to crane her neck, even as the vines drew more blood. There was nothing to see over there, but the Marshling felt something. Like a storm bearing down on them, thundering hard and full of fury. A snap like lightning echoed over the road, then a man appeared on the road. Arms crossed, Fenian Feintleaf grinned.

“I’ve gained my share of titles over the years,” Fenian said, scanning the scene. Everyone stopped fighting. Ziz’s men edged away with instinctive self-preservation. “Perhaps you know a few.”

“Stay out of this, Elf,” the mage said.

“My title as Champion was The Gale of Parantheir,” Fenian said. A rapier appeared in his right hand, blue-silver and inlaid with more adornments than Tresk could count.

“You’re not the only Champion to walk the world,” the mage snarled. Energy gathered near his staff, but didn’t lash out.

“That’s a bluff, Alex,” Tresk said, whispering to his gosling.

“No, but I’m looking for some new titles,” Fenian said. Another blade appeared in his left hand. A rapier that seemed to be made of pure shadow. As though it sucked in all the surrounding light, almost formless. “What do you think about…”

It didn’t matter how much [Dexterity] Tresk had. It was impossible to follow Fenian’s next move. The road beneath his feet cracked, then fissured, creating a trench that spanned 100 paces in either direction. Silver-blue fire flashed with impossible shadow as the Elf struck out at the first Dronon. He didn’t just kill the man standing near the rear of the formation. He annihilated him.

“Shadow hurricane?” Fenian asked, pursing his lips. “No, no… Too cliche.”

The assassin launched an attack. Tresk had never seen someone shut down so completely. She was sure there was a parry in there somewhere. Maybe a feint, but it didn’t matter. The Dronon assassin was simply gone after an exchange of strikes.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” Fenian said, tapping his foot. “You can’t really give yourself titles, can you?”

Fear played across the Dronon mage’s face. Pants-crapping fear.

Another series of exchanges saw the other warriors destroyed in moments. Fenian stood before the mage, dual rapiers glowing with their respective powers. Each eye took on the hue of a god. Parantheir’s blue-silver in his right, and the depthless shadow of Uz’Xulven in his left. Then there was a pause in the fight, as though the two men were battling each other in their minds. Tresk dismissed the idea when she felt a flare of power from both parties. A torrent of red flame burst from the Dronon, but it was battered down by twin fires from Fenian. Brutal fires that consumed everything of the mage, leaving nothing but a…

“Greasy red smear!” Fenian said, chuckling as the vines faded away. “That’s what I promised, right?”

“I think I remember that,” Tresk said, rising to her feet with a groan. She popped a healing potion and felt her skin knit back together. “You really messed them up!”

“I held back,” Fenian said with a bow. Both of his rapiers vanished.

“We alright? Where’s Theo?” Ziz asked, scampering back to the scene. His eyes went wide when he saw the damage to the road. “Better than dead, I guess.”

Fenian fixed his eyes on the place where Theo vanished. He didn’t seem surprised about the attack at all. Tresk would put a stack of gold coins on the idea that the Elf knew what was going to happen. It was like he wanted this to happen. What did that mean?

“Ah,” Fenian said with a nod. “He’s safe. Just… Ah… Not here. Well, ‘here’ is relative.”

“Alright. How do I get my boy back?” Tresk asked.

“We wait. About five more seconds… Ah, there he is,” Fenian said.

Theo gasped as the blade crushed his ribs. The pain flashed for an instant, but was banished just as quickly. Then he was falling through something. Impenetrable darkness and twisting shadows all around. A gentle descent, then things came into view.

A dark bridge stretched in either direction. It was vaguely the shape of a stone bridge with ornate railings. Shadowy cobbles jutted here and there, but there seemed to be nothing over the edge. It reminded him of the communication crystal he used to talk with the capital. Back when they actually listened to his calls.

“Hello?” Theo asked, watching the coiling shadows below. “Anyone there?”

“Strange circumstances,” a soft voice came from behind.

Theo twisted around, spotting a hooded, cloaked figure. Her features were obscured completely.

“Uz’Xulven?” Theo asked.

“Not quite,” she said, drawing closer. She held her hand out for a moment, then nodded. “Interesting skill evolution. Not sure that one’s been done before.”

“What?”

“Your interface is obscured here. You cannot see the message.”

“Where is here?” Theo asked.

“Uz’Godan Bokrak Tal,” she said.

Theo looked around. If she wasn’t Uz’Xulven, but this was the Bridge of Shadows, what the hell was he doing here? It snapped in his mind in an instant.

“Toru’aun,” Theo said.

“Perhaps you are worthy of a core,” she said, a smile bleeding into her voice. “My sister allowed me to approach you here when she felt you fall.”

Theo rubbed his chest, finding the wound there. The damage to his flesh was real, but the pain had gone. But what did it mean to physically enter the Bridge of Shadows? Was it an actual bridge, or another realm? Perhaps something between the two—a realm that connected realms. That was the only thing that made sense, but he couldn’t understand how he got here. The last thing he remembered doing was using his [Dreampassage] ability.

“How did I get here?”

“An interdiction event,” Toru’aun said.

Theo knit his brow. “Where was I going?”

