Lands burned around him, the ground going soft under his feet as he settled his frame upon a new continent that was to be his. Heretics turned to ash and the foolish godling that had come to personally challenge his might, began to do the same.

“Kneel.” He commanded and the godling did, his will dominated. The feeble opponent had little Devotion, most being used to maintain its form within the heat of flames. A mistake, a waste, this was no worthy foe. He was staring at a child, a fool that didn’t deserve to join his empire.

Wargain formed a spear and thrust its tip deep into the chest cavity of the lesser being. His opponent howled, flames consuming it in seconds leaving nothing. The godling wasn’t dead though, not yet, its essence retreated, there was still enough followers to maintain its existence but not much longer. The pantheon of this continent, the Creed of the King, had sacrificed their form of an enforcer to buy themselves time to muster their armies.

He should be sending vanguards to disrupt this, raining down his Ascendants from the sky and cleansing the densely populated areas further in the foreign lands. But he did not, instead he pulled his small manifestation of attention back to his main.

He began to do this everywhere. With each victory in battle, the smiting of lands, the rallying of his armies. Wargains awareness began retreating back to his personal afterlife.

The fullness of himself slowly coming together as he pulled his attention from his crusade. He stood within the confines of his inner sanctum. His glorious bronze frame staring at an intricate map of his realm.

It should have been a picture of Order, everything stable, resources moving, fortifications expanding, the great roads reaching out to quickly guide the real scope of is armies to the new continent. The number of his followers should have been swelling, births on the rise to match the promise of gory and land to be earned. Instead before him was decline, turmoil, chaos.

“I was hasty.” Lured into compliancy by false order as hidden foes dug deep and laid in wait for their moment to strike.

They were all coming out now, he’d removed their ability to hide, thinking there were only a few left, instead nests of heretics were everywhere. Worse was the rise of another foe immune his authority.

Malan was bad enough, how was there another? And why? None of them should have the Devolution required to keep him out. Yet his will was revoked every time.

It had been a long while where creation rebuke his claim, told him bluntly he didn’t have the right to rule over another.

“Order is being tested.” Chaos had been shaken awake by his bursts of claims on the land. Enough that his previous small token of attention on handling matters in his empire was at an end.

He began to plan, to determine what portions of himself should go where and how much power to be bestowed.

This was halted however by a gentle ring from the golden gates to his chamber, it informed him he had a guest. There was only one who would come here to disturbed him.

“Enter,” he commanded, though he softened his voice. His wife had come to smooth out the ridges of his form, and put out the raging flames that misguided him.

She did as order, entering his sanctum with grace. Her presence alone began to calm his raging mind. The oldest part of him, the warrior whose only purpose was to win battles. To cleave, butcher and take from threats that had unwisely chosen to be his followers enemy.

That part was more of a hindrance these days, trying to cloud the thinking part of himself built upon the old. The realm no longer needed a warrior to put down monsters, it needed an organizer and a firm guiding hand.

“My warming light.” Lisoe said, her voice smooth and sweet as honey. “What troubles you? It has been centauries since you’ve closed yourself off.” She carefully neared him, as women often did when coming to the aid of a harmed fighter. He pushed himself up, straighten his stance. “I seek silence,” he said gesturing to her. With the offer given she stopped her subtle advance, neared and wrapped herself around his waist. He relaxed, the wrath of his flames dimming as the warrior within succumbed to the nurturing care of the woman. He combed her autumn hair with his bronze hands, savoring the softness of them and the smell of summer.

Head resting on his chest, she looked up, gazed into his molten eyes with her amber ones. Desire strove to take him, to indulge in the pleasures of flesh, it had been sometime, the crusade taking up most of his attention. He brushed her cheek, nurturing eyes staring at him with the same longing that was building within his chest.

It died as he heard cackling, saw the figure in old dusted robes, its frame hidden within unwavering darkness. Orbs of light stared back at him, and though he couldn’t see its face, he could feel a mocking smile.

“My pyre what’s wrong?” His mate asked, his muse. He held her tighter, then parted, placing her behind him as he faced the threat. One only he could see apparently. She looked to where he stared then back at him, her eyes telling all.

