Page 4060

'Splendid. Then let your allegiance be recognized by all Idkin.'

And a harsh, guttural sound rang out in all directions, making Jercash's eyes look around with mild confusion while his smile remained untouched.

Really? They were allies, just like that?

Huh.

The snake-squids slithered closer, but he could already discern a change in their aura. No hostility whatsoever. Not even any tension.

He was about to inquire further when yet another strange thing stole his attention.

Sparking lights manifested around the Yigorosks, particularly at the tips of their tentacles. Then, at each point, air distorted briefly before a bunch of small, pale and fleshy pods blinked into existence. Their tentacles all wrapped around the pods with a relaxed ease, and then more sparking lights appeared beneath the Yigorosks, soon giving way to a bunch of squishy blobs for them all to lie on. Sit on? He couldn't tell.

And the blobs moved but not much. In fact, the squids seemed to have lost considerable mobility all of a sudden.

Then he heard some truly strange noises--like hissing steam and guttural crying--as he watched the fleshy pods being torn open and pressed up against... the Yigorosks' mouths, maybe?

The questions in Jercash's mind were lost as he could only stare with wide-eyes. Perhaps he was misinterpreting their weird body language, but it seemed to him that these guys... had essentially just whipped out a bunch of cold beers and reclining chairs in the middle of his testing ground.

One of the Yigorosks slid slowly over to him, making that same guttural cry that he was hearing all over the place, though this one seemed a bit more muted.

Jercash didn't even know how to start the conversation now, which was certainly a rarity for him.

'May our friendship prove ever fruitful!' said the squid next to him, apparently.

"Uh. Yeah. Hah."

'It is so nice to relax, finally,' said the alien freak. 'We all knew you were a trustworthy ally, but we have procedural standards that must first be adhered to. You know how it is, yes? Uptight worrywarts making sure everyone and everything is exactly perfect before allowing us to let loose.'

"Heh... hah... yeah..." He very much wanted to ask why they seemed so convinced that he was a 'trustworthy ally' already, but his better judgment was keeping his mouth shut. Perhaps he could find some other way to ask, though.

If he could stop being stupefied by the scene in front of him, that was.

Page 4059

As the Yigorosks approached, his grip on the baton tightened with anticipation. If they leapt at him, he would displace them--or as much of them as possible--in an instant. He had plenty of holding cells prepared for long-term study.

Or did he? If not, they'd just have to double up with other specimens. That would be fun to watch.

'What are your intentions for us, aura warrior?'

Jercash blinked, making his smile disappear with surprise, only to return a moment later. He had to look around in order to make sure someone wasn't pranking him. At this point, he could certainly distinguish a true psychic voice from that of an everyday reaper, but still. This almost felt too good to be true.

"You can speak to me!" he said with absolute delight. "How wonderful!" He searched through the oncoming wall of bladed tentacles, hoping to find the exact source of the voice, but it was quite the challenge even to distinguish their squiggly bodies from one another, let alone who which of them had spoken first.

'You have been gathering our softer brethren in your realm,' came another voice. 'What are we to make of this?'

'Do you seek to aid us?'

'Or a war?'

'That is so often the case with your kind, is it not?'

Oh, boy, so many new voices. And no way to tell who was who. Or were they actually all one? They did say "us," but hmm. His curiosity only continued to grow.

'Tell us your desire, aura warrior.'

And that term. Jercash knew of it. Quite the ancient moniker. And not necessarily appropriate for him.

But he wasn't about to deny something that may yet prove useful.

"I have many desires," he said, still smiling. "As do you all, I suspect. Perhaps we can help each other out. Or do you still consider us aura warriors to be your enemy?"

'Only those who would deny the Providence of the Originator are our enemy. Are you one such being?'

What? Jercash had to avoid making a face, but he still couldn't stop his head from tilting. "The Providence of the Originator. That's a new one. I'm afraid that I'm not quite sure what you're referring to. Could you clarify, please?"

'The Originator will return to your realm and protect it. Would you seek to resist his efforts?'

"Oooh. That Originator. Right, of course. Yeah, I'm sure we'd have no problem with each other!"

Page 4058

For more primitive psychic entities, the lure functionality of this baton was all that was needed. It would keep them wholly occupied and docile while he did whatever he wanted in examining them.

There was a false belief that many seemed to have regarding psychic abilities--even among psychics themselves, Jercash knew--that intelligence was directly correlated with it. This was not true at all. Purely instinctual, unthinking beings could absolutely still exhibit telekinesis and much more.

Such as with feldeaths, for example.

So this baton was nearly ideal for that task. Not so much for feldeaths, perhaps, but for less powerful creatures? Sure.

That was why it was also a fairly good metric for measuring intelligence. If they could resist the lure, then they were either very strong or very smart. And strength was quite easy to gauge, too. Dangerous, but easy.

