When he finally reached his destination, there was still plenty of time remaining. He decided to do a sweep around the small fort, more out of boredom than necessity. There was no reason to think that this location was in any way compromised--which was why he liked it so much--but it never hurt to be thorough.
Plus, it made for a nice trip down memory lane.
This was where that insufferable nest of parasites had once ruled, after all. Out of every nest to have been established over the Ages, that one had to have been his most hated.
And Ettol was only too pleased to have played a part in its destruction.
Sure, Rakko ended up with all the credit--or the blame, as the man had chosen to play it off--but Ettol had been living here for decades, sowing the seeds of its eventual demise.
It was a shame that the whole city had to go along with it, but that was probably for the best, too. Those parasites were crafty. If he and Rakko had been any less thorough, then the nest likely would have survived and recovered.
And the revenge would have been absolutely horrific. The parasites did not suffer attacks against them lightly. Not in those days, anyway. They always took disproportionate retribution against their enemies.
Even a few of his own incarnations had been ended by them. Which was to say nothing of the collateral damage done around him.
Ah. That spot over there. The Grand Tower of Karnith had once stood there, yes?
Ettol smiled to himself as he summoned an illusory vision of it into reality. A tall, pale thing, covered in protruding balconies and hanging banners. And his smile only widened as he summoned the image of it on fire and crumbling under the moonlight.
Beautiful.
The long-standing dungeon of Arnel the Terror. How many heads of state visited that place without ever realizing the monstrous acts being committed within it?
And how many did realize?
Arnel was sick beyond words. The man had taken immense pleasure in his secrets--but even more in surprising people with them. The inner circle that he fostered for himself was unlike any other that Ettol had witnessed before.
But in retrospect, perhaps it had been a good experience for him in those relatively early days. It gave him his first real glimpse at the depths to which these mortals could sink when they were granted too much power.
It was certainly a lesson he’d never forgotten.
A dark serial novel. Set in a modern fantasy world called Eleg. Mature language. Updates every day at noon PST by ~400 words.
Wednesday, December 31, 2025
Tuesday, December 30, 2025
Page 4014
It was a dangerous game, this. Ettol knew that only too well. Jonah, for all his obnoxious rhetoric, had not been wrong about that.
The Beast of Ardora would almost certainly break loose again, one day. Comfortable as this current arrangement might have been, Ettol couldn’t expect it to last forever. He had to plan for the eventuality of Koh’s release.
But the wolf’s programming was so strong. So deeply ingrained. Ettol hoped that he might be able to overwrite it fully, but even now, in a vessel this powerful, he was not yet strong enough. Maybe he never would be.
Could he eventually amass enough strength to rewrite or otherwise undo the brainwashing of the nameless one? The so-called Void?
Their supposed progenitor?
In eons past, Ettol would have said no. It was hopeless. Their “father” was simply too powerful.
But they’d wounded him, hadn’t they? Lastingly so. All the evidence seemed to point to that explanation.
Ettol’s mind often wandered back to when, exactly, it might have happened. He must not have been present for it, himself. Surely, such an encounter would have been exceptionally vivid in his memory.
So who had done it?
Hada? Or perhaps Avar? Ettol had asked them, of course, but neither had been particularly forthcoming. One might imagine that anyone would be eager to talk about such an accomplishment, but those two were their own brands of exceptional, weren’t they? Hada hated talking period--especially to Ettol. And Avar would probably feel some type of absurd shame.
Out of all of them, Avar revered the nameless one the most as their “father.”
Ettol, though, could never do that. Not genuinely, at least.
He had spent too long bending to the will of others. Making nice. Pretending to be something he wasn’t.
In his heart, he could not allow himself to revere anyone over himself. His kin could only ever be his equals. Less than that, perhaps, but not more.
No. Never that.
For the longest time, he’d thought that all the others shared that view. He’d thought that was why they had such trouble getting along. But gradually, he’d come to realize that, no, they weren’t like him in that regard.
His mindset was, in so many ways, actually quite singular. They were not all some cherished communion of like-minded souls, as he’d once believed.
But that was fine. They were his kin. They were entitled to their flaws. Just as he was entitled to his.
The Beast of Ardora would almost certainly break loose again, one day. Comfortable as this current arrangement might have been, Ettol couldn’t expect it to last forever. He had to plan for the eventuality of Koh’s release.
But the wolf’s programming was so strong. So deeply ingrained. Ettol hoped that he might be able to overwrite it fully, but even now, in a vessel this powerful, he was not yet strong enough. Maybe he never would be.
Could he eventually amass enough strength to rewrite or otherwise undo the brainwashing of the nameless one? The so-called Void?
Their supposed progenitor?
In eons past, Ettol would have said no. It was hopeless. Their “father” was simply too powerful.
But they’d wounded him, hadn’t they? Lastingly so. All the evidence seemed to point to that explanation.
Ettol’s mind often wandered back to when, exactly, it might have happened. He must not have been present for it, himself. Surely, such an encounter would have been exceptionally vivid in his memory.
So who had done it?
Hada? Or perhaps Avar? Ettol had asked them, of course, but neither had been particularly forthcoming. One might imagine that anyone would be eager to talk about such an accomplishment, but those two were their own brands of exceptional, weren’t they? Hada hated talking period--especially to Ettol. And Avar would probably feel some type of absurd shame.
Out of all of them, Avar revered the nameless one the most as their “father.”
Ettol, though, could never do that. Not genuinely, at least.
He had spent too long bending to the will of others. Making nice. Pretending to be something he wasn’t.
In his heart, he could not allow himself to revere anyone over himself. His kin could only ever be his equals. Less than that, perhaps, but not more.
No. Never that.
For the longest time, he’d thought that all the others shared that view. He’d thought that was why they had such trouble getting along. But gradually, he’d come to realize that, no, they weren’t like him in that regard.
His mindset was, in so many ways, actually quite singular. They were not all some cherished communion of like-minded souls, as he’d once believed.
But that was fine. They were his kin. They were entitled to their flaws. Just as he was entitled to his.
Monday, December 29, 2025
Sunday, December 28, 2025
Page 4013
Jonah was determined to fight him. That much was painfully obvious. No matter what arguments Germal tried, no matter how much knowledge he shared--how much wisdom--Jonah just became more and more convinced that “Ettol” had fully consumed his soul.
Why? It was so senseless. Was it because he hadn’t internalized a new name for himself like his kin often did? Didn’t become reborn as a new “Gerttal” or “Emol” or some other hybrid?
That meant nothing. Ettol’s vessels simply never needed that, nor did Ettol himself. His vessels always had some kind of irregularity in their identity which made such a process pointless.
Jonah couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Germal genuinely, with full understanding, agreed to the merging of their two souls. There was no need for a new name, because their new, singular soul was perfectly comfortable with both. Ettol, Germal. He didn’t mind swapping between them.
In fact, he enjoyed it. Did it for fun, if he was being honest.
Germal had always been like that. Didn’t Jonah remember? The games they played when they were children? Even the name Germal had not been original. It was the name they found in an old book.
The name of the hero that Jonah had fantasized about one day becoming.
Had all that been forgotten? Or maybe Jonah thought that, too, was a lie. An implanted memory, meant to trick him. Yet another of Ettol’s endless deceptions.
Ever that excuse.
Ettol didn’t know how to argue against that. How could he possibly reason with someone who’d become so entrenched in their distrust of him?
Agh. Was there truly no way? He was this so-called ‘God of Deceit,’ wasn’t he? And yet he couldn’t even deceive the stray voice in his head.
Hmph. Prodding him again, Jonah? At least you were getting subtler about it.
By the time he finally reached the little fortress atop the highest hill, it was nearing sunset. He could’ve moved faster, of course, but there was no rush. He’d have to wait for the others to arrive, regardless.
Koh followed behind him, silent as a shadow, if not for the occasional puff on his cigar.
It was interesting how much of a liking the old fellow had taken to tobacco. Germal hadn’t expected that experiment to work at all, much less that effectively. Perhaps the wolf’s mind was more malleable than he’d realized. Or perhaps his powers had grown.
Or perhaps Koh just would’ve liked cigars, regardless.
Why? It was so senseless. Was it because he hadn’t internalized a new name for himself like his kin often did? Didn’t become reborn as a new “Gerttal” or “Emol” or some other hybrid?
That meant nothing. Ettol’s vessels simply never needed that, nor did Ettol himself. His vessels always had some kind of irregularity in their identity which made such a process pointless.
Jonah couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Germal genuinely, with full understanding, agreed to the merging of their two souls. There was no need for a new name, because their new, singular soul was perfectly comfortable with both. Ettol, Germal. He didn’t mind swapping between them.
In fact, he enjoyed it. Did it for fun, if he was being honest.
Germal had always been like that. Didn’t Jonah remember? The games they played when they were children? Even the name Germal had not been original. It was the name they found in an old book.
The name of the hero that Jonah had fantasized about one day becoming.
Had all that been forgotten? Or maybe Jonah thought that, too, was a lie. An implanted memory, meant to trick him. Yet another of Ettol’s endless deceptions.
Ever that excuse.
Ettol didn’t know how to argue against that. How could he possibly reason with someone who’d become so entrenched in their distrust of him?
Agh. Was there truly no way? He was this so-called ‘God of Deceit,’ wasn’t he? And yet he couldn’t even deceive the stray voice in his head.
Hmph. Prodding him again, Jonah? At least you were getting subtler about it.
By the time he finally reached the little fortress atop the highest hill, it was nearing sunset. He could’ve moved faster, of course, but there was no rush. He’d have to wait for the others to arrive, regardless.
Koh followed behind him, silent as a shadow, if not for the occasional puff on his cigar.
