“Ready?” Brenn asked.

“Ready.” Magnus replied with an excited nod, eyes a little wider than they should be. Too ready, Brenn didn't like that, he didn't like knowing they were about to end lives even if for a real purpose. And why...? What was that purpose?

He was a Paladin, why was he okay with killing to save an unlawful man?

“Breach.”

Magnus was a magus, an irregular school of magic which dealt primarily with physical elemental infusion and auramancy. Mostly though, he used his fists like some kid of monk, a pugilist of superlative skill that had taken the Krieg arena circuit by storm. His aura burned vivid red as he pivoted smoothly on one foot, showcasing that legendary Casterling blood and punching the door clean off its hinges.

There were men inside, choking on the smoke and shouting to one another, vision failing them under the radiance of the bright flare Astrid had tossed inside. Working together like they always had, years of familiarity and bonds all coming together to make for a more than effective squad. In short order, they were all dealt with. New appreciation flooding into their minds at the weapons Tyr had given them. Brenn's hammer included, after his mace had been damaged, far larger in the head and longer in the haft – artfully inscribed with the sigil of Vestia that burned with a bright golden radiance.

That same hammer crumpling a senior paladin with a simple blunt thrust to the chest. Pounding him into the wall and cracking him like a boiled crab, and by a man far his junior. Worth noting, Brenn was far stronger than ever before, but awe at his new might did not occupy his thoughts for long.

Killing... They were killing now, killing paladins. It was the first man of faith Brenn had ever killed in his life, and he'd done it without hesitation. No remorse, simply a duty to follow his friends wherever their paths took them and ensure they'd not be hurt.

With the help of a very pale and ghastly looking Tythas, barely capable of standing on his own, nobody heard their entry to the prison beyond this first room. Astrid began rapidly stabbing the face of a paladin with a maddened look to her before Brenn pulled her off, nearly earning himself a stab of his own had Sigi not intercepted her blade.

“Sorry, I just...” Astrid's stitched breath and the way she licked her lips clean of blood splatter was... Something they had no time for.

“Let's go.”

“Okay!”

Why were they doing this? He was their friend, but wasn't he guilty? Of everything, his crimes were made public knowledge and the council judging him before the trial had been practically unanimous. Brenn was a paladin, was this right? Was this lawful? For paladins, power was not the goal, it was their guiding line, their path. The many faiths had their different creeds but this never changed, all paladins lived by that code.

As in, as long as their power remained with them, they were doing what was right and retained their given power. But as could be seen with some other gods, that might not actually be true, or perhaps they didn't care as much as the clergy indicated. He sincerely doubted Vestia watched over him at all times, even the gods couldn't have that kind of patience. Judgment rarely came at the scene of a crime... But still, he hadn't lost her gift, it burnt brightly within him – filling him with the idea that what he was doing was just. But how could this be just? Staring down at the broken form of a young man that couldn't have made it to his 20's yet, just a squire.

And even as he observed, a gurgling choke of a man suffocating on his own lifewine, Brenn brought the hammer down and ended it. No remorse, this was just, this was Vestia's will. He hoped so, more than he'd hoped for anything ever before.

“Brenn?”

“Breach.”

Sigi this time simply bull charged through the thing surrounded by sound dampening darkness magic, wreaking havoc in the next room with wide swings of her crescent axe. Dismantling half a dozen men in as half as many seconds, like a bull in a porcelain shop.

Chamber by chamber they went. Magnus was the first in to most, hurried forward into brawl after brawl, for if he didn't, Alex would shove him out of the way. Savagery incarnate, forgetting that 'code' she'd tried to enforce on Tyr in her wrath against these inquisitors. Without mercy, thinking only of the fact that Tyr had been trying to do better. Trying. For her, it was her fault. And because he didn't act on instinct, he'd been turned into that. Dead eyed, drooling and lifeless – the fear in her that he'd never recover was very real. They'd done to him what Garth had explicitly told Tyr not to, using psychic magic to tear his mind apart and effectively lobotomizing him.

