He’d known the Sun would disappear from the sky entirely at some point. Which turned out to be two weeks after its change in pattern. But even with the passing of a month, the loss of it still struck him. To the know the night was enteral, there would be no returning light, no dawn to wake the realm and bath the planes in loving warmth. There was only the frigid cold, the lands taken by ice, and all wrapped tightly under the blanket of death.

Peering at the wasteland shroud in dark, Malan watched Wargains followers at work. The cold kept away by great blazing pyres that lit the areas and provided warmth.

He hadn’t expected Wargain to have it in himself to give up on a crusade entirely. He’d been expecting a momentary pause and the lands already taken to be fortified. Instead Wargain was pulling everything back, leaving behind the new continent and focusing his full might on his own, frozen domain.

The war god wasn’t playing either, any attempts to disrupt the consolidation of his forces was met with instant and overwhelming force. As such Malan and his fellows had been forced to target outliners. Castles, and a shrinking number of villages.

Spies of his, be they living or dead, told that leaders had been sent visions. Commands as it were, to head for a stronghold of fortress nearest them. They were to leave their homes and instead shelter behind walls of divine protection, if not, they were bluntly told they would die to chaos.

Given Wargains followers simple view of the realm, that had gotten most of the mortals under the Orders to move, to abandon all they knew for promised safety. Safety that Wargain was actually providing.

The changing of the realm, assaults on his lands, but most of all the confrontation with Madness. Had caused a change in Wargain, his old foe was paying attention to his followers, he was tending to them, and keeping them safe from harm.

Honestly, it’s extremely annoying to deal with. “Why do you have to be competent Wargain?” He asked, and in turn received the howling of winds as an answer.

He’d hoped his foe would stay blind, be too consumed by the urge to conquer; that he wouldn’t notice the danger he, well, all of them were in. There would be no replenishment of followers, only the shifting of sides and rapidly dwindling pool to convert from. The dream made that certain, those claimed by it would not wake, nor would they die. Not without extreme effort from an outside force.

He, and his followers had found that the Dreamers didn’t need food, or shelter for that matter. They were perfectly comforting with sleeping under layers of ice and snow. To the distraught of many of his followers who’d been hoping to use the elements to end their loved ones.

Whatever entity claiming the infants was keeping them alive, to a certain point. Burning the bodies, or inflicting to much physical damage still killed them, which was an effort all of its own.

The Dreamers hadn’t stopped changing, in truth they couldn’t be called infants anymore. They were too large for that, the oldest of the Dreamers were the size of a hunt. Their bodies only loosely resembling the species they’d come from.

Now most were beasts with thick leathery hide and fur. All endowed with rock hard muscles tightly packed and clawed limbs. Their heads had shifted to, they’d elongated, their jaws were large, same with their teeth. All had the third eye, which opened and looked about whenever someone living approached.

And that was just the outside appearances, within, oh within. The work done, being done, it was quite the show to watch. He could appreciate the effort, though it was still randomized, there was a sense of order to it.

Bones were being reinforced, and spreading to cover more areas. New organs were appearing; normal ones enlarged, or growing more of the same variety. There were two traits though, besides the third eye, that all shared. The first was the adding of two new hearts, plus the enlarging of the original. The second, and more alarming, was the adding of incubation chamber, a hatchery already filling up with eggs.

Naturally witnessing the outer and inner workings, he knew, with such absolute clarity that it was numbing to behold. That the Dreamers were to wake at some point to slaughter and breed. With the amount of eggs in them, which would birth more of the creatures. It was only a matter of time before the realm would be overrun with hulking battle beasts.

He’d, of course, ordered them disposed of, the act not tugging on his nature. They weren’t infants anymore, nor people in need of his aid. They were monsters, beings instilled with a monstrous purpose. Many of his newly gained followers didn’t take it well, since many had joined his cause in order to cure the Dreamers. But the time for that was passed, and it never had any chance to begin with. If a god couldn’t save the taken, what hope did mortals have?

They saw reason after he sent detailed visions. Showed them the changes taking place within, how in truth their infants were already died, and had been the moment they fallen asleep. The souls within were trapped, stuck in a vessel that was being kept alive. He’d instructed the best thing to do for them was to set them free.

None of it untrue, he’d meant every word. Still though, even with the mortals seeing reason, they stayed their hands. They didn’t have it in them to kill their own kin, not when they perceived the Dreamers as innocent.

He’d been forced to turn to his Shadows, who without question, saw to the work after he gave them the needed Devotion. Monsters burned, yet even then the Dreamers remained dormant, save for their third eye. Those opened, those watched, those peered at him. He could tell he was being studied, the same way he was studying the monsters that were to help end the realm.

