“Oh gods, please stop talking! Hahahaha!” Uhtred laughed as he struggled to breathe.

“I’m being serious,” Brand insisted.

“And that’s why it’s so funny!” Uhtred exclaimed.

Brand groan, tired of being laughed at for asking questions that made sense to him and no one else. “If anyone knows how faith works, it’s you. Your shadow magic doesn't follow thaumaturgical law.”

“That’s because when Amra lets me use her power it’s not magic, it’s a blessing,” Uhtred explained slowly like speaking to a child.

“Magic and mana don't go hand in hand,” Brand said. “Magic is more of a method than anything else. Hells, necromancy uses anti-mana, which is very different from mana, everyone just calls it death magic.”

Uhtred flexed his borrowed power dimming the sparse lighting in their safehouse. “So what did I use to kill the lights?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. You’re the most faithful person I know, so much so your goddess gave you her power so explain it, and not the vague, Amra is just so great crap you’ve been giving me.”

Brand's last few words were flooded with frustration. He’d questioned his friend on the nature of his abilities before never getting a clear answer. In some ways, it seemed Uhtred himself did not know how they worked, but with Brand’s new insight on faith, there was a chance some new understanding could be found.

Uhtred slumped into his chair, obviously not wanting to explain again. “I don't use mana, runes, or anything. I literally ask Amra for help or permission and she makes it happen. That’s why using shadows cost me nothing personally.”

“So Amra supplies the power,” Brand said to himself contemplating Uhtred’s words. “So what would happen if you were cut off from her.”

With a thought, Brand activated every ward within the safehouse. No mana found its way around the warding leaving both Brand and Uhtred isolated from any outside influence. Particles in the air, heat, and sound were not excluded nearly creating the poorly built home into a world of its own.

Regardless of being told by gods and men alike otherwise, Brand still believed what Oberon and Titania called faith was a yet to be discovered energy. Gods and fanatical worshipers like Uhtred and priest simply used it without understanding what they wielded. Finding and isolating that power out of the many that made up the nine worlds was the first step in controlling it.

Brand gestured with his hands. “Come on, do your thing.”

Uhtred once again dimmed the lights around him. “You’re not going to find anything.”

Like Uhtred predicted, Brand found no trace of any unusual power coming from outside. Every magic tool he was linked to showed his wards working perfectly but somehow Uhtred still wielded his god’s magic without using any other resource from within.

“This just proves my point,” Brand said stubbornly and released the wards. “Something has to connect you to your goddess. I Just need to fin-”

Astrid suddenly popped into existence teleporting to the core on a table filled with her mana. “Why were the wards up? Are we under attack?”

“No, Brand is just being an idiot trying to figure out how the gods work,” Uhtred chuckled.

“I can figure it out,” Brand retorted

“How can you be this pig-headed after meeting the fey king and queen?” Astrid wondered. She cut Brand off before he could respond. “You know what, forget it.” Astrid dug into the bag on her back throwing jet black hoods at her fellow strikers. “Put these on, Modi’s priest is delivering our message now.”

Brand irritation melted away replaced by a smile as he eyed the garb of his new persona but frowned as he saw the symbol Uhtred painted into his with red dye.

At seeing his friend’s face Uhtred laughed so coldly it seemed to chill the room. “You know I can’t do this without giving my goddess credit.” He then activated the enchanted ring Brand and Astrid made for him and walked to a mirror inspecting the cat ears that appeared on his head. "That fixes the human problem."

********

The cobblestone two-story building looked to be a place of business. Those who were unaware probably thought it to be a guild house, workspace, or some government official's establishment. Although, the image of honesty was shattered by several groups known all too well for their brutality entering through different entrances. Through one such entrance entered Slane with his two allotted escorts.

As he entered the building his bad mood worsened when he and his men were forced to bend downwards in order to not strike the ceiling. As a jötunn reaching 11 feet off the ground and his men around nine, few places built by kin were comfortable. If not for the seriousness of being summoned by a priest of Modi he’d never set foot in this place.

“If there's anything I need to know, tell me now,” Slane said to the lieutenants at his sides. “If I find out this is about some territorial dispute it better not be one of my men causing the problem.”

“No problems on our end boss,” said one of the lieutenants. “If someone stepped out of line, it wasn't us Rivermen.”

Slane believed his men but still released a snarl of anger. He was sure this meeting had something to do with the nobles trying to use the underworld syndicates to supply Fenrir. To Slane, the deal he'd made was nothing but trouble. He liked his long stretch of river just the way it was. The law was too afraid to stop his drug dealers, every other gang knew to stay clear, and he could sell as many girls as he pleased. With a convenient body of rushing water to dispose of any that were too used up the River Men ruled their little corner of North Bastion unopposed, at least until Vellia invaded the south.