“We go in.” Iscari growled, suddenly changing in character. Always so gentle and well mannered, frankly a coward in Alex's opinion. He'd run from fights before and she loved him as their friend and primus, even if he was squeamish at the idea of violence. But not now – there was a madness in him. His eyes had dark rings on them and his hair was a mess. Greasy, as if he hadn't washed it in some time, lips chapped and gaunt in the face. Haunted and more effeminate in appearance that ever, oddly enough. “I will handle that scum cur Aurelius, once and for all. You lot can do the rest in, this ends today. Understood?”

They nodded. Not a single one of them had the kind of courage it took to stand up to him when he was like that. The only time he'd ever been, and throughout it all he'd been weeping. He'd seen it with magic. None had questioned why the Varian palace was casting divination spells over Kriegstad, that was par for the course, if the imperial palace wanted to watch – let them.

And now they'd feel it. Their transgressions would be paid fairly in blood. Even Octavian was horrified at what they'd done, ordering Iscari to the Krieg before he'd even learned of what had happened. The sovereign primus' could not come in person, but Iscari could – and he'd put a stop to it. This was going too far, the churches did not have leave to do such a thing, and all of the primus' were preparing to move even now. Save Alexandros, he didn't seem to care about anything, not bothering to reply to their petitions. Vidarr was on his way, but they had to move fast – he'd never arrive in time.

Crimes or not, it was their authority Tyr should fall under, not the eight pillars.

It was the last door before the prison block. Things had gone reasonable well. Micah had a jagged cut on his forearm but Astrid was more than capable of taking care of it, sealing the skin effortlessly and giving him some relief to the pain. This time, it was Nala who would breach. With Iscari right behind her.

“Breach!” Nala roared, kicking the door with all her might. Enough to shake the foundations of the building, and yet it took three more blows before it truly came free in a cloud of crushed masonry and warped steel. Iscari charged forward, spear in hand and screaming, clenched fists and face warped in unbridled rage on a level of psychosis that would shock anyone.

“AURELIUS! COME OUT, YOU RAT!”

Things went silent then, the others filing in behind warily, weapons up and prepared for what came next, but nothing did. Iscari was staring into the chamber with a loose grip on his spear all of a sudden. He'd found Aurelius after all, a smug and cocksure man with a notoriously arrogant attitude, even in the face of a wrathful primus. Someone foul, it was worse in real life and up close, the smell on the man. But he'd also found...

“Tyr?”

“Yo.” Tyr turned lazily, waving at them with a hand, one leg folded over the other and reclining in an overstuffed loveseat, much in the way Aurelius had seated himself. This wasn't a prison... It looked more like a leisure room or the parlor of a wealthy palace, and his behavior was odd – Tyr wasn't allowed to drink out of academy crystal because he broke it so easily with his hands. No control. Now he was dressed in a fine leisure gown, elegantly cradling a chalice of wine as if he'd done this sort of thing every day. “Have a drink, friends.”

“I don't understand...?” Iscari balked at the sight, dropping his guard. Aurelius and Tyr were seated across from one another like old acquaintances in the midst of a conversation. The golden eyed 'hero' eyed the primus warily, but haughtily, he didn't seem impressed in any case. “We're here to save you!”

“From what, Iscari Longinus?” Aurelius addressed him as if they were equals, and what a joke that was. No honorifics, not an ounce of respect. Iscari didn't care what was happening, he wanted to break this man if only for the gall. Fortunately, it looked like he'd get his chance. Alex was the first to move, storming past them and straight at the man, not deigning to look at Tyr. Not even knowing why she was doing it.

Something screamed at her, splitting her head, telling her this was all wrong – urging her forward.

Unfortunately, Aurelius wasn't a 'hero' for nothing. He blew her from her feet with a flick of his foot, not bothering to rise, just a twitch was all it took to send her crashing into the wall. Confirmation that something was indeed wrong, Tyr barely reacted – still smiling back at Iscari. The others didn't have the presence of mind to see it, but Iscari did. Tyr would not allow such a thing to happen. Never.

Iscari burst into motion, ceasing said motion as the incredible strength of Nala wrestled at him from behind. Like a mountain was settling on his shoulders, her arm wrapped around his neck.

“Stop!” She hissed directly into his ear. “This is a trap!”

“Clever girl.” Tyr laughed long and loudly, staring contemptuously at the group facing him. “Clever, clever girl. I was always so envious of Solomon, you know, for making you. So close to a perfect lifeform, truly. Just barely missing the mark. A shame. One day, with his help, I'm going to finish what he started and fix you – that's a promise. I told you that before, once, but now I know that I can. So much has been revealed to me, I...”