‘The anger dies away, spent and tired. The thinking comes again, all the louder.’ The entity that had tricked him said and laughed in a thousand tongues. ‘Questions come next, unhindered as fear closes in.’ It stepped towards him.

“You are not here.” he said to himself and the apparition. It laughed madly. ‘No,’ it said. ‘But I am here,’ it added pointing to its head. ‘And I’m not going anywhere,’ it spoke, voices tinged with malice.

“Where did you come from?” He asked, the entity felt familiar, followers of his had dealt with it before. Recently to, the destruction of shrines so old they predated the history of his empire and those before.

‘Everywhere and nowhere.’ It replied, its voices threatening. ‘Waiting, watching,’ it pointed towards him. ‘Judging.’ It chuckled. ‘And I have made the choice god of stagnation, that you of all that blights in this land, I shall haunt, shall burden. For all the knowledge you burnt and sunder, for the ignorance you let fester in the lands. You I condemn, you I hate.’

“Another monster to put down.” He said back to it, “another beast aiming to bring discord to my stable realm.” It never ended, there was always another monster, another thing bent on making the realm chaotic.

‘There’s a difference between stable and stagnation. One encourages growth, the other a slow decline.’ It chuckled, the room sounding as though there were hundreds mocking him. ‘And you have been doing the later for quite a while, you use the same tactics again and again, and grown complacent with your power over others.’ It approached him unconcerned, and with each step it grew in size. It loomed over him as if it would bring forth intimidation. ‘How will you fare when all that you find normal is stripped from you.’

“Is it you behind it all?” He asked unbothered, his mind at work determining his foe. “The pyre leaving, the infants dreaming?” Had he awakened an ancient beast with his shouts of victory?

It laughed at his words, and recited in a thousand tongues. ‘Dumb and blind.’ It leaned down at him. ‘If you would have cared for knowledge, uplifted your people you wouldn’t be clawing at the dark seeking answers you will never find.’

Wargain scuffed, and flicked his wrist, forming a blazing axe to cleave the arrogant opponent. The figure didn’t even try to dodge, it let itself be cut in half and its form go up in smoke.

The laughter returned. ‘Always the man with fire,’ it said reappearing a distance away.

He glared at the thing, debated whether it was ailing enough for him to commit his great reserves to remove it, rather than saving it for a more pressing foe. There were so many threats appearing, the terrain becoming uneven. He couldn’t be hastily anymore, he needed to be cautious, his strikes well planned and his timing perfect.

‘Go ahead.’ the voices said. ‘Do it, contest me, rage at the thoughts, stumble into the dark.’ He knew the thing to be smiling at him. ‘I assure you there will be nothing to horrible waiting to devour you whole.’

Wargain glared at it, the warrior within screaming to take the challenge. He’d faced unknowns before, many times, and had won all. But this was a thinking beast, and it knew things. It was sure of its victory, as if his actions mattered not at all.

It tiled its head at him, studying him as he studied it. ‘I see why you did so well after Malan was spent. Under all that raging flame is a schemer, planning and waiting for the right time to strike,’ it shook its head. ‘But too afraid of uncertainties, and others holding power over it.’

‘Oh, how it would burn Malan to know your success is only thanks to him.’ The shrouded voices spoke.

“You speak fondly of that pest.” He spat out, flames sparking from his tongue. “Is he one of yours, he has to be the pet of someone.” His source of power had to becoming from somewhere, and an unknown monster was good as any for the peddler.

‘Malan is the opposite,’ the figure said ignoring his question. ‘He spreads his control too much, gives too much, he has no interest in consolidation, even though there has to be some in order to maintain an empire.’

Nothing new, Wargain had learned that ages ago, when the pest raised up one ascended mortal after the other, bestowing them godly power and the freedom to do as they pleased. It always ended up a bloody mess for everyone.

The thing chuckled, ‘and yet he found a way to make it into a weapon.’ The voices spoke warmly, it was no hard deduction to see the two were close.

“And are you going to reveal it to me?” He asked. “Or are you going to waste more of my time?”

