Grim Sabaoth was abuzz with activity today.

As a Domain forged for war alone, its people took little pleasure in anything. Celebrations and entertainment were foreign to them. Yet as criers distributed newspapers while singing about the latest news from the front, the gloomy mood turned to quiet satisfaction.

“The fortress-city of Stahlstadt has fallen!” a crier shouted in the middle of the market street, standing atop a pedestal of steel. He raised the newest newspaper edition above his head, trying to make a sale. “War rages on the front as the Knights of the Shroud accumulate victories! Learn the latest news of our glorious conquest in today’s edition of the Midnight Voice! One copper piece! One copper!”

As a warlike realm where entertainment was seen as a distraction at best, Sabaoth had no restaurants; only barracks. Thankfully, Valdemar and Marianne had become regular customers at a fried fish stand whose undead owner had kindly set aside a table and chairs at the back of his shop. The heat was suffocating as the undead cook prepared their meal and they had little space to move, but after everything the duo had faced in the Derros’ tunnels, they craved a feeling of normalcy.

While his bodyguard read the newspaper, Valdemar looked at the market street while waiting for his friends to arrive. They couldn’t access Lord Bethor’s tower, but they should find their way to this address.

Valdemar had come without his mask and under a disguise, to avoid spies of the cult identifying him. He had also reshaped his flesh, changing his hair color to black, his eyes to blue, and subtly altered his facial features and voice. He was wearing a mask; one made of flesh and skin rather than wood.

At this point, Valdemar wasn’t even sure which part of his body had been with him from birth and which ones he had borrowed from Bethor’s tower. After observing the Pleromian’s regeneration, he had also figured out his own healing factor worked similarly: by absorbing organic material from Ialdabaoth itself. Only his soul was truly his own.

At least it allowed me to teleport out of the tower without Lord Och’s help, Valdemar thought. After learning about the true nature of portals, the summoner had experimented with teleportation spells and found it surprisingly easy to master. As he was half-Ialdabaoth thanks to his fatherly heritage, all of Underland resonated with him. The eyes on the walls were beacons in the Blood to him.

Valdemar suspected this was the same mechanism that allowed the Lilith to teleport across the tunnels at will. He was wary of abusing this spell in case his enemies could redirect it, though Lord Och had found the possibility unlikely. A servant does not summon a prince, the lich had mused out loud.

“It seems Lord Bethor has made quick progress,” Marianne said as she read. “But the Excavator made a ‘temporary stop to secure conquered territories.’”

“The usual propaganda slang for ‘it was sabotaged mid-campaign,’” Valdemar translated as the cook served them their food. The summoner put his bag on a seat and tossed a fish inside. His familiar let out a squeal of happiness as it devoured the meal. “Do you think the Derro Kingdom will fall?”

“We both know it won’t.”

“I know the war won’t end until Otto’s spirit is exorcised from his machinery,” Valdemar replied with a sigh. “However, do you think the loss of this fortress could prove a tipping point of some kind?”

To his disappointment, Marianne shook her head. “No Valdemar, I do not think so. Stahlstadt was a major fortress for the Derro and its conquest will give us a foothold in their territory, but it’s not a keystone of Blutgang’s war machine. It might be the first step towards a prolonged campaign, but I can hardly call it a decisive conquest.”

Valdemar looked at his drink, as black and bitter as his mood.

“Do you feel pity for the Derros?” Marianne asked.

“You don’t?”

“I do,” she confessed. “Even though they were bitter foes long before Otto the Nail came along, the idea of having my mind overwritten by someone else, to lose my body and free will to someone else… it is not a fate I wish for anyone.”

“That’s not even the worst part. Blutgang could replicate minds.” Valdemar couldn’t get the memory of that self-deluded golem out of his head. “If an imitation is so perfect that it becomes indistinguishable from the original, what does it say about us? If someone could recreate you perfectly, turn your innermost thoughts into a script, and then copy it… does it mean people are no different than tools or gears? Is turning into machines the future of life?”

“I do not know,” Marianne answered, though her next words were more optimistic. “But I can tell you one thing. The future is what we will make of it. Otto Blutgang is trying to steer our world in one direction, but it’s not the only one. We can offer better outcomes and fight for them.”

“That’s the thing,” Valdemar replied with pessimism. “I should be working to destroy that infernal machine he’s spreading across Underland rather than reading about it in newspapers.”

