A dark serial novel. Set in a modern fantasy world called Eleg. Mature language. Updates every day at noon PST by ~400 words.
Wednesday, February 11, 2026
Tuesday, February 10, 2026
Page 4041
What a relief. Germal was ready to lay back and whatever happened happen, since he wasn't in much condition to do anything else, but then Nerovoy was there, invoking the regeneration.
Stability and awareness began to return.
And Damian attacked Nerovoy.
That was it.
That was what Ettol needed.
Parson and Overra were fully on his side now. Even if he was still recovering, this battle was already won. Ettol knew it.
Closer than he would've liked, certainly. This troublesome trio. But they were fractured now.
Before long, Damian fled. He didn't put up much of a fight against Parson, probably because, even in his burgeoning madness, he still did not truly wish to harm the other man.
Or perhaps he could see what Ettol saw. His fight was lost.
Feromas gave chase. Not ideal. Ettol would've preferred he stay and become convinced by the new web that he was about to weave for the others, but oh well. Feromas would have to be a future project.
This wasn't over, of course. There was no doubt in his mind that they would meet again, but there would be plenty of time to prepare for that day.
Ettol had much to do...
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The illusory vision kept going for a while longer, and it took all of Parson's concentration to remain focused on it after the revelations about Germal's true nature. And about what had happened to Damian.
About everything. The culmination of their entire history together.
Jonah.
He showed them memories. As real and immersive as Parson and Damian were there themselves--and occasionally, they were. It was surely a strange thing, seeing their younger selves from Jonah's perspective.
But frankly, Parson didn't really need to see the rest. He remembered perfectly well himself.
After the breaking of their fellowship in this little ancient fortress, he'd encountered Damian several more times. But Jonah--or Ettol--had always been there, too, ensuring that every attempt at reconciliation failed.
So many lies.
Woven seamlessly into the truth.
Made utterly indistinguishable from one another.
But so much was slotting into place now.
Damian had tried to explain the truth to him. Couched in madness as he'd been, he'd still tried. But Parson had never been able to bring himself to believe him. He just seemed so far gone--and this Ettol, so reasonable by comparison.
By the time the vision concluded, Parson Miles had long since fallen to his knees.
Stability and awareness began to return.
And Damian attacked Nerovoy.
That was it.
That was what Ettol needed.
Parson and Overra were fully on his side now. Even if he was still recovering, this battle was already won. Ettol knew it.
Closer than he would've liked, certainly. This troublesome trio. But they were fractured now.
Before long, Damian fled. He didn't put up much of a fight against Parson, probably because, even in his burgeoning madness, he still did not truly wish to harm the other man.
Or perhaps he could see what Ettol saw. His fight was lost.
Feromas gave chase. Not ideal. Ettol would've preferred he stay and become convinced by the new web that he was about to weave for the others, but oh well. Feromas would have to be a future project.
This wasn't over, of course. There was no doubt in his mind that they would meet again, but there would be plenty of time to prepare for that day.
Ettol had much to do...
-+-+-+-+-
The illusory vision kept going for a while longer, and it took all of Parson's concentration to remain focused on it after the revelations about Germal's true nature. And about what had happened to Damian.
About everything. The culmination of their entire history together.
Jonah.
He showed them memories. As real and immersive as Parson and Damian were there themselves--and occasionally, they were. It was surely a strange thing, seeing their younger selves from Jonah's perspective.
But frankly, Parson didn't really need to see the rest. He remembered perfectly well himself.
After the breaking of their fellowship in this little ancient fortress, he'd encountered Damian several more times. But Jonah--or Ettol--had always been there, too, ensuring that every attempt at reconciliation failed.
So many lies.
Woven seamlessly into the truth.
Made utterly indistinguishable from one another.
But so much was slotting into place now.
Damian had tried to explain the truth to him. Couched in madness as he'd been, he'd still tried. But Parson had never been able to bring himself to believe him. He just seemed so far gone--and this Ettol, so reasonable by comparison.
By the time the vision concluded, Parson Miles had long since fallen to his knees.
Monday, February 9, 2026
Page 4040
All wrong. Everything. Germal was floundering under the barrage of attacks. Desperately, he tried every different option that arose into his mind. Stop? Unaffected. Numb? Unaffected. Slow? Unaffected. Distract? Unaffected. Wipe? Unaffected. Break? Unaffected.
Of course not. Damian was already broken. Be smarter.
How? Damian was relentless. And had gotten the drop on him, besides. The man was not letting go of the upper hand, nor would he.
That look in his eyes. He had knowledge that he shouldn't. And he just kept talking. Smiling. Laughing.
"Even if you survive me here today, your loss is inevitable. Don't you see? Your struggles against oblivion are precisely what will doom you in the end. Because oblivion isn't even so. Your cowardice is exactly--"
On and on. A constant through the fighting. Germal reached out to Koh, but he already knew it was fruitless. The wolf helped only when he deigned to--and this was not one such occasion, apparently.
More nonsense. Useless thrall.
The domain was wavering now. Germal couldn't maintain it. The reapers would begin to regain awareness.
Agh, but perhaps that was good? With no context, maybe they would actually--
A truly solid blow landed on Germal's jaw, connecting far more deeply than mere flesh and bone.
Ettol felt it. The soul itself rattled.
He hit the ground and skid across the ancient stones. Blood smeared across his vision as he struggled for awareness. Germal? Ettol? Jonah?
Damian was there. Whaling on him again. He could scarcely even process that much, now. The world was blinking. Fading.
Was this death? Yet another failed incarnation? Ended prematurely?
Frustration was the only emotion in his mind. What a wasted opportunity.
But then it stopped. The pounding on his skull. His soul was still trembling, yes, but no longer in an exponential manner. It was calming again. His thoughts, settling. Awareness, returning.
This body was still far from ready to listen, though. He felt like a smear on the floor. And perhaps was--or little better than. If Damian had started using that mysterious ability of his, then that wouldn't be a surprise.
But he still heard fighting. Shouting. Familiar voices.
Reapers.
And Parson. The man had finally arrived. Even later than usual.
But still timely enough to save his life, apparently.
Germal couldn't make out what they were saying, but the unfolding scene was obvious enough even without such details. Damian was arguing, no doubt trying to convince Parson not to interfere.
But thankfully, the madness was there, too. And Parson was sharp enough. It must have been obvious to him.
Of course not. Damian was already broken. Be smarter.
How? Damian was relentless. And had gotten the drop on him, besides. The man was not letting go of the upper hand, nor would he.
That look in his eyes. He had knowledge that he shouldn't. And he just kept talking. Smiling. Laughing.
"Even if you survive me here today, your loss is inevitable. Don't you see? Your struggles against oblivion are precisely what will doom you in the end. Because oblivion isn't even so. Your cowardice is exactly--"
On and on. A constant through the fighting. Germal reached out to Koh, but he already knew it was fruitless. The wolf helped only when he deigned to--and this was not one such occasion, apparently.
More nonsense. Useless thrall.
The domain was wavering now. Germal couldn't maintain it. The reapers would begin to regain awareness.
Agh, but perhaps that was good? With no context, maybe they would actually--
A truly solid blow landed on Germal's jaw, connecting far more deeply than mere flesh and bone.
Ettol felt it. The soul itself rattled.
He hit the ground and skid across the ancient stones. Blood smeared across his vision as he struggled for awareness. Germal? Ettol? Jonah?
Damian was there. Whaling on him again. He could scarcely even process that much, now. The world was blinking. Fading.
Was this death? Yet another failed incarnation? Ended prematurely?
Frustration was the only emotion in his mind. What a wasted opportunity.
But then it stopped. The pounding on his skull. His soul was still trembling, yes, but no longer in an exponential manner. It was calming again. His thoughts, settling. Awareness, returning.
This body was still far from ready to listen, though. He felt like a smear on the floor. And perhaps was--or little better than. If Damian had started using that mysterious ability of his, then that wouldn't be a surprise.
But he still heard fighting. Shouting. Familiar voices.
Reapers.
And Parson. The man had finally arrived. Even later than usual.
But still timely enough to save his life, apparently.
Germal couldn't make out what they were saying, but the unfolding scene was obvious enough even without such details. Damian was arguing, no doubt trying to convince Parson not to interfere.
But thankfully, the madness was there, too. And Parson was sharp enough. It must have been obvious to him.
Saturday, February 7, 2026
Friday, February 6, 2026
Page 4039
Impossible didn't even begin to describe it. Time had not been time. Who could have--?
He saw, finally. Damian was there. Moving when he shouldn't be able to. Seeing what he shouldn't be able to.
The man's eyes were as wide and wild as any Ettol had ever seen. And they were staring right through him.
"I see you, devil."
And the blows kept coming. Pummeling the incarnation's body.
Ettol lashed out with the Windlight. A surge of psychic strength. Released all at once, without aim.
A great pulse pushed his attacker back and left the small fortress rumbling. But that was not all. The wind stayed. It whipped itself into a frenzy, flowing to and fro with guidance from Ettol.
Agh. A wisp had slipped through. A nuisance, but fine. Perhaps even helpful. Not time to fuss over it, though.
Damian was not pushed back for long. He was blitzing straight toward him.
Not using that strange power of his? Fortunate.
Ettol raised a hand to summon full psychic force. Freezing the man in place would be the best solution, but maybe--
Damian was barely affected. He rushed through and swung again, forcing Ettol to dodge physically.
Now he was beginning to understand.
Psychic breaks could sometimes result in these sorts of unexpected reactions. It all depended on how one coped with the advent of madness.
Judging by the smile on his face, Damian wasn't minding it terribly.
Germal certainly was. That expression on that face couldn't have looked more wrong. Was that truly Damian?
There was no opportunity to contemplate it. Germal was a skilled hand-to-hand fighter, of course, but Damian had always been on another level when it came to such things. And if psychic attacks were going to be of limited use, then he didn't favor his chances here.
Damian was a tornado of blows, now--as if the wisp that had snuck its way into the room had chosen to bless every one of his attacks. It was all Germal could do to stay on his feet. Right hook, left hook, sweep of the leg, feint, jab, knee, grab, spin, fly.
It didn't make sense. Nothing did.
"This is what you fear," Damian was saying with a laugh. "Isn't it? You fear us seeing through you all. Growing stronger than you all. Showing you that we aren't your playthings."
He saw, finally. Damian was there. Moving when he shouldn't be able to. Seeing what he shouldn't be able to.
The man's eyes were as wide and wild as any Ettol had ever seen. And they were staring right through him.
"I see you, devil."
And the blows kept coming. Pummeling the incarnation's body.
Ettol lashed out with the Windlight. A surge of psychic strength. Released all at once, without aim.
A great pulse pushed his attacker back and left the small fortress rumbling. But that was not all. The wind stayed. It whipped itself into a frenzy, flowing to and fro with guidance from Ettol.
Agh. A wisp had slipped through. A nuisance, but fine. Perhaps even helpful. Not time to fuss over it, though.
Damian was not pushed back for long. He was blitzing straight toward him.
Not using that strange power of his? Fortunate.
Ettol raised a hand to summon full psychic force. Freezing the man in place would be the best solution, but maybe--
Damian was barely affected. He rushed through and swung again, forcing Ettol to dodge physically.
Now he was beginning to understand.
Psychic breaks could sometimes result in these sorts of unexpected reactions. It all depended on how one coped with the advent of madness.
Judging by the smile on his face, Damian wasn't minding it terribly.
Germal certainly was. That expression on that face couldn't have looked more wrong. Was that truly Damian?
There was no opportunity to contemplate it. Germal was a skilled hand-to-hand fighter, of course, but Damian had always been on another level when it came to such things. And if psychic attacks were going to be of limited use, then he didn't favor his chances here.
Damian was a tornado of blows, now--as if the wisp that had snuck its way into the room had chosen to bless every one of his attacks. It was all Germal could do to stay on his feet. Right hook, left hook, sweep of the leg, feint, jab, knee, grab, spin, fly.
It didn't make sense. Nothing did.
"This is what you fear," Damian was saying with a laugh. "Isn't it? You fear us seeing through you all. Growing stronger than you all. Showing you that we aren't your playthings."
Thursday, February 5, 2026
Page 4038
If the reaper was ever to be repaired, then it would be in moments like this, when he was accessing as much of the Windlight as he could.
Or that was the theory, at least. Perhaps the Lights were themselves the problem. Perhaps their essential energies clashed with that of the reapers.
Unfortunately, there would be no certainty until he conducted more tests. And even then, this incarnation might simply be still too weak.
But it was worth a try, at least.
He retrieved Nerovoy from his coat again. For a while, he merely sat there, observing the reaper's fragile form another time.
Curious. It had already degraded quite a bit, even though he'd just reinvigorated it with the Windlight not too long ago. Was it because he'd put the reaper away? Out of sight, out of mind? And so the psychic influence holding Nerovoy together had dissipated much more quickly.
Hmm. How was he only now learning of this?