“Enough.” Aurelius said softly, and Tyr's mouth clamped shut with audible force. For all his youthful looks, the hero clad in form fitting golden armor was well into his 85th year, and he sounded like it. The sonorous voice of an old man that seemed out of place given his youthful features, smooth and aged like an ancient oak. “Not quite a trap, in truth. I figured one or more of you would do something stupid, so I figured I'd do my part in profiting from the outcome. The prince is on our side, the right side now, he has come to see the light. Why not join us, Iscari? The others are welcome to as well, but you will in any case, or you won't be leaving this place alive.”

“Join you in a mass genocide?” Iscari spat, still struggling with Nala, who herself was impressed at how powerful the boy really was. And he wasn't even awakened yet, thank all those gods of man he hadn't commanded her to let him go. “Tyr! How could you even conscience siding with them!?”

Aurelius turned to Tyr with a soft nod, and the man responded. “I simply realized that they're right, Iscari. Mana pollution on this world is near the breaking point, it's the reason the mists are closing in and our only option is to limit the amount of practicing mages. Instead of wiping out Amistad, we'll make it a random worldwide selection – I have a plan.”

To the humans, this world wasn't spherical. It was flat, and that really wasn't so far from the truth in terms of accessible landmass.

Some called it 'the fog', 'the mist', 'death fog', or simply the end of the whole damn world. It wasn't fog, fog was water vapor and particulate in the sir, this was something of a wall comprised of the dream itself. Home of all magic, and it would one day swallow the world unless they took drastic measured to stop it.

A bank of storms so thick no human could survive passage through them, demarcating areas that were taboo, and those that were not. That's what happened when a world didn't maintain it's balance. Humans used mana so inefficiently, a large backwash with even the most minor spell. Nim were not meant to exist on a world for this long, adapting to mana and continuing to use it to solve every little inconvenience was going to destroy the planet. This was the punishment, in a manner of speaking, but they were not the ones being punished, it was everyone else.

“Then we'll find another solution!” Iscari cried, raw despair filling his voice, and with it he became a child in Nala's arms. “Come on, Tyr! Don't betray us like this! Me, it's me! Aren't we friends? Brothers?”

“No.” Tyr shook his head, face flat and serene – discarding the idea immediately with a simple gesture. “You, like all nim, are a means to an end. A weapon with no purpose is fit only for the warehouse if not the slag heap. I care nothing for you, nor for the others. You've long outlived your usefulness to me and I could care less what you do, but I'll kill you if you try to stop me. I can do that now, but I don't particularly care to waste the energy.”

“How can you say that!?” Brenn roared in offense. Micah looked sick in the face, the girls were lost at what they'd just heard. Not simply because he'd said it, but because of how true it sounded. Nala herself was shocked, Magnus and Tythas both grimacing at him with expressions of abject disgust. “If anything, we've come all this way to rescue you! Does that mean nothing!?”

“It never did, and neither did you.” Tyr replied calmly. His voice was monotone and completely lacking in emotion again, but that wasn't so strange. The mood swings happened, but this Tyr had never come out before. It was quite clear to one of them in particular that this wasn't their Tyr, it was something new. Perhaps his truest self, all conflict and human convention removed entirely from his decision making process. “If anything it's a wonder you fools didn't realize earlier how little I ever cared about you. You were tools, as all your kind are, so I've said. Why should I care what you do? I am a god, one that had never been much interested in watching you ants mill about. I made you, and I can so easily reverse that.”

“Tyr...” Alex choked, rising shakily on her bruised legs and limping towards him unsteadily, hand reaching out. “Please... I...”

“Please, please, please. My wife, always begging for my affection to the point where you'd betray me, wanting to put me in a box and make me your puppet.” Tyr mocked, blurring through the air and stomping her head flat to the horrified gazes of the others, painting the wall with what remained of her torso. The bottom half wobbling, Astrid wailing, like nails on glass, over 20 years of friendship ended in a tenth of a second. Turning his head towards Iscari with crescent eyes full of mirth, those terrifyingly bloodshot orbs. “No more strings on me. And now... Let's see which one of us is more deserving of the pride of our fathers, shall we?”