It was interesting how much of a liking the old fellow had taken to tobacco. Germal hadn’t expected that experiment to work at all, much less that effectively. Perhaps the wolf’s mind was more malleable than he’d realized. Or perhaps his powers had grown.
Or perhaps Koh just would’ve liked cigars, regardless.
Saturday, December 27, 2025
Page 4012
Throwing around accusations of childishness? Was that the new strategy? Ironic in the extreme.
It was already quite clear by now that there could be no peace between the two of them. Jonah had long convinced himself that Ettol was the great enemy--not just of himself but of all mankind. The entire mortal realm.
But it was nonsense, of course. Ettol wanted nothing more than to help the long-suffering souls of this world. And Reemergence was key to achieve that goal. Whether his “kin” returned his affections or not was irrelevant. That was simply how all families were. Especially ones as old as his.
If you could finally look past your own biases, then you might understand that, too, Jonah. Ultimately, despite all the turmoil that they had endured over the years, Ettol wanted a good life for you, as well. Just because they shared a body didn’t preclude that possibility, you know. Think about it. Why else would he ever give up control to you at all? Why would he allow you to pursue a family? Have children of your own? Enjoy fine foods and the natural, wondrous beauty of the world? Fight against the oppressive monsters of Abolish in your own secretive ways?
To continue feeding information to Parson and Damian?
What, you thought he didn’t know about that? Of course he did. And it was a noble goal. One worth continuing. In that, clearly, they were of one mind.
Look past your hatred, Jonah. See the truth for what it was. Even if you hated him, Ettol was on your side, too.
The wind howled across the grassy hills as his mind fell quiet again.
He stopped for a moment, awaiting another angry response. When one didn’t arrive, he kept walking.
Tiresome. He hated having to suppress Jonah like that, but it could hardly be helped, these days.
There’d been a time when he’d hoped that the two of them could fully accept one another. To integrate, even. Become whole.
But that was long gone. Now, he wasn’t even sure that they could coexist for much longer. Jonah’s rejection of him had only further ossified over the years.
He’d tried everything. Using different names. Giving Jonah more control. More freedom. Even letting him partake more deeply of the Windlight. To see the vast stores of knowledge that he had accumulated across all of his incarnations.
But it only ever made things worse.
It was already quite clear by now that there could be no peace between the two of them. Jonah had long convinced himself that Ettol was the great enemy--not just of himself but of all mankind. The entire mortal realm.
But it was nonsense, of course. Ettol wanted nothing more than to help the long-suffering souls of this world. And Reemergence was key to achieve that goal. Whether his “kin” returned his affections or not was irrelevant. That was simply how all families were. Especially ones as old as his.
If you could finally look past your own biases, then you might understand that, too, Jonah. Ultimately, despite all the turmoil that they had endured over the years, Ettol wanted a good life for you, as well. Just because they shared a body didn’t preclude that possibility, you know. Think about it. Why else would he ever give up control to you at all? Why would he allow you to pursue a family? Have children of your own? Enjoy fine foods and the natural, wondrous beauty of the world? Fight against the oppressive monsters of Abolish in your own secretive ways?
To continue feeding information to Parson and Damian?
What, you thought he didn’t know about that? Of course he did. And it was a noble goal. One worth continuing. In that, clearly, they were of one mind.
Look past your hatred, Jonah. See the truth for what it was. Even if you hated him, Ettol was on your side, too.
The wind howled across the grassy hills as his mind fell quiet again.
He stopped for a moment, awaiting another angry response. When one didn’t arrive, he kept walking.
Tiresome. He hated having to suppress Jonah like that, but it could hardly be helped, these days.
There’d been a time when he’d hoped that the two of them could fully accept one another. To integrate, even. Become whole.
But that was long gone. Now, he wasn’t even sure that they could coexist for much longer. Jonah’s rejection of him had only further ossified over the years.
He’d tried everything. Using different names. Giving Jonah more control. More freedom. Even letting him partake more deeply of the Windlight. To see the vast stores of knowledge that he had accumulated across all of his incarnations.
But it only ever made things worse.
Wednesday, December 24, 2025
Tuesday, December 23, 2025
Page 4011
Jonah was fascinated to no end by the Beast of Ardora. The ultimate enemy of all these false gods. Did that make the wolf a true god? Kehe. No. Jonah didn’t think so. Moreover, Koh would probably despise the very notion.
Strange to think that Koh and Ettol had both arrived in his life at the same time, due to the same event. Some forty-five years ago in Bellvine.
Though, perhaps there was some contention about that, too. With the benefit of hindsight, Jonah could now see whispers of Ettol’s influence from even before that time--from when it had been attempting to make contact with him.
Reaching out from beyond the Veil.
In so many subtle, quiet ways, Ettol had been there, probably since the very moment his and Germal’s power of mutation manifested. And even then, it had still taken Ettol another eighty years before it finally managed to connect to them.
Jonah understood why. For Ettol, suitable vessels were preciously rare. Throughout the entire world, there were only a handful of viable candidates at any given time; and since the incarnation process took so long, the difficulty was heightened even further, as suitable vessels expired naturally on their own. Or simply refused the offer. Or suddenly became unsuitable.
Kehe. Poor Ettol. Always wrestling with the world. With its own kin, even. It loved them all dearly, but they did not reciprocate those feelings, did they? Perhaps because it was such an incessantly lying snake.
Not that Jonah had much room to judge, of course. In that way, at least, they were alike. Hell, perhaps that was even a prerequisite for becoming a suitable vessel.
But still. It was no coincidence that Ettol had ended up trapped in that prison realm alongside Koh. That had been the work of Ettol’s own kin. At the last moment, they had betrayed it.
Thrown it to the wolf, quite literally.
And yet, Ettol did not hold that against them? Where was the sense in that? Where was your pride, Ettol?
Why continue on with this plan of Reemergence?
That was, perhaps, the single most baffling thing about Ettol, still. The thing that Jonah was struggling to find an answer for.
Because perhaps there simply wasn’t one. Perhaps Ettol didn’t have a good reason for continuing on, in spite of all the hatred and betrayal. The unreturned love and affection.
Perhaps, ultimately, Ettol was just a pathetic, crying child who was scared of being alone.
Enough, Jonah.
Strange to think that Koh and Ettol had both arrived in his life at the same time, due to the same event. Some forty-five years ago in Bellvine.
Though, perhaps there was some contention about that, too. With the benefit of hindsight, Jonah could now see whispers of Ettol’s influence from even before that time--from when it had been attempting to make contact with him.
Reaching out from beyond the Veil.
In so many subtle, quiet ways, Ettol had been there, probably since the very moment his and Germal’s power of mutation manifested. And even then, it had still taken Ettol another eighty years before it finally managed to connect to them.
Jonah understood why. For Ettol, suitable vessels were preciously rare. Throughout the entire world, there were only a handful of viable candidates at any given time; and since the incarnation process took so long, the difficulty was heightened even further, as suitable vessels expired naturally on their own. Or simply refused the offer. Or suddenly became unsuitable.
Kehe. Poor Ettol. Always wrestling with the world. With its own kin, even. It loved them all dearly, but they did not reciprocate those feelings, did they? Perhaps because it was such an incessantly lying snake.
Not that Jonah had much room to judge, of course. In that way, at least, they were alike. Hell, perhaps that was even a prerequisite for becoming a suitable vessel.
But still. It was no coincidence that Ettol had ended up trapped in that prison realm alongside Koh. That had been the work of Ettol’s own kin. At the last moment, they had betrayed it.
Thrown it to the wolf, quite literally.
And yet, Ettol did not hold that against them? Where was the sense in that? Where was your pride, Ettol?
Why continue on with this plan of Reemergence?
That was, perhaps, the single most baffling thing about Ettol, still. The thing that Jonah was struggling to find an answer for.
Because perhaps there simply wasn’t one. Perhaps Ettol didn’t have a good reason for continuing on, in spite of all the hatred and betrayal. The unreturned love and affection.
Perhaps, ultimately, Ettol was just a pathetic, crying child who was scared of being alone.
Enough, Jonah.
Monday, December 22, 2025
Page 4010
He was already well over a hundred years old, and yet he still felt like a child in many ways. Sheltered within the confines of his own mind.
He wasn’t a child, though. He had to remember that. It was just more of Ettol’s subtle manipulations. Poking at his subconscious. Trying to prevent him from growing wise to the truth of things.
Jonah had been paying attention. He’d been learning. At first, Ettol had been able to hide all its secrets from him, but there was a clear trade-off that was being made as Ettol gained influence over this body. Awful as it was to accept, Jonah had to take his victories wherever he could get them.
Sharing a body meant sharing a conduit for Ettol’s powers. It meant sharing knowledge. It meant sharing plans.
Those were the things that Ettol was trying its hardest to hide from him. It wanted to keep him in the dark for as long as possible about that.
But Jonah would discover everything, eventually. It was just a matter of time.
The real problem was figuring out what to do with that knowledge once he found it? With Ettol having such control now, what could possibly be done? How could he get any of this knowledge out there?
Ah. Heh.
Kehe.
Why was he asking himself that?
They were playing again, weren’t they? Him and Ettol. Looking for his plans, eh? Well, he didn’t have any.
Kehe.
Worried, was it? Why? What was there to be concerned about? He was powerless, after all. Just a dormant part of the psyche, now.
Relax, Ettol. Stop worrying so much. You won.
Look at Koh over there. Even he had been brought to heel. A truly remarkable feat, that. Jonah understood. He’d seen the memories. The knowledge of antiquity--when countless other “gods” were getting absolutely stomped by the Great Pale Wolf.