Well. He wasn't often given to these bouts of attentive experimentation.
In which case...
Ettol's gaze fell to Feromas next.
That one was also quite vulnerable, right now. Ettol harbored no ill will towards the reaper, of course. It wasn't about that. But if he could perform a more invasive observation of a healthy reaper, then perhaps he could learn how to help Nerovoy.
Yes, of course.
This one wasn't even about Jonah.
Though, admittedly, that was a nice bonus.
Don't worry, Jonah. If this worked, then it wouldn't matter if Feromas also suffered. Ettol would be able to repair him, too. And so much more. Think of the possibilities.
Heh.
Ettol was already on his feet and walking again.
Oh? Stirring again, Jonah? Fighting?
Ettol's pace slowed.
Not too exhausted already, eh? Go on, then. Show your strength. How much resistance could you truly mount? How important was Feromas to you?
Stop, Ettol. Stop this.
Begging now? Finally, some humility, Jonah. You should have demonstrated that more often. Things may have never come to this, if you did. Why don't you try--?
Something crashed into him. From the side. Ettol flew into the wall, cracking it.
He didn't understand. What was it? He was too disoriented? Jonah? No. There was a fog in his vision. His senses. Something hiding there, right in front of him, even as it pinned him to the wall. As it punched him in the face. In the stomach. In the soul.
Or that was the theory, at least. Perhaps the Lights were themselves the problem. Perhaps their essential energies clashed with that of the reapers.
Unfortunately, there would be no certainty until he conducted more tests. And even then, this incarnation might simply be still too weak.
But it was worth a try, at least.
He retrieved Nerovoy from his coat again. For a while, he merely sat there, observing the reaper's fragile form another time.
Curious. It had already degraded quite a bit, even though he'd just reinvigorated it with the Windlight not too long ago. Was it because he'd put the reaper away? Out of sight, out of mind? And so the psychic influence holding Nerovoy together had dissipated much more quickly.
Hmm. How was he only now learning of this?
Well. He wasn't often given to these bouts of attentive experimentation.
In which case...
Ettol's gaze fell to Feromas next.
That one was also quite vulnerable, right now. Ettol harbored no ill will towards the reaper, of course. It wasn't about that. But if he could perform a more invasive observation of a healthy reaper, then perhaps he could learn how to help Nerovoy.
Yes, of course.
This one wasn't even about Jonah.
Though, admittedly, that was a nice bonus.
Don't worry, Jonah. If this worked, then it wouldn't matter if Feromas also suffered. Ettol would be able to repair him, too. And so much more. Think of the possibilities.
Heh.
Ettol was already on his feet and walking again.
Oh? Stirring again, Jonah? Fighting?
Ettol's pace slowed.
Not too exhausted already, eh? Go on, then. Show your strength. How much resistance could you truly mount? How important was Feromas to you?
Stop, Ettol. Stop this.
Begging now? Finally, some humility, Jonah. You should have demonstrated that more often. Things may have never come to this, if you did. Why don't you try--?
Something crashed into him. From the side. Ettol flew into the wall, cracking it.
He didn't understand. What was it? He was too disoriented? Jonah? No. There was a fog in his vision. His senses. Something hiding there, right in front of him, even as it pinned him to the wall. As it punched him in the face. In the stomach. In the soul.
Wednesday, February 4, 2026
Page 4037
It felt good to indulge for a change. So cathartic. Instead of holding back. Worrying about what others might think. What consequences might follow. What new webs he might need to spin.
A true god did not need to bother with such things, surely. Was this how Hada felt all the time?
It wasn't healthy, of course. Ettol knew that. Hada was not a role model. The God of Wrath had suffered plenty of blowback for his behavior--some of it at Ettol's own hands.
But he had no interest in any of that, right now.
And he shouldn't waste this chance, either. As much as tended to ruin things, there was also opportunity here. So much could be accomplished in these preciously rare moments when he didn't have to hold back.
When he didn't have to be the reasonable one, anymore.
The Windlight surged as he kept drawing on it. More. More. Deeper than he'd pulled in Ages--perhaps even deeper than this incarnation may ever get to try again.
Ettol's gaze fell upon the wolf. Sitting there in silence, watching as always.
An impenetrable fortress, that one. Even when suppressed.
But maybe now. In this moment of full indulgence. A seed could be sown. A psychic connection.
It was a risk, naturally. He truly did not know if he could even control it, much less if it would actually work. But if the wolf was to spell his inevitable doom, regardless, then was it not worth the try?
Damian was discarded. Left to fall, slowly, to the floor. Time was no longer itself. No longer so oppressive. Ettol moved at his own pace. Walking over to the wolf.
Ettol found the creature's head and went to work. A psychic incursion.
Instantly rebuffed.
As expected.
The Void's influence over the wolf was mercilessly strong. The others all said it was impossible to undermine.
But Ettol had never believed. Not fully. He still remembered the early days. When the wolf loved them all, not just their "father."
The Void did not create you, Koh. You were your own beast with your own mind.
The Prime Hunt was not all your existence amounted to.
Nothing. No response. No resonance.
Ettol took his time mourning yet another failure. There was no rush. He sat with the animal for a while. Just reminiscing on simpler times.
And then he moved on again.
To Nerovoy.
A true god did not need to bother with such things, surely. Was this how Hada felt all the time?
It wasn't healthy, of course. Ettol knew that. Hada was not a role model. The God of Wrath had suffered plenty of blowback for his behavior--some of it at Ettol's own hands.
But he had no interest in any of that, right now.
And he shouldn't waste this chance, either. As much as tended to ruin things, there was also opportunity here. So much could be accomplished in these preciously rare moments when he didn't have to hold back.
When he didn't have to be the reasonable one, anymore.
The Windlight surged as he kept drawing on it. More. More. Deeper than he'd pulled in Ages--perhaps even deeper than this incarnation may ever get to try again.
Ettol's gaze fell upon the wolf. Sitting there in silence, watching as always.
An impenetrable fortress, that one. Even when suppressed.
But maybe now. In this moment of full indulgence. A seed could be sown. A psychic connection.
It was a risk, naturally. He truly did not know if he could even control it, much less if it would actually work. But if the wolf was to spell his inevitable doom, regardless, then was it not worth the try?
Damian was discarded. Left to fall, slowly, to the floor. Time was no longer itself. No longer so oppressive. Ettol moved at his own pace. Walking over to the wolf.
Ettol found the creature's head and went to work. A psychic incursion.
Instantly rebuffed.
As expected.
The Void's influence over the wolf was mercilessly strong. The others all said it was impossible to undermine.
But Ettol had never believed. Not fully. He still remembered the early days. When the wolf loved them all, not just their "father."
The Void did not create you, Koh. You were your own beast with your own mind.
The Prime Hunt was not all your existence amounted to.
Nothing. No response. No resonance.
Ettol took his time mourning yet another failure. There was no rush. He sat with the animal for a while. Just reminiscing on simpler times.
And then he moved on again.
To Nerovoy.
Tuesday, February 3, 2026
Page 4036
Perhaps it was time for more dramatic action. If the world refused to understand, then perhaps he should do more to teach it. This could be the start. The first real lesson.
And Damian, the first student.
In the end, they all wanted him to act like an evil son of a bitch, didn't they? Everyone. Always. That was why they all treated him the way that they did. Even his own kin. They simply couldn't get it out of their minds that he was manipulating them in some way. Or that he was planning to. Anyone who grew to know him also grew to fear him.
It was inevitable.
And if they were so dead set on hating him, then he might as well give them something to hate. Payback from all his incarnations.
And from before, too.
Were you watching, Jonah? This was your fault, you know. If you just stopped pushing, this wouldn't have happened.
Yes, that's right. Ettol could feel him stirring now. Realizing. But he was well in control, this time. Flush with power. The Windlight already flowing through him, almost without effort.
He'd grown again. It wasn't usually so obvious. Almost like those emergences that servants and reapers loved to talk about.
But this was different. This was a return. A remembering.
Damian's temples were between his hands. Damian was struggling. Yelling. As he often did. But it was too late, of course. Ettol had control of the body. Of everything, really.
Feromas was there, too. Frozen. But still conscious. Ettol made sure of that. He wanted the reaper to see. The way Jonah saw.
But what to do with this vulnerable little mind? Snap it in two? There was certainly something satisfying in that option. A beautiful simplicity in it. But no. This needed to be more of a show.
And an experiment. Yes. A new test for this renewed strength.
Damian. Your mind wasn't going to snap. Not yet, anyway.
You were going to attack Parson and Overra when they arrived. You were going to destroy this little trio at its root.
And tell them all sorts of things. Confound them. Make them hate you. Make them hate themselves, if you can. But that might be too much to ask of you, of course.
Ettol felt the twisting soul in his grasp. The writhing thoughts. The rising willpower. The stubborn resistance.
But they were glass. And he shattered them.
And Damian, the first student.
In the end, they all wanted him to act like an evil son of a bitch, didn't they? Everyone. Always. That was why they all treated him the way that they did. Even his own kin. They simply couldn't get it out of their minds that he was manipulating them in some way. Or that he was planning to. Anyone who grew to know him also grew to fear him.
It was inevitable.
And if they were so dead set on hating him, then he might as well give them something to hate. Payback from all his incarnations.
And from before, too.
Were you watching, Jonah? This was your fault, you know. If you just stopped pushing, this wouldn't have happened.
Yes, that's right. Ettol could feel him stirring now. Realizing. But he was well in control, this time. Flush with power. The Windlight already flowing through him, almost without effort.
He'd grown again. It wasn't usually so obvious. Almost like those emergences that servants and reapers loved to talk about.
But this was different. This was a return. A remembering.
Damian's temples were between his hands. Damian was struggling. Yelling. As he often did. But it was too late, of course. Ettol had control of the body. Of everything, really.
Feromas was there, too. Frozen. But still conscious. Ettol made sure of that. He wanted the reaper to see. The way Jonah saw.
But what to do with this vulnerable little mind? Snap it in two? There was certainly something satisfying in that option. A beautiful simplicity in it. But no. This needed to be more of a show.
And an experiment. Yes. A new test for this renewed strength.
Damian. Your mind wasn't going to snap. Not yet, anyway.
You were going to attack Parson and Overra when they arrived. You were going to destroy this little trio at its root.
And tell them all sorts of things. Confound them. Make them hate you. Make them hate themselves, if you can. But that might be too much to ask of you, of course.
Ettol felt the twisting soul in his grasp. The writhing thoughts. The rising willpower. The stubborn resistance.
But they were glass. And he shattered them.
Sunday, February 1, 2026
Saturday, January 31, 2026
Page 4035
In silence, Ettol waited. No further thoughts ran through his mind. No planning was necessary. He already knew everything he needed to know. And dwelling on it further would only give more openings to Jonah, who had obviously become a greater threat than Ettol thought.
So he simply sat there. Stewing in an emptiness that was only too familiar.
Nerovoy returned to consciousness, but Ettol didn't even have the care to fuss over him again, so he suppressed him totally and returned the reaper to his previous spot inside the coat.
There would be no need to keep up appearances this time, after all.
And at length, the others finally began to arrive.
Damian. Feromas.
Late, as usual, though still not as late as Parson and Overra, apparently.
So much the better, though.
This presented a rare opportunity, didn't it? A chance to truly cut loose and experiment. See how much he'd grown since reincarnating--and perhaps get a true measure of how much more he had to go.
They were gods, weren't they? As much as he tried not to dwell on it, not let it go to his head... it was still the truth, wasn't it? Others might deny it--and even he might pretend to--but let us be honest here...
What were the limits, truly?
And worse still, his powers were so difficult to test. It wasn't like with all those servants who could safely conduct all sorts of experiments with their materializations and so forth, so long as they had a sufficiently large and empty space to play around in.
No. Ettol didn't need space. He needed subjects.
Minds.
Poor Damian. He didn't deserve what was about to happen to him.
Heh. Or did he? He was an active member of Abolish, wasn't he? Whether it was part of this trio's long plan or not, he was still serving those wicked human emperors.
And he'd always been a bit of an asshole, besides.
"What's the matter with you?" said Damian, who'd already been talking to him for a short while now. "Why aren't you saying anything?"
Ettol just stared at him. A friendly smile might've helped here, but Ettol could hardly even muster one. It probably wasn't enough.
An unsuspecting mind. So vulnerable. So many options.
No one really understood how much strength it took to hold himself back all the time. When the world was at his fingertips, when he could get whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it--no one understood the sheer level of temptation that filled every social moment of Ettol's existence.
Even other psychics didn't seem to know. As often as he'd encountered and spoken to them over the Ages, they just...
They didn't get it.
Well, of course not.
They weren't the God of Impulse.
So he simply sat there. Stewing in an emptiness that was only too familiar.
Nerovoy returned to consciousness, but Ettol didn't even have the care to fuss over him again, so he suppressed him totally and returned the reaper to his previous spot inside the coat.