From that shared goal came a loose connection, and he felt the faint touches of mirth, followed with a sent question. ‘Funs going to start soon, care to join?’

‘I will in my own way.’ He’d sent back, and received sensations of laughter from the entity before the link between them faded. The entity in control of the Dreamers knew of his Sovereign core. Knew he couldn’t win, and that all there was to be had, was to enjoy the uproar that was to follow.

The truth of it made his nature irritable. Even though he knew it all impossible, he still strove to save those under his care. To have them live as long as possible before the inevitable came. It’s why he pushed himself, spent every drop of Devotion that his followers and core produced.

He saw to it his folk, made sure the cold wouldn’t take them, the night wouldn’t blind them. He ensured Wonder continued to live even as the realm died.

“It will live,” he said to the night from a shrine perched on a peek. “It will exist as long as I do.” And he was going to exist for a long time. He held to that truth, to the distant future of a realm under his care. It gave him strength as he watched the workings being done.

Wargain followers hadn’t been the only ones busying themselves during the endless night. The Reaching Peeks, not that it looked like it from the outside. Was a hive of intricate and miracle warped tunnels; housing a growing majority of his following. From that central point, the tunnels spread outward like roots from a tree. He knew better than to have all his people in one spot. They would disperse underground, but all be linked in the same fashion as the Verm network known simply as the Underrealm.

Normally his followers would have had problems avoiding intersecting with those passages. But thanks to the local area being ore defiant, the Verm mostly ignored the place. What tunnels there were, were old and neglected, not any more though; they’d been renovated and separated from the Underrealm. And like most tunnels, covered in a staggered set of long plant holders that grew various crops. Not that it stopped the food problem, at least not at first. Most of it stemmed from the Kolune, they’re meat eaters; problem was they couldn’t maintain a livestock for them to feed on.

They had the resources, of course, it should have been easy to do so. Problem was, the dream effected all newborn, livestock weren’t exempt from that. The infants born came out already asleep, and mutating. None dared eat the meat, which caused a bit of problem; since there wasn’t an effective means to feed the Kolune. Not normally anyways, but with him being a Lifeweaver and peddler of secrets. He was able to keep his Kolune followers heathy and happy with the use of Devotion. And in doing so prevented the situation with Kolune trying to eat other members of his flock.

But he hadn’t stopped there, it had been a temporary measure as he studied the Kolune biology. Once done, and after a few trials on those willing to be tested. Malan did a collective change to the Kolune under his religion. He reworked their stomachs to be able to digest and gathering the needed nutrients from eating plants as they did from meat. Solving the problem permanently, and him praising the Celestials that was a Lifeweaver.

Lisoe, Wargains wife, would have to do the same, if they wanted to avoid that particular problem. Given all they’d been doing, he was sure she would. No point in protecting and resurrecting followers. If later they had to be sacrificed to feed others of their flock; be quite the waste, and something Wargain would never allow.

His hated foe had become defensive, adapting to the changing situation with the ease of a skilled survivor. Which is Wargains true form, for all his posturing; when it comes down to it, Wargain would retreat and flee if the opposition was too great. He would hide, and wait like times before, acting weak while other spent themselves.

“At least his feigning is truer this time,” he said to no one. Madness had showed him of its battle with the flaming titan. How it had gotten the god to contest and wasting himself in order to remove Madness influence.

Wargain won of course, there was no besting a god with millions of followers. Not even with Madness saving up Devotion since the beginning of the session. But it had costed the bronze giant. How much? None of them could be sure, they could only guess based off the amount Madness had spent. Either way it was a sizable sum and its loss had direct results.

The Orders were in full retreat, gone were the notions of taking the realm. They instead hid behind increasingly elaborate and powerful defenses. Wargain, for all his cleverness, was making the same mistake all the gods from sessions before had done. He thought to hold up and wait for the threats to pass, or weaken. That normalcy would return to the realm, and conquering could start anew.

There would be no normalcy, no return, no dawn. Not till all died first and the realm claimed by death. And it was going to happen, no matter how much his nature refused it.

Just as Madness had foretold; once the dark completely took the land, the Sun gone. Half of the Devotion they were used to getting, ceased. That and the amount they were getting from followers was slowly declining still.

If not for the cores delivering a steady flow of Devotion, his pantheon would be on the verge of collapse. Maybe not instantly, but after a few months it would have been over.

Malan smiled, wishing he could have been there to see the look on Wargains bronze face when he felt his flow of power be cut in half.

“Do you still think there will be a resurgence for you Wargain?” The war god would understand at some point, he was competent, open minded when he needed to be. “Yet it means nothing,” he said to the dark. “The days of conquest are done.” All that was left was to win the game, to reach the summit and raise the hammer of victory. Or lose, which Malan was going to do everything in his power to make sure happened to his foe. It was the least he could do, since Wargain had ruined his chance of bring forth a culture and an age of Wonder.