“Tero’gal.”

Theo took a deep breath and held it for a few heartbeats. That made little sense. “Did you interdict me?”

“My sister did,” Toru’aun said, withdrawing a notebook and a class core from nowhere. “I give the same instructions to all my followers. I do not suffer priests and I do not speak to my followers. This is the first and last time we will speak.”

Theo took the items, flipping through the book. Each page was written in what must have been Toru’aun Drogramathi and displayed a series of strange symbols arranged together. It was around 50 pages.

“Are these different sigils for spellcasting?” he asked.

“This is the first sigil,” Toru’aun said. He could hear that grin in her voice yet again. “Learn this and perhaps I’ll teach you more. Until then… Good luck.”

The Bridge seemed to consume Toru’aun. Theo was left standing alone. Enough time passed to allow his mind to catch up. Urgency flooded through him. He was safe, but what about Alex and Tresk? The assassin was powerful.

“Funny. He said you’d arrive but I didn’t see it,” a voice said. It didn’t come from anywhere.

“Uz’Xulven,” Theo said. Who else would have such power over the realm?

“Hope you don’t mind me plucking you from your journey. My disciple is cleaning up on the mortal plane. Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s very curious. I never thought I’d see such mastery over an infant realm. Well, perhaps the two of them.”

“My friends are safe?” Theo asked.

“They’re fine. Fenian is destroying them,” she said. “Your arrival was unexpected, but welcome. Hope you had a good chat with my sister.”

Theo felt something about this realm, as though it were brushing up against his mind. It wasn’t a probing sensation, but an uncomfortable irritation that rubbed his psyche raw. He could fight it, pressing his willpower against that of the god’s but it wasn’t a contest.

“My power over this domain is absolute. Think of it as though every molecule within this place has no doubt that I am the master,” Uz’Xulven said.

That was an excellent description.

With his friends safe, Theo didn’t feel so uneasy. He allowed himself to relax, allowing that authority of the realm to wash over him. It was a comforting sensation, like resting while traveling. “Where do we go from here?”

“No spoilers, right?” she asked, laughing. “Ah, I can’t wait to see the next person to tread the Bridge. What a time to be a god.”

Theo was headed to Tero’gal before this. That’s what the Queen of Mystery said—she said he was going to the Dreamwalk. While he didn’t fully understand it, the alchemist knew he shared a realm with Tresk and Alex. The Dreamrealm of Tero’gal had never seemed like an actual place to him. It was a place that lived in his dreams. A result of the [Dreamwalk] ability. And what was the Bridge for, if not to connect the realms?

“Before you go, I feel a stern lecture is in order,” Uz’Xulven said, her voice echoing over the shadowy landscape.

There it was. Just beyond that curtain of shadows, nestled somewhere in their embrace. His realm. The place where his authority was law. Theo reached out with his will and grabbed onto that idea as the Queen of the Bridge of Shadows rambled on about responsibility. He pulled hard, holding the [Dreamwalk] skill in his mind.

“Wait, I’m not done—” Uz’Xulven started. But it was too late. The shadows swirled and Theo was gone from another plane of existence.

Puffy clouds floated above in a blue sky. Soft grass underfoot. A gentle breeze blew across growing wheat, blowing the scent of the crop into Theo’s nose. The tension of the day flooded from his body as he walked, letting his hand trace a path along the plants. Out onto a grassy field with a creek running through it, feeding into a small pond. Beyond that was nothing. It was as though the world ended in a drop. The edge of Tero’gal. The edge of his world. Where the authority belonged to two people and a goose. A snap of willpower and system messages flooded his vision.

[Skill Evolotuion]!

Your [Tara’hek Dreampassage] ability has evolved!

[Tara’hek Dreampassage] has evolved into [Tero’gal Dreampassage].

[Interdiction Event]!

A god of the Demonic Pantheon has started an interdiction event!

Your ascent to Tero’gal has been redirected to Uz’Godan Bokrak Tal.

This is a domain controlled only by Uz’Xulven. Assail it with your forces to capture.

You have 0 troops with you.

Entering passive mode.

Theo shook his head. That was a lot that happened in a short amount of time. The messages claimed his [Tara’hek Dreampassage] ability evolved when he used it, sending him to his private realm. Then Uz’Xulven tore him from the path and placed him on the bridge to meet with the Queen of Mystery. The last part was the most interesting. The gods could attack each other’s realms. But where did that put him? Why had the system placed him on the same stage as the gods? Surely he couldn’t hope to compete.

Then again, Uz’Xulven willed her realm to look like a bridge. Not this beautiful, verdant field that Theo found himself in. He knelt near the water and scooped it up, sipping a mouthful. It tasted like fresh springwater, filling his mouth with a cool sensation that traveled all the way to his stomach. It seemed real. He removed his shoes, sitting at the edge of the pool as he inspected the damage to his chest.

“Easy enough to fix,” Theo said, finding that his inventory power was active. The fire of a [Healing Potion] raced through him, stitching the flesh back together in an instant. But there was no pain. “Time to inspect the new skill. I guess.”

[Tero’gal Dreampassage]

Marshling Bond Skill

Unique

Slip through your dreams. Through reality.