There would be no need to keep up appearances this time, after all.
And at length, the others finally began to arrive.
Damian. Feromas.
Late, as usual, though still not as late as Parson and Overra, apparently.
So much the better, though.
This presented a rare opportunity, didn't it? A chance to truly cut loose and experiment. See how much he'd grown since reincarnating--and perhaps get a true measure of how much more he had to go.
They were gods, weren't they? As much as he tried not to dwell on it, not let it go to his head... it was still the truth, wasn't it? Others might deny it--and even he might pretend to--but let us be honest here...
What were the limits, truly?
And worse still, his powers were so difficult to test. It wasn't like with all those servants who could safely conduct all sorts of experiments with their materializations and so forth, so long as they had a sufficiently large and empty space to play around in.
No. Ettol didn't need space. He needed subjects.
Minds.
Poor Damian. He didn't deserve what was about to happen to him.
Heh. Or did he? He was an active member of Abolish, wasn't he? Whether it was part of this trio's long plan or not, he was still serving those wicked human emperors.
And he'd always been a bit of an asshole, besides.
"What's the matter with you?" said Damian, who'd already been talking to him for a short while now. "Why aren't you saying anything?"
Ettol just stared at him. A friendly smile might've helped here, but Ettol could hardly even muster one. It probably wasn't enough.
An unsuspecting mind. So vulnerable. So many options.
No one really understood how much strength it took to hold himself back all the time. When the world was at his fingertips, when he could get whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it--no one understood the sheer level of temptation that filled every social moment of Ettol's existence.
Even other psychics didn't seem to know. As often as he'd encountered and spoken to them over the Ages, they just...
They didn't get it.
Well, of course not.
They weren't the God of Impulse.
Friday, January 30, 2026
Page 4034
The vault. His precious sanctuary from Ettol. The place deep within his psyche that he relied on in order to conceal his most important things. Everything he'd just retrieved from it needed to be returned there or discarded totally--along with everything new that he'd just learned, of course.
Above all, keeping Sermung's secrets was paramount. Not that the man needed his help with it. Tenebrach was more than capable enough. Jonah knew that even if he himself took no precautions to purge or protect his knowledge of the Crystal Titan, that reaper will have already done it for him.
Tenebrach was truly remarkable. Without a doubt, there was no psychic, living or dead, whom Jonah admired more. He could only hope to be of comparable mastery, one day.
But of course, that would also mean that Ettol...
Bah. He could agonize over it some other time. It was time to retreat. While he didn't necessarily want to leave the meeting with his old friends entirely in Ettol's hands, it was better to play it safe. Go dormant. Cover his tracks. Rely on old scars. Keep awareness to a minimum.
Yes.
Yes...
Mm.
Hmm.
Germal stirred.
Sitting on a stone bench by the wall.
Jonah had given up control, eh?
Naturally. The poor lad couldn't maintain himself for very long. Germal did indeed pity him, hateful though he was.
What had he gotten up to in this place all by himself?
Musings on the past, apparently. Sifting through more of Ettol's ancient memories, of course. Perhaps that should have been concerning, but there was so much go through that it hardly--
No.
Wait.
What was this feeling?
An unnamed anger.
That wasn't coming from Jonah. That was in Ettol's own heart.
Why?
Ettol wasn't like Jonah. This wasn't baseless. He didn't hold grudges for no reason.
There was something residual. A lingering trace. But of what? Too meager to tell with any certainty.
And yet just enough to know its essence.
Deception.
He'd lost something, just now. Had it taken from him. By Jonah?
Of course by him. Who else?
It never ended. It was never going to. Not until Ettol learned his lesson.
Sympathy? Pity?
Thrown in his face, every time. Used against him, every time.
What, then, was to be done? What, Jonah?
Nothing to say? No words of defense? Not even angry ones?
Silent treatment.
Or exhaustion?
Ettol burned.
Like never before, he felt it. True hatred for his other self.
Fine, Jonah.
Let us do things your way, then.
Above all, keeping Sermung's secrets was paramount. Not that the man needed his help with it. Tenebrach was more than capable enough. Jonah knew that even if he himself took no precautions to purge or protect his knowledge of the Crystal Titan, that reaper will have already done it for him.
Tenebrach was truly remarkable. Without a doubt, there was no psychic, living or dead, whom Jonah admired more. He could only hope to be of comparable mastery, one day.
But of course, that would also mean that Ettol...
Bah. He could agonize over it some other time. It was time to retreat. While he didn't necessarily want to leave the meeting with his old friends entirely in Ettol's hands, it was better to play it safe. Go dormant. Cover his tracks. Rely on old scars. Keep awareness to a minimum.
Yes.
Yes...
Mm.
Hmm.
Germal stirred.
Sitting on a stone bench by the wall.
Jonah had given up control, eh?
Naturally. The poor lad couldn't maintain himself for very long. Germal did indeed pity him, hateful though he was.
What had he gotten up to in this place all by himself?
Musings on the past, apparently. Sifting through more of Ettol's ancient memories, of course. Perhaps that should have been concerning, but there was so much go through that it hardly--
No.
Wait.
What was this feeling?
An unnamed anger.
That wasn't coming from Jonah. That was in Ettol's own heart.
Why?
Ettol wasn't like Jonah. This wasn't baseless. He didn't hold grudges for no reason.
There was something residual. A lingering trace. But of what? Too meager to tell with any certainty.
And yet just enough to know its essence.
Deception.
He'd lost something, just now. Had it taken from him. By Jonah?
Of course by him. Who else?
It never ended. It was never going to. Not until Ettol learned his lesson.
Sympathy? Pity?
Thrown in his face, every time. Used against him, every time.
What, then, was to be done? What, Jonah?
Nothing to say? No words of defense? Not even angry ones?
Silent treatment.
Or exhaustion?
Ettol burned.
Like never before, he felt it. True hatred for his other self.
Fine, Jonah.
Let us do things your way, then.
Thursday, January 29, 2026
Page 4033
Jonah exhaled heavily. "This is why Parson thinks you're too soft."
"Parson..." Sermung removed his hand. "After your meeting with him today, I'd like you to prepare an assessment of him and Overra. Then deliver it to me when next we meet."
Jonah's brow tilted. An assessment, eh? There was no need for further clarification. There was only one type of assessment that Sermung would want from someone like him.
An evaluation of his friend's mental state. Both psychic and psychological.
"You could simply stay and assess him yourself," said Jonah.
"I want your opinion," said Sermung. "You know him better than I do."
"Is there something about him that has you worried?"
"...Radicalization."
"By most metrics, we are all radicals, are we not?"
Sermung simply leveled a stare at him.
Yes. Jonah knew what he meant. His impulses wanted to defend his friend, but the best way to accomplish that was to conduct the requested assessment honestly. After a moment, he returned a nod.
After that, their conversation didn't continue for much longer. Jonah searched through the vault in his head another time and ended up providing Sermung with two more potential hotspots, but then, as suddenly and strangely as he'd arrived, the Crystal Titan was gone.
Jonah hadn't even gotten to ask how the man had harnessed Ettol's domain to teleport in, though he did have some ideas about it. No doubt, Sermung's quest had been paying off in more ways than the man cared to share. Or perhaps Tenebrach was growing more powerful.
Or both.
Now there was an unsettling thought. And somewhat encouraging, too.
Sermung had always been virtually impossible to assess--psychically or otherwise. But on this particular occasion, he couldn't help feeling like Sermung had been particularly odd.
More tense than usual.
And more powerful, too.
Or maybe that was just Jonah's own senses heightening. As he grew older himself, perhaps he was beginning to glimpse some of the Titan's inestimable strength.
Ah, but he had to be careful now. Tenebrach's assistance would be wearing off soon. He needed to refortify himself for Ettol's reawakening.
Yes.
This was the delicate balance that had to be maintained. Jonah knew that he was not strong enough to overpower Ettol.
But that didn't mean he was weak.
Their struggle was, in some ways, a feedback loop. They were both growing stronger not just from age but from one another, as well. True, Ettol was outpacing him, but not by as much as the bastard seemed to think.
"Parson..." Sermung removed his hand. "After your meeting with him today, I'd like you to prepare an assessment of him and Overra. Then deliver it to me when next we meet."
Jonah's brow tilted. An assessment, eh? There was no need for further clarification. There was only one type of assessment that Sermung would want from someone like him.
An evaluation of his friend's mental state. Both psychic and psychological.
"You could simply stay and assess him yourself," said Jonah.
"I want your opinion," said Sermung. "You know him better than I do."
"Is there something about him that has you worried?"
"...Radicalization."
"By most metrics, we are all radicals, are we not?"
Sermung simply leveled a stare at him.
Yes. Jonah knew what he meant. His impulses wanted to defend his friend, but the best way to accomplish that was to conduct the requested assessment honestly. After a moment, he returned a nod.
After that, their conversation didn't continue for much longer. Jonah searched through the vault in his head another time and ended up providing Sermung with two more potential hotspots, but then, as suddenly and strangely as he'd arrived, the Crystal Titan was gone.
Jonah hadn't even gotten to ask how the man had harnessed Ettol's domain to teleport in, though he did have some ideas about it. No doubt, Sermung's quest had been paying off in more ways than the man cared to share. Or perhaps Tenebrach was growing more powerful.
Or both.
Now there was an unsettling thought. And somewhat encouraging, too.
Sermung had always been virtually impossible to assess--psychically or otherwise. But on this particular occasion, he couldn't help feeling like Sermung had been particularly odd.
More tense than usual.
And more powerful, too.
Or maybe that was just Jonah's own senses heightening. As he grew older himself, perhaps he was beginning to glimpse some of the Titan's inestimable strength.
Ah, but he had to be careful now. Tenebrach's assistance would be wearing off soon. He needed to refortify himself for Ettol's reawakening.
Yes.
This was the delicate balance that had to be maintained. Jonah knew that he was not strong enough to overpower Ettol.
But that didn't mean he was weak.
Their struggle was, in some ways, a feedback loop. They were both growing stronger not just from age but from one another, as well. True, Ettol was outpacing him, but not by as much as the bastard seemed to think.
Tuesday, January 27, 2026
Monday, January 26, 2026
Page 4032
"Hopefully, it won't come to that," said Sermung. "I still have time to make up my mind."
"Yes, but how much time?" said Jonah. "Do you have an estimate?"
"I've been thinking about that. Skapa's initial prediction was seven thousand years. Rathmore predicted four. Now Xander is predicting less than one. And from all of my own observations, there does appear to be an acceleration taking place. So I'm thinking... realistically, we've got another four or five centuries left."
Jonah frowned as he listened.
"What about Ettol? Does he not have a prediction?"
"Not that I've been able to tell," said Jonah.
"I suppose that's not surprising. They generally don't think about time the way we do."
"Maybe you should just kill me."
"Jonah..."
"As much I've been trying to help you, I'm also just making things worse, aren't I? Ettol's mere existence in this realm is constantly accelerating the timeline, isn't it?"
"It's not just him. And it's not just them, either. You know that. In fact, I'd say Ettol's presence has been more of a help to us than not."
"Keep talking like that, and I'm going to start thinking you're just another illusion he's conjured for me."
"Hating him does not improve your circumstances. I've told you this before, haven't I? This isn't some great revelation."
"I know. It's just..."
"It's difficult. Yes. But he has his uses. In some respects, he represents our best hope."
Jonah scoffed. "He's a means to an end, at best. A source of information."
"Not just any source. Maybe the best source we've ever had. Don't downplay your contributions, Jonah. It's thanks to your connection to him that we've been able to make make so much progress, recently. The kind that our predecessors could only hope for."
"Even so, it's still a risk. And it only becomes even more so the longer we let him roam free. The longer you let him roam free. You could end this right now and probably save yourself a lot of headaches in the future."
Sermung stepped closer, and he laid a hand on Jonah's shoulder again.
Ettol hadn't appreciated it the last time, but Jonah very much did now. The compassion and sympathy in the man's aura were so strong that Jonah could quite literally feel them himself.
"Please don't talk like that," said the Titan. "You're more valuable than you give yourself credit for. And even if you weren't, you're still your own person with your own soul. You'd give that consideration to someone else, wouldn't you? Why not yourself?"
"Yes, but how much time?" said Jonah. "Do you have an estimate?"
"I've been thinking about that. Skapa's initial prediction was seven thousand years. Rathmore predicted four. Now Xander is predicting less than one. And from all of my own observations, there does appear to be an acceleration taking place. So I'm thinking... realistically, we've got another four or five centuries left."
Jonah frowned as he listened.
"What about Ettol? Does he not have a prediction?"
"Not that I've been able to tell," said Jonah.
"I suppose that's not surprising. They generally don't think about time the way we do."
"Maybe you should just kill me."
"Jonah..."
"As much I've been trying to help you, I'm also just making things worse, aren't I? Ettol's mere existence in this realm is constantly accelerating the timeline, isn't it?"