‘Both,’ it answered and tilted its head back and forth. ‘But more of the latter, plenty of it in fact.’ Wargain felt it try to spread, the thing banging on the defenses of his mind he’d put up when a portion of himself had been corrupted.

‘You won’t be able to keep me out forever,’ it mocked. ‘You’re a thinking warrior, have all these plans, worries, questions, so many thoughts.’ The voices become soothing, women in nature. ‘I have answers, if you let me in.’

“Back to the pits with you beast,” he growled and sent a bolt of flame at it. Again, the illusion shattered without trying to dodge. And again, it reformed clapping and laughing at him.

‘You’ll see truth at the end,’ it said ominously. ‘And embrace me as you should have done the moment the Light of lights left.’

He was tempted to ask, the thing knew much, a part of him had seen and heard the knowledge it contained. And had been driven mad because of it.

“Blessed warmth,” he heard behind him as hands rested on the sides of his temples. He resisted the urge to spin around and attack. It was his mate, and she had used that phase. She only said it when deeply concerned, and there was reason for that.

‘I was talking to an apparition.’ One only he could see and hear, he must have appeared mad, and part of him was, that was the problem.

Wargain let himself relax, and watched curiously as the apparition became slightly transparent. His nurturing half was having an effect, that is till she removed her hands.

“Are you well my warmth?” she asked moving to his front, eyes filled with concern.

‘Tell her,’ the thing said moving closer. ‘Let your dear lover know your folly. The holder of flame, the burn of books, the breeder of ignorance. Let her know the end that burdens you.’

“Quiet.” He hissed back at it, causing his lover to flinch and him to see his mistake. He carefully took hold of her. “Not you, my muse.” He said softening his metallic voice as much as possible. “I’m afflicted with a curse.” He admitted, learning long ago that feigning strength, of being well, a foolish action around a proven ally.

“A curse?” she asked pressing her hands against his chest. Troubled words these, she was a weaver of life, not curses, they were difficult for her to deal with.

Carefully, strengthening the bonds of his mind prison and the flame cage he’d constructed. Wargain revealed to his beloved a tormented version of himself.

She turned to look at it, and upon seeing it she pressed her back against his chest. Not a promising start, but not inappropriate either. Wargain looked at himself, the scarred part separated from the rest. His bronze shell was blackened where the beams of corruption had struck, and his flames were burning out. It was no longer hallowed white, but dying red, with clouds of black smoke emanating from his eyes.

It began to laugh and cry as it looked at the two of them. “You won’t be able to keep me out forever,” it said, pressed its frame against the cage. “The things I’ve seen, I know, you have to let me in, else all is lost.”

“What happened to you?” His lover asked, panic in her voice.

“I was careless,” he answered. “And taken by fury when a foreign god had the gall to claim central lands that were mine.” It should have been over in seconds, the contender sundered and peace returned. Instead its plague wormed its way into his own afterlife. “I hadn’t noticed the threat.” He’d thought himself immune to the whispers as he focused on the shrines. Since there hadn’t been any obvious signs of trouble at first.

The thing laughed at him, and the apparition and it merged. Through his corrupted half it spoke. “Anger dulled his thoughts, quieted his mind, made him not think clearly for a time.” Cracking and blackening metal split into a large grin. “So I spread through the emptiness he so craved, deaf to me, deaf to thoughts and whispers.”

It tapped finger against the cage. “But he was a little clever, acted quickly when his rage subsided.” It glared at him. “But it will do you no good burning man, I’ll get out and you will have to make a choice.”

His lover turned to him, looked away from the thing and its wicked grin. “This a curse and a scar of the mind, two things I’m ill suit to contend with.” She admitted to him, he wasn’t shocked, he knew already. It was why he hadn’t gone to her, this was his own battle, one he would win, but the cost. The cost troubled him, he was already facing to many foes, to many unknowns.

“I know that look my guiding light.” She stretched herself, cupped his face in her hands. “You plan to contend with this beast on your own.” He didn’t need to answer her. “Ill-suited doesn’t mean I’m helpless against this, I’m more capable than you.” She turned to look at the beast. Its grin widening, and causing shards of bronze to crack off revealing more of the dying flame within.