The other main function of the baton was aura displacement. Strictly speaking, aura was not something that could be directly destroyed or even disrupted, as it was not one singular thing but instead an amalgamation of characteristics blending together.

But displacement was a slightly different trick. Aura was intertwined with spacetime. So manipulating space meant manipulating aura, at least partially.

This was why "domains" had come into the picture, Jercash figured. Strengthened "fortresses" of aura, where displacement was made more challenging. Historically, they had probably been developed as a defense against displacement attacks.

But that didn't make them perfect counters. Domains could be very strong, yes, but only when thoroughly cultivated. And moreover, displacement techniques, by comparison, seemed like they still had plenty of room for advancement, too.

As far he'd been able to tell through his historical research, the study and development of displacement had hit something of a wall over the eons--and multiple times, too. It struck him as no coincidence, either. Likely the doing of the pesky birds--though perhaps that was just his own bias talking. Whoever it was, they didn't want anyone developing even better counters against them.

Unfortunately for them, Jercash had been all over it for decades now. With a bit of help from Lozaro and the boss. Sadly, neither of them seemed to share quite the same interest in the subject as him, but that was fine. They had plenty of important projects of their own to worry about.

And he kinda enjoyed having something like this all to himself, anyway.

Next page on the 15th

Think I need a slightly longer break. Sorry, guys. I'll try to come back with more consistency. Thanks for reading, though, as always.

Page 4057

As for these Yigorosks, they were already proving quite pliable, as well. The baton in his hand drew their interest immediately. He waved it left and right, confirming that their bulbous eyes were indeed following it and not him.

Able to sense its unique aura, no doubt. A good sign. Perhaps they really were psychic.

This baton was actually not one of Lozaro's inventions--a fact which seemed to annoy the man to no end, even if he'd never come right out and say so. Instead, it had been a joint project between himself and Morgunov.

Granted, Morgunov had done most of the heavy lifting in its creation, but Jercash had also dabbled with a bit of inventing over the years. He was nowhere near as brilliant as the boss, nor as prolific, but neither was he an amateur. Plus, Morgunov seemed to appreciate his insight into the way that psychics operated, but at this point, the boss was probably even more of an expert on the subject than he was.

It often went like that. Jercash would spend decades learning about something, deepening his knowledge of the world. And if the boss didn't already know about it, then Jercash would teach him. Then, within a year or so, the boss would somehow know even more about it than he did.

Rather frustrating, if he was honest. But fascinating, too. And kinda funny.

Plus, it wasn't like that happened with every subject. Only the ones that the boss found interesting. And even then, sometimes he'd get distracted by something else, and then Jercash would remain the true expert.

He didn't yet know if that was still the case with psychics. After what the boss had told him about Germal, it was hard to say. Truthfully, Jercash had been planning on dissecting the Liar, eventually. He just hadn't wanted to play that card until he'd gotten to know the man a bit better. And there was that wolf, too, which Jercash had found endlessly more fascinating.

Okay, so maybe he was prone to getting distracted, too.

But the baton. It served multiple purposes. It was a lure, of sorts. Made from the ethereal bones of a hellbeast of Chaos, the soul and feathers of a wrobel, and also the hairs of his favorite dog. That last one didn't actually do anything, but he always liked his inventions to have a tinge of sentimentality thrown in.

Page 4056

When it came to psychics, the best way to detect them was through their aura. With the right knowledge and tools, aura could be examined quite thoroughly, even to the point of being able to see through their attempts to conceal their abilities.

That was one of Jercash's specialties, in fact. He'd been doing it for decades with great delight.

And it certainly hadn't earned him any affection from the nesting wrobels around the world.

Most of them seemed to be under the impression that he wanted to hunt them all down and exterminate them from existence.

Which was completely untrue. Understandable, sure, but untrue.

He would've much preferred to enslave them.

Unfortunately, even after all these years of hunting--and creating multiple specialized teams for hunting--he hadn't seen much luck on that front. Or any at all, for that matter. He and his men had never managed to successfully enslave even one of those stubborn birds.

So yeah, death had always ended up being the solution--hence why it was an understandable point of confusion. But he still fully intended to find a way to enslave them properly, one day. Not just through threats of violence but actual, true psychic enslavement. Just as their ancestors had once done to mankind.

It was only fair, wasn't it?

And he was hoping that, perhaps, these recent breakthroughs with the Yigorosks might prove helpful with that problem, too. More psychic specimens to study could only be a good thing, surely, even if they were a bit unruly.

Plus, he knew full well that some of those feathery deviants were working with the Vanguard, relying on them for "protection" in exchange for operational support.

The fools didn't seem to realize that such an arrangement was basically enslavement, already. If they would've just given him a shot, he was sure that he would've been a much better master than whoever was pulling their strings within the Vanguard.

But that was nothing new, of course. Everyone always thought that he was some merciless, evil oppressor.