"It's not just him. And it's not just them, either. You know that. In fact, I'd say Ettol's presence has been more of a help to us than not."
"Keep talking like that, and I'm going to start thinking you're just another illusion he's conjured for me."
"Hating him does not improve your circumstances. I've told you this before, haven't I? This isn't some great revelation."
"I know. It's just..."
"It's difficult. Yes. But he has his uses. In some respects, he represents our best hope."
Jonah scoffed. "He's a means to an end, at best. A source of information."
"Not just any source. Maybe the best source we've ever had. Don't downplay your contributions, Jonah. It's thanks to your connection to him that we've been able to make make so much progress, recently. The kind that our predecessors could only hope for."
"Even so, it's still a risk. And it only becomes even more so the longer we let him roam free. The longer you let him roam free. You could end this right now and probably save yourself a lot of headaches in the future."
Sermung stepped closer, and he laid a hand on Jonah's shoulder again.
Ettol hadn't appreciated it the last time, but Jonah very much did now. The compassion and sympathy in the man's aura were so strong that Jonah could quite literally feel them himself.
"Please don't talk like that," said the Titan. "You're more valuable than you give yourself credit for. And even if you weren't, you're still your own person with your own soul. You'd give that consideration to someone else, wouldn't you? Why not yourself?"
Sunday, January 25, 2026
Page 4031
"Polost, is it?" Sermung scratched his chin. "Not the most welcoming city. Especially to me."
"True," said Jonah. "But with Tenebrach at your side, that shouldn't pose a problem, should it?"
"Depends on if my old friend is there."
"Dozer? Why should his presence make a difference? And why do you always call him that, by the way? A joke?"
"Of a kind." Sermung turned and paced across the room, rubbing his neck. "My old friend is more perceptive than even he himself realizes, I think. Which is saying something, considering the ego on that man."
Jonah wasn't quite sure he understood, but that was no new thing when it came to his conversations with this person. He sometimes wondered if anyone in the world understood Sermung.
Hmm. An absurd thought entered into his head, and he probably should not have voiced it, and yet some manner of ridiculous curiosity pushed him onward.
"...Have you considered telling your 'old friend' about your current project?"
Sermung looked at him but didn't say anything.
And to Jonah's eyes, the expression on the man's face spoke not of humor or absurdity like Jonah had been thinking. Instead, it suggested a serious contemplation.
Which left Jonah blinking with surprise. Impulsively, he wanted to try to read the man's mind, despite knowing how utterly futile such an attempt would be.
"Do you think you've grown closer to him since last we met?" said Sermung.
Jonah tilted his head and raised his brow as he thought about that. "I... would like to say yes, but..."
"Heh. I'd be suspicious if you did so with no trepidation at all."
"...Are you really thinking about telling him of your quest? I thought you would've rejected the idea immediately."
"He and I have a complex relationship."
"The understatement of the century," said Jonah.
"Obviously, I can't trust him. But he and I have also known each other for so long and butted heads so many times that... we do have an odd kind of understanding with one another. A part of me thinks that he might actually be receptive to cooperating."
Jonah snorted. "And what is Tenebrach's opinion?"
"Let's not talk about that."
Jonah breathed a laugh. "Well, in any case, if this grand stalemate continues for much longer, then you won't have to tell Dozer anything. I'm sure he'll find out all on his own, eventually."
"True," said Jonah. "But with Tenebrach at your side, that shouldn't pose a problem, should it?"
"Depends on if my old friend is there."
"Dozer? Why should his presence make a difference? And why do you always call him that, by the way? A joke?"
"Of a kind." Sermung turned and paced across the room, rubbing his neck. "My old friend is more perceptive than even he himself realizes, I think. Which is saying something, considering the ego on that man."
Jonah wasn't quite sure he understood, but that was no new thing when it came to his conversations with this person. He sometimes wondered if anyone in the world understood Sermung.
Hmm. An absurd thought entered into his head, and he probably should not have voiced it, and yet some manner of ridiculous curiosity pushed him onward.
"...Have you considered telling your 'old friend' about your current project?"
Sermung looked at him but didn't say anything.
And to Jonah's eyes, the expression on the man's face spoke not of humor or absurdity like Jonah had been thinking. Instead, it suggested a serious contemplation.
Which left Jonah blinking with surprise. Impulsively, he wanted to try to read the man's mind, despite knowing how utterly futile such an attempt would be.
"Do you think you've grown closer to him since last we met?" said Sermung.
Jonah tilted his head and raised his brow as he thought about that. "I... would like to say yes, but..."
"Heh. I'd be suspicious if you did so with no trepidation at all."
"...Are you really thinking about telling him of your quest? I thought you would've rejected the idea immediately."
"He and I have a complex relationship."
"The understatement of the century," said Jonah.
"Obviously, I can't trust him. But he and I have also known each other for so long and butted heads so many times that... we do have an odd kind of understanding with one another. A part of me thinks that he might actually be receptive to cooperating."
Jonah snorted. "And what is Tenebrach's opinion?"
"Let's not talk about that."
Jonah breathed a laugh. "Well, in any case, if this grand stalemate continues for much longer, then you won't have to tell Dozer anything. I'm sure he'll find out all on his own, eventually."
Saturday, January 24, 2026
Page 4030
Jonah half-expected Koh to turn his nose up or even growl at the man, but to his surprise, the wolf actually let Sermung pet him.
"He doesn't usually allow people to touch him," said Jonah. "Only children."
Sermung scratched behind Koh's ear, which the dog seemed to appreciate. "Perhaps I'm still a child at heart."
Jonah tried reaching a hand towards the animal, but Koh immediately turned and growled at him.
Sermung chortled as he retracted his hand, as well. "Are you sure his consciousness is being suppressed? He seems quite capable of resisting you."
"Don't I know it," said Jonah with a sigh. "Ironically, that might be why it is so difficult for me to free him. I've been trying to discover how to undo the psychic bindings over his mind, but it's like... they've become knotted together with his psyche. At this point, I'm not even sure Ettol knows how to undo them."
"How curious."
"Can Tenebrach see a solution?"
Sermung paused. For quite a while. "...No."
And while Jonah did not think the Crystal Titan would lie to him, necessarily, he also couldn't help wondering if that was the full truth. Because there was at least one solution that Jonah was fairly sure would work.
His own death.
Tenebrach would know that--and probably not be afraid of mentioning it, either.
Jonah didn't blame Sermung for leaving that out, but given how long that pause had been, perhaps Tenebrach had mentioned another, similarly grisly solution.
The Titan pushed the conversation onward before Jonah could finish organizing his thoughts, however.
"Anyway, down to business," he said. "Do you have any fresh leads for me?"
Ah, of course, that was much more important. "One moment." Jonah stopped and focused. His information gathering efforts had been a constant project over the years, squirreling away any relevant-seeming tidbits whenever possible, creating a web of memory points that may-or-may-not be related to one another. There was no way to tell until he unsealed the mental vault that he'd constructed.
Anything less secure or concealed would have eventually been found by Ettol. It was much too risky to just let those memories float freely.
Wow. There was quite a bit to sift through this time. He needed to be quick, though. Damn.
Skimming, skimming. Irrelevant. Irrelevant. Useless. Dead end. Irrelevant. Old news. Unimportant. Oh?
Hmm.
"...I believe there may be a dormant portal in Polost," said Jonah. "Western outskirts of the city, beneath a ruined fortress."
"He doesn't usually allow people to touch him," said Jonah. "Only children."
Sermung scratched behind Koh's ear, which the dog seemed to appreciate. "Perhaps I'm still a child at heart."
Jonah tried reaching a hand towards the animal, but Koh immediately turned and growled at him.
Sermung chortled as he retracted his hand, as well. "Are you sure his consciousness is being suppressed? He seems quite capable of resisting you."
"Don't I know it," said Jonah with a sigh. "Ironically, that might be why it is so difficult for me to free him. I've been trying to discover how to undo the psychic bindings over his mind, but it's like... they've become knotted together with his psyche. At this point, I'm not even sure Ettol knows how to undo them."
"How curious."
"Can Tenebrach see a solution?"
Sermung paused. For quite a while. "...No."
And while Jonah did not think the Crystal Titan would lie to him, necessarily, he also couldn't help wondering if that was the full truth. Because there was at least one solution that Jonah was fairly sure would work.
His own death.
Tenebrach would know that--and probably not be afraid of mentioning it, either.
Jonah didn't blame Sermung for leaving that out, but given how long that pause had been, perhaps Tenebrach had mentioned another, similarly grisly solution.
The Titan pushed the conversation onward before Jonah could finish organizing his thoughts, however.
"Anyway, down to business," he said. "Do you have any fresh leads for me?"
Ah, of course, that was much more important. "One moment." Jonah stopped and focused. His information gathering efforts had been a constant project over the years, squirreling away any relevant-seeming tidbits whenever possible, creating a web of memory points that may-or-may-not be related to one another. There was no way to tell until he unsealed the mental vault that he'd constructed.
Anything less secure or concealed would have eventually been found by Ettol. It was much too risky to just let those memories float freely.
Wow. There was quite a bit to sift through this time. He needed to be quick, though. Damn.
Skimming, skimming. Irrelevant. Irrelevant. Useless. Dead end. Irrelevant. Old news. Unimportant. Oh?
Hmm.
"...I believe there may be a dormant portal in Polost," said Jonah. "Western outskirts of the city, beneath a ruined fortress."
Friday, January 23, 2026
Page 4029 -- CCCXXII.
Chapter Three Hundred Twenty-Two: 'Alas, thy broken spirit...'
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...Forty-three years ago...
"How long do we have?" said Sermung.
"Until Parson and Damian arrive?" said Jonah. "Not long. Could be minutes, could be another hour, depending on how lazy they're feeling today. But I can help conceal you from them, if you'd like to observe the meeting."
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary." Then the Crystal Titan paused for a smile. "Growing confident in your power, aren't you?"
"Only thanks to Tenebrach. Is he here? I don't sense him."
"He is. And I think he is even helping you as we speak." Sermung bobbed his head to the side. "But you know how he gets."
Jonah couldn't help frowning a little. "Yes. I do..."
"That's just his way. Don't take it too hard."
"No, believe me, I understand," said Jonah. "He's right to be wary, even now. I'm obviously... unstable. It's just..." He looked around the seemingly empty chamber. "Thank you, Tenebrach. For everything."
No response arrived.
Which was probably for the best.
Sermung huffed. "Mule-headed, that one. He won't tell you, but he appreciates your words, Jonah."
Jonah just nodded.
The Titan spared a glance at Nerovoy, who was frozen there next to Jonah.
Jonah hated using his powers on Nerovoy, but at this point, it was for the reaper's own good. They couldn't have Nerovoy learning something important and then letting it slip to Ettol later.
It was sad beyond words, but the reaper was all but a lost cause, now. Ettol seemed to think that there might still be some way to heal him permanently, but Jonah found such a prospect to be extremely dubious. Storms, that was probably just another one of those lies that Ettol was trying to convince even himself of.
The bastard's tried-and-true method of diffusing responsibility.
Sermung made no comment about the reaper's condition. No doubt, he could already guess the situation--assuming he didn't outright know everything already. With Tenebrach at his side, that was entirely possible, Jonah knew.
When Sermung's gaze fell upon the silver wolf, however, he did decide to say something. "How aware is this one of the situation?"
Jonah shook his head. "I honestly don't know. His consciousness and sense of self are being suppressed, but there is... an inner core, of sorts, that remains utterly opaque to me."
Sermung reached toward the wolf, prompting Koh to sniff his hand.
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...Forty-three years ago...
"How long do we have?" said Sermung.
"Until Parson and Damian arrive?" said Jonah. "Not long. Could be minutes, could be another hour, depending on how lazy they're feeling today. But I can help conceal you from them, if you'd like to observe the meeting."
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary." Then the Crystal Titan paused for a smile. "Growing confident in your power, aren't you?"
"Only thanks to Tenebrach. Is he here? I don't sense him."
"He is. And I think he is even helping you as we speak." Sermung bobbed his head to the side. "But you know how he gets."
Jonah couldn't help frowning a little. "Yes. I do..."
"That's just his way. Don't take it too hard."
"No, believe me, I understand," said Jonah. "He's right to be wary, even now. I'm obviously... unstable. It's just..." He looked around the seemingly empty chamber. "Thank you, Tenebrach. For everything."
No response arrived.
Which was probably for the best.
Sermung huffed. "Mule-headed, that one. He won't tell you, but he appreciates your words, Jonah."
Jonah just nodded.
The Titan spared a glance at Nerovoy, who was frozen there next to Jonah.
Jonah hated using his powers on Nerovoy, but at this point, it was for the reaper's own good. They couldn't have Nerovoy learning something important and then letting it slip to Ettol later.
It was sad beyond words, but the reaper was all but a lost cause, now. Ettol seemed to think that there might still be some way to heal him permanently, but Jonah found such a prospect to be extremely dubious. Storms, that was probably just another one of those lies that Ettol was trying to convince even himself of.