“The things I could show you, my muse.” It said playing fondness.

“I have all the answers!” It screamed madly after, hammering its fists against the cage. “We’re all going to die,” it yelled, its face warping as it gazed at something only it could see. “Keep me out,” it said looking at him. “I have to stop this, I have to.” It stilled, dying sparks that made up its eyes wondered about the room. “What to do? What to do?” It mumbled. “To many threats, to many foes.”

It went rigid, then calmed, looked at them again, and he knew the apparition was back in control. “You really should listen to yourself, let us out, and I’ll provide the answers, for a price of course.”

His love growled at it, turning herself fully to the beast. It had been a long time since he’d seen her so upset. “This can’t be allowed to remain.” She said, looking back at him. “Even caged, subdued, it’s a threat waiting to get out. We must act now.”

‘The cost, the cost,’ The organizer in him warned.

‘What choice do I have?’ He thought back to it. It was folly for even the greatest of warriors to continually enter battles with a festering wound plaguing him. He would have to face this trail at some point, better now when he had the strength.

He scowled at the corrupted version of himself, gathering his might. “Since you refuse to leave,” he said to it. “I’ll have to burn you out.” It wouldn’t be pleasant, he was no healer, or conjurer of spells. This was going to be pure power against another. A costly act, a desperate gambit.

The thing backed away from the cage wall, stretch itself to its full height. “Come then,” it said in a maelstrom of voices. “Burn me out and suffer the consequences of it.”

He answered with action, manifesting a spear of searing light, he pointed and released his flame. The thing howled as the light struck, piercing through the cage and nailing it to the other side. It clawed at the light, began to cackle in its many tongues. Where its wretched fingers and claws scrapped a plague of darkness spread. It pushed back against his attack, moving from the wall as it struggled forward. The thing was spending power as fast as he, it was reaching for him, for the opening in the cage.

“Back corruption.” his wife called out, her power joining his. It roared in protest as their combine might sent it back against the flaming wall. It clawed at the air desperately reaching for the breach. A greenish gold screen of power wrapped around the cage. “You will not spread” she said baring her fangs. “You will be expunged; the fester cleaned; the filth dispersed.”

It laughed at her, at him. “I am not a sickness.” It retorted back, “A plague to be cured.” It smiled and Wargain saw he fell for another ruse. It pushed forward hard, no longer acting repulsed by his wife nature. “I am Knowledge, the truths thrown into the dark by weeping men.”

Wargain steady his spear, and charged. Flames bellowed from him and his weapon as he rammed the spear into the cage, into the beast. He forced it back, and halted its movements. ‘No half steps,’ he told himself, linking to his full reservoirs of power and aimed it at the creature. “Burn to ash!” He yelled and commanded to creation.

“Witness” It yelled back, its power trying to reach him, to slither through the searing light of his being. He sent more, a sea of his might crashing into the being. The creature held, their powers equal. For seconds they dueled against each other, one will against the other. But then he felt it, its power waning the corruption burning away.

It spurred him on, the warrior screaming for the kill, for another beast laid low. It focused his thoughts as he unleashed torrents of flame. He was winning and saw his smaller half, the one possessed by the apparition fight back. Its form writhed as two entities slowly began to separate from each other.

“Burn it all.” His lesser version said, “leave nothing but essence, don’t risk it, don’t leave a single line of knowledge.”

It was irritating to hear his own voice, one distraught and weak. But he listened to the warning and cleansed everything from the smaller half of himself. The form began to melt as the apparition tried to maintain its hold. But with every foreign memory removed, along with everything else. The beast was losing its anchor.

And yet it was laughing. “Some warrior,” it said in its many tongues. “Struggling against a scholar.” His nature howled in rage at the words, his flames billowing out consuming the room in cleansing flame.

Even losing the apparition fought him, wasting more of itself against a fight it couldn’t win. There was too much at his disposal, to many followers maintaining him in the realm. This forgotten thing couldn’t displace him, but it kept trying. And as the fight raged, two forces consuming the other. His thinking mind finally shouted loud enough to be heard.