They just didn't understand. As long as they complied completely, he was actually quite the benevolent master. He hadn't earned the love of all his men by treating them like trash, after all.

And yeah, sure, the killing and replacing of problematic subordinates with more pliable clones had helped, but that was more of a recent development, really. And it had its limitations, too. His men had loved him way before he started doing that.

Most of them.

Page at 6 pm PST today

Need a little more time with it. Thanks for your patience, everybody.

Next page on the 9th

Thanks for reading, everyone.

Page 4055

Yet another reason why he loved his boss, despite everything.

Why he would always remain loyal.

Even after all these years together, Morgunov still didn't seem to believe that fully, and Jercash didn't blame him. The man had seen more betrayals than perhaps anyone on the planet.

But that was fine. Jercash was long beyond the point of seeking Morgunov's approval or praise. It was only the folly of youth to want such things from a madman.

Jercash's mind settled again as the shimmering scene before him shifted another time. The tentacles rising out of the orange holes were quite numerous now--and thrashing with an obvious frenzy. An eagerness to slice something with their attached blades.

The Yigorosk was a nigh-mythical beast at this point in history. The ancient tales of heroes fighting them had become reductive and simplified. The reality, Jercash had learned, was that these creatures had all manner of different variations to them. Big ones, small ones, smart ones, dumb ones, hairy ones, sticky ones, pointy ones--and slice-y ones, apparently.

His collection was growing, and he could not have been more pleased.

As these new variants revealed their snaking forms fully, his smile only widened.

Wow.

These were less like tentacle monsters and more like true serpents. Still a bit squid-y, perhaps, but definitely quite different.

And they looked to be quite pissed off, too. Those bladed tentacles were rattling so much that it was a wonder they managed not to cut themselves.

Oh, hey, they were coming closer. Wanting to say hello, no doubt. How cute.

Just how dangerous were these suckers, anyway? Time to find out.

He could already sense the ardor coursing through them. Quite potent, too. Probably shouldn't test those blades against his flesh, even though the thought was extremely tempting.

Really, the first thing to test was intellect. He'd found one breed that was psychic, so there were probably more. Not to mention, the Weaver's current state was rather strong evidence of it, as well. She wasn't technically a Yigorosk, of course, but Jercash was also rather certain that her mutations were of a related nature.

In fact, perhaps he'd bring some of these bad boys to meet her next time. He didn't know if she would love or hate that, but either way, he was sure that it would entertain him.

In any case, he had just the tool for this job. He reached into the large bag on his hip and whipped out a baton.

Page 4054

If all of that was so, then Graves had effectively stalemated him on the matter of Vanderberk.

And perhaps all of his clones, for that matter.

Agh. The paranoia was rearing its ugly head again. And bastards like Graves thrived on that, didn't they?

Heh. But in fairness, bastards like Jercash did, too.

There was little point in getting all worked up about it now, he figured. Too many wheels were already in motion. This was just how things were, sometimes.

You prepare as much as you can, scheme as much as you can, but at some point, you just had to let the dice fly and see how they fell.

Yeah. He much preferred thinking about it like that. Excitement. Soon, he'd get to see how Graves' machinations measured up against his own.

He was especially curious to see if the Pale Hawk would be able to protect his fellow marshals. Jercash still owed Kane and Grant something fierce after they spoiled his victory party back in Kavia and slaughtered his men.

He knew they were on the move. Coming here, most like. To Intar. Jercash had all but invited them with that little preamble on Livingston Grand Castle.

Then there was Sermung, of course. Ever the wild card, of late. Perhaps he'd decided to take a page from Morgunov's book.

Jercash was still fully expecting the Crystal Titan to show up at any moment and try to ruin everything, but he had to admit, the man sure was taking his sweet time. Being given this much free rein was certainly a welcome surprise. If he'd known that he would have so long to prepare, then he might have approached things very differently.

Played with his cards a bit more.

How many more aces could he fit up his sleeve? It was hard not to be antsy about the inevitable encounter. Like all this prep work might abruptly be for nothing when Sermung showed up out of the blue and smoked his ass in a minute flat.

Wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

On the subject of payback again, Jercash owed Sermung most of all. In their last meeting, the Titan had him dead to rights. Granted, in that particular instance, it had at least been a long and arduous journey getting there, but still. Jercash knew only too well that, if not for Morgunov's last minute intervention, he would not have survived the Titan's wrath.

Page 4053

In fact, he'd never even told Vanderberk the truth about Vanderberk.

Perhaps that was a mistake in retrospect, but Jercash had never really wanted to find out how he would react to the revelation that he and his reaper were experiments.

Clones, actually. Though, for some reason that Jercash still did not understand, Lozaro hated it when he used that word. Based on some technical gobbledygook, no doubt.

The real Vanderberk and Elinox had died twenty years ago. Truly died. And the new versions of them had needed to be replaced multiple times since then, too.