The bastard's tried-and-true method of diffusing responsibility.
Sermung made no comment about the reaper's condition. No doubt, he could already guess the situation--assuming he didn't outright know everything already. With Tenebrach at his side, that was entirely possible, Jonah knew.
When Sermung's gaze fell upon the silver wolf, however, he did decide to say something. "How aware is this one of the situation?"
Jonah shook his head. "I honestly don't know. His consciousness and sense of self are being suppressed, but there is... an inner core, of sorts, that remains utterly opaque to me."
Sermung reached toward the wolf, prompting Koh to sniff his hand.
Thursday, January 22, 2026
Page 4028
"Who are you?" said Ettol, knowing it would almost certainly go unanswered.
The stranger stepped closer. "You're not feeling well, are you?"
Ettol grabbed his forehead. "No. I know who you are, don't I? But your name--it's being--agh..."
There was no pain, but that was not a good thing, he knew. Because there should have been. Something important was missing. He could sense it. Something very important was missing from his memory.
Jonah. No. Not just Jonah. Others, as well. Someone had helped him.
The parasites? They knew about Jonah? Had made contact with him? When?
The stranger's hand was on Ettol's shoulder now.
Ettol wanted to rip it from the other man's arm. To attack and then flee as fast as he possibly could.
But his body wouldn't even move. And a foreign calm had come over him. Pressing down on his mind. His thoughts. Settling his concerns. His questions.
His impulses.
Telling him that everything was fine. There was nothing to worry about. Just like the man in front of him was doing.
"It's okay," said the stranger. "Relax. You're perfectly safe with me."
Every fiber of his being was rejecting those words.
No one did this to Ettol. Ettol did this to others. This was not allowable. Not proper or acceptable.
So why couldn't he break free, then?
Because he was still too young, of course. This incarnation, too weak.
And because of Jonah.
Always Jonah.
Undermining his every effort. Constantly.
He'd been too soft, hadn't he? Too sympathetic. Granted Jonah too much influence.
Jonah had grown stronger than he realized. Enough to conceal things from him. To manipulate his memories in return.
Kehe.
Didn't feel good, did it? Having a taste of your own medicine? There'd been a time when Jonah had thought that maybe Ettol could still change for the better--that perhaps seeing what it was like to be manipulated would alter his perspective of doing such things to others.
But no. Jonah knew better by now.
Ettol would not learn from this experience. He would only grow angry and spiteful. Which was obviously going to be a problem, of course.
But there was nothing for it, unfortunately. Jonah intended to make Ettol show his true colors, no matter what. This fight could never be won, otherwise.
Ah.
That was better. Back in control again. That was right. Just relax, Ettol. This meeting wasn't for you.
"Sermung," said Jonah.
And the other man blinked at him. "Aha... there you are, Jonah. You had me worried."
The stranger stepped closer. "You're not feeling well, are you?"
Ettol grabbed his forehead. "No. I know who you are, don't I? But your name--it's being--agh..."
There was no pain, but that was not a good thing, he knew. Because there should have been. Something important was missing. He could sense it. Something very important was missing from his memory.
Jonah. No. Not just Jonah. Others, as well. Someone had helped him.
The parasites? They knew about Jonah? Had made contact with him? When?
The stranger's hand was on Ettol's shoulder now.
Ettol wanted to rip it from the other man's arm. To attack and then flee as fast as he possibly could.
But his body wouldn't even move. And a foreign calm had come over him. Pressing down on his mind. His thoughts. Settling his concerns. His questions.
His impulses.
Telling him that everything was fine. There was nothing to worry about. Just like the man in front of him was doing.
"It's okay," said the stranger. "Relax. You're perfectly safe with me."
Every fiber of his being was rejecting those words.
No one did this to Ettol. Ettol did this to others. This was not allowable. Not proper or acceptable.
So why couldn't he break free, then?
Because he was still too young, of course. This incarnation, too weak.
And because of Jonah.
Always Jonah.
Undermining his every effort. Constantly.
He'd been too soft, hadn't he? Too sympathetic. Granted Jonah too much influence.
Jonah had grown stronger than he realized. Enough to conceal things from him. To manipulate his memories in return.
Kehe.
Didn't feel good, did it? Having a taste of your own medicine? There'd been a time when Jonah had thought that maybe Ettol could still change for the better--that perhaps seeing what it was like to be manipulated would alter his perspective of doing such things to others.
But no. Jonah knew better by now.
Ettol would not learn from this experience. He would only grow angry and spiteful. Which was obviously going to be a problem, of course.
But there was nothing for it, unfortunately. Jonah intended to make Ettol show his true colors, no matter what. This fight could never be won, otherwise.
Ah.
That was better. Back in control again. That was right. Just relax, Ettol. This meeting wasn't for you.
"Sermung," said Jonah.
And the other man blinked at him. "Aha... there you are, Jonah. You had me worried."
Monday, January 19, 2026
Sunday, January 18, 2026
Page 4027
"Hah. No. But as I mentioned, I am rather busy, at the moment. Perhaps we could pick this up another time."
"Oh, I'm sure we will. But I am curious about who you are meeting."
"I am surprised you do not already know. I was getting the impression that you had already been observing me for some time."
"Not at all. I merely found a door and gave it a knock. You are the one who decided to answer."
Ettol wondered how much he should trust those words. His instinct told him not to be, but then, these Oathbearers were quite simple-minded, weren't they? Lacking guile in the extreme. Often outright incapable of lying, due to their chosen covenant.
And this one... well, he did seem a little different, truth be told, but not overly so.
Which was beginning to render Ettol bored. While, yes, Oathbearers were indeed his favorite opponents, that was only when there was an actual fight to be had; and this did not appear to be that--nor had he lied when he'd said that he was not in the mood for one.
Just another overly simplistic distraction when he had more important matters to be worrying about. If this man wanted--
Wait a minute.
Something wasn't right here.
If this was a mere Oathbearer, then how had he rejected the psychic marker at the beginning of their conversation?
He'd nearly forgotten about that. How? Psychic manipulation?
That would be the traditional explanation, but no... it couldn't be that. If there was one thing Ettol had confidence in, it was matters of mental manipulation and psychic influence. Just by being in the same room, he would be able to tell if this person in front of him harbored such abilities.
And yet still, he sensed nothing. Sure, Oathbearers could be otherwise completely normal human beings, but then how did he reject the marker?
...Moreover, when had it even been confirmed that he was an Oathbearer?
Hadn't Ettol just been worried that the man might have been faking? Where had that concern disappeared to? Jonah? Agh, maybe. But even if so, might that also mean Jonah knew something of this man that he did not?
Impossible...
Unconsciously, Ettol took a step back.
There was more than just something wrong here, he realized. All of a sudden, nothing seemed right.
"Easy now," said the stranger in a voice that was admittedly quite soothing. "Don't get skittish on me. I'm not going to hurt you."
"Oh, I'm sure we will. But I am curious about who you are meeting."
"I am surprised you do not already know. I was getting the impression that you had already been observing me for some time."
"Not at all. I merely found a door and gave it a knock. You are the one who decided to answer."
Ettol wondered how much he should trust those words. His instinct told him not to be, but then, these Oathbearers were quite simple-minded, weren't they? Lacking guile in the extreme. Often outright incapable of lying, due to their chosen covenant.
And this one... well, he did seem a little different, truth be told, but not overly so.
Which was beginning to render Ettol bored. While, yes, Oathbearers were indeed his favorite opponents, that was only when there was an actual fight to be had; and this did not appear to be that--nor had he lied when he'd said that he was not in the mood for one.
Just another overly simplistic distraction when he had more important matters to be worrying about. If this man wanted--
Wait a minute.
Something wasn't right here.
If this was a mere Oathbearer, then how had he rejected the psychic marker at the beginning of their conversation?
He'd nearly forgotten about that. How? Psychic manipulation?
That would be the traditional explanation, but no... it couldn't be that. If there was one thing Ettol had confidence in, it was matters of mental manipulation and psychic influence. Just by being in the same room, he would be able to tell if this person in front of him harbored such abilities.
And yet still, he sensed nothing. Sure, Oathbearers could be otherwise completely normal human beings, but then how did he reject the marker?
...Moreover, when had it even been confirmed that he was an Oathbearer?
Hadn't Ettol just been worried that the man might have been faking? Where had that concern disappeared to? Jonah? Agh, maybe. But even if so, might that also mean Jonah knew something of this man that he did not?
Impossible...
Unconsciously, Ettol took a step back.
There was more than just something wrong here, he realized. All of a sudden, nothing seemed right.
"Easy now," said the stranger in a voice that was admittedly quite soothing. "Don't get skittish on me. I'm not going to hurt you."
Saturday, January 17, 2026
Page 4026
"I will have to take your word on that," said Ettol. "To give up so much freedom for a whiff of extra power is not something I could ever abide or even condone. Truly, you have my pity, sir."
"That is one way of looking at it, I suppose. Another is that the only true freedom to be had comes from mastery of one's own circumstances and view. From an understanding that limitation makes way for imagination."
"Spoken like a pawn of the most obedient nature."
"If you think an attack on my pride will make any headway, then you will be sorely disappointed. That is the language of your kind, friend. Which I find increasingly ironic, the more I think about it."
"Ironic, is it? And how is that? You wrap yourself in chains, yet think me the slave here?"
"Always talking of freedom, but you have no qualms taking it from others, do you? If you really believed what you claim, then you would have left this realm in peace Ages ago. Left us to our own devices."
"Oh? 'Us,' you say? You count yourself among them, Oathbearer?"
"Of course I do."
"Now that is the real farce here, surely. Does that not count as a breach of your covenant?"
"If it did, we would both know so immediately."
"Heh. A fair point, I suppose."
Another period of silence arrived.
In that exchange, Ettol had learned even more than he'd wanted to about this person. Memories of so many encounters were coming to mind involuntarily now, making him relive countless fights and arguments with the most ancient enemy of his kin. Even if he'd never met this one before, they were all the same, in the end.
What an awful day it had turned out to be.
He'd been hoping against hope that, during his most recent imprisonment, they had finally all been eradicated--or at least chased away from this realm--but that was clearly not the case.
"...So is it to be a fight, then?" said Ettol. "Because to be quite frank with you, sir, I am not much in the mood."
The stranger's smile returned. "Nor am I. Even if we are of differing views, that does not mean we must make war, does it?"
"History would suggest otherwise."
"Indeed. But the future remains full of possibility."
Ettol had to suppress his own irritation. "Why did you seek me out? For the philosophical debate?"
"Would it be so terrible if I said yes?"
"That is one way of looking at it, I suppose. Another is that the only true freedom to be had comes from mastery of one's own circumstances and view. From an understanding that limitation makes way for imagination."
"Spoken like a pawn of the most obedient nature."
"If you think an attack on my pride will make any headway, then you will be sorely disappointed. That is the language of your kind, friend. Which I find increasingly ironic, the more I think about it."
"Ironic, is it? And how is that? You wrap yourself in chains, yet think me the slave here?"
"Always talking of freedom, but you have no qualms taking it from others, do you? If you really believed what you claim, then you would have left this realm in peace Ages ago. Left us to our own devices."
"Oh? 'Us,' you say? You count yourself among them, Oathbearer?"
"Of course I do."
"Now that is the real farce here, surely. Does that not count as a breach of your covenant?"
"If it did, we would both know so immediately."
"Heh. A fair point, I suppose."
Another period of silence arrived.
In that exchange, Ettol had learned even more than he'd wanted to about this person. Memories of so many encounters were coming to mind involuntarily now, making him relive countless fights and arguments with the most ancient enemy of his kin. Even if he'd never met this one before, they were all the same, in the end.
What an awful day it had turned out to be.
He'd been hoping against hope that, during his most recent imprisonment, they had finally all been eradicated--or at least chased away from this realm--but that was clearly not the case.
"...So is it to be a fight, then?" said Ettol. "Because to be quite frank with you, sir, I am not much in the mood."
The stranger's smile returned. "Nor am I. Even if we are of differing views, that does not mean we must make war, does it?"
"History would suggest otherwise."
"Indeed. But the future remains full of possibility."
Ettol had to suppress his own irritation. "Why did you seek me out? For the philosophical debate?"
"Would it be so terrible if I said yes?"
Friday, January 16, 2026
Page 4025
The other man smiled warmly, but he said nothing. Instead, his gaze fell upon Koh, who was lying down in the corner of the room, head resting on his front paws.
A long moment transpired as Ettol continued waiting, unsure what to try next.
He hated being on the back foot like this, not knowing who he was dealing with. What a mistake, answering that knock so cordially. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so eager to re-initiate contact with his brethren. The timing hadn't exactly been ideal, either.
Careful, he told himself. Careful and steady.