Effect:

Each member of the Tara’hek may travel into Tero’gal, while awake, once per day. Once within, you may choose to exit ‌and return to the point you left, or [Approach] another member of the Tara’hek. The duration within Tero’gal depends on the level of your [Tara’hek Core], strength of your realm, stability of the bond, and willpower.

That was frightening. Of all the Tara’hek skills, that seemed like the most powerful. According to Khahar, time moved differently in heavenly realms. He’d been sitting near the pool of water for a few minutes. How much time had moved in the real world? While he was eager to get back to his companions, this was a good time to test the skill’s limits. This wasn’t the Dreamwalk he’d seen in the past. It was entirely different. Rising to his feet and leaving his shoes behind, Theo worked his way around the floating island.

Tero’gal had the fields of wheat, the spring, brook, and pond. But on the far end—something Theo decided was south—was a small cottage. It was much like those in Broken Tusk. Those that were in the town before he arrived. Faded wooden walls with a blue slatted roof. Inside, a fire burned that put off a sensation closer to comfort than warmth. The small writing desk was inviting, but he left the cottage, finding his way back to the edge of the floating island.

Legs over the side, Theo watched the clouds swirl below. After a while he saw something. Looking closer, drilling down with his willpower, he noticed it was his friends moving in incredible slow-motion. Fenian was kicking off from the road, two rapiers blazing with strange colors in his hands. Tresk was trapped under that curtain of vines. The alchemist found he could move the image around, but it only went so far. It was centered on the other members of the Tara’hek.

“Fair enough,” Theo said, watching the image. “But I’m the master here. Right?”

The air seemed to shiver, responding to his statement.

“How long is a minute outside compared to here? How long can I stay?”

Theo didn’t know how he knew. But he knew. He could remain within the realm for five minutes on the mortal plane. He would experience twelve hours within, although it wouldn’t pass like regular time. If his mind slipped, time would slip away from him. But that was all he wanted to know. He allowed his concentration to slip, watching as the image below sped up. Fenian destroyed the Dronon—Zagmon Dronon by his guess—and freed Tresk from the spell. He smiled, sensing that the world around him was slipping away. Like the other members of his soul-bond wanted him back now.

“No time like the present,” Theo said, grinning to himself. He jumped from the side of the island, forgetting his shoes behind and plunging into the clouds. Intent on [Approaching] Tresk.

The clouds parted, darkness whipped by for only a moment, and then he was standing on the ruined road. Barefooted and smiling.

“Where’d your shoes go?” Fenian asked, cocking his head to the side.

Theo tumbled over, caught in Tresk’s embrace.

“I felt you go there,” Tresk whispered. “I wanna do it. How do I do it?”

But she knew. She just wanted to stay on the mortal plane for a while longer, hugging him over those cracked stones. Ziz and his gang stood back, stammering but unable to get the words out.

“It’s a strange thing, Theo,” Fenian said, coming over to hoist the group to their feet. “Even the most knowledgeable scholar of Tarantham couldn’t tell you what that was. Tell me… What is it like to touch the heavens?”

Theo extricated himself from Tresk’s grasp and slung an arm around the Elf’s shoulder. “Let’s see where this road goes. Then I’ll tell ya.”

Chapter 67

The Throne of the Arbiter

The wraiths within the Bridge of Shadows seemed tepid today. Theo’s appearance—the appearance of a weak mortal—had given them pause. Fenian enjoyed his moments of peace, riding atop his black carriage. The enchanted Karatan seemed happy enough to gallop on without a direction, but the Elf wondered if he was content to do the same. He knew where they were going, but hesitated.

“Give a man a minor realm and he thinks he owns the heavens,” Uz’Xulven said, appearing on the carriage from a boil of shadows.

Fenian winced. The form she took was hauntingly familiar. A simple yellow dress embroidered with golden thread. And a face that haunted every sleepless night of his life. But he wouldn’t rise to the bait. Not this far into his journey. Instead, he flicked her Elven ears.

“Do you even remember your mortal form?” he asked.

“Nope,” she said, reclining on the driver’s bench. “Well, that’s a lie. I just don’t think about it. So, why do you even need that thing?”

“Because none of our plans work without it,” Fenian said, tightening his grip on the reins.

“Is it our plan now?” she asked, laughing. “Aren’t you so generous.”

But the generous one here was the Demonic god. She brought herself into this scheme when he asked for her power. All she needed to do was to lend him the power of the Bridge, but she went beyond that. Claiming him as her champion. With the full power of Parantheir and Uz’Xulven, there wasn’t a mortal alive who could withstand his fury. But that drew attention. Displays like he just performed were dangerous. But perhaps it was time to do away with caution.

“Can you see how the central cities are faring against the undead?” Fenian asked.

“Not well,” she responded, not sitting up from her comfortable position. “You’re certain they’ll seek the [Town Seed Cores]?”

“If the madness of their master is anything to go by, then yes,” Fenian said. “If Khahar kept up his end of the bargain, it won’t matter either way.”

Uz’Xulven hummed.