‘It’s weakening you!’ Shouted the thought. ‘It’s not trying to win, nor was it ever.’ But it was too late, the truth didn’t matter, he had no choice, the beast had stripped it of him.

In its own way it had won, and for the first in centuries Wargains flame was mired in fear.

It noticed his realization. “Rage little warrior, rage at the darkness coming for you. Hold up your pathic flame and scream your last. Scream!” It shouted. “At the folly of your own making, at the blindness you so desperately clung to.”

“Silence.” He shouted, his command trying to force its way in as he finished it off. It shattered upon touching something so beyond his authority.

“Have your victory,” the receding voices said. “Another trophy of triumph.” They laughed, mockery all around him as the beast melted and dispersed. “Cherish it while you can, for soon all you will have is defeat.”

The struggle ended with those words, himself freed and his corrupted part cleansed, but ruined. It could now be reincorporated, the essence at least, for that was all that remained. Whatever horrors it had witnessed, these supposed truths it had seen, were lost. He would gain no insight on his foe. But at least the corruption had been expelled.

He stretched himself, the flaming cage breaking apart as all of himself became one. He lifted his spear, loosed his roar of victory and relaxed. The warrior was appeased, the beast slain, and he freed of the burden.

Details returned to him, his chamber was a pool of melted masonry and steel. What parts that weren’t dripping were colored black. He breathed in quick, surveyed the room. His muse was gone, he reached out for her, and relaxed.

‘I’m fine beloved.’ She sent to him. ‘I retreated before the worst of your fury was unleashed.’

‘Apologies my muse,’ he sent back, ashamed and embarrassed at his carelessness.

It didn’t change anything that she could reform, or her following made it impossible for her to end. He still had lost himself in the battle and could have caused harm to a comrade. Such recklessness couldn’t be afforded, not when foes were appearing around them, and now-

Wargain breathed out flames, the organizer part of himself reasserting control. He went over the cost of his battle, the losses he’d acquired in his frenzied state. He sighed and flicked his wrist, undoing all the damage to the chamber. The surfaces flashed with light and returned to smooth polished works of craftsmanship. He dispersed his spear and returned his gaze back to the map. Lisoe returned, her form emerging from a portal of greenish gold. The color matching her reserved dress as she pressed her form against his back.

“All is well?” she asked.

“It is,” he answered as she detached herself and move to his side. “At a cost.” he added, the thinking part of himself done with its works. The estimation it brought to his attention had his hands clench into fists and flames spark angerly. “I just spent,” he voiced, metallic echoes ringing with rage. “All the power I saved up to use for the crusade.” Decades worth of planning ruined, gone in an instant by something that shouldn’t of had the reserves to match him.

His lands weren’t secure at all, not if enemies of such caliber still slumber within them. How many had he awakened with his roar of claim? How many would come for him specifically, or simply sow chaos upon the mortals?

“Calm beloved,” His muse said, resting a hand on his own. He took her advice, smothered the raging flames that brought him unfavorable results. “We will recover from this, as we always hav-

He turned his gaze to her, found her eyes closed and awareness elsewhere. Going by the creases of her brows and muzzle what she was seeing wasn’t pleasing. He stayed silent, she would give answer when ready, instead he returned his attention to the map of war.

The crusade was on hold, he wouldn’t force multiple confrontations without the reserves to overpower his foes. It was time to fortify what he’d already taken, prepare for the next advances to come, and repel the forces the King would send to try and retake lands.

“Poison,” Lisoe abruptly said minutes later, his mind pulled with the work of organizing his armies. “It was all a distraction beloved. The attacks, the plague,” she shook her head distraught. “It was to hide the actions of that wretch.” She hissed, revealing a side of herself Wargain rarely saw, one of rage mired in grief.

“Explain,” he softy ordered. ‘How much more damage?’ He wondered, how many more delays to hinder his conquest?

“While all of us were busy dealing with trifle attacks, believing ourselves superior.” She said, only a small portion of herself in the chamber with him. “One of Malan secs, those trained for infiltration and poisoning, somehow got their hands on Dissolve.” He turned fully to her, the map forgotten. “You said you destroyed the breed of fungus that allowed them to produce it.”