Nala felt Iscari grow yet weaker. That was the thing about a primus, and the exact moment Tyr had been waiting for. Tyr had no emotion necessary to compel him to badmouth Iscari or any other, they were truly nothing in his eyes, this was an abuse of the mechanics that empowered a primus. What was hope? Iscari only knew despair in that moment, soul crushing, sapping everything inside of himself until he was a husk.

Tyr's sword was out before anyone could react. With naught but a whisper and a flash, Iscari's head was separated from his body, the corpse made bloody fountain slumping to the ground with a dull thump.

The others didn't last long. How could they, in a room filled with fire?

Astrid and Sigi didn't struggle in the slightest, their souls sinking and simply vanishing in the blaze. Magnus was a tough one, all the others dead and he'd tried – making a show of it.

Not a good one, Tyr had shoved his hand to the man's mouth and popped Magnus like a balloon, the conflagration rushing into him and coming out every orifice until his body couldn't handle the pressure.

Nala escaped. A coward by nature, someone ruled by the law of the wild, recognizing her betters. Tyr stared down at the burnt and decrepit corpses of his tools, his pawns. And he spat on them. With the Noctis Labyrinth he was invincible. The ability to believe without the weakness or insecurity of thinking man. He was all logic now. Only a brief glimmer of anything remotely approaching humanity shone in his eyes. Logic meant he could believe, and do... Anything, he could be everything. The world's strongest weapon.

He didn't need them anymore, and soon he would be the only primus. No more strings, this is what he'd been made for, after all. A product of centuries of breeding to create one above all, the anti-child.

None could've expected how well that would've worked, for here he was.

“Honestly.” Hastur entered the room, groaning when he beheld the mess of what the man had done. “I hadn't expected it to be so... Sudden. We should have kept them alive.”

“Was there benefit in taking them alive?” Tyr asked. And Hastur barely gave it thought before slowly shaking his head. No, there was not. And here they were, two more tools, Tyr would break his bondage eventually – he needed only a sliver more power to free himself. They'd never seen it coming, and the world would come next. “Then let's get the ball rolling on this thing.”

“Let's.” Aurelius laughed. He'd never expected to find such an effective weapon for the Inquisition in such an odd package. But Tyr really was the best. Efficient, well behaved, and easily controlled now. All they had to do was command, and he'd do whatever they asked. It wasn't just that, but the spira in him was growing stronger by the day, at an insane pace, and the dao...?

Aurelius had seven himself, but thirty nine fully realized dao in a single person!? A man capable of holding thirty nine individual dao and cultivating them all at once wasn't a man, not a monster either. A god. They had successfully broken and enslaved a god! To accentuate the point, he spat on Tyr's face and laughed wildly. The 'primus' simply accepting it with a blank stare. “A shame I couldn't have taken the Goldmane girl. She would've made for a good ride, I reckon.”

Hastur could've sworn Tyr's eye twitched at that, but the man didn't react otherwise. Not that he'd have cared much if Tyr had snapped and killed Aurelius, Hastur didn't like that one and in like-minded fashion to his new disciple didn't need him either. He'd be dealt with, when the plan was complete.

Aurelius was all the evils of man incarnate, possessive of no conflict or compunction for good. The world would be better without him.

“Was it really that easy for you? To kill them? Don't get me wrong, I've been considered a cold man for my entire life, I am a man of logic and I lack these...” Hastur twirled his hand about dramatically. Cortus Hastur had a swaggering way about him, not in the cocksure way that Aurelius did. That attitude that communicated 'I am the strongest man alive' – in fact, Hastur was fairly humble if not for his perception that his was the only way. It was more like a flamboyance and eccentricity in behavior. A sort of mad scientist with such an odd manner of speech and way of walking like a sailor. A little bowed in the legs and wobbling about at random when he was on completely flat ground, perhaps attributable to his time spent in Trafalgar, and their great rig settlements. “Let's call them proclivities for friendship. Someone as emotional as you...”

Hastur had some concerns about that. He'd never expected Tyr to be so brutally efficient in killing his own friends. Even Iscari. One blow was all it had took to kill another primus, even a lesser one and even if Tyr had manipulated the events so skillfully – Iscari should've held up better than that. The manticore had run, but it made it all the more easy to possibly blame the events on her. It was, however, a massive problem. Octavian would come for them, eventually.