“Valdemar, you cannot fight all the evils of the world at once. You have to pick your battles or you will go mad with despair and frustration.” Marianne smiled, though there was sadness in it. “Our country’s troops and Lord Bethor are doing a fine job at fighting the Derros. Have some faith. We have other foes to deal with first, but Blutgang’s turn will come.”

If only he could take her at her word…

The stalemate with the Derros disappointed Valdemar, but sadly didn’t surprise him. Lord Och had echoed a similar sentiment back when his apprentice reported what he had learned in the facility.

“You were correct on one front, my apprentice. King Otto is a long-term problem. If his essence is truly spread across the entire Derro Kingdom, it might take centuries to wipe him out.” Lord Och had shrugged. “I informed Lord Bethor, who will almost certainly melt away every piece of machinery he finds in conquered territories. Eventually, his advance will be halted by Derro resistance and his required presence at the Sabbath, but the destruction he sows should disrupt their technology’s influence over the Outer Darkness.”

“Forgive me, my teacher,” Valdemar had replied with a frown, “but I have just told you that a madman is trying to become an iron god. How can you sound so… unconcerned?”

The lich had laughed in response. “Sweet naïve child. Young Valdemar, when you reach my age you will have survived more wars and disasters than water leaks.”

By now, Valdemar was almost convinced that Lord Och didn’t give a shit about anything. The lich treated the most terrible news with amusement at best and disdain at worst. His eternal life had completely detached him from the day-to-day concerns of humanity.

Which was why Valdemar had grown to believe his theory about the Pleromian portal.

At least I prevented him from getting the codes needed to activate it, the summoner thought, though he couldn’t remember where he had hidden them. Even Ktulu didn’t have any hint to provide. I probably hid them in plain sight somewhere…

Marianne lowered her journal, a look of concern on her face. “You’re worried about them, aren’t you?”

Was that so obvious? “I don’t get why Lord Och didn’t sacrifice them already,” Valdemar confessed. “He had plenty of opportunities to do so.”

“Lord Och is cruel, but also pragmatic to the bone,” Marianne pointed out. “I believe his reasoning is the same behind his decision not to turn you into a portal. He keeps his options open in case a better alternative comes along. As long as his scholars live, they can work and research for him. Why kill them when letting them live is more useful?”

“But you think he wouldn’t hesitate a second if there was no better option.”

Marianne bit her lower lip before answering. “Master Edwin once warned me that none of Lord Och’s affability is genuine,” she admitted. “‘It’s all theater to him, a game you play with a pet.’ I don’t think I have ever seen the real him.”

Valdemar joined his hands as he reviewed his interactions with his mentor. Almost all of them shared an undercurrent of playfulness, except a few. “There are moments where he showed genuine anger in our discussions,” he said. “When I rattled him the wrong way.”

The idea of Lord Och losing his composure clearly astonished Marianne. “How did you do so?”

“I insisted that I wouldn’t become cynical like him, and questioned how he had become… well, what he is today.”

“You would think an ancient lich would be above that kind of remark.” Marianne frowned. “Unless… it’s not what you said that bothered him, but the way you did it.”

Valdemar raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“If we assume his story about being a disciple of this ‘Sophia’ is true, then there was a time when he truly believed in saving mankind from itself. Maybe you remind him of who he used to be, and he hates it.”

Valdemar considered her words, and found the theory plausible… though, in the end, it changed little. The summoner only cared about Lord Och’s motivation insofar as it could help him save his friends from a gruesome sacrifice.

“Marianne,” Valdemar whispered, “if that day comes… if Lord Och makes a move against the Scholars at the Institute… what will you do?”

Marianne joined her hands together, glancing at her own drink while setting the newspaper aside. Her face was a mask of stone, but her eyes revealed her inner turmoil.

“You don’t have to say something that will please me,” Valdemar said. Lord Och was her benefactor after all, and a powerful mage. He couldn’t expect her to defy him, even if to save others.

“No, I’m… I’m trying to put my thoughts in order. It’s…” Marianne took a heavy breath. “Before I answer you, can I ask you something?”

Valdemar nodded wordlessly.

“You told me once that you believed in making sacrifices for your dream,” Marianne said. “For the greater good. When, in your opinion, would sacrificing people to this portal be justified?”