He decided to reassess the situation. Might this time actually prove advantageous? Damian and Parson were set to arrive any minute now--could they be useful here? If this stranger was an adversary--as he increasingly seemed to be--then it would certainly be better not to face him alone.
But how to explain the stranger's presence? An elaborate fiction might be needed. Ettol disliked resorting to those, as they tended to cause future complications, but if there was no other way, then--
"I've a question for you," said the stranger.
"Yes?"
"Have you seen a man with a large scar over his right eye?" He pointed to his own eye.
Ettol's gaze twitched. "You are in search of such a man?"
"Among other things, yes. Have you seen him?"
"I'm afraid not, though I've met many with similar scars. Perhaps you could tell me his name?"
"Oh, he would have left quite an impression, I'm sure. If you'd met him, I doubt you would mistake him for someone else, even with that meager description."
Avoidance. Again. It was no coincidence, Ettol felt.
"...Are you an Oathbearer?" said Ettol.
The stranger made no response.
All but confirmation, as far as Ettol was concerned. But still, he should be wary of an elaborate ruse. Oathbearers were some of his favorite opponents from the First Age. So full of pride, yet so easily undone.
That was why this could be a ploy. A trick to put him at ease. To make him stop being cautious.
Only someone extremely knowledgeable of the ancient world would be able to pull off such a thing, though.
Hmm.
"You have my sympathy, if so," Ettol went on. "It cannot be easy, living a life of constant repression."
"We all do it, in one way or another," said the stranger. "It is just a matter of understanding the bounds of one's own inner compass. Done properly, the 'repression,' as you put it, is hardly even felt."
A long moment transpired as Ettol continued waiting, unsure what to try next.
He hated being on the back foot like this, not knowing who he was dealing with. What a mistake, answering that knock so cordially. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so eager to re-initiate contact with his brethren. The timing hadn't exactly been ideal, either.
Careful, he told himself. Careful and steady.
He decided to reassess the situation. Might this time actually prove advantageous? Damian and Parson were set to arrive any minute now--could they be useful here? If this stranger was an adversary--as he increasingly seemed to be--then it would certainly be better not to face him alone.
But how to explain the stranger's presence? An elaborate fiction might be needed. Ettol disliked resorting to those, as they tended to cause future complications, but if there was no other way, then--
"I've a question for you," said the stranger.
"Yes?"
"Have you seen a man with a large scar over his right eye?" He pointed to his own eye.
Ettol's gaze twitched. "You are in search of such a man?"
"Among other things, yes. Have you seen him?"
"I'm afraid not, though I've met many with similar scars. Perhaps you could tell me his name?"
"Oh, he would have left quite an impression, I'm sure. If you'd met him, I doubt you would mistake him for someone else, even with that meager description."
Avoidance. Again. It was no coincidence, Ettol felt.
"...Are you an Oathbearer?" said Ettol.
The stranger made no response.
All but confirmation, as far as Ettol was concerned. But still, he should be wary of an elaborate ruse. Oathbearers were some of his favorite opponents from the First Age. So full of pride, yet so easily undone.
That was why this could be a ploy. A trick to put him at ease. To make him stop being cautious.
Only someone extremely knowledgeable of the ancient world would be able to pull off such a thing, though.
Hmm.
"You have my sympathy, if so," Ettol went on. "It cannot be easy, living a life of constant repression."
"We all do it, in one way or another," said the stranger. "It is just a matter of understanding the bounds of one's own inner compass. Done properly, the 'repression,' as you put it, is hardly even felt."
Thursday, January 15, 2026
Page 4024
What in the world was that?
Psychic feedback?
No... even in this low-powered state, Ettol could still guard himself against that tactic, for the most part. Not to mention, being the victim of malicious feedback was excruciatingly painful, while this hadn't hurt at all.
Instead, he'd only felt that windy pulse. Briefly disorienting, perhaps, but painless.
What did that mean? Was this a fellow wielder of the Windlight? Somehow, Ettol did not think so. Surely, a fellow wielder would be more easily recognizable than this.
The stranger was remaining quiet, he noticed. Not pressing for information. Not demanding anything. Just standing there, blankly.
"...Why have you come?" said Ettol.
"Why did you accept me in?" said the stranger.
Hmph. "I enjoy meeting new people."
"Or perhaps you were expecting someone else? Someone more familiar to you?"
"Someone like who?"
"One of your fellow visitors," said the man.
And Ettol paused. Something in the way he'd said that made the Gentleman of Palei hesitate. There was no obvious malice in it, nor had this stranger made any hostile movements towards him thus far.
And yet...
Visitors, were they? That choice of word felt particularly loaded. It indicated not just a rare piece of knowledge about him and his kin, but also an opinion about said knowledge.
An opinion that Ettol had not often found very warm or welcoming in the long history of his incarnations.
Perhaps his next words were Germal's influence, because he decided, for once, to be more direct. "Do you consider me your enemy, stranger?"
"Should I?"
"Certainly not. But it would also help me to answer that question more exhaustively if you told me who you were."
"Well, I wouldn't want you to exhaust yourself."
"Heh. Kind of you to worry, but I am tougher than I look."
"I'm sure you are."
"A name is all I am requesting. Is that so much to ask?"
"Not at all. But lying would be a hassle. And hypocritical, perhaps."
"A lie by omission is still a lie, no? Or so people keep telling me."
"Then it is a good thing that omission and refusal are not the same thing."
Yes, this opponent was quite experienced, indeed. There was no telling how much he already knew of Ettol and his kin.
"...Very well, then," said Ettol. "It is obvious enough that you want something from me. If you would tell me what you are looking for, then perhaps I might help you find it."
Psychic feedback?
No... even in this low-powered state, Ettol could still guard himself against that tactic, for the most part. Not to mention, being the victim of malicious feedback was excruciatingly painful, while this hadn't hurt at all.
Instead, he'd only felt that windy pulse. Briefly disorienting, perhaps, but painless.
What did that mean? Was this a fellow wielder of the Windlight? Somehow, Ettol did not think so. Surely, a fellow wielder would be more easily recognizable than this.
The stranger was remaining quiet, he noticed. Not pressing for information. Not demanding anything. Just standing there, blankly.
"...Why have you come?" said Ettol.
"Why did you accept me in?" said the stranger.
Hmph. "I enjoy meeting new people."
"Or perhaps you were expecting someone else? Someone more familiar to you?"
"Someone like who?"
"One of your fellow visitors," said the man.
And Ettol paused. Something in the way he'd said that made the Gentleman of Palei hesitate. There was no obvious malice in it, nor had this stranger made any hostile movements towards him thus far.
And yet...
Visitors, were they? That choice of word felt particularly loaded. It indicated not just a rare piece of knowledge about him and his kin, but also an opinion about said knowledge.
An opinion that Ettol had not often found very warm or welcoming in the long history of his incarnations.
Perhaps his next words were Germal's influence, because he decided, for once, to be more direct. "Do you consider me your enemy, stranger?"
"Should I?"
"Certainly not. But it would also help me to answer that question more exhaustively if you told me who you were."
"Well, I wouldn't want you to exhaust yourself."
"Heh. Kind of you to worry, but I am tougher than I look."
"I'm sure you are."
"A name is all I am requesting. Is that so much to ask?"
"Not at all. But lying would be a hassle. And hypocritical, perhaps."
"A lie by omission is still a lie, no? Or so people keep telling me."
"Then it is a good thing that omission and refusal are not the same thing."
Yes, this opponent was quite experienced, indeed. There was no telling how much he already knew of Ettol and his kin.
"...Very well, then," said Ettol. "It is obvious enough that you want something from me. If you would tell me what you are looking for, then perhaps I might help you find it."
Wednesday, January 14, 2026
Page 4023
The one who stepped forth, however, was not someone whom he immediately recognized. An entirely unfamiliar face.
That much was not uncommon, of course. His kin acquired new faces with each incarnation.
What was uncommon was for him to still have no clue who he was looking at. His kin were not just their faces, after all. And the process of rebirth was one of his great areas of expertise. Typically, he could still piece together who it was by sensing familiar traces in their soul, aura, and thought patterns.
New, yet familiar--that was how he usually found them.
But instead, this person was entirely strange to him. And Ettol found himself instantly unsettled, as well.
Was it a brand new soul, perhaps? One he'd simply never met before? On its first visit from beyond the Veil?
No, there was something more here... or something missing, rather. Ettol couldn't sense this person's soul or aura at all. Not their patterns of thought, either.
It was like a blank page standing in front of him.
It almost reminded him of their so-called father. But not quite. Ettol was never going to forget what he was like, nor did he ever expect to see another incarnation of him again.
Silence fell over the room as the new arrival laid eyes upon Ettol, looking him up and down while saying nothing.
Ettol was reluctant to speak first, though he did not precisely know why. This stranger--it almost felt like speaking first would give away a vital advantage, somehow.
Who was this man? Why had he made contact all of a sudden?
And why did he look so plain?
Such basic attire. White shirt with gray pants. Brown hair, brown eyes, average height, average build, average features. Not even a whiff of guile or attentiveness in his gaze. Like he was hardly even present--both physically and mentally.
At length, Ettol's discomfort grew too terrible, and he was compelled to get the conversation started. "I'm sorry, but I do not have long. I'm expecting company. It is a pleasure to meet you, but if there is something you wish to talk to me about, then please, make it be known now."
The stranger took his time responding. "Don't mind me. Go ahead and conduct your meeting."
Ettol had to consciously stop himself from squinting. "Might you honor me with your name, cedo?"
But rather than getting an answer with words, Ettol instead felt a sudden gust of wind wash over him.
And through him, too.
As if the words he'd just spoken had been rejected and thrown right back into his face. Right back into his very head, even.
"Do not do that, please," said the stranger. "I mislike being marked."
That much was not uncommon, of course. His kin acquired new faces with each incarnation.
What was uncommon was for him to still have no clue who he was looking at. His kin were not just their faces, after all. And the process of rebirth was one of his great areas of expertise. Typically, he could still piece together who it was by sensing familiar traces in their soul, aura, and thought patterns.
New, yet familiar--that was how he usually found them.
But instead, this person was entirely strange to him. And Ettol found himself instantly unsettled, as well.
Was it a brand new soul, perhaps? One he'd simply never met before? On its first visit from beyond the Veil?
No, there was something more here... or something missing, rather. Ettol couldn't sense this person's soul or aura at all. Not their patterns of thought, either.
It was like a blank page standing in front of him.
It almost reminded him of their so-called father. But not quite. Ettol was never going to forget what he was like, nor did he ever expect to see another incarnation of him again.
Silence fell over the room as the new arrival laid eyes upon Ettol, looking him up and down while saying nothing.
Ettol was reluctant to speak first, though he did not precisely know why. This stranger--it almost felt like speaking first would give away a vital advantage, somehow.
Who was this man? Why had he made contact all of a sudden?
And why did he look so plain?
Such basic attire. White shirt with gray pants. Brown hair, brown eyes, average height, average build, average features. Not even a whiff of guile or attentiveness in his gaze. Like he was hardly even present--both physically and mentally.
At length, Ettol's discomfort grew too terrible, and he was compelled to get the conversation started. "I'm sorry, but I do not have long. I'm expecting company. It is a pleasure to meet you, but if there is something you wish to talk to me about, then please, make it be known now."
The stranger took his time responding. "Don't mind me. Go ahead and conduct your meeting."
Ettol had to consciously stop himself from squinting. "Might you honor me with your name, cedo?"
But rather than getting an answer with words, Ettol instead felt a sudden gust of wind wash over him.
And through him, too.
As if the words he'd just spoken had been rejected and thrown right back into his face. Right back into his very head, even.
"Do not do that, please," said the stranger. "I mislike being marked."
Monday, January 12, 2026
Sunday, January 11, 2026
Page 4022
There had to be something here, though. Disturbances did not occur without cause, even if it was a naturally occurring one. Might there be some sudden outgrowth of this place's geographic resonance? Ardor often behaved that way when connected to a deep reserve. Rather than flowing and gradually building, it typically pooled together in one place until it spiked up abruptly or even exploded into new strength.
That was how many of these places were born, after all: from great spikes of ardor located deep within the planet itself.
But still. That was unlikely to be the explanation here. With such coincidental timing? While he just so happened to be visiting for the first time in years?
Was someone else here? Or... about to be, perhaps?
He exerted more influence with his soul, expanding his domain further outward, beyond the room's walls. It weakened the domain itself, of course, having to spread his power out more thinly over a wider area, but it also allowed him to detect disturbances at a greater range. This way, perhaps he could sense a pattern. A flow.
Ah. There on his right. Through the window. There was a winding path. Growing more intense as he focused on it--but not to the point of bursting. It wasn't trying to be invasive.
Now he understood. It was a knock. Someone asking for an invitation into his domain. How long had that been following him? It could have been years, just waiting for him to exert a large enough domain for him to sense its presence.
Waiting for him to grow powerful enough, in other words.
