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.