Every dishonest man felt hard times when the largest supply of demon root fell into human hands. Entire fields of the precious herb were burned, leaving very little for the production of many potent narcotics. At the time, Slane did not really care. He still had his whores and protection revenue, but his fellow criminals found a means of acquiring the root by way of the nobility forcing Slane to do the same to compete.

Fenrir somehow possessed a stable supply of demon root and with the help of North Bastion’s nobles were able to transport it north. The nobles would then exchange the root for money or magic weapons giving them all to Fenrir without costing them anything. More importantly, their hands were clean maintaining the fragile peace treaty between the two cities.

Slane entered the most inner chamber of the building standing taller than any other and glared at his fellow underworld leaders. His eyes skipped right over the kin leaders. The weakness of the kin and humans, in particular, disgusted him. Whenever he saw either the urge to kick them like dogs filled him. If not for their numbers, Slane would have wiped them out years ago. The Iron Blood jötunn and Little Dusters were a different story.

The Iron Blood jötunn s were worth respecting simply because they too were jötunn . The entire group was made up of fire jötunn with reddish skin completely different from Slane’s grayish-blue ice jötunn features. Their leader, Borga, a red-faced black-eyed woman, deserved at least a moment of his attention.

Slane’s glare made its way over to the Little Dusters who were making rude gestures to all that caught their attention. The diminutive fey were even more irritating than the kin. They weren't dogs to be trampled, they were insects with stingers more deadly than any bite.

Slane fought against the burning pain along the scar on his neck, a gift given to him some a duster that couldn't even reach his groin. In the decades since he immigrated from Jotunheim, only the Little Dusters came close to ending his life. The childlike cutthroats nearly ended him three times now. Slane was now so wary of them no one under five feet was aloud near him, children especially.

“It's about time you got here big guy, now we can begin.”

Slane looked over to the speaker expecting to see a noble representative sitting next to Modi’s priest. Instead, he saw the shortest jötunn he’d ever seen. His dark blue skin made him an obvious ice jötunn , but his short and fully developed beard made it obvious he was not a child even if his stature made it seem so.

Two more oddities sat to the man's sides as if they were his lieutenants. One was a red and purple-haired Fey. The other was kin, most likely a panther of some sort by his ears. All three wore leather armor that looked of poor quality at first glance but Slane could see past the veil of deception at the quality underneath.

Slane looked over to Modi’s priest. “Who the fuck are they?”

The priest drew back his long blue and gray hood and walked over to the edge of the room taking his seat before replying. “They are the ones that called this meeting and paid the requisite fees for establishing the oath of peace you have all agreed to by entering this room.

“What are these nobles playing at?” Slane muttered as he looked at the child-sized giant.

“We don't work for the nobles,” said the kin to his right as he pointed to a sigil he alone wore on his chest.

Slane recognized it immediately. Crossed daggers over a coin with the symbol for gold on it. The symbol belonged to the only Aesir other than Modi worth knowing; Amra. But Slane had never heard of her having a cult other than the assassin’s guild and they did not operate in Alfhiem, much.

“Just take your seat and let's get on with this,” the child-sized jötunn said as if Slane was not more than four feet taller than him.

Slane reached for his weapon instinctively grabbing the handle of a sword broader longer and definitely heavier than any human or kin. Luckily, he regained his senses as he looked over to Modi's priest who was undisturbed by the happenings around him as long as the oath he established was not broken. As soon as they were, he'd execute the oathbreaker or at least try.

Slane was sure he could kill the priest, but he couldn't kill all those that came after him. Modi’s priest would somehow be drawn to him ensuring his death within a matter of days. No one fought against the oath keeper God and lived. That assurance is what made parleys possible to begin with. No one was willing for peace talks to break down until after Modi deemed it just, not if they wanted to live.

“Just shut up and take a seat,” Borga said.

Slane drew his sword and pointed its tip at the Iron Bloods leader. “You best remember the oath only last for three days.”

He expected an angry retort but Borga only filled the room with her nervous demeanor. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead quickly trailing down her crimson skin as she shook in what Slane could have sworn was fear. And by who she was taking quick glances at, it was the little jötunn she was afraid of.

With his display of strength complete Slane made his way over to his place at the rounded table stabbing his sword into the ground as he sat. “Tell me why we’re here, runt.”

The little jötunn chuckled, apparently amused by Slane’s attempt to rouse him. “You best lower your volume. As you said, this treaty only last for three days and you don't know who I really am.”

“What I know is you have that long to live you pathetic excuse for a jötunn . Just looking at you is insulting.”

The fey girl leaned back in her seat looking very disappointed. “Wow, this is why we're taking over. The North deserves a better class criminal than this, definitely smarter ones.”

“They must be trying to establish a cult for the Aesir God of thieves,” Bane thought.