“Emotional? You think so?” Tyr raised an eyebrow. He wasn't as empty as Hastur had been promised, he didn't feel blank or inhuman, but a part was clearly missing. Missing, but he didn't miss it, it felt like the weight of the world and greatest burden of all had been lifted from his shoulders. “I can always make more nephilim, and compared to Tiber – they were an unsuccessful experiment if anything. Barely any power development after the first few rounds, is that normal?”

“I'm not the one to ask, it was your plan, wasn't it?” Hastur shrugged as Aurelius gave the bodies one last lingering look before returning to his seat. Leaving them where they were while their meeting continued. He, as in Aurelius, wasn't sure how to feel about this plan of theirs. To be a risen, a chosen, a hero – was to be transcendent among men. The idea that this Tyr could freely make more of his kin given enough time was... Unnerving, to say the least. Thankfully, he was given the same benefits of the sanctified blood. Taking it greedily and experiencing the first sense of progression he'd felt in decades. “Your ability to produce an awakening reaction in others with no observable cost to yourself is an unknown. I'm not sure if any such wellspring of power has ever existed in the world, but age and their mana refinement might have been an impediment. Nim were meant to be adepts, not mages, that is why I do not make use of the standard practitioner, they are... Tainted, perhaps?”

“I see.” Tyr nodded, it was all well and good. Even if he himself had risen in relative intelligence, he still had no idea what path he was on. Something did, though, ensuring him that it'd all work out in the end. Why? Because it had already happened a million times and the result had never once changed. “So, I was wondering. Your plan to kill mages is because the mana pollution on this world is too high. But I don't really get it, why haven't the others acted?”

“They have.” Hastur replied. “In a way. Alexandros doesn't need to, his domain is slim on population density so it's not a concern to him. Mage's marks are more significant than you might think as well, they take a shred of a mage's power to anchor them to the world. I think that's why your body removed yours passively, because it made you weaker, even if only slightly. There might be a piece of the enchantment left, the anchor, but it's mostly gone. That's how they do it in Varia and Haran. In the past, they used to kill mages who couldn't be vetted through the efficiency inspections, but that hasn't been done for some time, in the name of 'human rights'. A trifling quota to keep them obedient and allow them a more efficient way to use their magic without damaging the world, the successor states will never accept the mark. They are obsessed with their frail liberty, I've tried and been rebuffed too many times to do so again.”

“And Indura? Wasn't the goal of She and her followers to destroy the world you claim to protect?” Tyr asked, a man of many questions these days. More inquisitive than before, searching for the truth even if it was of so little benefit to him.

“She wasn't. The idea was to summon an extra planar army that was well equipped to defeat mages, the confluence was not significant enough to actually destroy the world. It would have replaced the republic with a much larger astral space, perhaps another subcontinent and summarily destroyed Lyra. A way between worlds. A trap to send the fog to their side of things and kill them rather than us, expanding our own world and serving as a sort of exhaust system. I'll admit that even I did not know this at the time, but it has been revealed to me.”

“A shame.” Tyr frowned. “I did not like the look of the army we fought.”

“Nor did I...” Hastur mused quietly. “It was a larger and more unique world than I'd expected. Won't be hearing from them, in any case, by all measures they should be very dead. Your fungal spawn wiped one entire continent clean of life, and the assembled powers there used some kind of weapon to finish the job for the rest of the world out of fear. Unfortunately for them, the mycelians are immune to all forms of atomic radiation. I didn't see much before the rift closed, but it was enough to know you've damned a galaxy at the bare minimum.”

“I'll never understand why you don't march an army into Amistad and finish the job yourself, then.” Tyr replied flatly, playing his finger along the rim of his crystal and swaying his head back and forth to the elliptical tune. Acting strangely again, but 'strange' for that boy was normal to any other. “If it makes any sense at all, it's ridiculously convoluted. I'd have finished what you were attempting to do years ago. It can't be that hard.”

“It's all part of the plan.” Hastur said. “Destabilization, while allowing the events that unfold to serve as a test bed for my research. The philosophy of giving a man a fish. Failure is the root of all science, you must fail to learn how to succeed, at no point have all my cards been put into play, everything before was a dalliance towards perfecting the final solution. That's all, and there's never been any rush to it. We've got all of the time in the world to perfect the hunter killers and deploy them worldwide. And then, all that will be left are the best of us.”