The shadows formed a gap ahead and the Karatan chittered excitedly, then nervously. Harsh light stung Fenian’s eyes as they burst through the veil of reality, the carriage shaking ominously as they transitioned. The smoothe shadow brickwork of the bridge, to a ravaged landscape. Galflower pushed through the first row of undead skeletons, sending their bones clattering along the rocky ground. The Elf reined her in, withdrawing a potion from his inventory and cocking his arm back.

“Steady, my sweet Galflower,” Fenian said, tossing a [Aerosolize] modified [Hallow Ground Potion] at her feet.

A cloud of white rushed out, and the skeletons screamed. Blue magic leaked from their eyes, collecting in a miasma over the ground and lingering there. Bones fell to the ground, unbound by Balkor’s necromancy. Those outside of the fifty-pace circle didn’t dare to cross it. They leered from a distance with eyeless sockets.

“Phase one completed,” Fenian said, clapping his hands together.

The area outside of the circle was thick with undead. There were remnants of a city in the distance, but the stonework was crumbling to dust. Even the air was filled with the fetid miasma of the Demon God’s curse, filling Fenian’s lungs and stinging them with every breath. He dropped another potion at his feet, and the air seemed to clear. Not enough to draw a lungful of clean air, but enough to give him room.

“Now,” Fenian said, withdrawing an ancient map from his inventory. “Where is that toe?”

It was fortunate the alchemist created so many potions for this trip. Landmarks were scarce in Gardreth, even though Fenian had already scouted it out. It was once attached to the continent before being split off. A surgical cut by Glantheir to save the rest, but in doing so he’d obscured the topology. If that god were watching what he was doing, he wouldn’t be happy. Not in the least. Two days and two nights without sleep, tossing potions and fording ahead through the endless undead.

“This must be the right place,” Fenian said, falling in a slump on the stained ground. “Some skeletons still have some meat. That’s a good sign, right Galflower?”

The Karatan chittered, a sign he took to mean agreement.

Fenian dug into the crater as the twin moons rose. He could see the edge of the dark one, and the full orange one. It was a sight, but the digging was brutal. Rocks, fallen trees that were covered with rubble, and…

“Ah!” Fenian said, tossing another potion at his feet. The ground rumbled in response and the trader cheered. The surrounding undead joined with him. A chorus of ghostly screeches.

Excavating the rotting bone was a chore, but he didn’t falter. Digging out the sides, he finally got a good look at it. About the size of his torso, with seams of blue running through it. Fenian dropped another [Hallow Ground] potion at his feet before hoisting the thing above him.

“Damn, that’s heavy!” he said, stumbling and dropping it behind him.

Fenian tightened the rope around the fragment, climbing up the pit and tying it off on the carriage. Another potion on the ground, and a few more spread for good measure, and he ordered his team to drive forward. Slowly, the last fragment of the Demonic God Balkor rose to the surface. For the first time since his demise, the full power of the necromantic god was released onto the world. But the blue seams—those points of the dead god’s power—were subdued under Theo’s potion.

“We might need more, Galflower!” Fenian shouted, dragging the bone to insert it to the rear carriage. “And a few more points into [Strength].”

The carriage buckled under the weight, groaning as though responding to the weight of its importance.

“Let’s really mess things up in the capital. Shall we?” Fenian asked.

“I’d rather you not bring something like that in my domain,” Uz’Xulven said. “The Bridge is under attack. Thanks to you.”

Fenian waved her off. He focused on the road ahead. That long road, stretching off into infinity. “Did you want to see it?” he asked. “Bet you’ve never seen the bone of a dead god.”

“Because we’re not meant to cross into the mortal realm,” she said, sitting on the bench and looking stern.

“Is this going to be another lecture?” Fenian asked. “You agreed to the plan.”

“And what happens when Karasan catches you near the capital?”

“You used to be fun, Uz,” Fenian said, snapping the reins.

“I’m still fun,” she said.

But she wasn’t. The Bridge rocked under them, sending the carriage train skittering for only a moment. The powerful team driving it righted its course in a moment. That would have been the other gods. Angry about what she allowed him to do. Well, they’d be busy enough in moments. Busy with the phase two of their plan.

“The old bastard needs to ascend,” Fenian said, gritting his teeth. “It all hinges on his distraction.”

“Well, where is he? The Morning Star, as you said. The Arbiter, you claimed,” Uz’Xulven said. “Arbitration of what, exactly? Sitting in a temple and performing ancient rituals? Just ascend, you fool!”

“For once, we agree,” Fenian said, almost tumbling out of the cart when the ground shook again. “We’re here. I may call upon your power.”

“Don’t. I won’t have enough to spare.”

“Then we’ll hope Parantheir is paying attention… Did the Bridge just grow silent, or is that me?” Fenian asked.

“Hah! He’s doing it,” Uz’Xulven said, clapping excitedly. “Oh? What? No, I will not consent to a new set of rules… Hey! Fenian! Don’t—”

But Fenian had already found a seam in the shadows. Galflower plunged through, the cart clattering against a well-worn dirt path. Strewn with rocks and fallen undead alike at the northernmost town between Qavell and the Southlands. Drybrook, the second to last failed defense of the Kingdom of Qavell.

“And a perfect spot to bury the bone of a dead god,” Fenian said, whooping excitedly. “Oh, calm yourself Galflower. There’s a good girl. It’s only temporary.”