The latest iterations had been much more stable and reliable, which was why Jercash hadn't minded granting them a bit more freedom to make their own decisions--that was the whole point of the experiment, after all--but he hadn't anticipated Graves getting to them in such a problematic way.

From the way Gohvis had described their deaths this time, Graves intended to use them as psychic puppets--either by reconstituting their corpses or by making full illusory copies.

Either way, it presented him with a major issue. If he had Lozaro make yet another new clone, then Graves could essentially do the same, and then there would be two Vanderberks running around.

But one of them would be a traitor.

That was simply too dangerous to allow, no matter how much more might still be accomplished by continuing the experiment.

He had to be patient, unfortunately. He needed to wait for this traitor copy to appear so that he could deal with it properly and then decide what to do next from there.

But even that plan was rather dubious, honestly. If Graves really could make a traitor clone, then what was to stop him from doing so again and again? If Jercash killed one, then it wasn't like he could suddenly start making his own clones again. It would be a constant threat to the experiment.

Until the Pale Hawk himself was dealt with.

Which was why Jercash started to think that, perhaps, Graves actually wouldn't be sending a Vanderberk clone to infiltrate their ranks.

Because the bastard knew. About the experiment. About the cloning. Somehow.

No one should know about that. Not Gohvis. Not Morgunov. Hell, not even Lozaro and Jercash knew, at times, due to their memory locking strategy.

And yet... when it came to the Pale Hawk, he might still have found some way to learn about it.

That surreptitious motherfucker.

Page 4052

That seemed to be a running theme with Lozaro, unfortunately. Not playing well with others who specialized in R&D. Always running into "creative differences," as he liked to put it.

Even with all he'd managed to provide, Jercash still sometimes wondered if he was worth the hassle.

But at least he wasn't psychic.

Jercash had gotten more than his fill of that type of support. The Weaver was lucky that Morgunov had gotten to her before Jercash did. If she wasn't under Gohvis' protection now, he would have hunted her down years ago and made her pay for her betrayal.

Through her, he'd been able to learn much about the nature of psychics and their terrible powers, but in the end, she hadn't been able to resist trying to bend him to her will.

And it didn't exactly help that she was one of his many ex-wives.

Mixing work with romance was rarely a good idea, of course, but it had taken him more than two centuries to learn that lesson.

He'd definitely learned it, though. He was not going to marry his personal secretary, this time. Never again. No. It didn't matter how much he liked her. Even if she seemed like prime wife material. It simply couldn't happen. Hell, Zenia probably wouldn't even want to, if he asked her.

Regardless, his marriage to Weaver--as brief and turbulent as it had been--had nonetheless proved rather useful in the long-term. It was thanks to her--and others, of course--that he'd developed his own psychic defenses.

One of which he'd picked up from Morgunov.

The deliberate locking away of memories. He always had to do that whenever preparing to meet Gohvis. As much as he enjoyed the big guy's company, Jercash knew only too well that their friendship was ultimately based more on convenience and amusement than anything else.

Which were serviceable enough foundations, sure, but he wasn't about to gamble everything on them.

There were some secrets that needed to remain secret, even from Gohvis.

Which, apparently, was yet another reason why Graves, the Pale Hawk, was such a bastard to deal with. Somehow, he seemed to have gotten wind of Jercash's plans--or some of them, at least. It was the only explanation.

Taking Vanderberk off the board in that particular manner had been an especially cunning move--one that even Gohvis had not fully recognized.

Because, of course, Jercash had never told him the truth about Vanderberk.

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Next page on the 3rd

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Page 4051

Either that, or he'd been playing up his poor condition so that Jercash would leave him alone--or just for shits and giggles.

Which seemed increasingly likely, the more Jercash thought about it.

All fun aside, however, he had to remember not to be too pleased with himself. Things might've been looking up for him personally, but these truly were dangerous times for Abolish. The upper echelons of power were now firmly in the kind of flux that had not been seen in centuries.

Gunther and Dunhouse getting fried was one thing. Ivan and Vanderberk getting neutralized added to that. But the Old Man disappearing, too? Now that was something.

Sure, it wasn't the first time, but if nothing else, it was at least proof that the great stalemate was again in real jeopardy. Perhaps it might be genuinely broken, this time.

How absolutely thrilling.

The possibilities were vast, these days. A younger Jercash would have almost certainly been paralyzed by choice, right now.

There were so many eager warriors coming to him for guidance and glory. And so many who noticeably weren't. Doubtless, they had their own agendas that they were pursuing in the fog of this war, but that just made it all the more enticing for Jercash to find out what those wily folks were up to, right now.

The Dozer clan came most prominently to mind. They'd yet to reach out to him, which could only mean one of two things, really. Either they knew where the Old Man was and therefore didn't feel unprotected by his absence, or they'd already reached out to someone else.

And since they'd probably kill themselves before reaching out to Morgunov, it could only be Gohvis.