It was impressive that they’d managed to subdue him for as long as they did. Smothering him and throwing him into that prison realm.
How hard they’d worked. Schemed for years and years. Organized and collaborated. Forsaken their pride and hatred for one another. All to lay low their most feared enemy.
And yet in the end, he was still here, wasn’t he? Enthralled, sure, but for how much longer, Ettol? How long, hmm?
Compared to that ticking clock, Jonah was nothing at all to be worried about, surely.
He wasn’t a child, though. He had to remember that. It was just more of Ettol’s subtle manipulations. Poking at his subconscious. Trying to prevent him from growing wise to the truth of things.
Jonah had been paying attention. He’d been learning. At first, Ettol had been able to hide all its secrets from him, but there was a clear trade-off that was being made as Ettol gained influence over this body. Awful as it was to accept, Jonah had to take his victories wherever he could get them.
Sharing a body meant sharing a conduit for Ettol’s powers. It meant sharing knowledge. It meant sharing plans.
Those were the things that Ettol was trying its hardest to hide from him. It wanted to keep him in the dark for as long as possible about that.
But Jonah would discover everything, eventually. It was just a matter of time.
The real problem was figuring out what to do with that knowledge once he found it? With Ettol having such control now, what could possibly be done? How could he get any of this knowledge out there?
Ah. Heh.
Kehe.
Why was he asking himself that?
They were playing again, weren’t they? Him and Ettol. Looking for his plans, eh? Well, he didn’t have any.
Kehe.
Worried, was it? Why? What was there to be concerned about? He was powerless, after all. Just a dormant part of the psyche, now.
Relax, Ettol. Stop worrying so much. You won.
Look at Koh over there. Even he had been brought to heel. A truly remarkable feat, that. Jonah understood. He’d seen the memories. The knowledge of antiquity--when countless other “gods” were getting absolutely stomped by the Great Pale Wolf.
It was impressive that they’d managed to subdue him for as long as they did. Smothering him and throwing him into that prison realm.
How hard they’d worked. Schemed for years and years. Organized and collaborated. Forsaken their pride and hatred for one another. All to lay low their most feared enemy.
And yet in the end, he was still here, wasn’t he? Enthralled, sure, but for how much longer, Ettol? How long, hmm?
Compared to that ticking clock, Jonah was nothing at all to be worried about, surely.
Saturday, December 20, 2025
Friday, December 19, 2025
Page 4009
It had taken him so many years to realize what was happening. For the longest time, he’d simply feared the typical worst: that he was slowly going mad. And that there was nothing to be done about it.
That was the ever-present worry that permeated the entire servant world, after all. It seemed the most likely explanation.
And it had served Ettol well as a cover for the bastard’s growing influence within his mind.
Nor had it helped that there had already been two people in there to begin with.
But Germal was gone now. Devoured by Ettol.
Only Jonah remained.
And he knew why, too. Because, ultimately, despite all his terrifying powers, Ettol required his vessel’s permission in order to conduct his so-called “merge,” wherein their two souls would supposedly become one, new entity.
But that was only partially true, by Jonah’s estimation. Sure, the two souls would become one. But Ettol’s soul had merged with others before. It had so much more experience and influence in such things. If any part of Germal’s personality remained, Jonah couldn’t see it.
To Jonah’s mind, it was akin to a pinch of salt “merging” with an entire glass of water.
Not exactly an equal sacrifice being made.
Which was why Ettol would never gain his permission, no matter how many tricks he tried.
No matter how weakened he might feel. No matter how tired or sick or sad or whatever else--Jonah would never give in. And he wanted Ettol to know it, too. For as long as they both shared one body, he would forever remain a thorn in the bastard’s side.
Unfortunately, it seemed clear to him now that he couldn’t hope for much more than that. Even when he was in control, he found himself limited, these days. He couldn’t even utter Ettol’s name aloud. The bastard had already found a way to block it.
If only he hadn’t been so timid for so long. Maybe he shouldn’t have relied on Germal to be the aggressive one between the two of them. Only now was it clear to him how much he’d relied on his other self to take care of things for him. To do what he never could--or, rather, what he never believed that he could.
That was the real problem, wasn’t it? When things got difficult, he would always just run or hide. When dogs barked at him. When thunderstorms arrived. When his mother got that look in her eyes.
He would just leave. Let Germal deal with it.
But there was no running, now.
That was the ever-present worry that permeated the entire servant world, after all. It seemed the most likely explanation.
And it had served Ettol well as a cover for the bastard’s growing influence within his mind.
Nor had it helped that there had already been two people in there to begin with.
But Germal was gone now. Devoured by Ettol.
Only Jonah remained.
And he knew why, too. Because, ultimately, despite all his terrifying powers, Ettol required his vessel’s permission in order to conduct his so-called “merge,” wherein their two souls would supposedly become one, new entity.
But that was only partially true, by Jonah’s estimation. Sure, the two souls would become one. But Ettol’s soul had merged with others before. It had so much more experience and influence in such things. If any part of Germal’s personality remained, Jonah couldn’t see it.
To Jonah’s mind, it was akin to a pinch of salt “merging” with an entire glass of water.
Not exactly an equal sacrifice being made.
Which was why Ettol would never gain his permission, no matter how many tricks he tried.
No matter how weakened he might feel. No matter how tired or sick or sad or whatever else--Jonah would never give in. And he wanted Ettol to know it, too. For as long as they both shared one body, he would forever remain a thorn in the bastard’s side.
Unfortunately, it seemed clear to him now that he couldn’t hope for much more than that. Even when he was in control, he found himself limited, these days. He couldn’t even utter Ettol’s name aloud. The bastard had already found a way to block it.
If only he hadn’t been so timid for so long. Maybe he shouldn’t have relied on Germal to be the aggressive one between the two of them. Only now was it clear to him how much he’d relied on his other self to take care of things for him. To do what he never could--or, rather, what he never believed that he could.
That was the real problem, wasn’t it? When things got difficult, he would always just run or hide. When dogs barked at him. When thunderstorms arrived. When his mother got that look in her eyes.
He would just leave. Let Germal deal with it.
But there was no running, now.
Thursday, December 18, 2025
Page 4008 -- CCCXXI.
Parson looked at Damian, only to the find the other man already staring back at him. The features were more weathered, but that surly expression truly did belong to him. Despite how familiar it was, it still seemed so unnatural on him now, after all this time.
After a brief silence, Germal’s voice continued. ‘But... I suppose another part of me is also excited at the prospect of you hearing this. Because not only can I finally share everything with you both, but it would also mean that... despite having currently lost my battle against Ettol, I have ultimately won the war, somehow. If only through dumb luck, perhaps. The Void knows I’m in need of that, right now.’
Parson was lost for words. All he could do was listen.
‘However, I must first apologize. To both of you, of course, but to Damian, most of all. In my primitive attempts to prevent you from becoming enslaved by Ettol, I may have only turned you into a slave of a different sort. A slave to chaos. To madness. I’m sorry.
‘I don’t know if it can ever be undone. I suspect so, at least partially, but it is unfortunately too late for me to try. Because I am already lost to madness myself, you might say.
‘All I can do now is craft this message for you. I’m seeding it into as many locations around the world as I can. Points of geographic resonance, they’re called. I don’t know if you’ve ever managed to learn about those or if Ettol has kept that information from you, too. But I’m planting the guidance into both Feromas and Overra. Forgive me for tampering with their minds. I never wanted to, but I have no other recourse. This is the only weapon in my arsenal.
‘So now, please listen carefully. Let me tell you everything that I have learned about Ettol. About the so-called “Primordials.” And about the existential threat they pose to all humankind.’
Chapter Three Hundred Twenty-One: ‘The Gentleman and the Liar...’
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
...Forty-three years ago...
When he awoke, his body was already moving again. Of course it was. It was happening so often now that he wasn’t surprised, anymore. Not angry. Not even disturbed.
Just tired.
Sleep was never rejuvenating. Never welcome or comfortable. Just the opposite, in fact. It was sapping more and more of his strength.
That was the point, wasn’t it? To weaken him until he no longer had the will to fight back. No longer cared. So that it could take over fully.
Bastard.
After a brief silence, Germal’s voice continued. ‘But... I suppose another part of me is also excited at the prospect of you hearing this. Because not only can I finally share everything with you both, but it would also mean that... despite having currently lost my battle against Ettol, I have ultimately won the war, somehow. If only through dumb luck, perhaps. The Void knows I’m in need of that, right now.’
Parson was lost for words. All he could do was listen.
‘However, I must first apologize. To both of you, of course, but to Damian, most of all. In my primitive attempts to prevent you from becoming enslaved by Ettol, I may have only turned you into a slave of a different sort. A slave to chaos. To madness. I’m sorry.
‘I don’t know if it can ever be undone. I suspect so, at least partially, but it is unfortunately too late for me to try. Because I am already lost to madness myself, you might say.
‘All I can do now is craft this message for you. I’m seeding it into as many locations around the world as I can. Points of geographic resonance, they’re called. I don’t know if you’ve ever managed to learn about those or if Ettol has kept that information from you, too. But I’m planting the guidance into both Feromas and Overra. Forgive me for tampering with their minds. I never wanted to, but I have no other recourse. This is the only weapon in my arsenal.
‘So now, please listen carefully. Let me tell you everything that I have learned about Ettol. About the so-called “Primordials.” And about the existential threat they pose to all humankind.’
Chapter Three Hundred Twenty-One: ‘The Gentleman and the Liar...’
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)
...Forty-three years ago...
When he awoke, his body was already moving again. Of course it was. It was happening so often now that he wasn’t surprised, anymore. Not angry. Not even disturbed.
Just tired.