He still couldn't sense who it was, though. Either they were hiding their identity from him, or he was still quite lacking in otherworldly strength.
Another thing to worry about. The regrowth of their power was often non-linear. Some incarnations grew very quickly--assimilated efficiently and easily, perhaps even achieving previously untouched heights--while others were slow and stubborn, resisting growth at every turn.
Damn you, Jonah.
Well, regardless, he wasn't about to refuse the invite. It could be this incarnation's first real encounter with one of his kin. Ettol was only too eager to catch up, after all these years.
The disturbance grew and grew, until it was an almost visible tunnel. Its connection to his mind was so strong that he could nearly see it with his physical eyes.
Impressive. A path that powerful could have reached the other side of Eleg, for all he knew.
That was how many of these places were born, after all: from great spikes of ardor located deep within the planet itself.
But still. That was unlikely to be the explanation here. With such coincidental timing? While he just so happened to be visiting for the first time in years?
Was someone else here? Or... about to be, perhaps?
He exerted more influence with his soul, expanding his domain further outward, beyond the room's walls. It weakened the domain itself, of course, having to spread his power out more thinly over a wider area, but it also allowed him to detect disturbances at a greater range. This way, perhaps he could sense a pattern. A flow.
Ah. There on his right. Through the window. There was a winding path. Growing more intense as he focused on it--but not to the point of bursting. It wasn't trying to be invasive.
Now he understood. It was a knock. Someone asking for an invitation into his domain. How long had that been following him? It could have been years, just waiting for him to exert a large enough domain for him to sense its presence.
Waiting for him to grow powerful enough, in other words.
He still couldn't sense who it was, though. Either they were hiding their identity from him, or he was still quite lacking in otherworldly strength.
Another thing to worry about. The regrowth of their power was often non-linear. Some incarnations grew very quickly--assimilated efficiently and easily, perhaps even achieving previously untouched heights--while others were slow and stubborn, resisting growth at every turn.
Damn you, Jonah.
Well, regardless, he wasn't about to refuse the invite. It could be this incarnation's first real encounter with one of his kin. Ettol was only too eager to catch up, after all these years.
The disturbance grew and grew, until it was an almost visible tunnel. Its connection to his mind was so strong that he could nearly see it with his physical eyes.
Impressive. A path that powerful could have reached the other side of Eleg, for all he knew.
Friday, January 9, 2026
Next page on the 11th
Thanks for reading, everyone. In the meantime, here's a joke for you.
I finally graduated from clown school after taking night classes for years. During the daytime, I made ends meet by working as a carnival performer. I'm so proud of myself, but man, it was really difficult learning how to juggle so much at once.
I also had to perform as a tight rope acrobat at some truly dangerous heights. No safety nets to catch me. More exciting for the audience, they said. That was tough, too. I really had to find the right work-life-balance.
I finally graduated from clown school after taking night classes for years. During the daytime, I made ends meet by working as a carnival performer. I'm so proud of myself, but man, it was really difficult learning how to juggle so much at once.
I also had to perform as a tight rope acrobat at some truly dangerous heights. No safety nets to catch me. More exciting for the audience, they said. That was tough, too. I really had to find the right work-life-balance.
Thursday, January 8, 2026
Page 4021
The update continued for a while longer. There was much to go over, and Ettol doubted that he would get around to everything, but it was still worth a try. He would have started even earlier, but this invigorating period wasn't likely to last for more than a few hours.
But then again... Hmm. Perhaps if he could establish a large enough domain around himself, Nerovoy's condition might remain stable for longer. He didn't know if he was yet strong enough to maintain such a technique, nor did he have any recent practice with it, but he supposed it was at least worth a shot.
It would be a problem if the meeting dragged on--which was quite likely to happen, considering how many years of catching up there was to be done.
Yes.
He decided to give it a try, pulling on the Windlight again. Not making a demand. Asking gently for its assistance.
It responded eagerly, and he merged it with the force of his mind to establish an aerial bubble around himself. That was the first step. Next was to focus on its outer layer--a kind of psychic film--so that he could empower it with his soul.
And finally, he needed to let the Windlight fill in the rest of the space. An invisible balloon, of sorts, growing to be about as large as the room itself. As long as Nerovoy stayed within it, the reaper would theoretically stop regressing.
But it was still primitive. Others might be able to sense its presence when they passed through it. Adding an aspect of stealth to it was probably still beyond him, at this point. Making such an attempt would be a needless risk to its structural integrity when he could instead merely tell the others that he was practicing a new technique.
And that wouldn't even be a lie.
Perfect.
Now he just had to get comfortable and finish waiting.
At length, however, he was beginning to grow impatient. Those two jackasses were certainly taking their sweet time, weren't they? Eyeing his watch, he realized that it was nearly the agreed upon hour.
Why did they never bother to arrive even a little bit early? One would think that they would have eventually learned from his example after all these years.
But then again, he supposed their predictability was also a big part of what he liked about them. It certainly made his life--
A disturbance in his domain.
Germal looked around but didn't see anyone other than Nerovoy.
But then again... Hmm. Perhaps if he could establish a large enough domain around himself, Nerovoy's condition might remain stable for longer. He didn't know if he was yet strong enough to maintain such a technique, nor did he have any recent practice with it, but he supposed it was at least worth a shot.
It would be a problem if the meeting dragged on--which was quite likely to happen, considering how many years of catching up there was to be done.
Yes.
He decided to give it a try, pulling on the Windlight again. Not making a demand. Asking gently for its assistance.
It responded eagerly, and he merged it with the force of his mind to establish an aerial bubble around himself. That was the first step. Next was to focus on its outer layer--a kind of psychic film--so that he could empower it with his soul.
And finally, he needed to let the Windlight fill in the rest of the space. An invisible balloon, of sorts, growing to be about as large as the room itself. As long as Nerovoy stayed within it, the reaper would theoretically stop regressing.
But it was still primitive. Others might be able to sense its presence when they passed through it. Adding an aspect of stealth to it was probably still beyond him, at this point. Making such an attempt would be a needless risk to its structural integrity when he could instead merely tell the others that he was practicing a new technique.
And that wouldn't even be a lie.
Perfect.
Now he just had to get comfortable and finish waiting.
At length, however, he was beginning to grow impatient. Those two jackasses were certainly taking their sweet time, weren't they? Eyeing his watch, he realized that it was nearly the agreed upon hour.
Why did they never bother to arrive even a little bit early? One would think that they would have eventually learned from his example after all these years.
But then again, he supposed their predictability was also a big part of what he liked about them. It certainly made his life--
A disturbance in his domain.
Germal looked around but didn't see anyone other than Nerovoy.
Wednesday, January 7, 2026
Page 4020
“In any event,” Ettol went on, “we’re about to meet with Parson and Damian again.”
The reaper’s petals tilted. ‘Already? We just met a couple months ago. What need would there be to make contact again so soon?’
Ettol’s jaw clenched. He had no choice here. “No,” he said with an added layer of psychic force. “It has been several years since our last meeting. This is important. Remember?”
Nerovoy remained perfectly still for a moment. ‘Yes. Several years. Of course.’
There was always going to be a risk of the reaper saying something strange or nonsensical in front of the others. It had already happened before. Ettol wanted to have more caution this time, but truthfully, there was only so much that could be done. Reapers and their old relationships always provided a difficult wrinkle in these sorts of strategies. There was an ever-present threat that Feromas or Overra would notice that something was too strange with Nerovoy’s behavior.
Ettol had certainly done his best, though. He’d spent considerable time in pan-wzrost in the lead up to this meeting, just combing over the reaper’s memories of the relationship between the three of them.
It helped that they weren’t nearly as old as some reapers. If they’d all known each other for several thousands of years, then any attempt at deception here probably would have failed already.
And they might be more knowledgeable of him and his brethren, as well.
It was a rare thing to find a truly old reaper who either didn’t know of them or hadn’t already had their memories adjusted.
Unless, of course, if one were to visit some of those enclaves. There were plenty of long-sheltered reaper souls in those places.
Here and now, though, he still needed to refine the reaper’s sense of the present. There was quite obviously a problem of lost time at play, so he should focus on stamping that out--or at least making it not so obvious.
“We have been traveling these past few years,” said Ettol, again with force. “Keeping updated on the state of the world.”
‘Yes,’ said Nerovoy. ‘We love to travel. And our work is important.’
“That’s right. We’re envoys and liaisons. We’ve just about had a breakthrough, haven’t we? Towards the greater goal.”
‘Yes. We’ve been working for so long on that.’
“Soon, we’ll be able to start our own sect within Abolish.”
‘It will be glorious.’
“And we will use it well.”
The reaper’s petals tilted. ‘Already? We just met a couple months ago. What need would there be to make contact again so soon?’
Ettol’s jaw clenched. He had no choice here. “No,” he said with an added layer of psychic force. “It has been several years since our last meeting. This is important. Remember?”
Nerovoy remained perfectly still for a moment. ‘Yes. Several years. Of course.’
There was always going to be a risk of the reaper saying something strange or nonsensical in front of the others. It had already happened before. Ettol wanted to have more caution this time, but truthfully, there was only so much that could be done. Reapers and their old relationships always provided a difficult wrinkle in these sorts of strategies. There was an ever-present threat that Feromas or Overra would notice that something was too strange with Nerovoy’s behavior.
Ettol had certainly done his best, though. He’d spent considerable time in pan-wzrost in the lead up to this meeting, just combing over the reaper’s memories of the relationship between the three of them.
It helped that they weren’t nearly as old as some reapers. If they’d all known each other for several thousands of years, then any attempt at deception here probably would have failed already.
And they might be more knowledgeable of him and his brethren, as well.
It was a rare thing to find a truly old reaper who either didn’t know of them or hadn’t already had their memories adjusted.
Unless, of course, if one were to visit some of those enclaves. There were plenty of long-sheltered reaper souls in those places.
Here and now, though, he still needed to refine the reaper’s sense of the present. There was quite obviously a problem of lost time at play, so he should focus on stamping that out--or at least making it not so obvious.
“We have been traveling these past few years,” said Ettol, again with force. “Keeping updated on the state of the world.”
‘Yes,’ said Nerovoy. ‘We love to travel. And our work is important.’
“That’s right. We’re envoys and liaisons. We’ve just about had a breakthrough, haven’t we? Towards the greater goal.”
‘Yes. We’ve been working for so long on that.’
“Soon, we’ll be able to start our own sect within Abolish.”
‘It will be glorious.’
“And we will use it well.”
Tuesday, January 6, 2026
Page 4019
Ettol snapped control back. “Ah. Sorry. Just another joke that didn’t land. I didn’t mean anything bad by it.”
‘Heh. You do love those, don’t you? When will you learn that you’re not a comedian?’
“I’ve still got time to improve, don’t I?”
‘I never should have let you attend that experimental comedy festival ten years ago. This is never going to end now, is it?’
It was actually more like twenty years ago, but Ettol wasn’t about to correct him. He merely returned a smile as he silently reassessed the reaper’s condition.
No obvious cracks in the lamina of the soul. No leakage. Good. But what about the inner structure?
That was more difficult to examine without alerting the reaper, but Ettol had been growing more powerful. Perhaps it was okay to push a little harder this time. And if he was ever going to repair the reaper fully, this would need to become trivial for him.
The reaper was talking again, but Ettol was hardly listening.
He knew what he was looking for, at least. The filament. The thin, unreal wire on which hung the nucleus--or the mind, in other words--of a reaper’s soul.
The problem was that the filament was so small and evasive. Unlike the filament of a light bulb, for example, this one could move and even hide when it sensed an observer. They always seemed to dislike being noticed, and it was the main reason why many reapers became abruptly nervous in the presence of people such as himself.
And unfortunately, today was still not an exception.
‘You’re doing it again,’ said Nerovoy. ‘Stop that.’
Naturally, unlike the average reaper, this one had plenty of experience dealing with him and so already knew precisely where this “inexplicable anxiety” was coming from.
“Sorry,” said Ettol, easing back from his psychic plunge. For a moment, he considering trying to explain, in the hope that the reaper might understand that he was only trying to perform what was akin to a medical examination on him. But he decided against it. Down that road lay too many impossible questions.
And questions from his mortal loved ones were often how things started to go awry. With the benefit of hindsight, looking back on all his incarnations, that was typically where things began to spiral out of control.
More than anything, he didn’t want that to happen again. Not this time.
‘Heh. You do love those, don’t you? When will you learn that you’re not a comedian?’
“I’ve still got time to improve, don’t I?”
‘I never should have let you attend that experimental comedy festival ten years ago. This is never going to end now, is it?’
It was actually more like twenty years ago, but Ettol wasn’t about to correct him. He merely returned a smile as he silently reassessed the reaper’s condition.
No obvious cracks in the lamina of the soul. No leakage. Good. But what about the inner structure?
That was more difficult to examine without alerting the reaper, but Ettol had been growing more powerful. Perhaps it was okay to push a little harder this time. And if he was ever going to repair the reaper fully, this would need to become trivial for him.
