“I am sorry.” Tyr's somber and sincere reflection could be seen in inns and taverns across the continent. Reflection arrays, most noble houses had one, something akin to a mirror projecting his image and sound alike, but they were restricted in Haran due to their use of dimensional magic. Even so, he had been informed by Tiber that they were used in many major cities and observed by criers, sorting the information passed through them to weigh what was worth telling and what was not. Apparently, very few people had access to knowledge of the outside world because of that, unless they actively traveled or made a habit of visiting those who did.

Jartor's control of information was ironclad, but it wasn't illegal in the inverse, most people just didn't care. What mattered was that their nation was the greatest in the world, or so they thought, what need was there for word from others?

“I am sorry, my brothers and sisters. I have punished many wicked individuals and not provided proof. I'm sure this all seems indiscriminate, but it is not, I will send you the information I have gathered over my time here. I see them for what they are, this is my power and right as primus. I promise you that each and every one of them deserved it. Rapists, murderers, touchers of children, degenerates, smugglers and peddlers of narcotics. Allow me to apologize for lying to you there in that courtroom, I will tell you everything. Because I love you.”

Tyr frowned, if Mikhail were being honest – it was almost inhuman at how good of an actor he was. He was a poor liar when he was face to face with someone he knew, but good at emulating things, and that's why they'd gone over this script several dozen times before he'd properly known what they were doing. Alexandros, that is, and whoever was behind him – Tyr would walk the path for the benefits resultant of it.

Perhaps part of him could see the future, Fennic had said as much and nobody could really question that now despite how ridiculous it had sounded at the time. Still, even after the gift that had risen them all up to some unknown and inconsistent degree, Mikhail couldn't help but feel some genuine concern.

Not because of the culling, that was right and righteous, but... Tyr's behavior otherwise, it was all so cold.

He held the artifact reflecting Tyr's proud and handsome countenance to the known world, feeling a bit moved by the sincerity even though he knew it was all a trick. It wasn't the content of the words, but how he spoke them. Like the others, Mikhail had drunk the blood willfully. Tyr was free of disease so he hadn't seen why not, but after having done so his eyes were truly opened. Colors he hadn't thought existed, to see mana and even use it albeit to the standard of a prepubescent mana sensitive child.

He wasn't a mage, but he could start a fire real easy now. It was the strength of his limbs and the youthful feeling flooding through them that had shocked them the most. Mikhail surely wasn't, but he felt invincible. Something beyond human, and they'd been slaughtering monsters for weeks or months in anticipation of an indeterminate 'event'. This one, or so it had seemed.

Eating of their flesh, tainted flesh that didn't make them sick. Nor did it taste foul, like the best steak they'd ever consumed, everything tasted good now, because Tyr said it did.

He remembered the feeling of power he'd had, catching the warhammer from a paladin rushing him and crushing the man with his bare hands. Something about that, no matter how profane, set his nerves ablaze with ecstasy. No man could resist the urge to dominate, that is what they'd been made to do. Now, he could see.

“You see.” Tyr interrupted Mikhail's thoughts and waved his hand, six figures appearing behind him in various states of shock before they froze in place and faced the camera awkwardly. As if the movements were not their own. “I love the people of this world and want you to know that. And in turn, I want you to know that I did not kill my companions. To the mothers and fathers who might have heard otherwise, I am truly sorry. Your children, brothers, sisters, princesses, are all still alive and in perfect health. All of this was a plot of mine to oust some foul individuals from power and bait them all into one place. Ah, we have a question from the grand empire of Varia!”

Tyr smiled earnestly, acting as if people could send communication through the reflection array. They couldn't, but... People could feel him even through theirs, he was so golden and magnificent. With that white hair falling like snow over his wolfish, objectively charming face. Tyr was anything if not handsome, as demons so often were.

Forging links, flipping the script in a bid to experiment with his power – from villain to hero. That conflict in them would feed him, sate that gnawing hunger, cement himself in every mind. And they would quarrel, which would further stoke the blaze, this was evil – and he didn't mind much because it served him. He was doing the same things the gods did, the conflicts in faith that empowered them, he had no problem taking from their playbook.

How could this be a monster? They'd ask themselves that question. Millions had heard to what lengths he'd gone to fight for Lyra and here he was again, fighting for another hapless nation! That's what they thought. A hero, Tyr must be, monsters didn't look like angels. And angels didn't lie. But in Tyr's experience, the angels were the greatest monsters of all, they just couldn't see it until it was far too late.

When the eyes were blinking and the wings were beating.

'Do not fear me.' They'd say. 'I am your friend.' They'd say. 'Trust me.' They'd say, as they took everything that made a man.