“It won’t be too hard.” Winter was taking its toll more than anything he or his fellow gods could do. That and the realm was starving to death, only those sections the Orders had decreed to maintain remained vibrant and growing; Everything else was frostbit and dead.

Malan old foe was wise enough not to try and maintain the entirety of his domain, only those around the largest of settlements received his care, the rest had been left to decay.

As such the neglected lands were quickly abandoned, the acres filling with long lines of traveling refugees heading for the promised lands. The secs of Bronduff and Ryan took advantage of this, so to for his Shadows. Even now his forces attacked refugees that were too faithful to be converted.

It was skirmishes mostly, even though Wargain refused to maintain those area, he was protecting followers. When they prayed to him, requested aid, they received deliverance. Ascendants came, or miracles that the heretics used against Shadows and Huntsmen. Avatars had even appeared a few times when Ryan had been to committed with killing off a caravan.

Wargain knew the followers were the key, he may not understand completely why, or the certain end that was coming. But Wargain appeared to know enough to protect those he’d once ignored. It was making desertion from his faith difficult.

Like ages past, Malan found only those wanting power eager to join his cause. They dreamt of rising in the realm or carving out a piece of land for themselves.

Misguided thinking, but he still took them in, a follower was a follower. Besides, driven men and women were the most likely to survive the trails.

“It’s still not enough.” He complained to the open air and stars. Wargain had a following of millions, and while that number had taken large hits, his religion was still healthy; his flow of power something Malan could only envy. Such resources had to be further crippled, because there was only one more phase for him before his role was done, and he’d be nothing more than a spectator.

Malan sighed, time was no longer his ally, he didn’t have forever to plot and prepare. He had five months to weaken Wargain, an absurdly short amount time after centuries upon centuries of existence.

Yet he couldn’t rush, Wargains followers, and fellow gods knew they were in perilous times. They weren’t acting as if they were above the losses. They’re guarded, the lands they hold becoming increasingly shrouded in walls of stone and warded work. Sigils of power were being imprinted everywhere, serving as warning signals and protections from the dead. His Shadows couldn’t get near the strongholds or fortress without their corporeal forms dispersing. Even trying to observe the areas in the Glen was untenable. Those same sigils repulsed them there to, Wargain didn’t want the dead interfering.

Quite troublesome, but it still came with a boon. The more Wargain centralized his power, and spent Devotion layering defense, the less likely he would be willing to give up said lands.

He would waste himself fighting off threats, spend his resources trying to keep places that would ultimately be worseness to defend. Unless of course he got lucky and one of the safe zones fell on top a city of his. But Madness had assured him such a thing wouldn’t take place. The Zones were random, Yet Madness had noticed a patten. They have criteria of their own, would avoid being placed near densely populated areas. Which meant Wargain was going to be in a terrible place.

“But will it be enough?” He questioned to himself, all the while one of his forms paced about within his afterlife. Not out in public, no, he was in one of stone buildings, the place lovely furnished in the styles of his people. It helped calm him, seeing the room covered in lounging pillows and blankets, joined with artily carved wooden tables. It reminded him of the past, a time where his spent his days listening and participating in discussions of the arcane. Or the study of the body and the best methods to facilitate growth. Wonderous times, an age of learning, of understanding.

Malan shook his head, he could spend as much time as he wanted reminiscing about the past once the session was over. Now he had to plan, to arrange his forces.

While he couldn’t use his Shadows to bypass defenses and wretch havoc within crowed areas. He could harass his enemy from outside said defenses.

He sent Devotion to Shadows, ordered them to launch miracles at walls manned by Ascendants. He watched them act across the realm, sending forth bolts of arcane, or warping rock. They threw boulders at or over the defenses. The latter never actually touched ground on the other side. No, they came in contact with barriers previously invisible to the naked eye. The boulders were repulsed and sent flying back. Not that it bothered any of the Shadows; what could rocks do to them?

Ultimately his forces weren’t achieving anything of note, at least in the eyes of their enemies. But to Malan the constant pressure, and making sure Wargain knew his Shadows were out there waiting for a chance to get in. Meant his old foe would dig in his claws more. He would hold up in his defenses, improve them. Waste his precious Devotion on land that he would have to abandon in order to survive the next phase.

Not that Malan was giving him much choice, nor his fellow gods. While he sent Shadows out hunting down refuges that refused to reject Wargain. His pantheon was achieving its own goals to undermine the Orders.