Heh. Or perhaps they thought to stand against him all on their own. Now that would be amusing.

Regardless, it was worth sending out feelers. A few little eyes and ears. He already knew that they were fighting among themselves, but that didn't mean anything when it came to those people. They were always at each others' throats whenever the Old Man's back was turned.

It would be good to get Vasiliy on his side, though. That fellow would be quite the boon to his forces, if properly motivated. And fear would only go so far. Better to have something ready that would genuinely pique the man's interest.

Lozaro might make that difficult, though. He and Vasiliy had never gotten along.

Page 4050

It wasn't that big, though, comparatively. He'd already witnessed much more intimidating specimens in previous tests.

Much, much more.

That was the main reason he was so excited for this current venture into Intar, right now.

It was always a good time, coming here. Such a fun country. So massive and old. Plenty of places to hide, despite supposedly being "Vanguard territory."

They didn't know this land half as well as they pretended to. Sure, they had the big cities covered, but these rural spots--particularly the ones underground--were so remote and well-concealed that they might as well have been on the other side of the planet.

And this place, especially. He found it quite cozy, despite some of the protestations of his men.

It was the spores, no doubt. Those were quite terrifying, weren't they? Floating through the air like that. Glowing with those faint purple hues. Threatening to get into one's lungs and start growing so rapidly that one began to suffocate within minutes.

All the non-servants in his entourage had to be kept far away from those bad boys. And it wasn't like the servants loved them, either. It was still quite the nuisance to deal with, even if it wasn't deadly.

But that fear was also rather tasty, Jercash thought. The prospect of harnessing it in the war was simply too enticing to the imagination. Andayel covered in these beautiful little lights? Orange maws and purple fireflies?

Heh. He was getting ahead of himself, of course, but it was to think about.

Jackson would ruin everything if he didn't maneuver just so. And perhaps it was also greedy to be targeting Andeyal. Sure, that would be ideal, but these types of things required flexibility. Vision and opportunity.

All eyes were on him now, he knew. Not just those of his men but the rest of the world, too.

If he played his cards right, this campaign could turn into quite the historical one. He had more tools and manpower at his disposal than he'd ever had before--more than he'd ever dared dream, honestly. The only way it could've been better would be if the boss decided to grace them with his presence--and actually listen to Jercash, instead of running off and ruining everything, as he was sometimes wont to do.

But oh well. Perhaps this was for the best. Morgunov certainly deserved a rest after all he'd accomplished in the Luthic. From the brief conversation they'd had, it seemed like the Mad Demon might actually be out of commission for quite a while.

Page 4049 -- CCCXXIII.

'Our best bet would be to pay a visit to Fen, but if we're trying to avoid the Vanguard, then he's not an option,' said Overra. 'Who's the best doctor you know? Or the best integrator?'

Feromas exchanged looks with Damian. 'There are a couple of options,' said the reaper. 'They're both in Vanguard territory, though.'

'But they're not Vanguard themselves?'

'No.'

'Then either will do.'

'How tolerant of you. Are you sure you are not still being affected by Ettol's manipulation? The Overra I know would be demanding all sorts of details before saying something like that.'

'Oh, you will still be telling me all of those details, but let us get moving already.'

'We'll make a game of it, then. See what you can pry out of me.'

After hearing that, Parson already intended to stop listening.


Chapter Three Hundred Twenty-Three: 'The devil's stew...'
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Beautiful. His eyes were wide with delight as he watched the testing ground ahead of him. That orange light was really something. The way it shone through the holes was somehow so charming, he felt. He could stare at it all day.

The context helped, of course. Sure, he found it quite pleasing from a purely aesthetic point of view, but really, it was the knowledge that all those years of secrecy and fundraising were finally bearing fruit in a visceral, tangible way.

And that smell. Sulfuric. Brought back memories, that did.

The others were all hiding back in the bunker some fifty yards away--even Lozaro himself--but Jercash had truly grown to enjoy these experiences.

He wondered if this was how Morgunov felt all the time. If so, he envied the mad bastard.

But that was nothing new, of course. His love for the man had always been colored with jealoussy.

These holes, though. Lozaro had truly outdone himself, this time. Perhaps Morgunov would be the jealous one now.

In fact, that could actually be a problem, now that Jercash was thinking about it. He'd wanted to surprise the boss with this whole thing, but might it actually be wiser to break it to him softly?

Eh, probably. But where was the fun in that? And even if he got angry at first, he'd most certainly be more appreciative once the dust settled.

Ooh, Jercash spotted a tentacle emerging. And were those blades attached to it? Mantis-like sickles up and down the length of it. That was new.

Next page tomorrow

Sorry, guys. Thanks for your patience, as always.

Page 4048

"It's no secret that he's been barely been around in recent years," said Parson. "The majority of the Vanguard's operation has fallen upon the shoulders of the marshals."