Borga was the first to respond shocking the room into silence with respect and terror in her voice. “Sir, do you mean to replace us?”

“Not at all,” said the kin speaking for jötunn . “Replacing you all would be far too much trouble. As long as you know your operation better than anyone else you get to stay in charge. If not, and you don't put up a fight, you'll just get demoted.”

Borga’s sigh of relief was the last straw for Slane. He slammed a fist down on the table shattering stone Like a hammer. “You think to command of us as if you were servants! How does the arrogance of the Aesir always surprise me?”

“I don't call any Aesir my god,” the jötunn said. “But you will work for me regardless.”

Before Slane could voice his absolute refusal Borga jumped to her feet almost shouting. “The Iron Bloods are yours to command!”

“What!” Slane exclaimed with everyone else, including the mysterious trio.

“What's wrong with you?” the small jötunn asked. “I had a whole plan to force you all in line, but you just give in after not even five minutes.”

“I just know fighting you, fighting any of you is certain death,” Borga said.

The jötunn ’s eyes narrowed on Borga. “And how would you already know that?”

“I’m a demi, um, sir,” Borga muttered. “What should I call you?”

“You don't call us anything. We’re phantoms as far as you’re concerned. So how does your divine nature work?”

Despite the ridiculousness of the phantoms, Slane also wanted to know of Borga’s nature. He hadn't known she was a demigod or why her nature made her cower in the face of the phantoms.

Borga continued. “I can tell how difficult facing someone in battle will be.” She pointed at Slane then Kelby, the leader of the Little dusters. “Those two might have the strength to challenge me but you three can kill everyone in this room.”

“You lying bitch!” Slane exclaimed but the little jötunn ignored him.

“But how does it work exactly. It can't be based on mana capacity or cultivation. Maybe you look into the future. Or maybe multiple futures which is why you’re not certain. Your feelings may depend on how many futures in where you win. If that’s the case-” The jötunn was cut off when both his companions smacked him behind the head.

“Stay on task,” the fey said.

Kelby cleared his throat loudly getting everyone’s attention. “The Little Dusters are yours, Master Phantom.”

“Am I the only one here with a bit of sense!” Slane bellowed.

“You’re the only one not thinking this through,” Kelby said. “I’ve tried to kill Borga plenty of times so I know she’s no coward.” Kelby nodded his head towards the phantom trio. “If she thinks those three can kill us all, I believe her.”

Another of the underworld leaders stood. “The Silver Fangs also yield to the Phantoms.”

“So do the Night Claws,” said another.

One after the other underworld leaders stood pledging loyalty. Faced with magic users that could frighten someone as powerful as Borga swayed most even if a majority were lying. All at the very least were trying to buy time to observe these newcomers, all except for one.

“So, what about you?” the little jötunn , no, Phantom Lord asked Slane who was feeling trapped. If every gang banded together, he’d have no choice but to join.

Before Slane’s pride broke down, the phantom beast Kin spoke up. “No, no, we’re killing him. His operation is a mess. River town is a cesspool of filth simply because he made it that way. With a little gold upfront, I can double what he earns.”

Phantom lord nodded his head in agreement. “Well, you heard him. You die in four days. Prepare as you like.” A broad smile crept onto his face. “It won't make a difference. Unless you try to end me now.” Slane’s mind raced as Phantom Lord stood walking over to him. “I was hoping at least one of you would try to kill me.”

“We can't fight here,” Slane said feeling cornered with all eyes on him.

“You didn't read the fine print of Modi’s letter,” Phantom Lord said. “You can't kill each other, I can't kill you, but you can kill me,” he chuckled. “I can't even defend myself, isn't that right priest.”

“On the name of my god I declare he speaks the truth,” the priest said with absolute finality.

Phantom Lord spread his arms as if waiting for an embrace. “So how about I give you a free hit. Use that sword of yours to cleave me in half. Have your lieutenants help you if you're scared."

“What the hells is going on here?” Slane thought with steadily growing panic. “This has to be some kind of trick. Borga must be lying. They must want me to break Modi's oath. But Modi’s priest would never lie on an oath or not be present at a parlay.”

Phantom Lord scoffed turning his back on Slane. “Fine then. See you in four days.”

Something inside Slane broke when phantom turned his back lazily as if he could not be harmed. “Your too weak to harm me,” he swore phantom said but it was only his own pride rearing its ugly head.

Slane’s mana exploded from his body as it throttled through his muscles like fire. He roared his way past the pain, heaved his massive sword, and brought it down on Phantom Lord's shoulder. The strike sent a shockwave through the room knocking weaker lieutenants off their feet and one unlucky woman into a wall as she was impaled by a large chunk of Slane’s broken blade.

Phantom lord turned to face his attacker rolling his perfectly intact shoulder. “That kind of hurt.”