Malan watched the realm through the eyes of his Shadows, and witnessed the mortals working themselves ragged. If not for the snow, cold, and the naked trees, he would have thought it the heat of summer. No one was resting this solstice, especially not his followers. After his talks with Madness, and time to collect himself, he’d sent visions, been open about the coming calamity. He hadn’t told them everything though, mortals were fragile, they needed time to parse the visions and come to terms with the future. But they knew the most important part. The Sun was leaving and wasn’t coming back, winter was here to stay and going to become increasingly worse with each passing day.

Thus his followers had been in an uproar, given a great deal of them were wild folk, living off the land away from the major strongholds of civilization. The loss of the Sun, and the cyclical harvest it brought, meant the end of their way of life. He hadn’t let them wallow in despair, after a short time, allowing their minds to incorporate his first visons, he’d sent more. Revealing the beginnings of his plan to allow them to survive the endless winter.

Not all had been too happy with it. Those settled far from the mountains weren’t keen on the journey they were going to have to embark through harsh weather. He’d appeased them, promised the Devotion they would need in order to survive the trek, and if they didn’t. As Shadows they would get a small allowance of power to use to help their fellow Wonderbringers.

It had appeased most of the disgruntled followers, not that any of them had sent any ill will to him. No, they had been angry at the situation, not with his plan. Some had thought to stay, ride out the winter, those he sent more visions. Made it plainly clear only death would be gained if they followed that path. As such, all of his religion was on the move. Secs that had been rooted in places for decades, some centuries, left their ancestral homes and were heading towards the Reaching Peeks.

The nearest had already arrived and begun the work of making the abandoned, and decaying mining tunnels into places to inhabit. To them he sent Devotion, providing them everything they needed to see the work done. The act had saved many lives, since the tunnels were near collapsing.

Still, he took further precautions the deeper they went, and sent out personal requests to Shadows that begun to collect in the mountains. It was they who worked on the most decrepit halls. With the use of miracles, Shadows formed and hardened columns of stone to hold up the roofs and removed the rotten polls of wood barely keeping tunnels together.

They were making good progress, by the time the largest caravans arrived his people would have a place to hold up in away from the biting cold.

Something the smaller races were complaining about with growing regularity, especially the Heon, since they were the most affected. The further the Sun went, the faster it began to move outward, days had already been cut in half, and that was only one week in to the breaking of seasons. The sons of the Sun had also made their mark. Their abrupt speed heading towards the center had caught everyone’s attention. All knew, no matter how ill or uniformed, that something was horribly wrong. Because of this everyone was in rush, there was little time or light left. In another week there wouldn’t be such a thing as day anymore. Only the darkness and the Celestials above would be there to greet them.

The thought of it pulled on him, his nature demanding he do more, somehow, but he was already at his limit. He was using up his stores of Devotion as fast as the core could provide more. ‘I’m doing my best.’ He thought trying to shoulder the tension in his chest.

A cough by his side pulled some of awareness back to his corporeal form. Sitting comforting in a chair, his body bathing in the light of a false Sun their Afterlife manifested. Malan looked up to Bronduff tall form, one that bent and kneeled so their eye heights were roughly level.

Malan rowed his own. “There’s no need for that, I don’t mind you looking down at me.” Bronduff meant no offense by it, so why should he trouble himself?

“Respect should always be shown when possible.” Bronduff replied.

Malan didn’t give any counter, his fellow god wouldn’t take his words, so it was pointless effort. Kolune could be so stubborn at times, even when dead or ascended. “You could at least make yourself comfortable.” He said instead, but Bronduff shook his head.

“I’m not staying, I’m only here to give a personal report and ask if it’s time to act.” Then his right hand, his hunter and executioner, sent him images of his Huntsmen. A force made up of the dead all being constantly bestowed Devotion so they could manifest in the mortal plane and interact with the living.

From the visions he saw these forces were near castles, awaiting the command from their god to begin an assault.

All of these Huntsmen had with them poisons. Which they had acquired from secret cashes Foys followers had hidden nearby. It was a powder blend the Huntsmen would disperse into the air once they breached the defenses. Such an act would garner the attention of Wargain pantheon, since the attack was going to happen in multiple places at once.

Malan smiled. “All is ready on my side,” he said to is his executioner. “You maybe begin when you wish.”

Bronduff closed his eyes, and sent the go ahead. A few second later he reopened his eyes. “A godling was watching,” he informed. “The defenders of castle Theo began latching miracle warped arrows at my Hunters the moment they began rushing forward. They’d been waiting.”

“Good.” Malan replied, since he wanted their rivals focused on the castles anyways. “I’ll help supply Devotion; we need to keep them distracted.”

“I have enough to last some time,” Bronduff informed. “They’re only dealing with one of Wargain sons, there’s only so much the half divine can do.”