“I would understand if the situation was truly desperate and we needed to evacuate through it to save the most people possible,” Valdemar replied. “But in that case, I would rather sacrifice myself and become a door between worlds.”

“Why so?”

“Because my life isn’t worth a dozen others.” Valdemar adjusted his posture, his back straightening. “Because why would others have to make a greater sacrifice so I could live? Using the Pleromian portal would just be a cover for my own selfishness. I don’t think you should sacrifice others if you are unwilling to pay the ultimate price yourself.”

Marianne listened to his words with a gaze so intense that Valdemar couldn’t help but find it uncomfortable. Once he had finished, her fingers fidgeted a moment before her expression changed into one of quiet resignation.

“I believe the Dark Lords are necessary for mankind’s survival,” she declared. “That the Empire of Azlant is necessary, even though I do not agree with all of its laws. Mankind is besieged by monsters, and the greater good often demands sacrifices. Though I resent his training methods, I cannot deny that Lord Bethor is doing his best in his own way to strengthen us and protect our civilization from extinction. Lord Och, for all of his faults, pushes the limits of our understanding forward; and with it, our ability to fight back against the Strangers.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“You know me too well,” Marianne replied with a low chuckle. “I stand by what I just said… but I do not see how sacrificing innocent people who trust you for your personal gain serves the greater good. I do not think that taking the easy way out of convenience is the righteous path. And so although I agreed to serve Lord Och in exchange for his patronage… if he goes through with sacrificing the Scholars to that portal, then I cannot let it slide.”

To Valdemar’s surprise, Marianne took his hand into her own. Her velvet glove brushed against his warm skin.

“Valdemar,” she said softly while locking eyes with him. “The fact you are willing to sacrifice yourself rather than others is what makes you a better person than Lord Och. This is why I consider you a dear friend worth fighting for, and if things come to blows between our master and you... then I shall stand by your side.”

Even after seeing Lord Och’s power in all of its glory, Marianne would still rather do the right thing.

Valdemar smiled in genuine gratitude. “Thanks.”

His happy expression made Marianne blush. “You are welcome.”

The moment lasted longer than Valdemar expected. To his surprise, neither of them let the other’s hand go as they stared at each other. Valdemar realized the scene was highly improper, but something in him simply didn’t want to let her go.

Marianne eventually broke the contact first, looking… embarrassed, for a lack of a better term.

“It is not duty that motivates you, Young Marianne,” Lord Och had said in the tunnels. “You are too honest to lie to yourself.”

Could it be…

No, Valdemar, be serious, the sorcerer thought. It’s the constant proximity and the absence of a dating life clouding your judgment. The fact we’re getting closer doesn’t mean anything more than that. You’re seeing things that aren’t there.

And even if his intuition was correct, Valdemar wasn’t certain what he should do about it. His life was fraught with danger, and so long as the Verney Cult roamed Underland, the summoner would never know peace. It wasn’t exactly the best foundation for an intimate relationship, whether with Marianne or anyone else.

Valdemar sipped his drink and looked away. It was a bitter hot mix of rancid herbs and water, but he found it better than the awkwardness of the previous moment. “What else is in the news?”

Marianne jumped at the opportunity to change the subject and swiftly grabbed her newspaper. “The plague, I’m afraid.”

While Valdemar had trained under Lord Bethor and struck at the Derros, his family’s cult had been hard at work.

As it was mostly made of undead and golems under a constant military curfew, Sabaoth’s population was barely touched by the wererat plague. Other Domains had been severely touched with disease clusters; though the Empire’s biomancers, harsh curfews, and transportation controls had prevented widespread contaminations, they couldn’t eradicate the threat either.

Marianne’s expression suddenly harshened as she read. “What is it?” Valdemar asked.

His bodyguard and friend turned the newspaper to reveal an article, and the drawing of his face at its center.

The artist had done Valdemar dirty by giving him a thuggish look, but his work had been quite close to the truth all the same.

‘Saklas shaken with gruesome murders,’ Valdemar read in silence, a chill going down in his spine. ‘Four couples dead, eaten by rats… children missing… revendicated by the Brotherhood of the Red Grail… in Valdemar Verney’s name…”

They killed innocent people and signed their crimes with his name.