“I did,” she answered staring at him panicked. “And this is beyond anything they’ve done before. They targeted fortresses beloved. They’ve polluted the water supply, followers are dying in troves.” She grabbed at her face, at a loss. “No mortal could have done this, the volumes of that substance they would have had to produce, and somehow snuck in.” She stared at him, worried and angry. “It has to be one of the champions he ascended, that poisoner of his, she’s back to end life.”

“How many fortresses?” He asked, “how many followers we are losing?”

“Dozens beloved, as for followers, its over a hundred thousand, and rising exceptionally. They’re not lasting, the substance is eating through their stomachs.” She went still, listening to the prayers. “It’s not just the water, the Poisoner ruined grains as well, there’s no telling how much has been defiled.”

Wargains mind filled with information as he opened himself to the prayers, listen to their pleas and gestured to the map. With a flex of will markings appeared near the fortresses that had been struck. “Can you save them?” He asked, since the cost no longer matter. All Followers were worth the price, for the first time in his existence he was dealing with the situation of being unable to gain new followers.

The dream was preventing that supply, those that slept couldn’t offer Devotion, nor pick a side. They simply laid there, a drain on resources, and a promised threat. Whatever entity had claimed them, and refused to release its hold, was changing the sleepers. The modifications were getting worse and plain of intention. They were becoming beasts of slaughter, the growing of extra limbs, all barbed and clawed. Plus the strengthen of bones, and the bulging of muscles made it clear.

The sleepers were going to be used as a fighting force at some point, and the entity behind the slight cared not that he knew.

“I can” his muse answered, sounding resigned. “If I’m allowed to resurrect those lost.”

“Do it,” he ordered. “You have no restrictions in this, we can’t keep losing followers.” They would of course, there was no way around the losses. His subjects were to dispersed across the lands that were his. Heretics would get to them, and his love couldn’t resurrect a follower without a piece of them to build upon.

“We have to come up with measure against this.” She said to him, his mind already at work.

“The crusade is over.” He stated, tasting ash in his mouth as the warriors temper flared. His mate neared him, his utterance pulling more of her awareness back to the chamber. “Have events truly become so dire?” She asked, pressing herself against his metal frame.

A fair question, she wasn’t aware of the broad scope of their empire. That was his purpose, to governor, to organize the masses. She took care of them, made sure they flourished so there would always be more to fuel the growth of their pantheon.

He wrapped his arms around her, giving the question thought and trying to appease the warrior. The answer was the same no matter how many times he looked over the details.

“Yes,” he admitted seconds later. “The spending of my stored power, the loses we’re taken in fertile lands. The flight of the great pyre in the sky. Malans resurgences, and ascension of new gods. The sleepers and the dream that takes control of all newly born.” The more problems and threats he listed, the more obvious his choice became. The warriors fury began to dimmish, this wasn’t ground to fight upon.

“This is no time to expand our borders more than we already have.” He told her. “This is an age of consolidation. Chaos has come, we need to weather it, let the nature of our foe spend itself before we re-emerge to but down the monsters.” As they had down before to Malan, and every upstart since.

“Quite the list.” She said back to him, her face resting against his chest. “And more,” she added, lifting her head. “Cycure and Est have informed about the great pyre. Have claimed they don’t believe its coming back.”

He listed as he felt the rising tension of danger. “They can tell the seasons are off, and that the pyre is making no changes to fix this. It continues outward, while the smaller flames rush inward. Order is lost my beloved, the seasons gone. No spring, summer, or harvest, there shall be only winter.”

“The food supply,” he stated, even if he’d had any foolish notions to continue the crusade, they would have died then. Another mistake on his part, he’d assumed the Pyre of giving was going to return. That its change a temporary act of some larger unknown force aimed at undermining him.

“We’ll have to spend ourself beloved,” Lisoe spoke. “Me, Cycure and Est, in order to keep the crops going, the masses fed.”

‘Spend,’ that word rang particularly true, empty was more accurate though. He had no past information to go on to help calculate the cost of such an undertaking. But the scale of it alone was enough to make him aware of the trouble they were in. ‘And she’s already wasting herself resurrecting followers.’