Foy for instance was placing infiltrators within every fortress she could, even Wargains jewel city, a citadel that spread for miles. Aptly, and dimwittedly named Triumph. Malan pulled his thoughts from that place, less anger get the better of him, due to what that city laid a top of. Instead, he peeked through their shared following. Watched as Heon loyal to Foy blended in with heretics. They followed the daily rituals of those around them, acted in every way that made them appear to just another of millions that offered to the Orders.

Foy noticed his attention, and sent to him. ‘I got enough in key places, but most remain at the bottom of the fortress districts.’

‘That’s fine,’ he sent back. ‘As long as they’re within Wargain defenses your operation has been successful.’

‘I suppose, but our surprise attack won’t be as wide spread as we hoped,’ Foy added. ‘Wargain is not being careless, he’s segregating followers in tiers of trust, and the defenses marking the cities now days don’t allow for stone tampering.’

‘You made an impact,’ Malan sent to her, the poison had forced Lisoe to resurrect so many, all that Devotion spent. ‘They don’t want a repeat of what you pulled off. They will be on guard for you.’

‘I noticed.’ Foy sent in a tone of annoyance, ‘Lisoe is after me again, she always did hate me.’

‘I wonder why?’ Malan sent sarcastically.

A chuckle echoed from Foy. ‘I know,’ she sent. “I’m such a sweet lass, helping their followers move on to better places.’ She sighed, ‘ungrateful folk is what they are, almost enough to have me take my charity elsewhere, almost.’ She laughed. “I’ll give them one more chance.’

‘Best make it your finest show then,” Malan sent. ‘There won’t be another.’

Foy sighed. ‘I know, best I get back to work then, farewell,’ She sent and cut the link. It was rather abrupt for her, but he knew she was busy, his fellows were still struggling with the practice of parsing their attention in multiple directions. It would be a century before they were truly gifted with the practice.

Because of this Malan didn’t receive any notice from his fellow gods when he peeked in on their work. Ryan in particular, of the five he was the most dispersed. His converting of followers needed his direct attention, and with him talking through dozens of priests at once, he didn’t have any to spar on Malan, not unless requested.

Gazing through Verm, he witnessed countess scenes of skirmishes to full out battles taking place in the Underrealm. Wargain had sent his armies down into the depths to purge heretics. Only to find Ryan had cultivated quite the following underneath the noise of the other Verm god, Titar.

Malan sent what Devotion he could to Ryan who took it without question or comment. His priests were rushing about, getting hundreds, to thousands of Verm into a state of frenzied zealotry as they proclaimed their faith to Wonder and caused turmoil within the Underrealm.

Yet for all the converting taking place Malan could see Ryan was losing, slowly the sec was being purged. Wargain was committed to their removal, and though it was taking longer than the flame god had likely expected, it was happening.

“Focus on holding on till the next phase,’ he sent to Ryan. ‘Don’t try to win, just keep your presence maintained.’ He received the barest of acknowledgements from the white furred god. But that was all Malan needed, Ryan would survive, as he’d down for centuries.

Satisfied with Ryans work he turned his attention elsewhere. This time to Bronduff, his execution was busying himself hunting down heretics that held leadership positions. Huntsmen were out, going from one village to the next, even to castles that hadn’t been abandoned. Priests and preachers were their targets mostly, those that helped the heretics from seeing the truth of Wonder and remain committed to the tyranny of order.

Bronduff had copied his style of operation. Using the dead mostly rather than risking the lives of followers. Malan sent Devotion, gaining Bronduffs attention. ‘Your name to be praise g- Malan,’ Bronduff responded. “As you can see, my Huntsmen are helping the heretics see the true light.’

He could, he was watching through a particular set as they surrounded a preacher who stood alone in a crowd of dead who’d been his audience. “Wargain shall burn your wicked souls.” The preacher screamed, his voice quivering with fright, but he stood his ground, he didn’t try to run or beg. “All of us shall be delivered from the dark, from your touch.” The preach mumbled mostly to himself as the Huntsmen neared. “Keep to your faith,” the preacher recited before an axe came down and spilt his skull from behind.

The Huntsmen burnt the bodies after, leaving nothing for Lisoe to use in order to resurrect the dead. Not that she was going to anyways. The attacked caravan was too far out from any major settlement to make the miracle act worth the effort.

‘I see the last holdouts are finally giving up and heading for their god.’ Malan sent to Bronduff, sharing in his observations.

‘Not even winter Kolune can stand this cold,’ Bronduff sent back. ‘Nor is there anything left for them to eat, unless they try the deformed Dreamers.’

Which are many, most hidden under the snow where they were birthed and never moved from.

‘They’re not going to fare any better within Wargains light.’ Malan sent back, they could grow crops all they wanted, that wouldn’t solve the lack of meat.