Tyr could feel it Millions of people gathered around to hang on his every word, would've forgiven them if they'd had the capacity to think him wrong in any way shape or form. So much power he might have made a mistake and die at any moment, it was a storm in his heart, a sun in his stomach. If he'd a way to weaponize this... He just didn't know how – it would fade gradually once he left their eyes, there were limits to everything, unfortunately.

Only when they were thinking of him actively, seeing him, was he at his best. A topic of strategy best broached another day.

“The question says... Isn't it the churches job to judge people?” Tyr nodded in appreciation of the question, brightly complimenting the 'wisdom' of it. “Of course it is! But you see, we all know how long the churches have abused their power. Sorry, can't help, they'd say. Loved ones with a club foot, deformities from birth or injuries earned through life, and they charge far beyond what your families can afford. My dream of annihilating this atrocious abuse of status begins manifesting today. I have a good friend with a spine that could have been fixed during his childhood, before it became permanent. It is a shame, and I shame their tithes for such services. Men of the gods should not be so callous, fingers always clutching for coins just to build their holy houses bigger, but I aim to fix that. Not that I think my authority transcends theirs, only that I can and I will fight for you. All of the people are my people. Varia, Haran, Lyra, Milano, Amateus, Brotherhood, Amistad...”

He ran through the entire list. Every single nation on Hjemland and Agoron too, whether they could hear it or not was irrelevant. They would eventually, and Mikhail could almost hear the cheering of those on the other side as he called them family, those people from foreign lands. And just behind him was the revealed face of Iscari, providing his silent support to a lesser known face. Not quite so lesser known now, perhaps, but it certainly couldn't hurt.

Tyr said, and it was true. Mikhail knew this. All eyes would see, all lips would part, all tongues would speak his name.

He would become a monolith of triumph, heavenly justice and truth, all through a game predicated on one lie after another.

Tyr could tell him the sky was red and a man would see the sky as such until the end of his days, being happier for it. They'd tested it. They'd been trained to resist it, but many didn't want to. None of the blackguard wanted to, in fact. Tyr's very aspect was faith. He quite literally could not lie, able to bend personal perception to his will, and was perception not reality?

Tyr's limit was the energy, a battery that didn't naturally regenerate – he had to feed it consistently and not waste the precious light within him. It also, notably, only worked in person and at very close range – his influence in that regard, in this context, was somewhat limited. But it was working, whiplash that filled him before he expelled all the energy again akin to the process of breathing.

Thus, the entire world knew that he was right, and good, and the other side? To them, the opposition facing this angel became the epitome of all that was wrong. If the young primus said a thing was a thing, it was a thing. There was nothing else.

For now, people would work against him, and not all would simply turn away from the faith in their 'gods' regardless of his words. But he didn't need it to last forever. The Faith was massive, this had only been a small sliver of it, and they'd begin fighting his influence.

Thus, they needed to be eliminated, but Tyr had no need to go chasing them.

They'd come to him.

Something about the way he spoke evoked memories of a song that nobody could remember hearing, and yet it sounded so familiar. That's what they felt, but everyone here just felt that horrifying, monstrous aura hidden just beneath the surface. Lernin thought about Tyr's goals he'd communicated once in the past. As an educator, he was happy his student had achieved such great influence so early in his career, but as a citizen of the world... He wasn't sure what to feel. Fear certainly rang appropriate in his mind, and the question of how Tyr had resurrected his son.

There would be a reckoning, this puppet master didn't have nearly enough fingers to stop it from coming. Would he have the power to see it through?

–

“Stop right there.” Alex pointed at Tyr, sort of unnecessary considering they they were barely more than two arm lengths apart. A word would've done the trick... “You're going to sit down, and you're going to explain what happened to us. We died, Tyr! We all died and we were sent to the Black! I saw it, you wouldn't believe what I saw, you killed us!”

Tyr waved her concerns away. “You might be surprised, but I would be happy to. First, we're going to go find something to eat. I'm hungry and I have a headache.” It wasn't a long, nor complicated story, at least in his opinion. He didn't see what all the fuss was about. Though, perhaps he could see, he had been jarred quite a bit at his first time dying. He told them 'everything'. His mouth told six of those listening one such recounting, that is, while his other spoke completely different words that only Astrid could hear.

To the others, they were still sitting in the tavern, but to her – she was standing in an oasis blooming with life at the center of a horrific storm. Ash fell from the sky in clumps great and small, but not a speck of it could come near that bounty of verdant growth.

“A mental divergence... Wow...” She knew what it was, but this was too unrealistic. Tyr managing to dominate her effortlessly and without feeling to incept this tangible illusion into her mind? That was beyond the magic of an accomplished illusionist, she'd have felt it otherwise. Even if she didn't, she'd not have realized it was an illusion, that was the whole point of illusion magic in the first place. Someone this strong would be well capable of making her believe that what she was seeing was real. Which meant... It was real. “How are you doing this...?”