Malan nodded, even as a son, Wargain wasn’t one to share too much power. The fledgling would slow down the Huntsmen, but not stop them, not with an endless flow of Devotion heading their way.

“My Huntsmen aren’t encountering any divine resistance from the other castles yet.” The death god grunted in approval. “Some have already made their way into the settlements.”

“They’ll react soon enough.” Malan said, Wargain might not have expected a large operation like this, since it was outside his normal conduct. But his rival would counter, if not out of need, then as a show of force. He couldn’t let his authority be undermined so openly.

“The sky is starting to shift.” Bronduff said.

Malan moved some of his awareness to the Huntsmen who were looking skyward. Portals opened, letting out bright lights, from them came waves of Ascendants, their metal forms surging through the sky as flames powered them towards the attackers.

“He wants to end this quickly then.” Not too much of a surprise with everything taking place, the war god might be having a hard time keeping track of his realm. And decided the swift removal of a new event worth the cost of summoning so many constructs.

Malan watched as the Ascendants blandished their weapons of choice, spears and axes. They surged towards the Huntsmen, none of whom retreated, they had their orders.

Huntsmen dispersed as much of the cloud of poisons as they could before Ascendants fell upon them. Afterward close combat began as the dead summoned their own weapons and entered into duals with their metallic foes. Both to the delight and surprise of the Ascendants. But more of the former, when the flaming pieces of metal found themselves being match by the dead.

Malan laughed and spoke: “That will get Wargains attention.”

“And his wife,” Bronduff added rising back to his paws. Malan saw what he meant, the poison began to act quickly, mortals caught in the cloud began to chock and fall over dead.

Bronduff bowed. “I take my leave, unless there something else needed?” Malan shook his head and his executioner dispersed, splitting his attention in multiple directions.

Malan gazed through the Huntsmen a little longer, watched as each castle assaulted was delivered divine assistance. Ascendants fell from the sky, while plants within garden areas shifted and merged into large foliage made beasts that went after the dead. Priests began to appear, spouting their prayers and sending out god empowered miracles. Those the Huntsmen dodged easily, both free from physical limitation and powered by Devotion, they leapt, ran and roll around. Not long Bronduff followers began sending attacks of their own. Most from manifest bows and arrows, powered with enough Devotion to pierce through protections Priests had woven around themselves.

He was pleased with the sights, regardless of the chaos and the growing number of foes, the Huntsmen never got distracted, they kept to their mission and spread poison clouds.

With how many began to die from it, the mortals left defenseless and in their last moments begging for salvation. Malan wasn’t surprised to see aspects of Lisoe appear.

New priests arrived, those clothed in Lisoe colors and sigils. From them, all women, a golden light mixed with green erupted from their hands. Where it went the clouds dissolved away and those suffering its poisonous affects began to recover. What actually surprised him though, was the dead began to rise. Lisoe, through her priests, was resurrecting everyone in reach, reviving followers that held little to no favor to her. Even those that had been bloodily killed by Huntsmen began to be pulled back together, the flesh and organs mending.

Save for the damage being done to the area, everything the Huntsmen had achieved was being erased. But Lisoe wasn’t stopping there, runes woven into streets and structures glowed bright. Malan felt the push of sigils, the runes protection the area from wild dead growing in strength. Huntsmen corporeal forms began to wafted like smoke. The cost of maintaining their forms within the material plane growing in price.

Bronduff wouldn’t be able to kept the attacks going for long, not on his own. So Malan pulled his attention from the Huntsmen and to his own forces. Unlike Bronduff, his were made up of the living, each aware that surviving their mission was rather slim. One doesn’t plan an offensive against fortresses and expect to survive the encounter. Not that his followers were actually going to try and barge their way in.

No, from multiple eyes, he was allowed to see the position of his men and women. Each group housed within a wagon full of goods ranging from salted meats to grains, and minted ores.

A disguise as the wagons from multiple locations across the continent slowly followed caravans of heretics making their way to fortresses. Many were there to offer supplies as well but a growing number were glory seekers, hoping to align themselves with a vigil to follow out east.

Malan saw not all his people were in optimal spots for the trick Madness wanted to pull, and only few had made it inside a fortress. But time was short, and he wanted the pantheon of order distracted as much as possible.

‘Assemble the shrines.’ He sent to his followers, and from the wagons across the land, men and women did as instructed. Listening to his words and visions they began piecing together elaborate works of metal and crystal. Taking control of the mortals that allowed, Malan personally carved out Madness sigil.

“Come out,” he said through mouths not his own. “Ink of knowledge, Holder of unknown, librarian of the dark.” He sent Devotion, gave Madness the link and the shrines flared to life. There was a pulse, a claim, one no god wouldn’t notice as Madness staked his right over areas.

From a myriad of tongues Madness spoke. “Witness and beyond.” The top parts of the wagons holding the shrines blasted apart as a whirlwind carried Madness decreed. “All that I hold.”