More potions flew, clearing the way over the infested road. Night lingered overhead, but by the light of the orange moon—shifting toward red—Fenian steered the carriage toward the walled town. He spotted the defenders on the wall and pushed down the guilt he felt. They would never survive the siege anyway, right? There weren’t undead rising from the bodies of the defenders yet, but they’d fall in time.

Galflower barreled through another line of undead, Fenian pulling the reins tight to lead her to a burnt-out farmhouse. Close enough to the walls to inflict damage, but not close enough to be discovered. He tossed more potions out, clearing a path for him to drag the damned bone and bury it again.

“We’re going to need a long break after this one,” Fenian said, groaning as he jumped from the carriage. “Don’t move, my sweet. Allow me to do my work.”

The Karatan were happy to live within their cloud of undead-repelling mist. Fenian dug at the hard-packed earth, cursing as he hit rocks and roots. Nothing his enhanced strength couldn’t handle, but annoying. He took breaks to study the battle outside the ring of purification, applying more potions as required. Where the undead went, a taint followed closely behind. The befouled earth where the potion touched seemed purified, sent from a sickly shade of brown back to vibrant greens where the grass grew. It was as though time itself was going back, reverting to its normal state.

Two man-heights underground seemed good enough for the burial, and the Elf worked on dragging the bone to the hole. Skeletons and the freshly dead crowded near the edge of the ring, not daring to cross but watching. Fenian knew they were without a master, just feeding on the latent energy of Balkor. And still the regret lingered. The sins of a leader fell to his people in times like this. It was true that the undead were marching even before he intervened. Something had stirred them up, sending them toward the capital, but the help they received in crossing the ocean was immense.

Everything led back to King Karasan’s betrayal. Fenian scooped the last shovel-full of dirt over the hole, patting it down, before withdrawing a silver bracelet from his inventory. How long had it been since he’d looked at it? There was little he needed to fuel that rage in his chest. It burned daily. For centuries now, and showed no signs of subsiding. If he could drive only the smallest of thorns in the side of Qavell it would be worth it. But if Khahar did as he promised, it would become a spear instead of a splinter. A death-blow to the damned pretender.

Ascending the carriage and tugging on the reins, Fenian found that the Bridge was reluctant to have him. He expected an attack from the defenders of the town, but they were far too busy. Uz’Xulven should have had enough energy to allow him passage. The Elf let out a heavy sigh, removed a wineskin from his inventory and unstoppered it. Reclining on the carriage, he looked up at the edge of that dark moon. A smile spread across his face, thinking of the Burning Eye’s minions stuck up there. Wandering around in that monster-infested place, fighting for survival every day.

“I’d wager they’re eating fetid moon-monster meat,” Fenian said, chuckling to himself. “Did you see this coming, my old friend?”

“I did,” a voice from behind answered. That familiar voice.

“Oh, you positively love pretending you won’t get your hands dirty,” Fenian said, not daring to look back. It was best to keep his eyes on the moon. “I wonder if you can still feel anything. How long has it been since you could have been called a mortal?”

“I cannot say,” the voice responded. “I’m content with this experiment, though.”

“Are you?” Fenian asked. “Even after I put one foot on my path?”

“Your path is the true path. The way things were meant to be.”

“But you could have fixed it. With a blink. Or a wiggle of your eyebrows.” Fenian let out a heavy sigh. It wasn’t as though he hated godly figures. They were just so pompous. As though they could lord their power over the mortals and get away with it. Well, they could. But that wasn’t the point.

“I don’t lord my power over anyone,” the voice said.

“But you’re happy to read my mind. How about a favor for fixing your broken system? Allow me to see Khahar’s ascension.”

“It was brutal. And swift. The system wasn’t ready for him. Changes were necessary.”

“As planned.”

“Fine. The Bridge will become stable after you’re done… Viewing the event. So long.”

Fenian cracked his knuckles. Fluttering features sounded from behind him, and the presence of the being was gone. The Elf’s mind tumbled through realities.

The ritual for Khahar’s ascension was tedious. His mind was unraveling by the moment, splitting his consciousness and sending fissures through his psyche. Yet those Khahari still chanted, begging for him to rise and fix the world. That was a dream too far, he knew well, but his followers didn’t need to know. Maybe they did. His concentration faltered for a moment and he watched the western coastline of his continent, spotting crab scuttling across the beach. It snapped again, down into the caves beneath a city to the mushroom grow-caves. Again, to the sky high above his domain.

“Enough,” Khahar growled. His focus faded by the moment. Moments that crawled by in his high-level vision.

The Khahari leader’s attention snapped to the ziggurat, desert stretching into the distance. A million Khahari were assembled there, only a portion of his people prepared to take the journey with him. He wouldn’t reveal his knowledge to them. The fact that they might not make it. That this promised land was nothing but another form of existence. An ill-fated plan prone to failure.

“We are ready,” the high-priest said, bowing on the flattened top of the structure.

Khahar sat on his throne, pressing clawed fingers into his head. The system prompt he’d seen for uncounted eons popped up again.