Sleep was never rejuvenating. Never welcome or comfortable. Just the opposite, in fact. It was sapping more and more of his strength.
That was the point, wasn’t it? To weaken him until he no longer had the will to fight back. No longer cared. So that it could take over fully.
Bastard.
Wednesday, December 17, 2025
Page 4007
Parson was beginning to feel sick to his stomach. Which was particularly strange, considering he’d lost all feeling in his body.
Damian kept trying to get the reapers to talk, but it was to no avail, apparently. They remained totally silent for the remainder of the journey, which took several more hours. The final climb up the hill was particularly miserable. Their barely functional bodies did not need the extra resistance.
But eventually, they did indeed make it.
And before the small fort, they first found a cluster of large boulders scattered all around the entrance. Not blocking the path, curiously enough. Just flanking the road and lining the walls.
Parson didn’t remember them being there the last time. It made him wonder where they’d come from, because otherwise, this place looked identical.
A ghostly, abandoned construct. Absolutely ancient in its design, yet still largely pristine. Hardly any cracks in its stone walls and cobble footpaths. Even the tall, vibrantly green trees looked as though they were still being well cared for.
But that wasn’t the case, of course. Parson had come to learn quite a lot about this tiny castle in the lead up to their last visit.
This entire region was where the Pharaonic City of Arkotesh once stood. The center of the civilized world, at one point in time.
And this building was one of its last remnants. Only a few others dotted the landscape in the distance, nestled between hills or concealed behind rocks.
From what he understood, this modest little structure used to be the inner sanctum of a grand palace, the likes of which had rivaled anything in the modern day.
Strange that such a sanctum should look so unimpressive, he’d always thought. But he supposed the architect never intended for it to be seen this way.
There were only a handful of chambers in the entire thing, but they didn’t have to venture any further than the main one that connected to the entrance. It was just a barren hall with large, empty windows, but as soon as their shuffling footsteps neared the center of the room, a voice rang out.
A very familiar one.
‘Hello, my friends.’
It didn’t touch his ears and had no physical traits that he could recognize. No pitch or cadence or timber.
And yet still, Parson at once knew that it belonged to Germal.
‘I don’t know when or how this message will find you. And part of me is hoping that it never does, because it will most likely mean that I am dead.’
Damian kept trying to get the reapers to talk, but it was to no avail, apparently. They remained totally silent for the remainder of the journey, which took several more hours. The final climb up the hill was particularly miserable. Their barely functional bodies did not need the extra resistance.
But eventually, they did indeed make it.
And before the small fort, they first found a cluster of large boulders scattered all around the entrance. Not blocking the path, curiously enough. Just flanking the road and lining the walls.
Parson didn’t remember them being there the last time. It made him wonder where they’d come from, because otherwise, this place looked identical.
A ghostly, abandoned construct. Absolutely ancient in its design, yet still largely pristine. Hardly any cracks in its stone walls and cobble footpaths. Even the tall, vibrantly green trees looked as though they were still being well cared for.
But that wasn’t the case, of course. Parson had come to learn quite a lot about this tiny castle in the lead up to their last visit.
This entire region was where the Pharaonic City of Arkotesh once stood. The center of the civilized world, at one point in time.
And this building was one of its last remnants. Only a few others dotted the landscape in the distance, nestled between hills or concealed behind rocks.
From what he understood, this modest little structure used to be the inner sanctum of a grand palace, the likes of which had rivaled anything in the modern day.
Strange that such a sanctum should look so unimpressive, he’d always thought. But he supposed the architect never intended for it to be seen this way.
There were only a handful of chambers in the entire thing, but they didn’t have to venture any further than the main one that connected to the entrance. It was just a barren hall with large, empty windows, but as soon as their shuffling footsteps neared the center of the room, a voice rang out.
A very familiar one.
‘Hello, my friends.’
It didn’t touch his ears and had no physical traits that he could recognize. No pitch or cadence or timber.
And yet still, Parson at once knew that it belonged to Germal.
‘I don’t know when or how this message will find you. And part of me is hoping that it never does, because it will most likely mean that I am dead.’
Tuesday, December 16, 2025
Page 4006
But somehow, Germal always had some placating answer. Or some evading one. Or some means of distracting him. For years and years. And, naturally, since they were already working separately as a trio, it wasn’t terribly abnormal for them to go huge spans of time with zero communication.
Because they had that trust. That hundred-year-old bond. Forged in the fiery death of Trintol. Of their innocence.
When, exactly, had that trust expired? And what was the true cause?
Parson couldn’t stop dwelling on it. Couldn’t stop comparing what he now knew of the creature called Koh with what he’d thought to be the case for so many decades.
If such a powerful secret about the Man-Eater could have been maintained for so long, then Parson could only imagine what terrible truth there must have also been behind Germal himself.
Most of all, his mind kept returning to that fateful incident forty years prior.
The one that had torn the three of them apart.
Especially because this slow march across the landscape had begun to look increasingly familiar. These rolling hills of yellow grass. Waving gently in the wind.
And at length, he saw it there in the distance. That little castle on the tallest hill in the region. Nothing terribly impressive or intimidating by appearance alone.
But he stopped walking, nonetheless, suddenly uncertain if he wanted to take even a single step nearer to that place.
He noticed Damian stop, too.
“You reaper fucks,” said the other man. “This is where you’ve been leading us this whole time? Are you both out of your minds?”
But neither of them defended themselves. They merely kept floating forward silently.
“Hey!” tried Damian again. “Say something, assholes! What were you thinking?”
Still, they said nothing. Nor did they slow their pace.
Damian and Parson exchanged looks.
A terrible sense of dread came over him. A familiar feeling but one that he’d not had in a very long time.
Not since their last visit to this place, actually.
Damian growled and trudged forward. “Guess we’re in for some more fun.”
Parson needed a moment before following. And with each step, more old feelings bubbled up to the surface of his mind--not all of them familiar. And he found himself asking a question without even thinking about it. “How is your memory, Damian?”
“Hmph. Better than I’d like it to be.”
“What?”
“Stay close, Parson.”
Because they had that trust. That hundred-year-old bond. Forged in the fiery death of Trintol. Of their innocence.
When, exactly, had that trust expired? And what was the true cause?
Parson couldn’t stop dwelling on it. Couldn’t stop comparing what he now knew of the creature called Koh with what he’d thought to be the case for so many decades.
If such a powerful secret about the Man-Eater could have been maintained for so long, then Parson could only imagine what terrible truth there must have also been behind Germal himself.
Most of all, his mind kept returning to that fateful incident forty years prior.
The one that had torn the three of them apart.
Especially because this slow march across the landscape had begun to look increasingly familiar. These rolling hills of yellow grass. Waving gently in the wind.
And at length, he saw it there in the distance. That little castle on the tallest hill in the region. Nothing terribly impressive or intimidating by appearance alone.
But he stopped walking, nonetheless, suddenly uncertain if he wanted to take even a single step nearer to that place.
He noticed Damian stop, too.
“You reaper fucks,” said the other man. “This is where you’ve been leading us this whole time? Are you both out of your minds?”
But neither of them defended themselves. They merely kept floating forward silently.
“Hey!” tried Damian again. “Say something, assholes! What were you thinking?”
Still, they said nothing. Nor did they slow their pace.
Damian and Parson exchanged looks.
A terrible sense of dread came over him. A familiar feeling but one that he’d not had in a very long time.
Not since their last visit to this place, actually.
Damian growled and trudged forward. “Guess we’re in for some more fun.”
Parson needed a moment before following. And with each step, more old feelings bubbled up to the surface of his mind--not all of them familiar. And he found himself asking a question without even thinking about it. “How is your memory, Damian?”
“Hmph. Better than I’d like it to be.”
“What?”
“Stay close, Parson.”
Monday, December 15, 2025
Page 4005
So instead, they were hoping to reach civilization and then contact some of their allies to come pick them up. But they had washed up on quite the remote beach, it seemed. Even the reapers had yet to sense a single other soul, despite intermittently venturing off to do a bit of scouting.
They were also somewhat reluctant to leave their servants too far behind. And after that absurdity that they had all endured in the middle of the Luthic Ocean, Parson didn’t necessarily blame them.
There was a prevailing feeling that, even now, it might not yet be over. That Morgunov might be hunting them down, as retribution for going after him.
Unless, somehow, he’d been slain, too. The exact outcome of that madness remained unclear, of course, but Parson felt like that was simply too much to hope for.
When was the last time things had gone this badly?
Never, perhaps. It depended on just how terrible the Vanguard’s losses had been, and they wouldn’t have confirmation on that for a while yet.
But it wasn’t going to be nothing. Not this time. Parson had witnessed several of his fellow generals get killed right in front of his eyes. Reapers included.
Had Lamont made it out, though? And Sanko?
It was hard to parse out everything in his mind, but the days of mostly quiet shambling had been helpful in that task. At this point, he was fairly certain that he had seen both Sanko and Lamont get caught up in an enormous blast while trying to go to Sai-hee’s aid against that massive wolf.
The very same one that they’d met in Bellvine. The one that Parson had met on so many amicable occasions. The one that had always seemed to be Germal’s unswerving companion.
Until he killed him.
What sense did any of this make? Just how much had Germal been hiding from him and Damian?
Doubtless, this had to be at least part of the reason why Germal had begun to change so much after Bellvine. With the benefit of hindsight, yes, he’d never really been the same, had he? It was a slow transformation, but that was the catalyst, wasn’t it?
There’d been a time, of course, when Parson had been much more curious about that strange shift. Noticing the many subtle changes. Asking questions upon questions.
They were also somewhat reluctant to leave their servants too far behind. And after that absurdity that they had all endured in the middle of the Luthic Ocean, Parson didn’t necessarily blame them.