Save for his own followers, Malan watched through their eyes as the realm filled with screams. Heretics grabbed their heads, fell to their knees as Madness filled their mortal minds with endless volumes of knowledge.

The knowledge plague spread and swept over the lands holding the caravans and fortresses unluckily enough to have allowed his followers in. Tens of thousands were inflicted with madness, their minds coming unhinged as countless visions and arcane sigils were forced into them.

Malan felt his jaw tense, and fear play upon his body. His nature shivered as well, for this wound was the worst kind for him. The body was easy to fix and put back together. The mind however? That was far more delicate matter. He could do everything right, make the brain function as it did before, but the psyche within might still be scared or deranged.

From his studies he found only death cured the soul, after it was allowed to dwell within the Glen for a time. The last attempt to reverse the overload of knowledge was to have the souls reincarnate, wiping it clean of all its memories.

Though he disliked Lisoe, given she enabled her husband, healing his followers and providing resurrections. He held some sympathy for her due to their shared natures. ‘Best of luck trying to heal this.’ He thought as Madness plague spread, the wind of whispers the only warning to those who should to flee. None got away, how was a mortal supposed to out run the wind?

For a handful of seconds Madness act against the pantheon went unanswered. The gods attention already pulled to other struggles, but with some many followers in destress, their ire came soon enough. Sections of sky torn open over the remains of the wagons. The act bringing new light that bathed those areas in crisp detail. From the tears, searing flames of white came surging down. Wargains intent was clear, the act Madness had performed was too much, so the god of fire was going to cleanse all.

Madness responded to this with laughter, an orchestra of thousands echoing humor. Arcane symbols formed instantly, all merging together into a shield above and around the shrines. Wargains attack struck, but the symbols remained, the flame repulsed.

“Ignorant men, always carrying flame.” The voices said as the winds of whisperers carried on taking the land of the sane. “They come thinking they can burn away what they don’t understand. That knowledge can be sundered with violent acts.”

A song of laughter took the air as the shields protecting the shrines grew and pushed the flames back up.

“But those are only physicals things, manifestations, symbols. Knowledge comes from the mind, from all the chittering thoughts.” Wargain torn at the sky more, opening his realm to the physical plane. White flame that made the air hiss poured from the sky, promising to bring forth a plane of desolation. But everywhere they appeared, runic symbols blocked their paths.

“So men turn to silencing them, the crack of a whip, the cutting of tongues, the breaking of hands.” The winds worsened, the whispers almost enough to be understood. “Violence, violence all around. But the thoughts, the thoughts do not quiet, they grow louder, they shout.” Malan began to hear snippets then, endless trivial of every subject matter. Be it the forming of clay, to the order of runes and their effect.

“The thoughts are you, shouting out yourself,” Madness boomed, its voices erratic.

“Be silent.” Wargain screamed from above. His form seen through the cracks and holes in the sky.

Madness laughed in the way only madmen could. “Silence they say, make it stop they cry.” More runes appeared as Wargain shot down increasingly potent flames. “Ignorance they demand, do not let us see, do not let us hear, gods no please.” Madness voices shifted randomly into a cacophony of thousands.

Wargain roared in rage as he torn the sky whole, and readied to cleanse the area, whether it was wise or not.

“They howl in rage,” Madness mocked. “Thinking anger will dull the thoughts.” Its voices became sinister. “But when minds are still, the thinking one speaks.” The winds went silent, the whispers gone, but the shrines, oh how they glowed.

“See.” All the voices shouted as one and the shrines shot up a piercing light of their own. Through the sigils they went, parted the blistering flames, and entered into Wargains realm.

The titan went still, horror warping his bronze face as the lights slammed into him and exploded outward. Carrying with them wave after wave of visions to plague the denizens of his realm.

“No.” Wargain shouted in dismay as he pushed back against the lights and began closing shut the tears. But the sigils acted, racing upward and fixed on the edges. No matter how the bronze god pulled and tugged on the sky, portals directly above the shrines remained open, allowing the beams of madness to continue polluting the war gods realm.

Malan watched as his rival forced calm upon himself, the helm of metal smoothing out as he studied the trap he’d fallen into.

‘One of many Wargain, each coming soon.’ Malan thought as his rival acted. With unrestrained fury the fire god countered. Flames so bright they blinded the realm of mortals, all driven to jabbering madness. But Malan could see, forced his followers to gaze upward as Wargain flames ignored the beams and instead attack the sigils holding open the gates.

It began to eat at them, faster than Madness could manifest more. In return the beams thickened, the outflow of Devotion reaching new heights.

“In the deepest depths of their fear, the voices closing in.” Madness spoke, its whispers weakening. “They close themselves off, remove every thought from their mind.” Portals began to close, the sigils burnt away as Wargain tugged on the sky anew. “They pray the emptiness brings salvation.” Laughter rings in the air. “That mindlessness will bring peace. No, no.” The voices said mockingly, the beams withering. “All they have done is removed their ability to see, to know, to learn, to adapt. They are blind to the dangers coming, to the eager horror thrilled to see its prey dumb and blind.”