‘None know that, nor do they believe the words of my Huntsmen, most anyways.’ Bronduff added as they watched survives from a caravan surrender themselves and offer their worship to Bronduff. They were skinny, malnourished, and weak. None of them would have made it to stronghold. No, their destination would have been a cooking pot, what little nourishment they had left in their bodies used to fuel others.

The Huntsmen surrounding them knew this to, and out of kindness didn’t burn all the corpses of the heretics. Some they cooked instead, even seasoned and served to the starving. The survivors ate the servings without hesitation, it appeared that hadn’t been the first time they tasted the flesh of their own kind.

‘My people aren’t going to make it,’ Bronduff sent. ‘Unless Lisoe changes the workings of Kolune as you did, our numbers are going to drop. Even with desperate actions, there’s only so much unspoiled meat.’

‘None of it matters,’ Malan sent back. ‘In six months most of the living will be dead.’

Bronduff sent him the sound of a grunt. ‘I forget, even with the Sun gone, the lands frozen, I kept finding myself thinking it will pass.’

‘It will,’ he responded. ‘Just by then no one will be left.’

‘That’s just it, I struggle to acknowledge all of this will be gone, the Orders, the empire. It shall be erased with only structures to remain, the bones of a people to be gazed at by those that come later.’

To Malan that was wonderful, let this tragedy of a kingdom be forgotten, its gods laid to rest and the age of forced ignorance finally dispelled. The future ahead was bright, a new start where Wonder could reign. Now was merely the destruction of the old, the removal of decay.

He shared all of this to Bronduff. ‘If only we could save our followers.’ He sent as well, his nature forever upset with the loss of life.

‘It’s cruel,’ Bronduff sent to him in a blunt tone. ‘All the trails the heretics went through, the sacrifices made, the people and cultures shattered under Wargain conquests; all of it meaningless.’

Not wrong in the view of a mortal, but to a god? ‘Each was a step towards victory, to claiming the strength needed to win the game. To lift the hammer at the end and earn the prize.’

Bronduff grunted again. ‘The mortal are tools,’

‘A foundation,’ Malan corrected. ‘Without them no god has a chance at winning.’ Though Malan hated it, Wargain actions, and that of his followers weren’t meaningless. Wargain had been centralizing his power base, and making certain no upstarts could challenge him. All of it had paid off to, he’s the one with millions offering Devotion. If Wargain had embraced knowledge, the sharing of ideas, knew what he knew. There wouldn’t have been anything Malan could have done to stop the war god.

But Wargain hadn’t, he’d embraced ignorance, and sheer domination to maintain his domain, and for that he was going to lose everything.

‘What shall we do next time with our own foundation?’ Bronduff asked. ‘None of us can win this game of gods, what is the point?’

“Wonder is the point Bronduff,’ he sent back. ‘And though none of us can win, that doesn’t hold true for a follower we uplift to take on our mantle.’ They could ascend a moral or mortals into gods to take their place during the finally phase. That way their flock would still have divines watching over them in the sub realm.

‘I see,’ Bronduff replied, ‘are we going to try that this session?’

‘It will be a test.’ He answered, the six of them sending stores of power to a chosen champion at the last moment. ‘There is no chance the ascended will win, but at least our following with have some guidance while we’re gone.’ It was the most they could with the time given to them.

‘We really have no say in this?’ Bronduff asked. ‘The next phase is to be our last no matter our actions?’

‘Madness has never been wrong when it comes to the workings of the realm.’ He said, hating it as much as his fellow gods. ‘If the realm, maybe even the Celestials are the ones to decree that limitation, then there’s nothing we can do.’

‘Then may the Celestials show some mercy to our followers that live that long.’ Bronduff responded, his attention splintering. More Huntsmen were finding quarry, and in turn were being contested by preachers and priests.

Again Malan sent Devotion to help in the skirmishes. The priest received miracle aid, flames answered their calls, allowing them to summon walls of fire, and sent forth blasts of heat. But the miracles increasingly weakened as the battles with the dead lingered

The Huntsmen had chosen their targets carefully, those they fought were a long journey from any stronghold. They were late refugees, all struggling through the ice and snow. Because of this Wargain pulled his might elsewhere, sending it to those who had a guaranteed chance of survival.

Preachers and priests died to axes, then heretics that refused to convert. The sight always befuddling him, the question of why? Why would mortals would fight for a cause, an entity that left them with so little freedom to act. To grow and see the heights creation had to offer? It was troubling to witness how many were eager to embrace order, and its routines of stagnation.

‘You would think they would see,’ he sent to Bronduff. ‘With the realm shrouded in dark, summers warmth gone, the lands dying; that order is gone. The feared chaos here, and those they worship helpless to stop it.’ More should be turning to them, when order fails, people should be looking for alternatives, ideas that spark the mind and make people wonder.