[Ascension]

You’ve collected enough power, and expanded a realm far enough to ascend to godhood! Declining this prompt will have consequences. The higher your attributes get, the more difficulty you’ll have dealing with the real world. Once your mind passes a point, you will no longer control yourself.

(It is recommended that you accept this prompt the moment you get it. Leaving it will result in permanent damage to your mind that can only be reversed by accepting this prompt.)

[Y/N]

That taunting window. A promise for release from this torment. Resistance brought by the strongest of wills and faith in his cause. Khahar mentally accepted the prompt and the world around him melted. A ripple of power issued from the temple, reducing it to a city-sized crater in a moment. People in the far reaches of the world would feel the effects—the sudden ascension of an overly-powerful god.

Darkness crowded Khahar’s vision, but the pain in his mind was gone. The heavy weight of cores in his chest diminished to nothing. And he was finally free. Even the darkness was inviting, rolling over him like a comforting blanket. Relief. Ease from the pain he’d suffered. He could see it clearly now. 50,000 years of torment. Was it worth it? Why did he try to do this in the first place? Then the system messages came rolling in. Thousands of them.

All cores removed…

Personal level at ascension (rounded): 10,000

ERROR: Unable to calculate [God Core] level. Overflow.

SOLUTION: Recalculating theoretical power maximum.

Completed…

Assigning [God Core] at level 100.

Personal realm strength at ascension (rounded): ERROR

ERROR: Strength of realm is too powerful. Overflow.

SOLUTION: Recalculating theoretical power maximum.

ERROR: Overflow… Recalculating…

SOLUTION: Theoretical power maximum raised.

Assigning [Ascendant God Core] at level 100.

Core count and level at ascension (rounded): ERROR

…

…

…

Assigning [Arbiter’s Core] at level 100.

…

…

…

Approaching The Arbiter’s Citadel. Please ascend the throne to name your realm.

Khahar skimmed for the most interesting messages, but all those were expected. He’d overflowed the system’s maximum count for stats and created a new realm. Something outside the normal flow of the gods. The plan worked. That feature, nestled somewhere in the code that ran their world was forced to revert to the way it was. Reversing the inane rules placed on it by the previous gods. Those restraints were lifted.

More than that, Khahar’s mind was clear. The pain was gone and his thoughts came in ordered patterns. One thing after the other, not a jumbled mass of potential futures and events. His eyes were in his head, although he stood in darkness. They didn’t flit over the entire world at once, forcing him into a state of constant agony. He was free.

In a blink, he appeared in his new realm.

“Kahak,” he said, finding himself standing on endless dunes of sand. Before him stood a citadel, impossibly high and constructed of gray stone. Behind him, those one million souls kneeled. He turned. Without a word, he ordered them to begin building as he ascended to the Throne of the Arbiter.

Chapter 68

The Fall of the Heavens

Khahar’s calculations were correct. Well, mostly correct. The flow of time in the heavenly realms was strange, but no more strange than back on the mortal plane. With his absurd attributes he’d experienced time as a collage of events, rather than a linear progression. At least here he could count one moment passing after the other. One thought coming, then going.

The throne room of Khahak was massive. Perhaps the size of his old capital back in the Khahari desert. His followers rushed around the massive space, fading in and out of existence. A shimmering portal appeared before him at his command, allowing him to view the mortal plane. But he could also view the other realms, crowded as they were. The Prime Pantheon was scrambling, but the Demonic Pantheon seemed calm. All except for Zagmon’s cursed realm.

“Sire, we’ve repelled the first attack,” the high-priest said.

“From Zagmon?” Khahar asked, enjoying the way his thoughts flowed.

“Yes, sire.”

“Prepare for a counter-offensive,” Khahar said, a smile spreading across his face. “You have a century to ready the troops.”

“Yes, sire. And a visitor. He only needs your consent to enter,” the high-priest said.

“Who?”

“Glantheir.”

Khahar’s smile broadened. “Allow him in.”

Reality parted before the throne. A stately Elf appeared, clad in pure white robes with flowing hair to match. He held a staff with the symbol of his realm. Intertwined laurels made of gold, working their way down the staff to the floor. The god took a knee.

“We beg your forgiveness for this intrusion, Arbiter,” Glantheir said. “My aim has only ever been to serve the mortal world.”

“So it has been noted,” Khahar said. “Yet you share a Pantheon with the Eye. With Fan’glir.”

“I’ve come to give introductions, not excuses, Yuri,” the Elven God said. “None of the gods alone can challenge you, but they’re questioning your authority as a collective.”

“Is that so?” Khahar asked, rising from his seat and crossing the wide space between them. “Arbitration doesn’t mean pacifism. I am the arbiter. The collective judge of you. Whomever I say is guilty is. The authority is thus.”

“Of course,” Glantheir said, bowing his head lower. “We look to your wisdom. And I beg for your mercy on the mortal world.”

“My interest has only ever been in protecting the mortals. I will not poke my head in their affairs. Neither will any of the other Pantheons.”

“Just so.”

Glantheir departed. It might have been a moment later, or a few years. But then the century flashed by in a blink, and Khahar found himself on the bone-strewn fields of Zagmon’s realm. The Dronon forces of war crumpled beneath the ascended Khahari. Continents were raised, castles destroyed, and the Arbiter climbed the steps of the demonic god’s citadel. Casualties were a strange thing in the heavens. Souls didn’t just die, they went back to their realm. So long as their patron was alive.