The last portal closed shut, but the beams went out before then. The realm returned to normalcy as Madness part to play came to a close. But the scars of it were carried by the winds.

Freed from his grip followers looked about. The lot still alive and spared from all that had unfolded.

The realm shivered from the collective ramblings of the mad as they yell, laughed and argued with each other. Violence began to break out, the hundreds around his followers turning on each other. He was about to order them to flee, and sent the appropriate amount of Devotion to make this possible. But his thoughts were disrupted by a distraction, same for his followers as the opening of portals drew their attention back upward. He expected cleansing flame, the realm around them turned molten. Instead, they watched as new smaller portals spewed out Ascendants. Not for long though, a handful of seconds each time before closing, then reappearing to start the process anew.

He thought swift action would come from the constructs, yet as they watched, and more were pushed through portals. Malan saw all flying haphazardly as they clawed at their helms. This phenomena spread, portals opening and closing across an increasing expanse of the sky. Each presenting Ascendant tearing at themselves.

“Near that end, the horror approaches close enough to hear.” Madness whispered over the wind. “The thinking starts again, shouting louder than before, see, see, see.” The voices recited. “And they see, just in time for the horror to swallow them whole.”

Ascendants crashed into the lands, the act shattering them and freeing the souls within. Yet he could see with his godly eyes the outcome did nothing for the tormented souls. they spoke in tongues, pawed at their faces, shook and cried over things only they could see and hear.

Malan shivered within his afterlife; the damage done was a deep cut. It would take years for the souls to recover, he was sure most would listen to the call of the Glen, hurry to a waiting body, and embark in reincarnation.

Watching the skies filling with Ascendants descending, Malan sent the key phases to Foy Ryan and Derrin, letting them know it was their turn, and they had his and Rimeans aid when needed.

He received acknowledgements back, all eager to begin, and moved his awareness to his sky gazing followers. “Flee,” he told them. They listened, and used power to hasten their flight as they leapt, dashed, and ran. He saw through their eyes a land of the insane.

‘Let’s see you bring order to this.’ Malan thought to his rival, who continued not to show himself.

-------------------------------------

“Our time has come.” Ryan screamed through the mouths of his priests. Devotion and his unique miracle at work on the hordes of Verm. They stared at his chosen, and in truth himself, all taken by the rapture that was himself. “Take up your weapons and rise my children.” He said to the cheering crowds, each with pleading souls. They wanted to hear more, they wanted to bask in the glory that was him.

“I am with you,’ he told them. “Always with you, you will have the strength and courage to fight. No longer will Kolune step on us, no longer will the Orders use us as their laborers. We will build wonders, and constructs devoted to serving us.” He screamed, meaning every word. Even the rush of godhood couldn’t make him forget his time as a mortal, a wandering preacher trying to earn even a smidgin of respect and recognition from deaf, uncaring gods.

“Go forth,” he yelled through the priests. “Slit their throats, show them to fear out teeth and claws. We may be small, but our numbers alone with drown them. They will see who really maintains the realm.” The crowds cheered back, weapons in hand and they scurried outward.

Dispersing waves of Verm traveled the underground network that linked most of the Orders realm together.

The Kolune, even Heon, ruled the surface, but below his people reigned. Mostly neglected, ignored and treated as low cast. Which was unfair, and unwarranted. They did most of the work, built the structures, maintained the upkeep of the roads. Kept everything going while the Kolune slaughtered and expanded their territory. And in turn reaping all the supposed glory, thinking themselves special and maintainers of stability.

He feed on that belief as he preached to his Kolune forces on the surface. “All these battles we’ve won.” He said through Kolune priests. “The honor and glory we brought to our people, and what do we get?” He asked to the enthralled crowd, it hadn’t been as easy converting them. His miracle worked best on Verm, but after a certain amount of time and Devotion. He found he could hook himself into almost any mortal.

“Nothing,” he continued. “No blessing, no recognition from Wargain, not even from his half divine sons. We are ignored, even as we bleed ourselves on the battlefield, best foes worthy of praise. All we are rewarded is silence and the continued struggle without rights bestowed. I say no more.” His words thundered, but the Kolune didn’t flinch, they were to taken by his words, they like the Verm listened to his voice with rapturous attention.

“Enough is enough, if our gods refuse to witness our might on foreign foes, then we shall turn our blades and skills on those that have been deemed worthy. We will force them to see our might as we defeat their champions.” He had the priests raise up a fist. “Who’s with me?” He screamed to crowds of hundreds spread about the land.

They all screamed back “We are.” And Ryan had the priests roar in approval. “Go then champions, attack the nearest castles. Show them our might, show them who really are the finest blades on the field of war.” They roared back, chanting and holding up their weapons to the sky. Then as one, pulled by his strings they marched, minds guided by his intentions and sent heading for the nearest settlement.