“We were married.” He said abruptly, a profound sadness in his voice. A kind of weakness that she wouldn't normally attribute to his character. Tyr had a toxic and bitter view of life at the best of times, he didn't talk this way. But before he continued, she tutted and corrected the bizarre assertion.

“We are married.” Astrid frowned, her voice carrying a hard edge to it. He was this, now, but he was always a frustrating person to communicate with, at all times. If he communicated at all, that part of him never seemed to change. “Whatever your preconceived notions regarding our relationship, it's not a switch you can turn on and off again as you please. We are bound forever, because I'll never agree to the inverse of our arrangement, so long as our dynamic doesn't change.”

“No... I mean...” Tyr was pensive for a moment, thinking about his children. Whether it was real or not, it didn't matter. It was real to one of his selves, somewhere out there in the cosmos – maybe they were always destined to be together. It would explain his complete incompatibility with the girls. Sigi and Tyr would make a believable couple what with their dispositions, Alex... Maybe. But Astrid was an enigma, far more complex is demeanor than the others despite the simple mask she wore. There was a depth to how she felt that went beyond what he'd consider normal.

He missed them. Missed her, even though she was standing right in front of him and didn't feel a shred bit different. If they were all bonded like this, through so many dimensions, he wondered if there was a world where their relationship was different – but somehow he knew there wasn't. Here in the deepest part of his being, at the seed of that thing inside of him, he just knew. They had walked hand in hand like this for a time that stretched beyond the very construct. Astrid was always there, even when some others were not in strict proximity. “It's not a divergence, not for you. I've split my consciousness but I did nothing more than take you into my reflection. How it works, or the jargon used to describe it, I've no idea.”

“Soul magic, then.” She nodded, Astrid was an academic. Less bookish than Alex, she preferred more practical applications rather than the theory of how things worked. If it worked, it worked, and that was all that mattered. Knowledge had its limits when one was trying to get things done, from her perspective. “Your soul is quite... Bleak, if I might be so bold. Is this how you feel inside?”

“I don't know how I feel, but it's hard to believe that I'd be able to keep going with a soul like this if this were any representation of my state of mind.” He said, it wasn't unclean but rather the opposite. His soul was a literal scourge on all things, a barren and infinite wasteland. The cleanest place in all of the many realities.

Her soul was represented by the patch of life, vivid greens and blues that beat like a heart. Blackening just to the point of death before bursting into life again. It must've been her dao, a cycle of life and death. They were both part of the balance, but where Alex felt like abundance, and Tyr like destruction, Astrid's lay somewhere in the middle. An attempt at harmony. He felt good here, in this place, he liked how it felt. Her soul was just too small, nephilim or not it would seem there were layers to this sort of thing. Her pea sized essence could not compete with the monolithic depths that lay behind his spiritual gates.

“Like a leech, I latch onto things. I am unbalanced so I need pillars to support me and I'm quite certain you're one of those pillars. All of you are just slightly older than I am, and I... I think I can only exist if you do, and I think we've existed a lot of places, and a lot of times. Even on this world, I'm not sure if it's reincarnation, but that would be my guess.”

She stared off with him into the distance for a while. There was no real concept of space here, as a diviner she was capable of astral projection and was aware of it. Able to feel every corner of a space without any action needed. It was just a representation, something displayed in a way her mind could comprehend. It wasn't real, yet it was, the contradiction in philosophy unnerving her quite a bit. “I'm wondering why you brought me here, o husband of mine. I can feel and taste the food in my mouth, it is a bizarre sensation. To feel two bodies at once, this would be an incredible tool for training the mind.”

“I brought you here because I lied.” Tyr responded. “I killed you all, or rather she did. That part, I didn't lie about. Jurak was a god, and I killed her, devouring her shard. At least some part of it, there wasn't much left at the end. She did this, and I have no idea how. Whatever she was planning, it's lost on me, you were killed but didn't die... It's maddeningly problematic to try and figure that out. I told the others it was illusion magic paired with the psychic, that they've been asleep this whole time. And for all intent and purposes that's not so far from the truth. Your souls never truly left the mortal plane, and you would've been reconstructed passively, I guess...”

“Could you do it again?” Astrid asked, quite interested.

“I sure hope so, what a handy ability that would be, but I highly doubt it.” Tyr mused. “There have been things and people watching me, controlling me for as long as I can remember. I felt them in the court, something stronger than me by some measure. I just don't know, but I won't look a gift horse in the mouth. I interrupted her plan but a Guardian, or so I think, a... A very powerful magical creature, ensured that you didn't pass on. If you had, something bad would've happened on a global scale, I think.”

Before their time, but it would come as it always had.