“I suppose you think you’re quite clever,” Zagmon said.

The Demon god sat atop a throne of bones and blood, peering down with fearful eyes. The citadel of Zagmon overlooked pools of blood, fields of corpses, and other unpleasant things. He’d fashioned himself a world of death and torture. How no one in the expanded pantheons of the universe had done away with this monster was beyond Khahar. Arbitration was necessary.

“Quite clever.”

“I hope this isn’t personal, Arbiter,” Zagmon said.

Khahar studied the Demon for a while. He appeared like the other Dronon of the world. Swooping horns with skin tinged the color of their nature. The Zagmon Dronon were all red, a deep shade like the devils of Earth’s lore. But he was more muscular than those depictions, with a belt of skulls, a heavy glaive by his side, and a thick plate of oozing armor covering his body.

“Because your agents attempted to kill my friend?” Khahar asked. That was certainly one reason Zagmon would die first.

“Your friend? Your Harald,” Zagmon said, laughing wryly.

Khahar stood for a long moment, still finding his new thought process to be difficult. Then he joined the Demon God in laughing, crossing the distance between them before wrapping his hands around the creature’s throat. He squeezed.

“You’ve been one step behind this entire time, Zagmon,” Khahar said. “Let the truth be heard by those in this room, and them alone. Theo Spencer was never meant to be the Harald. As I ascended the throne of Arbiter so will my agent ascend the throne of Harald.”

Khahar leaned in, whispering the name of his agent into Zagmon’s ear. The Demon God’s eyes went wide before godly life faded. Before the realm of the dread Dronon God of War crumbled around them, turning to ash.

As hard as it was to convince himself to take a break, Theo forced himself. Each citizen seemed to have sworn an oath to keep him on his ass for as long as possible. Sitting on a rocking chair outside of Xam’s tavern, he watched people move around and work. Alise had already returned from Gronro-dir with the contract signed. A Khahari trade ship had arrived in the harbor, remaining there until they worked out a deal, and all seemed well.

Alex chirped somewhere under his chair. She managed to deftly avoid the rise and fall of the rocking chair, turning it into a game. But boredom was getting to Theo. He crumpled up another sheet of paper and tossed it to the side, retrieving a fresh one from his inventory and starting again. Several lines into his journal and someone approached, disturbing his concentration.

“Roads going well,” Ziz said.

Theo looked up and smiled. “Let’s go for a walk. I’m bored.”

“Ah, well,” Ziz said. “I don’t think you should go out so soon. Tresk would skewer me.”

“We’ll just walk the wall,” Theo said, dragging his old friend along.

“That… Yeah, that should be fine.”

Theo and Ziz ascended the battlements, Alex following closely behind. She had trouble with the steps, but the pair waited for her at the top. Looking out to the swamp to the west, they spotted golems moving around and adventurers doing their thing. House Wavecrest had integrated well enough, but there were too many things left hanging. The alchemist leaned against a crenelation.

“Ral still doesn’t have a leg,” Theo said, letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t seem too upset about it,” Ziz said. “Are you trying to solve that one with alchemy?”

“Of course I am,” Theo said, snorting a laugh. “That’s all I ever do. Fix stuff with alchemy.”

The alchemist removed the [Toru’aun Mage’s Core] from his inventory and stared at it for a long while. The book she’d given him was impossible to understand. Xol’sa was trying to figure that one out, but he’d made little progress. Theo suspected the point was only he could understand it, but he didn’t have the heart to deny the mage. Those skills for planar magic would become more useful in the coming times, but for now it was just time to restore.

“So, what was the Bridge like?” Ziz asked.

Theo shrugged. “Dark. Lots of shades moving in the distance.”

“Not as glamorous as I expected,” Ziz said. “Any word from Fenian?”

Theo placed the core back into his inventory, shaking his head. It couldn’t be helped. That was only yesterday. How much progress could the Elf had made in that little time. And what was his plan? That was a fact beyond everyone. Just a mystery lingering in the air forever. Like a foul smell in a cramped room. The group began walking the perimeter of the town, heading north to the quarry first.

Ziz had made progress with the quarry, designating his workers to handle most of the daily operation. He had more than one pit now, and had figured out the best way to drain the constantly regenerating stone. Like most in Broken Tusk, they were taking a break. They stood there for a long time, looking down on both the operation and the town.

“Sure is hot,” Ziz said.

“At least it isn’t muggy,” Theo said.

“Yeah… Hey, what is Tresk doing, anyway?” Ziz asked.

It was hard not to notice. The Marshling wasn’t relaxing like everyone else. Despite her shouting orders for everyone to chill, especially Theo, she was out scouting for more Zagmon Dronon. Once she learned who their master was, she was on the hunt. It made sense that adventurers couldn’t take breaks, though. Not when so much had happened in such a short time. He explained the situation to Ziz, who simply shrugged.

“That’s Tresk for ya,” he said, grinning.  “So, how are you feeling about being attacked?”