The reaper was talking again, but Ettol was hardly listening.
He knew what he was looking for, at least. The filament. The thin, unreal wire on which hung the nucleus--or the mind, in other words--of a reaper’s soul.
The problem was that the filament was so small and evasive. Unlike the filament of a light bulb, for example, this one could move and even hide when it sensed an observer. They always seemed to dislike being noticed, and it was the main reason why many reapers became abruptly nervous in the presence of people such as himself.
And unfortunately, today was still not an exception.
‘You’re doing it again,’ said Nerovoy. ‘Stop that.’
Naturally, unlike the average reaper, this one had plenty of experience dealing with him and so already knew precisely where this “inexplicable anxiety” was coming from.
“Sorry,” said Ettol, easing back from his psychic plunge. For a moment, he considering trying to explain, in the hope that the reaper might understand that he was only trying to perform what was akin to a medical examination on him. But he decided against it. Down that road lay too many impossible questions.
And questions from his mortal loved ones were often how things started to go awry. With the benefit of hindsight, looking back on all his incarnations, that was typically where things began to spiral out of control.
More than anything, he didn’t want that to happen again. Not this time.
Monday, January 5, 2026
Page 4018
He didn’t need much for this. Just a taste. The temptation to imbibe more was always present, but he controlled himself, of course. Those who didn’t respect their Light were not long in keeping it.
Ah. There. A glimpse of home. A window into the Realm of the Living Wind.
Gorgeous, as ever. He spotted a few of the Cloudkeeps, gently spinning as their long, verdant banners billowed from atop their white, fluffy islands.
He hadn’t been back there in so long. Or at least, it felt that way. Getting stuck in a prison realm for countless years certainly hadn’t helped. Whenever he did eventually return, it was debatable as to whether anyone there will have noticed.
Which was preferable, actually. With any luck, the master of the realm won’t have woken up yet. He didn’t need another lecture.
But that was neither here nor there.
Nerovoy’s condition was what he focused his energy into. A small push was enough to invigorate the reaper, make him whole and normal again.
Well. For the most part.
The amorphous shape briefly became a perfect orb, glowing in that familiar and ethereal way, before finally returning to the shape of all reapers.
To Ettol’s eyes, Nerovoy was now a humble flower. Green stem, black-and-white petals, and a smoldering stamen in the center.
‘Ah,’ came the reaper’s groggy voice. ‘Germal. There you are. I was having the strangest dream.’
“A pleasant one, I hope?” said Germal.
‘Heh. I’ll describe it, and then you can tell me what you think. I was on a beach, overlooking the ocean. There was a beautiful sunset across the horizon. I felt so at peace. And yet, at the same time, I could see a great tide coming in. Slow as molasses. I stared and stared, but it hardly seemed to move. And despite how comfortable I was, I somehow couldn’t dissuade myself of the notion that the tide I saw was a terrible omen. An inevitable doom, of sorts.’
Germal made no response. He merely let the reaper loose from his grip, allowing the little flower to float there in front of him.
‘So?’ said Nerovoy. ‘Go on. What does it mean? You were always good at deciphering dreams, weren’t you?’
Germal wanted to say something, but his neck and mouth twitched, trying to wrestle away from him.
Jonah. Stop this, already.
“Doom is exactly right, Nerovoy. You’re doomed, and I’m the cause.”
Bastard.
‘What? What do you mean?’
Ah. There. A glimpse of home. A window into the Realm of the Living Wind.
Gorgeous, as ever. He spotted a few of the Cloudkeeps, gently spinning as their long, verdant banners billowed from atop their white, fluffy islands.
He hadn’t been back there in so long. Or at least, it felt that way. Getting stuck in a prison realm for countless years certainly hadn’t helped. Whenever he did eventually return, it was debatable as to whether anyone there will have noticed.
Which was preferable, actually. With any luck, the master of the realm won’t have woken up yet. He didn’t need another lecture.
But that was neither here nor there.
Nerovoy’s condition was what he focused his energy into. A small push was enough to invigorate the reaper, make him whole and normal again.
Well. For the most part.
The amorphous shape briefly became a perfect orb, glowing in that familiar and ethereal way, before finally returning to the shape of all reapers.
To Ettol’s eyes, Nerovoy was now a humble flower. Green stem, black-and-white petals, and a smoldering stamen in the center.
‘Ah,’ came the reaper’s groggy voice. ‘Germal. There you are. I was having the strangest dream.’
“A pleasant one, I hope?” said Germal.
‘Heh. I’ll describe it, and then you can tell me what you think. I was on a beach, overlooking the ocean. There was a beautiful sunset across the horizon. I felt so at peace. And yet, at the same time, I could see a great tide coming in. Slow as molasses. I stared and stared, but it hardly seemed to move. And despite how comfortable I was, I somehow couldn’t dissuade myself of the notion that the tide I saw was a terrible omen. An inevitable doom, of sorts.’
Germal made no response. He merely let the reaper loose from his grip, allowing the little flower to float there in front of him.
‘So?’ said Nerovoy. ‘Go on. What does it mean? You were always good at deciphering dreams, weren’t you?’
Germal wanted to say something, but his neck and mouth twitched, trying to wrestle away from him.
Jonah. Stop this, already.
“Doom is exactly right, Nerovoy. You’re doomed, and I’m the cause.”
Bastard.
‘What? What do you mean?’
Sunday, January 4, 2026
Page 4017
It was nonsense, though. The constant push to see patterns where none existed. He and all his kin each had their own reasons for coming here. And it wasn’t because they were secretly mortal or “craved” its miserable touch.
Rather, it was simply because this was where land and sea met.
At length, Germal returned to the little castle’s main chamber and took a seat by the western wall. This place, too, harbored plenty of memories for him to fall back into, but he’d already indulged enough, he felt.
He needed to prep for his friends’ arrivals.
Maybe one day, he would be able to tell them the full truth of things. Of his unique nature and history. He certainly wanted to bring them in.
But it was still too soon. He didn’t want to risk them not understanding.
Yes. Better to keep up the illusion for a while longer.
He reached into his coat and pulled out the dormant blob of ethereal energy.
Nerovoy. Germal’s reaper.
Or Jonah’s, rather.
Doubtless, this had a great deal to do with why Jonah refused to see reason.
Nerovoy’s decline into this state was not something that Jonah was going to forgive or forget any time soon.
Reapers were always an issue when it came to reincarnating. They didn’t always decline in exactly this way--nor had it always been this gradual--but there was always something that went wrong with them. Despite his many attempts to remedy the problem across multiple incarnations, Ettol had never found a solution.
He didn’t want to resign himself to the idea that this was wholly unavoidable--that the merge simply could not be conducted without harming the reaper--but after all the Ages, it was difficult to deny that might well be so.
More lies, of course. He’d known this was going to happen all along and never warned Germal about it. Oh, but he’d ‘merged with full understanding,’ right? Sure he did.
Never the bad guy. Always well-meaning, at the very least.
How hard you work to convince everyone of that story. Even yourself.
You lying monster.
You can’t deceive me. I see right through you, and I always will.
Germal pushed Jonah back down again. More forcefully, this time. Stay quiet for a while, please.
He returned his attention to Nerovoy. He concentrated, closing his eyes as he searched for the Windlight.
Rather, it was simply because this was where land and sea met.
At length, Germal returned to the little castle’s main chamber and took a seat by the western wall. This place, too, harbored plenty of memories for him to fall back into, but he’d already indulged enough, he felt.
He needed to prep for his friends’ arrivals.
Maybe one day, he would be able to tell them the full truth of things. Of his unique nature and history. He certainly wanted to bring them in.
But it was still too soon. He didn’t want to risk them not understanding.
Yes. Better to keep up the illusion for a while longer.
He reached into his coat and pulled out the dormant blob of ethereal energy.
Nerovoy. Germal’s reaper.
Or Jonah’s, rather.
Doubtless, this had a great deal to do with why Jonah refused to see reason.
Nerovoy’s decline into this state was not something that Jonah was going to forgive or forget any time soon.
Reapers were always an issue when it came to reincarnating. They didn’t always decline in exactly this way--nor had it always been this gradual--but there was always something that went wrong with them. Despite his many attempts to remedy the problem across multiple incarnations, Ettol had never found a solution.
He didn’t want to resign himself to the idea that this was wholly unavoidable--that the merge simply could not be conducted without harming the reaper--but after all the Ages, it was difficult to deny that might well be so.
More lies, of course. He’d known this was going to happen all along and never warned Germal about it. Oh, but he’d ‘merged with full understanding,’ right? Sure he did.
Never the bad guy. Always well-meaning, at the very least.
How hard you work to convince everyone of that story. Even yourself.
You lying monster.
You can’t deceive me. I see right through you, and I always will.
Germal pushed Jonah back down again. More forcefully, this time. Stay quiet for a while, please.
He returned his attention to Nerovoy. He concentrated, closing his eyes as he searched for the Windlight.
Friday, January 2, 2026
Thursday, January 1, 2026
Page 4016
Hmph. Never forgotten, had you? Perhaps if Arnel had become a vessel, you would have. After all, how was he any different from Hada? Eating people alive. Taking pleasure in the suffering of others. Why did Hada get a pass from you but not Arnel?
Hada did not “get a pass,” Jonah. But there was only so much that could be done to him as a form of retribution or punishment.
Bullshit. You’ve always been too soft on him. Even moreso than the others.
Jonah. Hada might very well be the most powerful among us. Sure, we could trick him in any number of ways, imprison and annoy him, but in the end, what more could be done? If you know of some way in which we could kill him, then speak it now.
Work with the emperors instead of against them. Together, you might see it done.
You make it sound so simple...
And you make everything sound complicated.
Ettol couldn’t stop a sigh from passing his lips. The illusory tower on fire dissipated into nothing, taking the imagined nighttime along with it and allowing daylight to return.
He wanted to keep arguing, but he could already feel Jonah’s will falling into the recesses of their mind again. And it was a conversation they’d already had, of course. No doubt, that was why Jonah was receding into the background: because he knew they’d arrived at their typical impasse.
How did Jonah become so stubborn? He used to be so gentle and kind. So understanding. Even towards Ettol.
It was the Supreme Will, wasn’t it? As much as he wanted for it not to be true, Ettol was finding it increasingly difficult to remain in denial. At some point, Jonah must have developed it.
But when? Ettol searched his memories. It had only been about forty years since Bellvine, so if he compared Jonah now to then... and reexamined everything that had transpired since...
What could have prompted the Supreme Will to be born in him?
That was yet another of their ancient opponents. But of course, the Supreme Will was also a special case, wasn’t it? Because in many ways, it served as an ally to his kin. They typically needed it for their vessels. It fortified the vessels’ souls and minds, allowing them to withstand the unreal fires of rebirth, which otherwise could only occur within the infinite realms of non-existence.
But it was a double-edged blade, the Will. Because it also resisted their efforts. Emboldened their enemies. And whispered to them, constantly, that they were not gods.
That the reason they were so endlessly attracted to this mortal realm was because, ultimately, they too belonged here.
Hada did not “get a pass,” Jonah. But there was only so much that could be done to him as a form of retribution or punishment.
Bullshit. You’ve always been too soft on him. Even moreso than the others.
Jonah. Hada might very well be the most powerful among us. Sure, we could trick him in any number of ways, imprison and annoy him, but in the end, what more could be done? If you know of some way in which we could kill him, then speak it now.
Work with the emperors instead of against them. Together, you might see it done.
You make it sound so simple...
And you make everything sound complicated.
Ettol couldn’t stop a sigh from passing his lips. The illusory tower on fire dissipated into nothing, taking the imagined nighttime along with it and allowing daylight to return.
He wanted to keep arguing, but he could already feel Jonah’s will falling into the recesses of their mind again. And it was a conversation they’d already had, of course. No doubt, that was why Jonah was receding into the background: because he knew they’d arrived at their typical impasse.
How did Jonah become so stubborn? He used to be so gentle and kind. So understanding. Even towards Ettol.
It was the Supreme Will, wasn’t it? As much as he wanted for it not to be true, Ettol was finding it increasingly difficult to remain in denial. At some point, Jonah must have developed it.
But when? Ettol searched his memories. It had only been about forty years since Bellvine, so if he compared Jonah now to then... and reexamined everything that had transpired since...
What could have prompted the Supreme Will to be born in him?
That was yet another of their ancient opponents. But of course, the Supreme Will was also a special case, wasn’t it? Because in many ways, it served as an ally to his kin. They typically needed it for their vessels. It fortified the vessels’ souls and minds, allowing them to withstand the unreal fires of rebirth, which otherwise could only occur within the infinite realms of non-existence.
But it was a double-edged blade, the Will. Because it also resisted their efforts. Emboldened their enemies. And whispered to them, constantly, that they were not gods.
That the reason they were so endlessly attracted to this mortal realm was because, ultimately, they too belonged here.
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