All would die, that was a given, and he didn’t care of that. They were Kolune, it was what they wanted most, a death in glorious battle.

They would get exactly that while his true children rose from above. Already everything was falling into place. It was amazing how little Tetar, the only Verm god in the land besides himself. Paid attention to his followers and the working of the under realm. Ryan had barely needed to hide himself as he converted colony after colony. The Verm eager to hear his words. Though they loved to build, craft and maintain. They were tired of it being for others, especially those that didn’t give them the respect such an undertaking deserved.

If the Orders had showed even a morsal of recognition to that, his expenditure of Devotion would have double, na tripled in order to convert Verm to his side. Instead, they’d only needed to hear a few of his words before they saw the reality of their situation. The fact none cared about them, or even knew about them and the amount of work they put in to keep the empire going.

‘The Verm deserve better, they deserve me.’ He thought amused as he watched the hordes rush through the web of joining tunnels. They slaughtered every heretical Verm they came upon. Which is to say an unending amount. It was a shame really, given enough time he could have converted them to. But now was a time for action, besides he was proud of the horde he’d assembled. Thousands, all under his sway, all moving to his will.

“Kill the heretics.” He said in their open minds, chanting it over and over, till that was all they thought. It was the best way to conduct the plan, they didn’t need to think, that is what he’s for. Which he did and guided them to forges, warehouses, tool making shops. He ordered them to destroy it all. And most importantly to burn any stores of grains they came across.

Malan had told them of the end, his kind open nature offering them the truth. An end was coming for the realm, one Ryan would survive easily, but his enemies would not. Yet he wasn’t sated with just that, he wanted them to die sooner, wanted them to search for supplies, believe they had the means to last a little longer. Only to find everything in ruin and their deaths assured.

‘I’ll be the only white Verm left.’ What a pleasing thought, Tetar would whither to nothing, leaving only him, the glorious silk white of his fur would be his symbol and none would ever be the wiser.

‘Finally, I’m get all that I’m deserved.’ His efforts reward, his many centuries with Malan providing boons unending. And now on top of all that he got to have fun and watch his people reclaim what was theirs.

The moment was tarnished of course, given the Verms rise would be short lived. An unending winter and no warming light to rejuvenate the realm, meant death was coming, and staying. At least his brethren would get some well-deserved vengeance before that.

‘Slaughter them, slaughter them.’ He recited in their minds. The hordes dismantling one workshop after the other. It was so painfully easy, none were expecting an organized, and perfectly unified forced to swarm the underground. Not all of a sudden anyways, there should have been warnings of an insurrection, a growing distraught that could be contained and expunged. But Ryans miracle worked to fast, hooked to deep into the minds of his people.

There had been no warning, so his followers butchered their way through one host of surprised and unarmed mobs after the other.

‘Hurry forth,’ he whispered. “Our bothers above will need our aid.” Even with miracle encouragement the Kolune topside wouldn’t be able to get passed the stone walls of a castle without help.

“Hurry, hurry.” the swarms recited back, minds in his full control.

He’d come to find his power worked better, and cost less, the large the crowd became. As such it was little effort on his part to keep them cohesive.

‘If only I’d been ascended sooner,’ he thought. ‘The feats I could have accomplished, the things me and Malan could have achieved.’ Oh well, there was always next time, once the realm was healed and they had a fresh start to make things right. Now though was the time for fun and retribution.

‘To the gates.’ He ordered, compelling his ramshackle horde onward into heights of feverous zeal. It made him smile as they charged. The fear gone, the concern for their own wellbeing thoroughly snuffed out. The realm was seeing what Verm could do when pushed.

Much to the guards horror when his swarm of followers rushed out of multiple tunnels. All with weapons in hand as they screamed out praises to him. The Verm heretics died within a sea of cutting knives, their remains scattered as his people pushed open the stones gates and poured out into plazas.

Switching from horde to horde, he saw similar cases take place. Heretics at first watching in bafflement as screaming Verm rushed the area. Then they shrieked in dismay as the enlightened descended on the misguided.

‘To the gate walls’ He ordered the hordes that were attacking multiple castles at once. ‘Let your Kolune compatriots in so they may die for you.’ Yells of compliance filled the air as Kolune guards rushed towards the sounds of crying. More and more came, his Verm luring them away from their posts.

‘Hurry,’ he sent to the Kolune warbands, doing his best to time everything. It wasn’t going to be perfect, but from the many eyes he could tell his forces would link together well enough.

A request to Malan for some extra Devotion allowed him to fix the gaps in time. He sent power out, provided followers the strength needed to cast miracles of their own. Arcane workings appeared in the twilight, the shaping of rock, the howling of shredding wind. Some began sending spouts of flames at the rushing Kolune, the act making their fur blaze and the foil mutts to howl in terrified wails.