Hard choices had to be made.

“We’ll have to consolidate more than I first thought.” He turned back to the map, taking his wife with him to gaze at it. “We’ll concentrate our followers as much as possible to lessen the number of lands that need to be kept fertile.” He wasn’t going to have his pantheon spending itself keeping unused acres alive.

He warped the map, his mind at work organizing the shape of his defenses. “Your attention will only be for the strongholds and fortresses and our citadel. Ignore the castles, and the thousands of meaningless villages.” There numbers weren’t enough to warrant maintaining the areas. “Our priest will send word far and wide, order followers to begin pilgrimages towards civilized centers.”

His muse watched his work. The fortifications being made to surround the roads, the linking of his empire behind layers of defenses. “The lands we will preserver will be wanted by all.” And thus duly defended.

“What of the Underrealm?” She asked, referring to the maze of tunnels that most Verm lived in and Titar held loose governance over.

“They will receive the same treatment as the fortresses, it should be easier for you to grow crops down there.” She nodded her head while he thought of the fortifications. Those tunnels would have to be flooded with Kolune, since he had to make sure the Verm had the strength to protect such prized holdings. And more importantly to butcher the nests of Heretics that had revealed themselves.

‘You knew all of this was going to happen didn’t you Malan?’ He thought of the pest that refused him. The gnat always stinging at him and proving to be a forever nuisance. Yet the pest was becoming more than that now, Malan had allies and wasn’t holding back anymore, wasn’t hiding. The recent attacks were to open for Malan, yet he was supporting them, encouraging them. ‘You knew,’ he thought again.

his old enemy had risen to undermine him at a key moment. And for the first time in centuries, Malan was an actual threat again. “We’ll have to deal with this Poisoner quickly.” He mentioned as he finished the changes to the map. “Of the five Malan ascended, that one is the most troublesome.”

“Don’t worry beloved,” Lisoe said, her muzzle still twitching with rage. “I won’t stop till I have her withering away to nothing.” Wargain rested a hand on her scalp, combed her hair. It was all he could do to simmer her own rage. It wasn’t something he was trained for. She was supposed to be the calm one, his focuser.

She sighed and nuzzled his chest. “There’s so many calling for aid, and I can’t reach them in time.” She looked up at him, one eye closed to better gaze at the followers demanding her attention. “The poison is too affective, most will need revived, there’s no other way to deal with the damage done to their innards.”

“Do what you must,” he told her. “No matter the cost we need to maintain our following.” They had millions, so they could suffer the losses, but that was a short-term view of the battle taking place. He didn’t know how long the curse of the dream would last, there would be no new prayer bringers to replenish the old. If he was careless, their religion of million could dwindle away to nothing if the age of chaos lasted too long.

“It obvious from Malan actions, that our followers are the key to passing this trail.” Malan wanted his subjects dead, was willing to deploy open attacks on him now. A crucible was coming and his old foe wanted him weak.

‘There shall be war,’ he thought. “Battles, slaughter, Order and chaos smashing against themselves.’ The old warrior within smiled at the thought it. ‘And as times before I shall gain and rise from this.’

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

From hills to mountains, from mortals to Shadows. Malan watched the realm with unblinking eyes. The last of his forces retreated or were killed by the heretics. He heard Wargains followers let out cheers of triumph, the belief that evil had been vanquished and the day saved. Many unaware of the wide spread attacks and fortresses lost to madness and poison. The latter was being undone, since Lisoe was reviving everyone, but loss was still occurring, and in the end that was what they wanted.

His pantheon had succeeded in harming Wargains empire, revealed that it wasn’t secure at all. And so, he waited, watching how they would react.

He had expected confusion, Wargain hesitant, and moving forces back to defend key places.

He was not expecting to see the crusade stop, and the hundreds of thousands revering their flow and heading back home. To say he was surprised was an understatement. Yet, he wasn’t worried, wasn’t concerned. No, he was thrilled and he was smiling.

“That’s right Wargain,” he said to the wind. “Bottle up, put your holdings together, it will make it all the easier to take everything from you.”