Theo took a long time to think about that question. He felt little, if he was honest with the Half-Ogre. He could have been mad at Fenian for not coming to the rescue sooner, but that was all part of the plan. Maybe it was a coincidence, but he suspected the Elf knew the [Tara’hek Dreampassage] skill would evolve. So he needed to experience that fear of his life ending to get something much better. A bit of hardship for a new, overpowered skill was worth it.

“I’m fine. Did you know skills can evolve?” Theo asked.

“Can they?” Ziz asked. “Not sure if I’ve heard about that.”

“Well, I got a skill evolution out of it,” Theo said. “All part of Fenian’s plan, I think.”

“There’s a thought,” Ziz said, clapping a hand over Theo’s shoulder.

“Did they force you to talk to me?” Theo asked.

“Nah. Just saw you in front of Xam’s. All sad.”

“I’m not sad.”

“Melancholy?”

“Hmmm… Not sure about that one.”

“Wistful.”

“That’ll do,” Theo said, pushing off from the wall and making his way east. Both Ziz and Alex followed.

The group moved along the defensive wall, spotting the bridge to the east when they turned to walk southward. Over the eastern gate, then coming to rest over the harbor. The single Khahari ship docked there sat high in the water, as though it was never meant to cross the sea. But it was long, with two tall masts that gave the bridge-gates little room to breathe. Theo had to wonder how quickly Khahar could have returned to his desert continent. In an instant, he realized, but maybe the ceremony of his people would have dragged the process out.

There might be effects on the mortal plane, but that was hard to say. With only a short trip to his own realm, the alchemist wasn’t certain of much. The Dreamwalk itself had evolved. When he visited the realm at night, it was the familiar landscape. Anything he could dream up would appear, but that was just a mirror image of the minds of those within the Tara’hek. When he visited it in person, it was the floating island with the creek and the cottage. Withdrawing a stalk of [Wheat] from his inventory, he contemplated how strange that was.

Things conjured in the Dreamwalk were left there, no more substantial than dreams themselves. But traveling to Tero’gal was different. Those things were real. He could bring them back to the mortal plane, although he hadn’t tested doing it the other way around. These uncertain rules left him feeling uneasy. He wouldn’t let it slip through his fingers. There was no point in that. He needed to do everything he could to press his advantage.

“We need to name the war with the undead,” Ziz said, watching the dockhands work below. “Gotta be something flashy.”

“Do you have anything in mind?”

Ziz offered a weak shrug. “How to get boned in 44 simple steps?”

Theo narrowed his eyes. “Have you been talking to Tresk?”

“Maybe.”

That matter did fall to the Southlands Alliance to sort out. Whatever Tarantham and Veosta wanted to call the war was up to them. Theo had no doubts they had a name for their ongoing conflict, but he wondered what they were fighting for. If the reports from Gronro-dir were accurate, the land they left behind was tainted. A state that the [Hallow Ground] potions reversed.

The alchemist withdrew the enchanted box that Khahar gave him, running his fingers over the sigils. It seemed like people were setting him up for success. Perhaps that was putting it too generously out of the alchemist’s favor. As though it was diminishing the hard work they’d done here so far. A helping hand didn’t remove the value of what they’d done. No matter how short of a time they’d been at it.

“I’ve got some plans cooking in my head,” Theo said, nodding to himself. “Once things calm down in the north.”

“Calm down, eh?” Ziz asked, chuckling. “You mean when our kingdom is destroyed. When we’re cut off from the capital and left to fester.”

“Feeling a sudden wave of wistfulness?” Theo asked, playfully punching his friend in the arm.

“Fear, more like,” Ziz said with a nod.

“Half-Ogres fear nothing,” Theo said.

“If only that were true,” Ziz sighed. “Hey, what’s your box doing?”

Theo looked down, spotting the light coming from the ornately decorated box. It hadn’t changed otherwise.

The wall beneath their feet rumbled. A wave of power rumbled from the north and shouts rose from the harbor below. A few jostling moments later and everything was calm. Tresk appeared at Theo’s side in an instant—likely using their new ability.

“Bad news!” Tresk shouted, breathing hard. “I felt that in Tero’gal! Holy moly!”

“What?” Theo asked. “What happened?”

“I think… Oop! Yep! There it is!” Tresk shouted.

A series of messages flashed into Theo’s vision.

[Connection Severed]

Your connection between [Broken Tusk] and [The Kingdom of Qavell] has been destroyed.

Connection destroyed through core chain…

Drybrook (Core Destroyed)…

Stonesbed…

Heartpass…

Barrowsdeep…

Gronro-dir…

Rivers and Daub…

…

[Broken Tusk], [Gronro-Dir], [Rivers and Daub] have been placed in one-day state of suspension.

Calculating…

[Southlands Alliance] temporarily formed.

Your towns will share power generating resources (motes, coins, etc) until one town gains a [Kingdom Core].

Please contact the owner of your civilizations [Kingdom Core] if you have further questions.

Theo read through the notification several times, his heart thumping hard in his ears. Then he heard a snap and a creak. Looking down, he saw Khahar’s enchanted box opening. He saw the cage of metal, white light pulsing steadily inside. He saw what Yuri had left him. A gift fit for a king.

A smile spread across the alchemist’s face.