Everything was going well, enough that he ordered followers to gather the dead, to sacrifice what little life remained in them to him. Alas the actions of him and his people finally reached the attention of divine. Plants began to warp as they grow unnaturally quick, forming together in the shapes of wild beasts.

‘Cycure,’ he thought mildly annoyed. Were his actions not enough to warrant Wargains attention?

‘Burn the plants,’ he sent to forces under the assault of the nature god. While at the same time he provided power to Kolune raiders who’d begun to reach the entrances of castles. His Verm did well, those manning the gates were swarmed and killed, and the entrances to the complexes flung open allowing the raiders to rush in and his forces to merge.

To everyone his sent. ‘Kill the heretics, don’t stop till all are dead and the castles raised. Let all know of our rise.’ Shouts of frenzied compliance filled the air as his forces moved as one. He was sure if there hadn’t been a god in the way, his followers may have even been able to achieve his demand. But that wasn’t going to happen. More plant made guardians began to appear and worse adapt to the flames. The things grew in size as well, each radiating out a green glow. Cycure was feeding her constructs plenty of power to meet his own forces. And as unfair as being thin tailed, Ryan knew he didn’t have the power to contest her.

‘Avoid, or restrain Cycures guardians as much as you can.’ He ordered quickly. ‘The heretics are the prize my fellows, they are the ones who need to die, don’t let yourselves be distracted by the petty summons.’

He would do his best, slaughter as many as possible but his defeat was written. This day victory would go to their foes, but soon, months even, it would be their turn to face inevitable defeat.

‘You all will wither and die,’ he thought happily. ‘But I, I am forever.’

---------------------------

‘Time for a bit of spoiling,’ Foy sent to agents.

Connected to them as she was, she felt their excitement, the thrill of action. Her followers, small groups to single individuals, began to move.

Within cities so large and protected they were labeled fortresses, Heon under her influence exited out into busy streets. The places were alive with mortal activity, even with the days growing increasingly shorter. The people kept to their normal patterns, which was fine, swell even, the numbers made her people blend with the crowds and go unnoticed. Plus with the growing dark she would have an easier time keeping them unseen.

Down increasingly underused paths, her little Heon went, clothed in the simplest garbs one could buy. To outside viewers the people moving with divine purpose were ordinary folk, harmless dirt tillers wondering down streets without a care in the realm. None would suspect all of them were trained killers and proficient poisoners.

Or had a god watching through their eyes, guiding them down predetermined areas that would lead them to the places they needed to be. With a little miracle work of course. A fortress wasn’t some place a nobody could wonder about in and reach something important. There were layers of defenses and large patrols that made sure threats were kept away.

Thing is her lovely little miscreants weren’t trying to harm anyone personally. It would raise too much alarm, since such actions were outside the normal for a well to do Heon. Nor would her people end up killing any numbers worth mentioning.

No, no, she and her followers weren’t warriors. They were cautious folk, wisely never around when the dying began. The enemy would never know the source of people who caused the tragedy that was to befall them.

So, these facts evident, Heon of all ages stopped at random stone walls. Their locations obscured from prying eyes and began to warp rock with miracle knowledge passed down to her, which had been provided by Derrin.

Mumbling hushed incantations, the rocks warped and slowly separated, revealing entrances to small tunnels that the poisoners from multiple fortresses and perspectives hurried into. They re-warped the rock after, closing off their path of escape, but they didn’t fear this, she was there to guide them back.

They hurried down sewer tunnels, the act causing her to recall times she’d done the same as a mortal. Plus the less pleasant parts where she continually forced herself from gagging on the fumes. Her followers shared that same problem as the less tolerate began wrapping cloth around their noises, desperate to lessen the stench.

‘You won’t have to endure it long.’ She sent and guided them with impulses and feelings as they moved silently through dank halls. All heading towards locations that would suit their craft. Because really, who in all the realm was going to drink sewer water?

No one that’s who. Plus the polluted water would be cleansed by a god, likely Cycure, before being recycled into the water ducts. And the moment an enemy god tried they would notice her work, and she didn’t want that.

Thus her followers trekked through mire best not described and came to rest at filthy walls. To a mortal there wasn’t anything special about the spots, they were no different from the rest of the tunnels. But she could feel it, see it to, these points led to the destinations she wanted.

‘Warp the stone.’ She said once enough had reached their spots, some were being slow, careful. Not all the sewer passages were as empty as others. Each fortress was different, with rulers who paid more or less attention to its internal defenses.

But all were making progress as none had been spotted. Nor would they, darkness was on their side, a boon from her that made it they couldn’t be seen within its depths. Her skulking buns were safe from being spotted by plain unblessed mortals. Yet they were well trained and didn’t take her gift as an absolute, they were careful, taking no chances as they made progress.