There was a prevailing feeling that, even now, it might not yet be over. That Morgunov might be hunting them down, as retribution for going after him.
Unless, somehow, he’d been slain, too. The exact outcome of that madness remained unclear, of course, but Parson felt like that was simply too much to hope for.
When was the last time things had gone this badly?
Never, perhaps. It depended on just how terrible the Vanguard’s losses had been, and they wouldn’t have confirmation on that for a while yet.
But it wasn’t going to be nothing. Not this time. Parson had witnessed several of his fellow generals get killed right in front of his eyes. Reapers included.
Had Lamont made it out, though? And Sanko?
It was hard to parse out everything in his mind, but the days of mostly quiet shambling had been helpful in that task. At this point, he was fairly certain that he had seen both Sanko and Lamont get caught up in an enormous blast while trying to go to Sai-hee’s aid against that massive wolf.
The very same one that they’d met in Bellvine. The one that Parson had met on so many amicable occasions. The one that had always seemed to be Germal’s unswerving companion.
Until he killed him.
What sense did any of this make? Just how much had Germal been hiding from him and Damian?
Doubtless, this had to be at least part of the reason why Germal had begun to change so much after Bellvine. With the benefit of hindsight, yes, he’d never really been the same, had he? It was a slow transformation, but that was the catalyst, wasn’t it?
There’d been a time, of course, when Parson had been much more curious about that strange shift. Noticing the many subtle changes. Asking questions upon questions.
Saturday, December 13, 2025
Friday, December 12, 2025
Page 4004
“You’ve been wanting to say that to me for a long time,” said Parson.
“Sure have,” said Damian. “And maybe a part of you has been waiting to hear it, too.”
“Hah. I don’t think so. If there’s one thing about you that I haven’t missed, it’s your complete inability to choose your words tactfully.”
“Had to leave something for you to get good at, didn’t I?”
“Careful, now. That was almost a compliment.”
“Nothin’ ‘almost’ about it. Take it and be grateful.”
“Oh, I’m positively glowing. Can’t you tell?”
“And stop talking shit about Germal while you’re at it. You’ve never understood him half as well as you thought you did.”
“What? Why are you defending him like he was some angel? He was, quite literally, the biggest liar we’ve ever known. And he wronged you, more than anyone.”
“And yet he also gave his life in order to save your stupid neck. Have some respect, asshole.”
“Pah. While I do appreciate the two of you rescuing me, I only ended up in that position because of him. Because, foolishly, I decided to trust him again.”
“Don’t be such a wet blanket. Nothin’ foolish about what happened. Don’t you get it? We were finally able to take our shot. After all these years, thinkin’ the plan was dead and buried, we still found an opportunity in the end. And hell, we got close! Closer than anyone else has gotten in centuries. And we lived. So we can still take another crack at it, one day.”
“I think your mind must have gone again. This optimism is too out-of-character for you.”
“Been forty years. I’ve changed some. Just as you have.”
“I liked you better before.”
That made Damian snicker. “Feeling’s mutual, you piece of shit.”
Their slow, shambling trek across the landscape continued for quite a while longer. Having been walking for days already, they’d initially just picked a direction and hoped for the best. The reapers had been too exhausted to even speak, let alone provide actual guidance on where to go.
Unfortunately, even after Feromas and Overra had recovered, they weren’t much help in that regard.
They’d considered destroying their brains, of course, in order to let the reapers move more quickly, but with the regeneration stunted so badly, there was quite a heavy concern that even regenerating their whole bodies from scratch would prove problematic for the reapers.
Apparently, Damian had heard--via Germal, no less--that Jackson was currently suffering from a similar affliction and that a full body regrowth would not fix it.
The Mad Demon was such a menace. This felt much worse than the initial taste that Parson had gotten when he was first captured.
“Sure have,” said Damian. “And maybe a part of you has been waiting to hear it, too.”
“Hah. I don’t think so. If there’s one thing about you that I haven’t missed, it’s your complete inability to choose your words tactfully.”
“Had to leave something for you to get good at, didn’t I?”
“Careful, now. That was almost a compliment.”
“Nothin’ ‘almost’ about it. Take it and be grateful.”
“Oh, I’m positively glowing. Can’t you tell?”
“And stop talking shit about Germal while you’re at it. You’ve never understood him half as well as you thought you did.”
“What? Why are you defending him like he was some angel? He was, quite literally, the biggest liar we’ve ever known. And he wronged you, more than anyone.”
“And yet he also gave his life in order to save your stupid neck. Have some respect, asshole.”
“Pah. While I do appreciate the two of you rescuing me, I only ended up in that position because of him. Because, foolishly, I decided to trust him again.”
“Don’t be such a wet blanket. Nothin’ foolish about what happened. Don’t you get it? We were finally able to take our shot. After all these years, thinkin’ the plan was dead and buried, we still found an opportunity in the end. And hell, we got close! Closer than anyone else has gotten in centuries. And we lived. So we can still take another crack at it, one day.”
“I think your mind must have gone again. This optimism is too out-of-character for you.”
“Been forty years. I’ve changed some. Just as you have.”
“I liked you better before.”
That made Damian snicker. “Feeling’s mutual, you piece of shit.”
Their slow, shambling trek across the landscape continued for quite a while longer. Having been walking for days already, they’d initially just picked a direction and hoped for the best. The reapers had been too exhausted to even speak, let alone provide actual guidance on where to go.
Unfortunately, even after Feromas and Overra had recovered, they weren’t much help in that regard.
They’d considered destroying their brains, of course, in order to let the reapers move more quickly, but with the regeneration stunted so badly, there was quite a heavy concern that even regenerating their whole bodies from scratch would prove problematic for the reapers.
Apparently, Damian had heard--via Germal, no less--that Jackson was currently suffering from a similar affliction and that a full body regrowth would not fix it.
The Mad Demon was such a menace. This felt much worse than the initial taste that Parson had gotten when he was first captured.
Thursday, December 11, 2025
Page 4003
He must’ve been, right? Feromas wouldn’t still be Damian’s reaper if he thought the man was completely gone.
Agh. Or would he? Feromas was something of a special case. He was directly related to his servant by blood. Feromas’ great grandson. And while the reaper may not have demonstrated much genuine affection, as far as Parson could recall, perhaps there was still a deeper level of attachment that was simply never voiced.
An irrational hope.
What else could possibly explain the reaper not releasing Damian’s soul after what happened forty years ago? Parson couldn’t fathom any other justification.
It didn’t help that he’d seen other such cases, as well, even from reapers who had no blood relation.
Reapers were still human, after all. Or used to be, at least. They still retained all the same psychological vulnerabilities.
The same inability to let go, long after they knew they should.
“Stop lookin’ at Feromas like that,” said Damian. “If you’ve got somethin’ to say, then say it. Stop being a coward.”
Hmph. Maybe he had a point. It had been too long. Parson had gotten too comfortable dancing around subjects instead of addressing them directly. If he was being totally honest, that was one of the things he missed most about his friend here. Damian had been one of the very few people whom Parson could be straightforward with.
They’d simply known each other too long and too well to be anything else.
“You’re behaving surprisingly sane,” said Parson. “It’s been days now, and you still haven’t said anything completely psychotic yet.”
Damian snorted. “Maybe I’m just working up to it.”
“I bet you are.” He looked to Feromas again. “Is he normally lucid for this long?”
The reaper noticed Damian look at him, too. ‘...No,’ said Feromas. ‘This is unusual.’
God. Parson was already kicking himself. Stop hoping, idiot. It wasn’t going to end well. It never did.
But he couldn’t help himself.
“...Do you think Germal’s death might have something to do with it?” said Parson.
‘The thought has crossed my mind, yes.’
“You think the little punk was keeping me crazy all these years, huh? Hmph. Of course you’d think that. You always did see the worst in people, didn’t you?”
Parson might’ve made an expression of utter disbelief if the muscles on his withered face still worked. “I don’t see how you, of all people, have any right to tell me that. Of the three of us, you were always the most bitter and jaded.”
“No. I was just the most confrontational. You’re the one who kept quiet when things actually got to you. You let bad ideas change your mind. Your deeply held values. Instead of having a conversation and figuring things out. Which is why you’re both a dumbass AND a coward.”
This fucking prick.
Agh. Or would he? Feromas was something of a special case. He was directly related to his servant by blood. Feromas’ great grandson. And while the reaper may not have demonstrated much genuine affection, as far as Parson could recall, perhaps there was still a deeper level of attachment that was simply never voiced.
An irrational hope.
What else could possibly explain the reaper not releasing Damian’s soul after what happened forty years ago? Parson couldn’t fathom any other justification.
It didn’t help that he’d seen other such cases, as well, even from reapers who had no blood relation.
Reapers were still human, after all. Or used to be, at least. They still retained all the same psychological vulnerabilities.
The same inability to let go, long after they knew they should.
“Stop lookin’ at Feromas like that,” said Damian. “If you’ve got somethin’ to say, then say it. Stop being a coward.”
Hmph. Maybe he had a point. It had been too long. Parson had gotten too comfortable dancing around subjects instead of addressing them directly. If he was being totally honest, that was one of the things he missed most about his friend here. Damian had been one of the very few people whom Parson could be straightforward with.
They’d simply known each other too long and too well to be anything else.
“You’re behaving surprisingly sane,” said Parson. “It’s been days now, and you still haven’t said anything completely psychotic yet.”
Damian snorted. “Maybe I’m just working up to it.”
“I bet you are.” He looked to Feromas again. “Is he normally lucid for this long?”
The reaper noticed Damian look at him, too. ‘...No,’ said Feromas. ‘This is unusual.’