“How could they reveal your face?” Marianne whispered, incensed. “This is insane…”

“The Knights of the Chain censor information that displeases the Dark Lords, but they answer to Ophiel the Mad and not to Och,” Valdemar replied grimly. Neither could they stomached the fact that the summoner had escaped their grasp only to find refuge in Paraplex. “At least the article says I am ‘safely behind bars.’”

Marianne glanced at the street. “People saw me with you last time,” she whispered. “But you had your mask on and were wearing different clothes too. I don’t think they will make the connection.”

And that was what the cult wanted. To isolate Valdemar and stir the pot until they could learn of his exact location. They probably guessed he was in Sabaoth for now, but were too afraid of Lord Bethor to challenge him yet. Perhaps they hoped that public pressure would force the Dark Lords to relinquish him.

If so, they would be disappointed. Lord Och cared nothing about the people’s opinion, and Lord Bethor was more likely to answer dissent with fire than compromise.

Their compatriots though…

“Any sighting of Bertrand?” Valdemar asked.

“No.” Marianne shook her head in sadness, before looking up at something behind her friend. “They’re here.”

Valdemar turned his head to the side, watching Iren and Liliane walk up the street towards Marianne. A hooded figure in a plague doctor’s outfit followed them closely, the summoner recognizing the disguise as Hermann’s.

“Valdy, is that you?” Liliane put a hand on her waist as she reached their table. “I didn’t know you could use illusion magic.”

“I can’t,” he replied while kissing her on the cheek. Valdemar was almost certain he had caught a furtive look of longing on Marianne’s face, though it might have been his mind playing tricks. Definitively a trick. “How did you guess so quickly?”

“Are you kidding? You changed your voice too?” Liliane chuckled. “I just felt it, silly.”

“Your posture is the same, friend,” Iren pointed before saluting Marianne and sitting next to her. “You’ve got to adjust your body language, the way you move… all these invisible hints we’ve grown accustomed to.”

Valdemar groaned in surrender, as he realized he couldn’t lie to save his life. Still, the sight of his friends brought a smile to his lips. “I didn’t think you would be here either, Hermann,” he said as he greeted the troglodyte.

“I was worried… when I heard word that you had joined the war effort.” Hermann nodded to himself. “I am glad you’re okay…”

It appeared that Hermann’s speech had improved since Valdemar last saw him. He could form longer sentences without stopping to consider his next words, and his pronunciation was clearer than ever.

“Oh, is that your familiar?” Liliane said as she sat next to Valdemar and peeked inside his bag. “It’s so cute.”

“Ktulu!” the squid said from inside the bag, giggling as Liliane started to tickle it. “Ktulu!”

“You love when I tickle you? You love it?” Liliane asked with a grin. The scene reminded Valdemar of a young girl playing with a puppy. “Can I borrow him? Her? It?”

“I think it’s an it, but sure, you can pet it for a while,” Valdemar said with a chuckle. “Please do not parade it around though.”

“Now I want a familiar of my own,” Liliane replied with a giggle.

“You still didn’t… answer how you changed your appearance,” Hermann rasped as he sat next to Liliane. “I am… curious.”

“I learned to practice biomancy,” Valdemar replied as Marianne ordered food for everyone.

“You can?” Liliane asked with a grin, though Iren’s expression was decidedly less enthusiastic. No doubt he still had sore feelings about the art considering his youth. “Great, I have something I need to consult you on! Do you and Marianne have anything planned for today?”

“Not much,” Marianne replied. “Lord Och is occupied with the Sabbath and Lord Bethor is on the front.”

“Great, then could you come with me after our meal? I’m supposed to visit my father at the armories, but there’s something I want to discuss with you on the way.” Liliane locked eyes with Marianne. “I think Lady Mathilde and I found a way to cure your retainer and that horrible plague too.”

Marianne’s head instantly perked up in hope. “You did?”

“Maybe. I need to see with Valdy first to confirm my theory, but I’m optimistic. We could have a cure underway by the time we return to the Institute.”

This was great news, but the Institute’s mention sent a chill down Valdemar’s spine. “Hypothetically,” he said. “If you had to leave the Institute in a hurry and escape Paraplex, could you do it?”

Liliane frowned, disturbed by the question. “Why?”

“We could, but we wouldn’t go far,” Iren replied with a shrug. “All scholars and employees of the Pleroma Institute surrender a drop of blood when they arrive. The Knights of the Tome could use it to track us anywhere.”