The way it was meant to be.

–

Blue skies overhead, a pleasant breeze, the floral scent of her hair. Even in her old age, she was still so damn stunning. In more ways than just her looks, she was perfect.

The kids in the yard, though. Mucking about, running in circles and bubbling with bright laughter. That was what it was about, the smell of the meat crisping on the grill and gentle rocking of the swing they'd seated themselves on.

“You made me so happy.” Connor's lips turned up, his eyes wet with tears of emotion. To be broken again and again, to become so bitter that everything in life looked so gray... But she'd found him, somehow. Gave him color again, and here he was. A grandfather to twelve, absolutely sure there was nothing more pleasant than this.

She squeezed his hand affectionately and smiled back at him. Astrid had a pair of bright blue eyes, just another piece of her striking puzzle that seemed cast of everything a person could want out of a partner.

“I really am the best, aren't I?” She chuckled. They'd been together for forty years. Both in their sixties and at the peak of their happiness, it had never stopped getting better. Connor had become an unseen, unknown god of humanity. But he didn't show it. All he cared about was them, and that was the man she'd married. He had never changed, not in the slightest. A bit softer than before, but that wasn't a change, just him how he'd always been without the cracks in his glass. A little more honest. The kind of man who'd show up soaked and bruised at her door with a puppy in his jacket, stroking it and promising to protect it while she stitched what wounds yet remaining on his flesh. He had a lot of scars from a life lived rough, but they'd never broken that small, precious part of him.

“I love you.” She said.

It was Connor's turn to laugh now. A bit offended, all told, she knew how to ruin a good moment.

“I love you too.” He replied, squeezing her back. Life was so strange. Micah's daughters, Lila and Aska were so well behaved and diligent with their studies. Nice girls, with bright spirits just like their mother, Maria. Whereas the always well-behaved Benny had three children of his own that couldn't be wilder. He was chasing Chris through the yard as the young lad dropped trow and sprinted about, giggling and screaming for freedom. Cheeks to the wind, pissing as he went, what a glorious little bastard he was.

“Was it a good life?” She asked. Not looking at him, only at the sky as blue as those eyes, a tear of her own falling to race down her perfect cheek. Even wrinkled and gray in the hair it was the only face he'd ever had eyes for. “I wanted to give you something good. Just for a little while.”

Please don't let this end.

“It was the best.” He smiled thinly, well aware of his failing health. All power had a price, and he'd used his to colonize the solar system and many beyond that. Advancing the human race by centuries, finally solving the mysterious plague, and ensuring that no man was without a full stomach in the eleven systems they'd managed to settle. More than two hundred beyond in an endless process of colonization, planets in the 'Goldilocks' zone capable of sustaining their particular brand of life.

No aliens. No drama. No wars. Only peace. He'd ensured that it would stick long after his demise. Erased everything that could threaten his dream. Their dream. She had always been there, the real goddess and mind behind the operation – the ideas were hers. All he did was listen, and things were made right and whole again in the process. “And I thank you for it.”

I'm tired of fighting.

“Good.” Astrid nodded contentedly. “Because there's still work to do.”

“It never ends.” Connor laughed brightly, taking a deep breath of air cleaner than it had ever been. Utopia, he'd given that to them and most would never know it, but he didn't mind. It wasn't about that, just knowing for himself was enough, or for the fact that it'd keep her smiling at him.

“It doesn't.” She smiled, still staring at that sky. “And it can't, you know that.”

I want to sleep.

“Alright. So what's next?” He rubbed his hands together excitedly, smiling in observation of Isabella's children running away from Chris – the boy somehow completely naked at this point. I was so happy, just for a little while. “Another Dyson sphere? The Alderson disc in Fomoria was a huge success, what about one of those? I've got a few big wishes left in mind, I am the 'Zombie', after all.”

“No, my love.” Astrid's lips popped at the end of that word. One half of her face so happy, tender and loving, the other mournful and freely weeping. Black and white, the one who'd held but one of many chains that they'd hung him with in the bottomless pit. “It's time to wake up.”

But they won't let me stop.