That was fine, she was a god, could split her attention in ways mortals couldn’t comprehend. Though she was still getting used to the act, and wasn’t anywhere near adapt at the skill as Malan was, who did it with such ease he made the lot of them look like stumbling infants. Which now that she thought of it, was true. They were infants, godlings being guided by something older. No matter how much he pressed they were all equals, none were blind to the skill disparity.

‘We’ll get there in time.’ She thought, especially if their days were going to be filled with adventurous expeditions where they had to be in multiple places at once. If she were still mortal, and had a skull with a brain in it, the poor thing would be running out her ears from misuse. Maybe even hissing out heat given the amount of information being sent to her.

Even a small taste of the constant management required to maintain a religion had her understand things once blind to her. She was experiencing just how much work it really took to make everything run smoothly. As a mortal she’d though the Orders, Wargain pantheon, wasters of resources. Now with firsthand knowledge, she saw they didn’t mean to be, and likely were infuriated by it. But no matter how skilled, caring for millions meant mistakes were going to happen.

‘I need a god of management.’ She mused while keeping her followers on the correct paths. After they warped stone again, making themselves new entrances. Many found themselves in pearly clean tunnels. ‘Don’t forget to wash yourselves,’ she reminded followers, handing down the cleaning miracle Derrin used.

Smelling of death in a sewer was fine, none would notice you. But not so in perfectly clean water ways, often maintained by Verm.

‘Thanks mom,’ she heard sarcastically thought in her general direction. If she hadn’t been guiding them so closely, she’d never have picked up on it. But she did, and she smiled playfully.

‘You’re welcome dear,’ she sent back, manifesting the sensation of them being kissed on their scalps as an added touched. They flinched, their hairs standing up, and began sending waves of apologies.

‘Whatever for?’ She asked them amused. In return she got mixed messages, some sent the truth, while others formed lies the way children do. She laughed in their minds, kissed the lairs again and told them to better their skills. The fussy Heon went quiet then, guarding their thoughts and hoping not to bring anymore embarrassment to themselves.

‘Was I like this?’ she wondered to herself, ‘watching my every thought, hoping not to offend Malan.’ Perhaps, way back at the beginning of their relationship. Unaware of just how hard it was to ruffle Malans fur, at least as a follower. ‘I must have been adorable.’ Just like her poisoners, who were finally reaching their chosen destinations.

Gazing through their eyes, she looked down at one of many large water ways. She would have preferred the central aqueduct, where all the water sailed from. But such areas would be to protected for her followers to get there undetected by godly miracles. Instead, they were going the roundabout way and adding their concoctions to the streams. It would do the job, given what she had in store.

Her well trained followers put their hands in their pockets, searching for something in the nothingness. But willings from her, the spending of Devotion, and soon her followers found their pockets weren’t empty at all. No, they had vials, and quickly spreading fatigue. A second price she hadn’t been aware of as a semi mortal.

Apparently being the anchor for miracles form a god was harsh on the mortal coil. Done to many times in a row it would break. Not that she, nor her fellow champions had known that. Since none of them had been generally normal, Malan had improved them, and now she knew why.

Her poisoners breathed heavy for a few moments afterward, but recovered soon enough. After they pulled the vials out, real potent stuff was contained within, given it was going to be diluted into a river.

Carefully they removed the corks, and spilled the contents down into the rushing water. Making sure not even a drop of it touched their fur and skin. Due to the potency of the poison that liquid would have eaten through their flesh in seconds.

Once the last of the vials were empty, her poisoners were on the move again, heeding her call. Foy smiled to herself. ‘Let’s see how well you handle this Lisoe.’ She thought, wondering all the while to what extent the life weaver would go to undo dissolved flesh.

------------------------------

Tibarn half slept in his small, Heon sized bed. Which forced him to curl into ball so he could fit. The furniture didn’t even come with a blanket, or pillow. Quite the far drop from his usual comforts. But that was the price of failure, even for the unearned type.

He didn’t sulk though, not the real kind, he did play pretend, act upset at times when working the fields with Heon who found the process enjoyable. No, Tibarn was quite happy with his current situation. His demands were simple, easily to obtain, and track. But that wasn’t the reason for his enlightened mood. Though his body was in a shoddy bunk made of wood, Tibarn himself was reading in a lush garden, piles of books near him. Most of the knowledge was new, people and places he’d never heard of. They all shared a common theme though. One pertaining to his old god Wargain, and his tendency to smite whole cultures to dust. Tibarn had known of that particular detail already, though he hadn’t been aware to the extent. There were almost a hundred or more cultures the god and removed, while Tibarn could only recall a small handful mentioned in the royal archives.

Naturally all of them had been labeled cults of chaos, the gods they worshiped actually demons. However, Tibarn, with his eager mind ready to learn more. Was seeing that was, less than true. Many of the cultures removed shared aspects of order he thought Wargain would have approved of. Many of the denizens of his empire wouldn’t have had any difficulty revering these dead as fellow gods of the Orders. Yet Wargain had removed them, quite thoroughly if the side notes detailed in the tomes were to be held accurate.