But no, many clung to rigid thinking, tried patterns that failed them, and would continue to fail them. They refuse to explore, to try experiment, they just repeat the old expecting something new.

‘It’s all they know,’ Bronduff sent back. ‘Nor are there many eager to embrace ideas labeled chaotic, even during trying times.

Malan sighed as he watched the living be cut down by the dead. Each had expecting eyes, believed their gods were going to save them. The Orders did not, maybe they would have earlier, before the sundering of Devotion in half. But not now, not this far out from a place of safety.

‘We’ll have to hunt closer to settlements soon,’ Bronduff told him. ‘There isn’t many heretics left in the wilds.’

Wilds. It wasn’t that accurate anymore, wastelands, or wastes was better put. Everything was dead and frozen, the picture of life captured in ice, waiting for the chance to thaw and wither. ‘I’ll provide you as much Devotion as I can spare.’ He sent back. ‘But at some point, your Huntsmen aren’t going to be able to kill their targets.’ Wargain was allowing them the kills for now, the cost of trying to save his followers not worth the price. But the closer caravans got to the pyres of warmth the less that became.

‘I know,’ Bronduff sent back. ‘My time of field usefulness is coming to an end.’

‘I wouldn’t say that much.’ Malan replied, though there was an air of truth to it. ‘You just won’t be getting the same results for the amount of power you’re spending.’ They could always increase the quantity of Devotion given to the Huntsmen, but even weakened none of them would never be able to match Wargains reserves.

Bronduff grunted, untroubled by the fact his factions part to play was mostly done. Same for Malan own Shadows in turn of offensives, they could heckle Wargain, but not much more than that. Not till the next phase where the enemy of all would finally take the field.

‘Shall I send my reverse to Derrin and Rimean, or should I help Ryan instead?’ Bronduff asked.

‘Ryan,’ he answered. ‘Wargain is being heavy handed in the Underrealm, our brother needs help to last till the next phase.’

‘I’ll see it done,’ Bronduff sent. ‘Should annoy Wargain at least to find the dead aiding the Verm.’

‘Let’s hope not too much.’ Malan sent back. ‘I’ll keep harassing his defenses on the surface, but if either of you make too much trouble he’ll ignore me. And once Ryan is out of the way Foy will be next.’ While the poisoners were keeping a low profile, that didn’t mean Wargain wasn’t searching for them or his wife.

‘Does she need help?’ The executioner asked.

‘Likely,’ Malan answered. ‘But sending more Devotion isn’t going to achieve that, she needs distractions and Ryan is in the best position to provide that.’

‘I’ll begin surveying his situation then.’ Bronduff replied, his attention thinning to the point Malan gave his farewell and moved his own awareness elsewhere.

There was only two of his pantheon left to check on, their project was in truth the most important, when it came to the long play.

He manifested himself outside within the glean of their afterlife. There in the grove of nature and books was a large gathering of Followers. None of them were dead, they still had bodies slumbering in creation. Right now, their souls were roaming free and had been summoned here. they lounged on the blush grass, reading from books or receiving direct attention from multiple forms of Derrin and Rimean. The two forming a host of wandering teachers preparing the living for the phase that would leave them on their own.

That however was the least important of the two tasks aside to them. They were also guiding their own sects, those dead, in the creation of lore archives. Elaborate workings closely resembling shrines that they hoped future mortals would stumble upon during the next session.

These great monuments would hold history and lore about Malan and his pantheon, the description of who they were, what they provided, and the fact they still remained.

The writings won’t be perfect, they had to make it simple. The start of a new session was a fresh beginning. The written glyphs they were used to using to convey understanding wouldn’t be known. They would have to rely on the primary Signs, for that was the only thing the new mortals would know instinctively. It would be enough though.

As long as the mortals had an image and rudimentary idea to go off on. They would make a connecting with Malan and his fellow gods, thus allowing them to quickly extend their reach over the mortals.

Naturally to make certain said lore shrines were found, Derrin and Ryan were forming them everywhere, with Malan himself coming in at the last moment to add finishing touches. Such as quality carvings, since neither Rimean or Derrin were skilled carvers.

So far hundreds had been made, ranging from large cavern sized shrines, to small obelisks telling the tale of the gods of Wonder. Most of Wargain lands were filled with them by now, with more being made further outward so they could influence as many mortals as possible.

Not all were in ideal places of course, many were hidden, be it underground, within mountains, at the top of high peaks or in manmade fortifications. This was done since none of them knew how destructive the Dreamers were going to be once awakened. Nor how much the fighting of gods against an unending foe would warp the lands and damage the shrines of lore.

Now though, with how many were made and spread out, it’s a certain that at least one will make it to the next session and be found. Once that happened, reforming their religion would be easily achieved.