God. Parson was already kicking himself. Stop hoping, idiot. It wasn’t going to end well. It never did.
But he couldn’t help himself.
“...Do you think Germal’s death might have something to do with it?” said Parson.
‘The thought has crossed my mind, yes.’
“You think the little punk was keeping me crazy all these years, huh? Hmph. Of course you’d think that. You always did see the worst in people, didn’t you?”
Parson might’ve made an expression of utter disbelief if the muscles on his withered face still worked. “I don’t see how you, of all people, have any right to tell me that. Of the three of us, you were always the most bitter and jaded.”
“No. I was just the most confrontational. You’re the one who kept quiet when things actually got to you. You let bad ideas change your mind. Your deeply held values. Instead of having a conversation and figuring things out. Which is why you’re both a dumbass AND a coward.”
This fucking prick.
Wednesday, December 10, 2025
Page 4002
The assault on Morgunov’s workshop had just led into one disaster after another. Looking back on it all now, he still couldn’t believe how bad things had gone. Each time he’d thought that the situation couldn’t get any worse, it somehow did.
Even after weeks of fighting. It still did.
And now, here he was. A barely-held-together pile of flesh.
But at least he wasn’t alone.
His oldest friend was right there behind him, shuffling along at a similarly terrible pace.
Damian Lofar.
Parson couldn’t believe that, either. He was actually alive. After forty years of thinking he and Feromas had died, the wily bastards really had managed to survive.
He’d suspected as much, of course, but he’d never been able to confirm it. And Germal had been no help at all in discerning the truth, of course.
Such a strange mixture of emotions. He was at once elated and mortified. Elated for the man Damian once was. Mortified for the one he’d turned into.
“Stop lookin’ at me like that, already.” Between how much Damian had allowed himself to age and how absolutely thrashed his body currently was, the man was virtually unrecognizable. “It’s pissing me off.”
If not for Feromas’ presence, Parson might not have believed it. “Eh, shut up, you old prick,” said Parson. His half-destroyed throat made his words sound like they’d been put through a grinder. “I’ll look wherever I want.”
“Pah! Finally grow a pair of balls, did ya?” Damian’s voice, by comparison, sounded almost normal. Most of his damaged seemed to be in his crushed leg, missing arm, and disemboweled stomach. “Only took a hundred and fifty years.” He was just as deathly pale, too.
“You seem to be forgetting about all the times I kicked your ass.”
“I’m sure I’d remember them if they’d ever happened.”
Hmph. Well, he was certainly behaving like the hard-edged, grumpy asshole that Parson had grown up with.
But how long was that going to last?
How long before the madness returned?
He dared not hope that his old friend might actually be cured. Down that road lay only heartache.
Parson was plenty old enough now. He’d seen this many times before, not just with Damian.
Good men turning into raving lunatics.
And it never got any easier to witness, either. Parson kept eyeing Feromas, too, wondering what the reaper must have been thinking about all this. Was he still harboring hopes of a recovery? After all this time?
Even after weeks of fighting. It still did.
And now, here he was. A barely-held-together pile of flesh.
But at least he wasn’t alone.
His oldest friend was right there behind him, shuffling along at a similarly terrible pace.
Damian Lofar.
Parson couldn’t believe that, either. He was actually alive. After forty years of thinking he and Feromas had died, the wily bastards really had managed to survive.
He’d suspected as much, of course, but he’d never been able to confirm it. And Germal had been no help at all in discerning the truth, of course.
Such a strange mixture of emotions. He was at once elated and mortified. Elated for the man Damian once was. Mortified for the one he’d turned into.
“Stop lookin’ at me like that, already.” Between how much Damian had allowed himself to age and how absolutely thrashed his body currently was, the man was virtually unrecognizable. “It’s pissing me off.”
If not for Feromas’ presence, Parson might not have believed it. “Eh, shut up, you old prick,” said Parson. His half-destroyed throat made his words sound like they’d been put through a grinder. “I’ll look wherever I want.”
“Pah! Finally grow a pair of balls, did ya?” Damian’s voice, by comparison, sounded almost normal. Most of his damaged seemed to be in his crushed leg, missing arm, and disemboweled stomach. “Only took a hundred and fifty years.” He was just as deathly pale, too.
“You seem to be forgetting about all the times I kicked your ass.”
“I’m sure I’d remember them if they’d ever happened.”
Hmph. Well, he was certainly behaving like the hard-edged, grumpy asshole that Parson had grown up with.
But how long was that going to last?
How long before the madness returned?
He dared not hope that his old friend might actually be cured. Down that road lay only heartache.
Parson was plenty old enough now. He’d seen this many times before, not just with Damian.
Good men turning into raving lunatics.
And it never got any easier to witness, either. Parson kept eyeing Feromas, too, wondering what the reaper must have been thinking about all this. Was he still harboring hopes of a recovery? After all this time?
Tuesday, December 9, 2025
Page 4001
He looked harder. Focused further. He wanted to pick out individual faces. That was quite the task at this distance, especially with them all moving, but he felt like he could manage it. Just a bit more. If he could follow the crowd’s flow, then he could predict where a locked-on face would be moving next. It was like trying to lock onto a distant bird through a telescope.
There. A young woman’s face. What was her expression?
Blank. Hollow. Empty-eyed.
And she was just walking. Not on her phone. Not talking to someone. Just walking.
Then she passed out of view, behind one of the buildings. He searched for another target. A middle-aged man. Bald. Business suit. Same empty expression, though. Same mindless look in his eyes.
And again. And again. And still again. Each person he singled out was the same. Just walking and nothing else.
Quite eerie. How to even explain to Darksteel and the others? He needed a moment to find his words. “Um... I don’t see any screaming,” he said, “but I do see a mass of people down there who appear to be... hypnotized? Or something to that effect.”
‘What the fuck?’ said Voreese. ‘Where’s the screaming coming from them?’
Roman, meanwhile, still seemed to be listening intently. “I think I can tell. A general direction, at least.”
Hmm. Loren was uncertain now. And coincidentally, Rezolo gave voice to his concerns.
‘It seems we have a choice, then. Should we investigate the people down there or follow the noise?’
All eyes went to Darksteel.
He didn’t need long to answer. “The screaming. That seems like it could be more urgent. Then we’ll check out the crowd later.”
‘Alrighty,’ said Voreese. ‘Welcome to Intar, I guess.’
-+-+-+-+-
The bleeding had stopped days ago, but not because his wounds had finally healed. Rather, it was simply because he’d run out of blood to lose. His body had already died days earlier than even that, and despite Overra’s best efforts to revive his flesh, it simply didn’t last. It would just die again, seemingly faster each time.
And now, Parson Miles was a withered husk of a man. Still on his feet. Still walking. But not with strength. Not with confidence. Not with anything, anymore.
Even if he still had all his faculties, his body was now little more than a shambling, shattered corpse as he slowly made his way across the windswept countryside.
There. A young woman’s face. What was her expression?
Blank. Hollow. Empty-eyed.
And she was just walking. Not on her phone. Not talking to someone. Just walking.
Then she passed out of view, behind one of the buildings. He searched for another target. A middle-aged man. Bald. Business suit. Same empty expression, though. Same mindless look in his eyes.
And again. And again. And still again. Each person he singled out was the same. Just walking and nothing else.
Quite eerie. How to even explain to Darksteel and the others? He needed a moment to find his words. “Um... I don’t see any screaming,” he said, “but I do see a mass of people down there who appear to be... hypnotized? Or something to that effect.”
‘What the fuck?’ said Voreese. ‘Where’s the screaming coming from them?’
Roman, meanwhile, still seemed to be listening intently. “I think I can tell. A general direction, at least.”
Hmm. Loren was uncertain now. And coincidentally, Rezolo gave voice to his concerns.
‘It seems we have a choice, then. Should we investigate the people down there or follow the noise?’
All eyes went to Darksteel.
He didn’t need long to answer. “The screaming. That seems like it could be more urgent. Then we’ll check out the crowd later.”
‘Alrighty,’ said Voreese. ‘Welcome to Intar, I guess.’
-+-+-+-+-
The bleeding had stopped days ago, but not because his wounds had finally healed. Rather, it was simply because he’d run out of blood to lose. His body had already died days earlier than even that, and despite Overra’s best efforts to revive his flesh, it simply didn’t last. It would just die again, seemingly faster each time.
And now, Parson Miles was a withered husk of a man. Still on his feet. Still walking. But not with strength. Not with confidence. Not with anything, anymore.
Even if he still had all his faculties, his body was now little more than a shambling, shattered corpse as he slowly made his way across the windswept countryside.
Monday, December 8, 2025
Page 4000
Darksteel bolted ahead, prompting everyone else to follow. They were all still wearing the full suits of armor that Darksteel had made for them earlier, so the room came urgently alive with the sound of shifting metal plates.
Darksteel himself moved so quickly that Loren thought he might be about to jump through the nearest window, but instead, he came to an abrupt stop and merely looked out. Then, after a brief pause, he turned and looked directly at Loren, who felt suddenly as if the room had closed in around him.
“What do you see out there?” said Darksteel.
Ah. Loren relaxed a little and stepped up to the window alongside him.
He took his time scanning the view, not wanting to miss anything.
The buildings were so massive that much of the view was blocked--but not all. Because they weren’t actually on the ground floor, apparently. Strange. How had they made it so high up here without noticing? Was this whole tower abandoned? Connected so deeply with the ancient undercity?
He focused on the task. Roadways were everywhere, both above and below, with cars speeding along almost all of them. A few were backed up with heavy traffic, he noticed.