"That doesn't mean anything," said Damian. "Emperors have always been that way. They do whatever they please and leave their men to take of all the bitch work."

"Sure, but it's been different, lately. When I've seen him conversing with Jackson or Sanko or Kane, he's not been..." Parson struggled for the right word. "A leader."

Damian just stared back at him.

"He defers to their judgment instead of making his own. Almost like he's taking orders from them instead of the other way around."

Feromas jumped in again. 'Well, if he's been gallivanting off in other realms in order to combat these Primordial bastards or whatever else, then it would make sense if he is uninformed about what is currently going on in the world. In which case, it would be wise of him to listen to the people who DO know what is going on.'

Parson tilted his head but had no argument--or at least no words for it. Increasingly, it had been difficult to look upon this modern Sermung in comparison to the one he'd grown up with all throughout his formative years within the Vanguard.

Getting to meet the Crystal Titan at such a young age--thanks to serving directly under Lamont--had given Parson a rare picture of the man in his mind.

Perhaps it was his own folly, but over the years, he'd come to feel as if he knew Sermung better than almost anyone in the world.

But seeing him again in Jonah's vision just now had also been somewhat enlightening. Sermung had even mentioned him. Mentioned worrying about him.

And perhaps duly so.

Parson still needed time to organize his thoughts. This was all too much to process. He could feel himself spiraling in his own head.

Thankfully, Damian's voice pulled him out before he sunk too far.

"Well, in any case, we're still in no better condition physically than we were when we go here. We should get moving and talk on the way."

'Moving to where, exactly?' asked Feromas.

"That's supposed to be your jobs to figure out, you reaper pricks."

'Maybe he really IS back to his old self,' said Overra.

'Well, we need a place where the two of you can recover, but without knowing more about what Morgunov has done to you, how are we supposed to find such a place?'

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Next page on the 24th

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Page 4047

"If that's the criteria we're going by," said Damian, "then I have no problem with it. But it also means that there are at least two others who gained Jonah's approval. And we should probably make contact with them, if we can."

It took Parson a moment to realize who he was talking about.

Sermung and Tenebrach.

Yes. From the vision, it was obvious that Jonah trusted them more than perhaps anyone else in the world. Certainly more than anyone here, right now.

'Yet another thing that is easier said than done,' said Feromas. 'Unless, that is, our resident Vanguardians have some way of getting in touch with them.'

'There was a time when that was so,' said Overra. 'When Sermung handed out beacons left and right, telling people to call if they needed help. Parson had one for a good few decades. But no longer.'

Feromas tilted his faceless head. 'Beacons, huh? Can you get another one?'

'Wouldn't matter,' said Overra. 'He stopped answering them altogether.'

'All of them?'

'As far as I know, yes.'

'So someone else out there might still have the privilege.'

'Technically, yes, but I do not know who that could be.'

'Well, who is his favorite subordinate?'

'I don't think he plays favorites.'

'Everyone plays favorites.'

'Sermung is not like everyone else.'

'Tenebrach, then. He must have a favorite.'

"If you ask me, it seemed like Jonah was Sermung's favorite," said Damian.

Another brief silence arrived.

'Well, even if that's true, it's no help to us now,' said Feromas.

"We could always send a Courier," said Damian.

'That won't work, either,' said Overra. 'We've tried before. They just return the letters.'

"You're kidding. How badly does this guy not want to be bothered?"

'Judging from what we just learned in that vision,' said Overra, 'I don't know if that's the problem. Instead, it might just be that the Couriers are unable to reach him.'

'You think he's venturing out into other planes of existence?' said Feromas.

'Maybe. But it's just a guess. He's become very unpredictable over the years. By design, I'm sure. We'd have to ask him directly to find out the full truth of things.'

'You'd think your boss would be a little more forthcoming with his subordinates about such important information.'

'Not if he knows that unwitting saboteurs are everywhere.'

Parson had to add onto that. "And to be honest, I'm not even sure that he considers himself the leader of the Vanguard anymore."

'Excuse me?' said Feromas.

Page 4046

"I doubt it will be that easy," said Parson, standing to his feet again. "The Archivers have a long memory. They're reapers, after all. They'll remember our last visit perfectly. And when they see that we've returned, asking similar questions again, they'll be instantly suspicious of us. And if they have anything to hide, they'll work doubly so to make sure we never find it."

"So we don't go to Luugh, then," said Damian. "Or at least, not first."

"I'm sure the different groups talk to each other," said Parson. "But yes, that is probably wise. We should start with some other target, one that is less likely to turn into a fight."

'Archivers are not fighters,' said Feromas.

'So they say,' said Overra. 'But even if that's really true, there are other ways of combating one's enemies besides martial strength. As we've again just witnessed, no?'