“Enjoying yourself again?” Said a voice behind him. He turned to gaze at the speaker, seeing more of the dream realm he found himself within. The entity leaned down, his divine robes creasing and the sigils contained within shifting. “That grand, it’s always a pleasure to see the young eager to learn.”

Tibarn smiled warmly at the entity, at his new god. Derrin the tome holder, arcane weaver, and bearer of insight.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked his god, a Dargown, he hadn’t known his people had other gods besides Malan.

The tome god smiled somewhat somberly at him, and petted his scalp. “You’d be surprised how many detest learning from a book, and the recollection of old lore. They especially don’t like learning things that contradict their view of the realm.”

Tibarn laughed soft and enjoyed the affection., he’d meet many people who fit that description, mostly guards, how they hated to think.

“Though it troubles me to disturb your session of learning, its time.” His god added, and the moment he did the realm crumpled, his meditated dream came to an abrupt end. He was back, fully aware of his cramped bulk and the soft noises of Heon sleeping around him, and some snuggled up against him. He’d been annoyed by the latter in the beginning, but the nights and days were growing colder and the warmth of pressing bodies became more of boon than the preservation of his private space.

‘I give to you purpose, joined with power and the wonder of knowledge.’ The tome god decreed within his mind. Its words answered instantly, orders and power filled him. Devotion, so much of it, the things he could do, the miracles at his disposal. ‘Inflict your vengeance as you see fit, but destroy the gardens, and.’ The god laughed, ‘have fun.’ Derrin added, voice warm. ‘I’ll be waiting for you on the other side, ready to guide you home. But before I go, let us help you.’ A new presence filled his mind, caring, and ready to assist.

‘Often heretics call me the maker of monster.’ He heard and realized the presence was Malan himself. ‘It’s not entirely untrue, I uplift, or better put, remove the limitations placed on the mortal coil. I make it more palpable to the strains of the arcane and counter forces the realm sends back.’

‘We will ascend you,’ the tome god said. ‘Make your body into the instrument you desire it to be.’

Tibarn didn’t hesitate, he’d already thought upon the subject, and in the end, there was only one thing he wanted. ‘Make me able to contest the Chosen, able to cast the arcane without it shattering my body.’

‘As you wish.’ He heard Malan whisper, then through his god of knowledge, Tibarn felt Malan ply his craft. Tibarn breathed in deep, felt his body shift, bones pop and realign, he even felt himself begin to grow. To the alarm of the Heon around him. There was no hiding this, the change was too quick, needed to be. Because right behind this change came more Devotion, filling his body up to bursting.

Cries of alarm filled the air as Heon hurried away from him, not long after the bunk he resided in broke under his weight. Yet he grew still, power always following behind, and now joined with more knowledge. Miracles, blessed realm rending miracles. He needed only to follow the patterns provide and the land would react accordingly.

‘There,’ the bringer of Wonder said. ‘No longer will you suffer the fatigue of order. Cast your wonders as you see fit.’ The second presence left after, leaving only the Lore god.

‘Show them,’ his god spoke gently into his mind. ‘What happens when you keep pushing a Dargown.’ With parting words, he added. ‘Make them pay Tibarn for everything they did to you, to our people. For everything they took from us, make them pay.’

The Lore god left then, its presence just enough to keep contact, but now Tibarn was on his own. He was free to do as he pleased, he and those of his new order. For he wasn’t alone, others had been chosen that day in the library, one filled with self-writing books. And now it was their time to show all the might of knowledge.

Rising from the wreckage of his bed and clothes he stared ahead. the Heon all crowded the other side of the cramped room. Pounding desperately at the stone doors that were locked from the other side.

“Demon, demon!” They shouted.

For a moment he looked at him, they had been small before, but now, they all could have been day old newborns. He chuckled as he hunched his form to avoid banging his head against the ceiling.

“I have no misgivings with any of you.’ He said, his voice much deeper than before, and ladened with a command of power that made the Heon freeze in place. “Move from the door, else join in its destruction.” The Heon, even fright filled as they were, retreated quickly to his small relief. Counter to what he’d excepted from them, none had ever mocked his fall from grace. Nor had they mistreated him, a few had even reached out offering kinship.

The small creatures before him didn’t deserve death, they were mistreated just like him. It was the sounds of commotion passed the doors, the sharp clangs of metal and warriors readying themselves, that deserved his retribution.

“Shatter.” He commanded at the block of stone, mind following the pattern of arcane. The realm obeyed and the stone blasted apart, shredding the guards forming behind it.

“Shatter.” He announced again, this time his sight trained on the guards. What come next was quite messy, but pleasing to hear as Kolune howled in horror and ran from him.

He wanted to follow, to rend everything that had harmed him during his time as a scholar, but he controlled himself. There were orders to follow first, gardens and a long list of storage silos to be destroyed.