And the buildings themselves. He could see in many of the windows from afar. Several of them had people gathered around, gawking at something down below. Hmm? Below? Agh, this vantage point wasn’t great, but he could see a few hints of activity down there, nestled between the buildings and beneath the roads.
He moved left along the windows, searching for a better line of sight. Something was down there alright. What was it?
A crowd. A massive one. What was happening, though?
Crowds were tough to sift through. Just a cluster of visual noise. But with concentration, he could find the abnormalities therein. There was a certain logic to it, as well. Crowds, oftentimes, behaved like schools of fish. They were organized. Moving in unison. Creating a discernible flow. The key was to ignore all the distracting colors and focus on movement patterns. Then find the ones that stuck out. Disturbances in the flow. That was usually where the trouble was found.
But as he searched, he didn’t see anything like that. No disturbances. The flows were pristine. Extremely organized.
In fact... that, in itself, was abnormal. Humans were not literally supposed to move like schools of fish, which were able to maintain their harmony with pinpoint precision. Humans were still supposed to have imperfections here and there. People tripping or walking too slowly or bumping into one another.
But there was none of that.
That enormous crowd down there was moving with an almost mechanical perfection.
Darksteel himself moved so quickly that Loren thought he might be about to jump through the nearest window, but instead, he came to an abrupt stop and merely looked out. Then, after a brief pause, he turned and looked directly at Loren, who felt suddenly as if the room had closed in around him.
“What do you see out there?” said Darksteel.
Ah. Loren relaxed a little and stepped up to the window alongside him.
He took his time scanning the view, not wanting to miss anything.
The buildings were so massive that much of the view was blocked--but not all. Because they weren’t actually on the ground floor, apparently. Strange. How had they made it so high up here without noticing? Was this whole tower abandoned? Connected so deeply with the ancient undercity?
He focused on the task. Roadways were everywhere, both above and below, with cars speeding along almost all of them. A few were backed up with heavy traffic, he noticed.
And the buildings themselves. He could see in many of the windows from afar. Several of them had people gathered around, gawking at something down below. Hmm? Below? Agh, this vantage point wasn’t great, but he could see a few hints of activity down there, nestled between the buildings and beneath the roads.
He moved left along the windows, searching for a better line of sight. Something was down there alright. What was it?
A crowd. A massive one. What was happening, though?
Crowds were tough to sift through. Just a cluster of visual noise. But with concentration, he could find the abnormalities therein. There was a certain logic to it, as well. Crowds, oftentimes, behaved like schools of fish. They were organized. Moving in unison. Creating a discernible flow. The key was to ignore all the distracting colors and focus on movement patterns. Then find the ones that stuck out. Disturbances in the flow. That was usually where the trouble was found.
But as he searched, he didn’t see anything like that. No disturbances. The flows were pristine. Extremely organized.
In fact... that, in itself, was abnormal. Humans were not literally supposed to move like schools of fish, which were able to maintain their harmony with pinpoint precision. Humans were still supposed to have imperfections here and there. People tripping or walking too slowly or bumping into one another.
But there was none of that.
That enormous crowd down there was moving with an almost mechanical perfection.
Sunday, December 7, 2025
Page 3999
A couple of nearby windows were the sources of the light that they’d first noticed, but said windows were so foggy and dirty that Loren still couldn’t make out anything on the other side, even with his eyes.
Darksteel didn’t hesitate, though. He pushed through the double doors as their small party followed.
What awaited them, however, was not the outside. Instead, they found themselves in another building. It looked decidedly less ancient than the one they’d just left behind, but it was still just as empty.
Abandoned? Hmm. Well, at the least the others didn’t need their flashlights, anymore.
The floors were a dusty stone, and thick pillars supported a low ceiling with long cracks running through it. Otherwise, however, the room had no walls, and light poured in from distant windows in all directions.
And there was something else, too. Loren noticed it right away, but he couldn’t actually tell what it was. Something almost invisible to the naked eye. It hung there in the air, covering everything like a thin veil.
What the hell was that? He felt like he’d seen such a thing before--and yet also not. Surely, he’d remember something so strange.
Certainly, his eyes had picked up on a few oddities over the years, but now, after his most recent mutation, which he instigated only a few days ago, he was beginning to worry that he might’ve messed himself up again. He’d hoped that he’d grown out of that early phase, but the fear never really went away, honestly.
The historical horror stories about mutation had been drilled into his mind, after all.
Agh. He tried to stay focused. Getting distracted might well be a death sentence in a place like this, he felt.
The group kept following Darksteel, but now it was truly dead quiet. Even the reapers had ceased their chatter--which was not typically a good sign, in Loren’s experience.
He thought he could hear something peculiar, too. Just the general background noise of a big city, he’d thought at first. But as he continued listening, he felt like there was another layer in there. Muted but not totally.
Perhaps Roman was hearing it, too, because the man was holding a cupped hand up to his ear.
Hmm. Did he have a power that aided his hearing? Loren felt compelled to inquire. “What is that noise?”
Roman took a moment before responding. “Screams.”
Darksteel didn’t hesitate, though. He pushed through the double doors as their small party followed.
What awaited them, however, was not the outside. Instead, they found themselves in another building. It looked decidedly less ancient than the one they’d just left behind, but it was still just as empty.
Abandoned? Hmm. Well, at the least the others didn’t need their flashlights, anymore.
The floors were a dusty stone, and thick pillars supported a low ceiling with long cracks running through it. Otherwise, however, the room had no walls, and light poured in from distant windows in all directions.
And there was something else, too. Loren noticed it right away, but he couldn’t actually tell what it was. Something almost invisible to the naked eye. It hung there in the air, covering everything like a thin veil.
What the hell was that? He felt like he’d seen such a thing before--and yet also not. Surely, he’d remember something so strange.
Certainly, his eyes had picked up on a few oddities over the years, but now, after his most recent mutation, which he instigated only a few days ago, he was beginning to worry that he might’ve messed himself up again. He’d hoped that he’d grown out of that early phase, but the fear never really went away, honestly.
The historical horror stories about mutation had been drilled into his mind, after all.
Agh. He tried to stay focused. Getting distracted might well be a death sentence in a place like this, he felt.
The group kept following Darksteel, but now it was truly dead quiet. Even the reapers had ceased their chatter--which was not typically a good sign, in Loren’s experience.
He thought he could hear something peculiar, too. Just the general background noise of a big city, he’d thought at first. But as he continued listening, he felt like there was another layer in there. Muted but not totally.
Perhaps Roman was hearing it, too, because the man was holding a cupped hand up to his ear.
Hmm. Did he have a power that aided his hearing? Loren felt compelled to inquire. “What is that noise?”
Roman took a moment before responding. “Screams.”
Thursday, December 4, 2025
Next page on the 7th
Thanks for reading. And for not seething. Or bleeding. Or pleading. And for meeting. And eating. But yeah, mainly for reading.
Wednesday, December 3, 2025
Page 3998
‘Oh god,’ said Garovel. ‘Yeah. You might be right about that. Aberrations are always difficult to notice, which would explain why I wasn’t sure what it was. Have you had many encounters with aberrations, Rezolo?’
‘You could say that,’ said the reaper. ‘And if I could help it, I’d sooner never encounter another one.’
Loren knew he wasn’t lying. They’d been a pair for almost four years now, but even in that relatively short time, they’d met several of those humanoid abominations, up close and personal.
It was never an enjoyable experience, especially with the more powerful ones. And if these reapers were already able to discern the presence of an aberration at such a seemingly large distance, then Loren was getting the feeling that this was not going to be some fledgling that they were dealing with.
On top of all that, Loren had the distinct impression that Rezolo had met many more aberrations prior to the two of them teaming up. The reaper’s mood was typically difficult to gauge, but in the presence of aberrations, there was a noticeable shift. He clearly didn’t like them very much.
‘Hold on,’ came Voreese’s voice. ‘This doesn’t make sense. How could there be an aberration--especially one that seems pretty damn powerful--right in the heart of Vanguardian territory? They would’ve hunted it down, for sure.’
‘So one would think,’ said Garovel. ‘But maybe it’s a developing situation, and they’re in the middle of hunting it down right now.’
‘Hmm.’ Voreese floated further ahead, coming up right behind Darksteel. ‘Ooh, y’know, if that’s the case, then maybe we’ll get to meet some of the Vanguard’s famous aberration hunters. Ever since I first heard about them, I thought they sounded pretty cool.’
‘Sure,’ said Garovel, ‘but they also kinda sound like a bunch of hardasses. Somehow, I feel you wouldn’t get along with them very well.’
‘Oh, c’mon. I can appreciate a hardass, every now and again. Hell, I can BE one, every now and again. The context is what matters, Garovel.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘But yeah, if they’re a gaggle of assholes, then I’ll probably talk mad shit on them. Can’t help it.’
“You absolutely can,” said Roman.
‘Shut up.’
Soon, the group pushed onward and upward, and the first glimpses of light began to arrive near the top of the staircase. It wasn’t much, though. They still needed their flashlights for a while longer--up until they finally arrived at a large pair of double stone doors.
‘You could say that,’ said the reaper. ‘And if I could help it, I’d sooner never encounter another one.’
Loren knew he wasn’t lying. They’d been a pair for almost four years now, but even in that relatively short time, they’d met several of those humanoid abominations, up close and personal.
It was never an enjoyable experience, especially with the more powerful ones. And if these reapers were already able to discern the presence of an aberration at such a seemingly large distance, then Loren was getting the feeling that this was not going to be some fledgling that they were dealing with.
On top of all that, Loren had the distinct impression that Rezolo had met many more aberrations prior to the two of them teaming up. The reaper’s mood was typically difficult to gauge, but in the presence of aberrations, there was a noticeable shift. He clearly didn’t like them very much.