'True,' acknowledged the other reaper. 'Moreover, we don't yet know who all is trustworthy. If the rest of them are as deceptive as this Ettol was, then there's no telling how many other people might be unknowingly compromised by their influence. In my opinion, the only ones we can trust right now--at least on this matter--are the four of us here in this room.'

Damian huffed. "Are you even sure of that much? It would seem we've all been unknowingly compromised before. Who's to say that's not still the case, somehow?"

An uncomfortable silence arrived as everyone looked at each other.

Parson was the one to break it. "Jonah. He's the one to say. He gave his life and left us that message so that we might have this opportunity now." Parson paused for someone to respond but when no one did, he kept going. "Jonah saw everything. He knew all of us. Understood us. And he knew the enemy as well. Knew the hold they had over us. And he still didn't give up on us. Even though maybe he should have."

'What are you saying?' said Overra. 'He should have abandoned us as Ettol's puppets?'

"It would've been the much easier path for him," said Parson. "He might still be alive, right now. In fact, he probably would be."

Damian nodded.

Parson went on. "If Jonah approved of us working together, then Feromas is right. The four of us here can trust each other. None of us are compromised."

'It may be a stretch to say that I trust Overra, though.'

'Hmph, right back at you.'

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Page 4045

And that first encounter hadn't even been the only time. The second encounter with Chaos had been at Bellvine, when those mad creatures began showing up--and more importantly, when Morgunov had gotten ahold of both Damian and Germal at once.

That entire battle had become a mad haze in his memory over the years, but here and now, thinking back on it with this new context fresh in his mind, that particular moment was feeling especially clear.

Morgunov had gotten to Germal. Holding him by his head. Seemingly to 'show' him something. And then done the same thing to Damian, hadn't he?

Parson had fought to free them both, but in the end, he had also ended up in basically the same position, at the Mad Demon's mercy.

And Morgunov had been about to 'show' him something, too, judging from the way he'd been talking. The only reason he hadn't done so... was because...

The wolf.

Parson's mind refocused. Reprioritized. And then he remembered everything Morgunov had said to the beast. Along with everything he'd witnessed in the recent battle.

What monstrous power the wolf had wielded. Incredible all those years ago, but now even moreso.

"Koh is the key," he found himself saying. "The Prime Hunt, yes? That's what Morgunov called it, back when he was possessed at Bellvine. And in this latest fight, Koh... clearly, something changed with him. He turned on Germal. Or Ettol, rather, didn't he?"

"Mm," hummed Damian. "So if we can learn more about him, then perhaps we can learn more about this enemy."

'Easier said than done,' said Feromas. 'It's not like we never tried. Even the Prime Archivers in Luugh couldn't help us when we sought to learn more about Koh.'

'Hmm, I wonder about that,' said Overra.

'What do you mean?' said Feromas.

'The Archivers are supposedly neutral,' she said, 'but I have long had my suspicions about that. Just because they do not side with either the Vanguard or Abolish does not mean that they are without an agenda of their own.'

'Well, of course they have one. Everyone does. But what relevance does that have here? Do you have some reason to believe that they are untrustworthy on this particular subject?'

'Think about it. If these Primordials are such an ancient and powerful fixture of the world, then why is so little known about them?'

'You're implying the Archivers are in league with them?'

'Someone must be. And they seem well-positioned.'

"Sounds worth investigating," said Damian.

Next page on the 18th

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Page 4044

"I'm sure the Vanguard has valuable intel about the state of the world, right now," said Damian. "That's intel we may need."

'Good thing we've got other ways of acquiring it, then,' said Overra. 'And what about you? How's your network of contacts, currently?'

"...Serviceable," said Damian.

'If you've been able to keep tabs on us with it, then I suspect it's better than merely serviceable.'

"I'm not making any promises after going mad for half a century."

And again, Parson found himself circling back to the point that he'd been trying not to dwell on. "...Are you implying that you're cured now?" he said.

"No," said Damian. But then he paused. "I don't know. Truth be told, I can still feel it. The memories are vibrant. It wasn't some other personality like... Jonah struggled with. It was me. And yet now, I... agh, it's difficult to explain."

'Try,' said Overra. 'Do you feel like yourself again?'

"Not exactly. I feel like someone new. I feel more in control than I've ever been, sure, but I also can't forget the..." He trailed off.

Parson had to push him. "Can't forget what?"

The other man leveled a stare at him. "The things I saw."

Impulsively, Parson wanted to ask what he meant, but he stopped himself. He instead had a very sudden and strong feeling that he already knew exactly what Damian was talking about--or a close approximation of it, perhaps.

Parson had his own encounter with the otherworldly, after all. With non-existence in the realm of Chaos. Or the Void. Or whatever it was called.

It hadn't amounted to much, of course, but he'd never forgotten the time he touched that black sludge on the outskirts of Montero in Korgum.

Which also had happened to be his very first encounter with the name Ettol.

Certainly not a coincidence, now that he was looking back on it.