Perhaps fast enough they that could fortify lands under their control with a form of governance that would slowly expand and claim the realm. Quickness would be their weapon, to claim the mortals before other gods got the chance to be created. At the very least on their continent, no amount of planning on their part would allow them to grow to quickly as to be able to take the realm in one mad rush.

‘Not at first anyways.’ He thought calmly walking towards the crowd of students. ‘But after a few sessions, our obelisks spread through the realm, then maybe it could be done.’

Some of the followers noticed his approach, to those he smiled, offering words of encouragement. While at the same time he sent to Derrin and Rimean a query on their progress.

‘How we fare?’ Derrin sent back, joined with a laugh that got followers to look at him. ‘Excellently, they’re fine pupils, eager to learn and gifted at remembering even complicated concepts.’

‘They will serve adequately as our guides once we’re gone.’ Rimean added as the three of them went about answering questions; and providing tricks to help followers remember the volumes of knowledge being pressed into their minds. Not all of it would take hold, not at first, there was too much for them to learn, even with it being cut down to the basics. These Councilors would be the backbone to keep their following alive once they’d enter the sub realm. Plus support the chosen one who Malan and his fellows were going to ascend into godhood.

It would be a very short-lived experience, and trying. The fledging god wouldn’t last, but hopefully through practice and observations they would learn better methods to instill into their followers for the next sessions; increasing the odds of their chosen to win the game and claim the prizes that awaited the victor.

‘How fares those in the selection to be ascended?’ He asked, consciously making sure his manifested form didn’t appear to be looking at them, even though his awareness was.

Derrin giggled pleased, the act mostly ignored by the students, since it was common. ‘They’re all thriving, and making it hard to pick just one to raise.’

Rimean glanced his way, right ear twitching once in agreeance with Derrin assessment. ‘They pour over everything we provide with a mad delight, eager to learn more no matter the amount we show. Some might be aware of what the knowledge represents and what they could become even without our intentions to raise them.’

Malan laughed at a followers joke, and provide his own, keeping the atmosphere in the meadow comfortable and friendly to learning. ‘All of them are bright minded,’ he sent. ‘I’m not surprised there are those catching on to the possibilities presented them.’ Most had already been taught enough to become gods on their won, given enough time and the environment to do so. But what did he care? The end was here and from what Madness had told him, souls not ascend had their memories wiped before the next session.

None of the students around him would become a problem, save for the ascended, but what did it matter? They were eternal, their quest to bring about an age of Wonder equally so. Rivals would come and go, but as long as he strove to bring about his, and his father dream, all would work out.

‘Then we don’t have to restrain our lectures?’ Derrin asked eagerly.

‘Keep to the most important parts,’ he answered. ‘But if they learn all that, then by all means, teach them as much as you see fit.’ There weren’t Wargain, who hid away knowledge and power.

Derrin giggled again, obviously pleased, while Rimean remained the picture of a patient teacher tending to a host of acolytes. ‘At the rate they’re going, that will be most of the selected,’ the Heon sent.

‘The Celestials must be favoring them,’ Malan said. ‘Since every scrap of knowledge they can comprehend is more that will keep them alive.’ The sub realm would hold the most powerful religions in the realm, there was no telling what kind of situations their followers would face. Having a broad set of skills was the key to surviving.

‘I will teach them as much as time allows.’ Rimean sent after. ‘And pray enough will be remembered when the time comes to use it.’

Malan sent the impression of a smile through the link ‘That’s the best we can hope for.’

‘What shall we do with the ascended?’ Derrin asked in a curious tone. ‘Once they die and our following is gone?’

‘Nothing,’ he answered. ‘They will be gone to, sent away into waiting like all the other Sovereigns. It will be their decision whether to rejoin us or become something new.’

The ascended would be informed of all that godhood entailed. They would know of the game, its rules, the sessions. They would know of the paths they could take and that only they could choose which one to walk.

‘Oh. That makes matters simple for us.’ Derrin replied, his many forms slowly teaching the craft of runes.

Malan agreed and then asked. ‘Are my skills with the lore shrines needed?’

‘Always,’ Rimean replied first. ‘We’ve made dozens more obelisks along with the archives, most deep underground. The sights presented to us from you and followers pertaining to the Dreamer have us worried the destruction is going to be more thorough they we’d originally thought. Nor does Wargain show restraint when directly threatened, he might shatter the entire continent during his fight with the Harbingers.’

‘Wise,’ Malan commented as he received visons of where the obelisks were located. They were hidden as deep as one could go, the floor of the shrines and obelisks sat atop the bedrock of the realm. The entrances linked with hardy tunnels of miracle stone that would last the ages, and perhaps the quakes made by fighting gods.