‘Hold on,’ came Voreese’s voice. ‘This doesn’t make sense. How could there be an aberration--especially one that seems pretty damn powerful--right in the heart of Vanguardian territory? They would’ve hunted it down, for sure.’
‘So one would think,’ said Garovel. ‘But maybe it’s a developing situation, and they’re in the middle of hunting it down right now.’
‘Hmm.’ Voreese floated further ahead, coming up right behind Darksteel. ‘Ooh, y’know, if that’s the case, then maybe we’ll get to meet some of the Vanguard’s famous aberration hunters. Ever since I first heard about them, I thought they sounded pretty cool.’
‘Sure,’ said Garovel, ‘but they also kinda sound like a bunch of hardasses. Somehow, I feel you wouldn’t get along with them very well.’
‘Oh, c’mon. I can appreciate a hardass, every now and again. Hell, I can BE one, every now and again. The context is what matters, Garovel.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘But yeah, if they’re a gaggle of assholes, then I’ll probably talk mad shit on them. Can’t help it.’
“You absolutely can,” said Roman.
‘Shut up.’
Soon, the group pushed onward and upward, and the first glimpses of light began to arrive near the top of the staircase. It wasn’t much, though. They still needed their flashlights for a while longer--up until they finally arrived at a large pair of double stone doors.
Tuesday, December 2, 2025
Page 3997
He’d tried to ignore it, of course, knowing that dwelling on it was pointless. All that would accomplish was making him even more miserable than he already was. Better to concentrate on things that he could actually change. Or on things that could at least provide some sort of escape for him mentally, however fleeting.
But this situation was suddenly bringing it up again. Stronger than ever. Because it was accompanied by an actual sense of hope, for once.
Agh.
Very dangerous thinking, that. He needed get a hold of himself. At the end of the day, Rezolo was right. He shouldn’t put too much stock in that idea.
Really. When had hope ever worked for him?
Another set of winding stairs lay ahead, but Darksteel stopped, which brought the rest of them to a halt, too.
“I think we’ve passed beyond the dark fog that was blanketing everything,” said Hector, his voice tinged in metal. “Can you reapers sense the city above us, now?”
Voreese spoke up first. ‘Yep. That’s a lot of souls up there. Looks like we’re in the right place, after all.’
“Anything else?” the lord pushed. “Any... weirdness? Vito reported some sort of mass hysteria up there.”
‘Hmm, let’s see. Eh. Seems normal enough to me. What about you two chuckleheads? Sense anything strange?’
Rezolo and Garovel remained quiet a moment, perhaps concentrating, before Rezolo spoke up next. ‘Not I.’
But Garovel had a different response. ‘Actually, I do... feel something off. I can’t quite tell what it is, though.’
‘Well, think harder, then,’ said Voreese. ‘Figure it out! Right now, dammit!’
‘Very helpful, thank you.’
‘Okay, fine, where is it? Tell me the direction of this “offness” that you sense.’
‘Agh. Um. Northwest of here, I think.’
‘Great. Cool. Which way is northwest?’
‘Are you kidding me?’ And Garovel pointed with his ethereal gecko’s tail.
‘Oh, don’t give me a hard time! We’ve been wandering around in the dark after teleporting across the continent! My internal compass is busted as hell, so how can yours still be working after all that?!’
‘What can I say? I’m just the greatest.’
‘Greatest bullshitter, maybe.’
‘Ha, well, that’s definitely not true. Anyway, just help me out, will ya? What do you sense over there?’
Voreese grumbled wordlessly but seemed to start concentrating. Rezolo, too, from the look of it.
‘...Okay, yeah, you’re right. There’s definitely something fucked going on over there. Can’t tell how fucked, though. It’s weird.’
‘...I believe that may be the work of an aberration,’ said Rezolo.
But this situation was suddenly bringing it up again. Stronger than ever. Because it was accompanied by an actual sense of hope, for once.
Agh.
Very dangerous thinking, that. He needed get a hold of himself. At the end of the day, Rezolo was right. He shouldn’t put too much stock in that idea.
Really. When had hope ever worked for him?
Another set of winding stairs lay ahead, but Darksteel stopped, which brought the rest of them to a halt, too.
“I think we’ve passed beyond the dark fog that was blanketing everything,” said Hector, his voice tinged in metal. “Can you reapers sense the city above us, now?”
Voreese spoke up first. ‘Yep. That’s a lot of souls up there. Looks like we’re in the right place, after all.’
“Anything else?” the lord pushed. “Any... weirdness? Vito reported some sort of mass hysteria up there.”
‘Hmm, let’s see. Eh. Seems normal enough to me. What about you two chuckleheads? Sense anything strange?’
Rezolo and Garovel remained quiet a moment, perhaps concentrating, before Rezolo spoke up next. ‘Not I.’
But Garovel had a different response. ‘Actually, I do... feel something off. I can’t quite tell what it is, though.’
‘Well, think harder, then,’ said Voreese. ‘Figure it out! Right now, dammit!’
‘Very helpful, thank you.’
‘Okay, fine, where is it? Tell me the direction of this “offness” that you sense.’
‘Agh. Um. Northwest of here, I think.’
‘Great. Cool. Which way is northwest?’
‘Are you kidding me?’ And Garovel pointed with his ethereal gecko’s tail.
‘Oh, don’t give me a hard time! We’ve been wandering around in the dark after teleporting across the continent! My internal compass is busted as hell, so how can yours still be working after all that?!’
‘What can I say? I’m just the greatest.’
‘Greatest bullshitter, maybe.’
‘Ha, well, that’s definitely not true. Anyway, just help me out, will ya? What do you sense over there?’
Voreese grumbled wordlessly but seemed to start concentrating. Rezolo, too, from the look of it.
‘...Okay, yeah, you’re right. There’s definitely something fucked going on over there. Can’t tell how fucked, though. It’s weird.’
‘...I believe that may be the work of an aberration,’ said Rezolo.
Monday, December 1, 2025
Page 3996
That was certainly one thing that he knew about Rezolo. How stubborn he could be.
‘We can enter pan-wzrost any time you like,’ said Loren. ‘Then you can read my memories and emotions directly.’
‘You always try to bring that up when we talk about this. Don’t act like you can’t still hide things from in there. I know you’ve figured it out already.’
‘I truly have not.’ They’d argued about this enough times by now that he felt neither defensive nor surprised by the reaper’s response. He just held back a sigh as he knew that there was no helping the situation.
It was genuinely baffling to him, the more he’d thought about it. The only explanation he’d been able to concoct for Rezolo’s paranoia on this particular matter was that the reaper must’ve had a bad experience with a previous servant.
That might also be the reason why Loren had never been able to learn much about the reaper via the hyper-state, either. Because Rezolo had figured out how to do it, he assumed that Loren must have also.
The reaper was projecting, in other words.
And for a while, Loren had felt like he was missing out on something quite wondrous. The way other people talked about it, their merged minds were supposed to let them look through each other’s entire lives with little difficulty, but for him, at least, that had never been the case.
In fact, pan-wzrost honestly didn’t feel that different from their normal, separated connection. The telepathic communication was the same. No closer, no deeper, no more intuitive. The world around them just felt a little more intense. Heightened in sensory input.
But oh well. Loren was long past the point of agonizing over it.
He tried to get the conversation back on track. ‘Anyway, I just want you to pay attention to Darksteel,’ he told the reaper. ‘If his power and influence really do rival that of Caster, then...’
‘Then, what?’ said Rezolo.
Still being difficult, of course. ‘Then, it complicates things,’ Loren chose to say.
The reaper made no response.
Loren wanted to keep pushing, but he didn’t know how, so he decided to just let the matter drop. Perhaps it was too soon to be broaching this subject at all.
It was just that...
Agh.
That idea of actually leaving Abolish...
He couldn’t deny fantasizing about it for years now. Feeling utterly trapped.
‘We can enter pan-wzrost any time you like,’ said Loren. ‘Then you can read my memories and emotions directly.’
‘You always try to bring that up when we talk about this. Don’t act like you can’t still hide things from in there. I know you’ve figured it out already.’
‘I truly have not.’ They’d argued about this enough times by now that he felt neither defensive nor surprised by the reaper’s response. He just held back a sigh as he knew that there was no helping the situation.
It was genuinely baffling to him, the more he’d thought about it. The only explanation he’d been able to concoct for Rezolo’s paranoia on this particular matter was that the reaper must’ve had a bad experience with a previous servant.
That might also be the reason why Loren had never been able to learn much about the reaper via the hyper-state, either. Because Rezolo had figured out how to do it, he assumed that Loren must have also.
The reaper was projecting, in other words.
And for a while, Loren had felt like he was missing out on something quite wondrous. The way other people talked about it, their merged minds were supposed to let them look through each other’s entire lives with little difficulty, but for him, at least, that had never been the case.
In fact, pan-wzrost honestly didn’t feel that different from their normal, separated connection. The telepathic communication was the same. No closer, no deeper, no more intuitive. The world around them just felt a little more intense. Heightened in sensory input.
But oh well. Loren was long past the point of agonizing over it.
He tried to get the conversation back on track. ‘Anyway, I just want you to pay attention to Darksteel,’ he told the reaper. ‘If his power and influence really do rival that of Caster, then...’
‘Then, what?’ said Rezolo.
Still being difficult, of course. ‘Then, it complicates things,’ Loren chose to say.
The reaper made no response.
Loren wanted to keep pushing, but he didn’t know how, so he decided to just let the matter drop. Perhaps it was too soon to be broaching this subject at all.
It was just that...
Agh.
That idea of actually leaving Abolish...
He couldn’t deny fantasizing about it for years now. Feeling utterly trapped.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)