But in his encounter, Parson had merely looked at the madness that lay within Chaos. A detached observer. It hadn't affected him in the slightest. He'd even felt disappointed by it, somehow.

But now... seeing what had become of Damian...

He could understand how lucky he had been at that time. How close he'd gotten to losing himself.

It was now quite easy to imagine what might have happened if he'd been fully immersed in those sights at the time--if he hadn't felt so safely detached.

Not to mention, there was probably so much more that Damian had witnessed, too. Things that Parson couldn't even begin to conceptualize.

Page 4043

'Because you're not thinking straight, right now,' she said. 'We've done many good things, Parson.'

He shook his head. "Have we, really?"

'Of course we have. Don't let your failures blind you. What have you always told the new recruits to the CID?'

Hmph. He didn't even want to answer that. Having his own words weaponized against him in a moment of weakness? That was low, even for Overra.

Damian answered for him, though. "'We exist in a space between black and white. In a world of grays. But that doesn't mean the extremes don't exist at all. It just means they're more difficult to keep track of, sometimes.'"

Parson stared at him. "How do you even know that?"

"What, you think I haven't been keeping tabs on you?"

'Having everyone think we're dead has had its advantages,' said Feromas. 'Thankfully, we didn't waste ALL of that opportunity.'

'Don't lose heart now,' said Overra. 'We're finally nearing the goal line, after all these years. We got so close this time, and on the next attempt, we'll do even better.'

Parson was far from convinced, though. "Shallow words. Do we even care about Morgunov, anymore? After everything we've just learned?"

"Good question," said Damian, earning a bit of surprise from Parson. "These Primordials seem like they might be an even greater threat than Abolish. And we still barely know anything about them."

'You would have us abandon our centuries-long quest?' said Overra.

"For now," said Damian. "It's not like we're in any condition to mount another attack. I say we take this opportunity not just to lick our wounds but also to learn as much as we can about this other threat."

'That's not your sympathy for Morgunov talking, is it?'

"Please."

'You ARE one of his pupils, after all.'

'One of his test subjects,' said Feromas. 'Don't question our loyalty to the cause, Overra.'

'Oh, I'm going to be questioning a lot more than just that, old friend. You'd best get used to it, if we're going to be sticking together for any length of time.'

'Hah. Are we, though? Or shall we go our separate ways again? It won't look good for you, if you're seen with us. We're still associated with Abolish, technically.'

'True, but we also have plenty of enemies within the Vanguard ourselves. Parson and I should return and report back, but that can be delayed. And I don't think we would want to stay long, either.'

Page 4042

Too late. Yet again.

Why was he always too late?

And worse still, what was he doing now? What had all these sacrifices been for?

The Rainlords were coming to mind. Everything he'd put them through, recently.

Ultimately, yes, it had put them back on the path of independence and growing strength, but looking back on it now, in the context of this new continental war--in the context of these ancient machinations with Ettol that he'd never even known about...

He was a fool to think that he could manipulate the world in such a way.

Whether the objective was achieved or not, there were always going to be unforeseen players on the board. And as much as he thought he could take advantage of a situation, there would always be others trying to do the same.

He wasn't a player. He was just another piece on the board.

His mind went to Sermung. He certainly hadn't expected to see the High Commander in that vision. Working directly with Jonah, no less.

And he'd even mentioned Parson by name.

Some forty years ago.

What must he think of him, now?

The more he thought about it, the more Parson could only feel shame.

Damian's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "You gonna start cryin' over there?"

Parson didn't know whether to laugh or yell at him. If he didn't feel so much pity for the other man, it probably would have been the latter.

He pushed himself into a seated position and just stared at the empty space in the middle of the room where the vision had been.

Damian came over to stand next to him. "Told you to give some respect to Germal, didn't I?"

"Jonah," Parson corrected. "Not Germal."

"Right."

Parson sighed. "I don't even know what I'm doing, anymore."

Damian made no response.

Parson looked to Overra now. "Why did we even form our little trio? Hatch our little plan? It's been too long. I can't remember."

Overra had an answer for him, though, of course. 'To break the stalemate.'

He snorted. "In Sermung's favor, right?"

'Of course,' she said. 'To give him and Tenebrach some manner of relief after all they've done for the world.'

"Then why, when I look back on all we've accomplished, do I only see misery? Why, when I look inside myself, do I only feel misery?"

Next page on the 13th

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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...

-+-+-+-+-

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.

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.

Next page on the 9th

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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."

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.

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.

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.

Next page on the 3rd

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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.

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.

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.

Next page on the 29th

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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 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?"

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."

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."

Page 4029 -- CCCXXII.

Chapter Three Hundred Twenty-Two: 'Alas, thy broken spirit...'
Click to display entire chapter at once -- (mobile link)

...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.

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."

Next page on the 22nd

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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 at all, 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."

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?"

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."

Next page at 6 pm

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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."