And with it, Lord Och could potentially summon them to his location at any time. As Valdemar worried. “I have… learned something worrying about the Institute,” the summoner confessed to his friends. “But I need to check my theory first.”

“You think your grandfather’s cult will infiltrate the Institute?” Iren asked, misunderstanding the source of the danger. “Rest assured, even a Dark Lord would struggle to breach its walls.”

“We know you didn’t order these horrors, Valdy,” Liliane reassured him. “Nobody is going to hunt you inside Pleroma.”

“It’s not just the cult that bothers me, but they’re part of the problem.” Valdemar took a long deep breath before revealing his plans. “I intend to destroy these people for good, and make sure they never rise again. But I cannot do it alone.”

“Say no more.” Iren revealed a dagger hidden up his sleeve. “I’ve slit a few throats back in the day.”

“I’m not so much of a fighter or an investigator,” Liliane said with a smirk as stopped tickling Ktulu. The familiar peeked out of its bag, extremely disappointed. “But if you need help, Valdy, I’ll give you a hand.”

Hermann simply offered a nod, before examining Valdemar closely. “You didn’t… bring your mask today.”

“The Nightwalker can see through it,” Valdemar explained, “and I couldn’t let it spy on our conversation.”

Hermann immediately guessed why. “This is about… the Painted World?”

“You said you could use it to trap a Nahemoth, if I remember well?” Marianne asked. “How would it work?”

“By luring the creature to one place… and using the right spells… we can seal the Nahemoth inside a prepared canvas.” Hermann cleared his throat. “The canvas is finished… all we need is to fill it.”

“What will happen to the Nahemoth afterward?” Valdemar asked, the ghastly memory of his stillborn, monstrous brother Crétail flaring in his mind.

“It… it will become the Painted World,” Hermann answered. “The earth and the mountains… the water and the light… the very force of gravity. Always present and alive but… thoughtless… like a tree. A peaceful existence.”

Is that what you would have wanted for Crétail, Mom? Valdemar wondered. It still beat a tormented existence down a well, or being used as a tool to bring about the end of days. “Like reincarnation?” he asked softly.

Hermann nodded. “But it cannot suffice alone… a Nahemoth is pure, gangrenous creativity… without a destructive power to achieve an equilibrium… the Painted World will grow rampant and unstable.”

As Valdemar suspected. “What force do you think could counterbalance a Nahemoth?”

“I think… we had the same idea about how… to solve that problem.”

Yes, they did.

“Though it will be risky and require a very specific set of circumstances,” Valdemar said. “The Nahemoth will have to be free for a start. Which will probably be inevitable at this point.”

“The canvas is ready…” Hermann rasped. “I can teach you the ritual… I will be with you…”

“Thanks, Hermann.” After exchanging a nod with the troglodyte, Valdemar turned to another friend. “Iren.”

“Yes?”

“Can I talk to you in private for a minute?”

“Are you going to do some shady stuff again?” Liliane asked with a frown. “Please don’t get caught by the Derros this time.”

I've had enough of these dwarves for a lifetime, Valdemar thought as he led Iren to a street corner away from the stand and unwelcome ears. They must have looked suspicious, but it shouldn’t take long.

“Lord Och usually sends you outside his Domain for deliveries and information gathering, right?” Valdemar asked the half-doppelganger.

“Why are you asking me something you already know?” Iren chuckled. “If you want me to get you some illegal stuff, you just have to ask.”

“Not quite. I need to deliver a letter to someone.” Valdemar gathered his breath. “A message that Lord Och mustn’t know the contents of.”

Iren remained silent a full minute before answering with a stone-faced expression. “You are asking me to do something behind the Dark Lord’s back. I hope you understand the risks involved.”

“I won’t force you if you don’t want to,” Valdemar said. “I’m asking you because you are my friend and I trust you.”

“My, how touching.” There was no hint of sarcasm in Iren’s voice as a small smile formed on the edge of his lips. “Well, you saved my hide so I guess I can grant you your wish. So long as it doesn’t involve betraying mankind to the Strangers. Who would be the message’s recipient?”

“Phaleg the Binder, the Dark Lord of Ariouth.” And Lord Och’s former apprentice. “There’s something I must know before the Sabbath.”