He sent small tokens of attention to the places, and begun shaping the rock into motifs of themselves, The pantheon of Wonder.

‘I find it odd I never found archives like these before,’ Derrin remark a moment later, ‘or obelisks of our variety, it’s quite the tool to revive a god or start one. You would think the Sovereigns would find the chance of controlling the form they inhabit an appealing idea.’

‘It probably has been done,’ Malan sent back. ‘There’s no telling how many sessions there has been before this one. As for controlling forms, there’s a reason for that.’ Madness had bestowed him an archive of knowledge pertaining to the earning of merits. Malan shared some of it to Derrin, especially the detail regarding randomization.

‘That explains much.’ The other Dargown said as he absorbed the information.

While all earned merits by simply playing the game, unless they had a Sovereign core. There are ways to increase the gain. One of them being the acceptance to take on a random form. Meaning any god that was open to be played, whether it’s a good match or not.

From what Madness had shared, this option was commonly used, along with another that made everything taking place, make sense. The reason only a select few knew the end was coming, was because of forced amnesia. Sovereigns, in order to accumulate a greater number of merits, allowed themselves to forget what they are, and all they know; while within the control of a god. Also, the unknown and mystery made the game more entertaining, apparently. Malan didn’t share in that opinion.

‘So Sovereigns are more interested in earning merits than winning.’ Derrin concluded

‘Understandable,’ Rimean sent. ‘There can only be one person or pantheon that can win, the likelihood of being part of that group is small. Better to increase ones odds before trying such an act.’

‘Which we are not.’ Derrin point out, and got Malan to ask. ‘Do you wish to?’

The Dargown laughed from many forms. ‘No, I don’t wish to forget all that I am, nor lose the gift you provided me. I’m just pointing out the fact we aren’t playing this game all that well.’

‘That’s because we aren’t playing it,’ Rimean sent back, the Heon more aligned with his view of the game. As a fellow healer the loss of life was unappealing. ‘We strive to form a state of existence that the mortals will thrive and enjoy, something this game doesn’t care about.’

‘That not true,’ Derrin countered ‘It’s a competition of beliefs, of the view the realm should take. And the one that succeed, bests the trials, gets to win the game.’

‘Yes’, the Heon sent in a scornful tone. ‘And then everything is erased to start anew. Every advance gone, the mortals returned to an ignorant state where they suffer and know not ways to mend their wounds, nor the paths to take to remedy this.’

‘I understand, I understand,’ Derrin sent back once Rimean showed signs of being disgruntled. ‘It’s not ideal, but that doesn’t change the fact merits are important and we are up against foes who are gathering them.’ For a moment the sendings went quiet as Derrin hit upon a problem. ‘With each session those we will face will have more of an advantage other us, the belief they represent given more of a chance to win.’

‘They will win,’ Malan sent. ‘But we will learn from our mistakes, slowly gather the knowledge to counter gods. It won’t be easy, nor will it be quick, but given enough time we can tilt the chance of victory in our favor.’ Or at the very least keep a large chunk of the realm under a system that represents their beliefs.

‘Sweet knowledge,’ Derrin sent, voice thick with longing. ‘The true power, and a good point. With enough study and we can beat them, maybe, so many unknowns.’ The tome god giggled. ‘it’s so exciting Rimean, why do you pout?’

‘Because people are dying for amusement.’ The Heon answered, ‘this realm represents everything I aimed to stop. I wanted people to live long and savor the joys of life. To follow the paths that would allow them to become their best selves.’ Rimean ears twitched upset, causing some of the students to think they’d done something wrong. ‘And now I know it is all for nothing, erased, it’s always erased in the end.’

‘No, no Rimean, we remain.’ Derrin sent. ‘We remember, we will bestow this knowledge back to the people, progress will not be lost.’

‘Wonder will grow,’ Malan added. ‘Your knowledge and expertise will spread again, faster with each session.’ The words calmed the Heon, not that he ever looked deeply troubled, he’d always been skilled with masking his emotional state.

‘Then I aim to craft many more obelisks.’ Rimean sent, with the underlining intention that Malan would help him.

‘Make as many as you desire,’ he sent to his fellow healer. ‘Flood the realm in them if it appeases you, just know progress is being made, for as long as we exist.’

One of the emerald eyed Heon looked at him and nodded. ‘Yes’, he sent. ‘As long as we remain.’

And they, with their works of stone, were going to be the only things to remain. He just hoped it would be enough of a head start that those entities like Wargain, wouldn’t take hold over the lands once more.

‘If they do, we’ll just try again, and again.’ As many times as needed, till one day the realm would be as the afterlife around him. Mortals free to learn to their hearts desire, free to rise as high as they wished, to achieve any dream, any Wonder.