“I see.” She smiled softly, not commenting on the bizarre claim that he'd 'killed a god'. “It felt... Better than I'd have expected. It was pleasant, I felt so light and free, all my worries washed away. We're not mad at you, we know it wasn't you and even in the heat of the moment it was quite obvious to me. You were drinking wine, after all.”

“I hate wine.” Tyr spat. “Alcohol shouldn't be sweet.”

“We know.” Astrid chuckled, playing her fingertips about the surface of a wide leaf and observing the process it was undergoing. Like a constantly revolving cycle of black and white... Not growth and rot, but life and death, beginning and end but never reaching either side of it. It was beautiful, infinite, and necessary. “But we aren't upset, and if you do want to apologize you should do it in person, to everyone. I am flattered that you came to me first for once, but it makes no difference to me – my mind is my own and I've no interest in a confession unless it's genuine. You are not sorry for what you did, you don't even know what to be sorry for in the first place. You said as much yourself.”

Tyr nodded, almost chuckling himself if not for his grim mood, all of that energy pouring through him was pleasant in the moment but it hurt when it was gone. Leaving him feeling empty and fried in the brain, figuring out how to hold it all in with a permanence was a requirement if he wanted to achieve his goals. But first, he'd have to figure out how deal with the crusade sure to come. “I'm not. I'd have been sorry for myself if at all, not for you or the others. I am, however, genuinely sorry for that. The part of me that is so selfish and insular, I really wish I could be rid of it. But it is who I am. People don't change, no matter how hard we try, we just hide parts of ourselves.”

“Is that so?” Astrid's bemused expression and sharp eyes seemed out of place to Tyr, she wasn't nearly so awed by his display as he'd expected her to be. She made such inscrutable expressions, so much hidden beneath the surface, as if in living representation of all he'd just said. “Let's say things were different and a great beast was about to gobble up my soft nubile body. Would you throw yourself into that maw in my place?”

“Without a doubt.” Tyr replied instantly. He knew he would, but... One act of selflessness did not absolve a lifetime of apathy for the concerns of others. “But I can't die, so how could that be genuine?”

“You lie to yourself, that's the problem.” Astrid sighed, almost disappointed. “Selfish? You are one of the most selfless people I've ever met, but selflessness does not equate to goodness. Trying to be a... I'd say good man, but it really doesn't ring true at all, does it? I could care less about your motivations or ideals, only actions. To labor toward righteousness is worth far more in significance than to be naturally righteous at all times. Men who do not feel fear are not brave, bravery is the act of turning against fear and howling back at it. I think these two concepts are the same, and what bad have you done? Killed rapists and slavers, murderers and thieves? You are a primus, beyond the titles of petty kings and emperors, it is in your blood to dole justice as so many leaders before have done. Refusing to obey the process of law is not the same as being an evil man, in Oresund we are far more efficient than these southerners and their courts.”

“Where did you hear that?” Tyr asked curiously, two very familiar proverbs spoken in slightly different ways. The act of effort and discipline superseding the natural concept of goodness. “About laboring towards righteousness?”

“Your father told me that once, actually.” Astrid replied. “He said that it is worth giving face to an active effort. Struggle is the way of the world and should be respected, be it physical or mental in nature, irrelevant. He said that about you, in particular, so I am just repeating the profound wisdom of our pensive patriarch primus properly.” He could see that she was waiting for him to comment on her 'clever' alliteration, but he didn't. Not surprising, but again, a bit disappointing.

“Well...” Tyr brushed his hands of the conversation, he hadn't come here for a critique on his character even if it was surprisingly complementary. Part of him didn't want her to continue on about it either, what he'd just done was monstrous, just perhaps, but far beyond what any civilized culture would consider appropriate. Astrid being so supportive of it, almost excited, was a bit concerning.

“Back on topic. I didn't finish that process I mentioned, whatever it was. It had nothing to do with me, in fact as I said I am quite sure that I interrupted it. You finished it, that's why I am speaking to you first. They have made me aware of this, Jurak separated your souls before biological death, and the being I felt near the forum held them in limbo. You manifested them, though I'm no genius on the subject, I'd call that true resurrection magic. Deus ex machina condensed into a whole lot of nonsense I don't care to ponder, I'm just relieved it happened.”

“I did?” She asked, losing any humor in tone and raising a skeptical brow at him. Sure, if they had died, which was unclear... Resurrection magic wasn't unheard of, but it was expensive and required the ritual be performed within two hours of death. Beyond that, it wasn't guaranteed either. Many times it failed, and it didn't change people. It brought them back to a point just before death, supposedly, and sometimes people died again and again if one injury or another was missed by the healers. They always came back a bit weaker and needed weeks of recovery at a minimum. Some people went insane or rose as vegetables, never to speak again. But she felt fine, better than ever in all actuality, similar to the feeling of being sick and recovering, given that comparison between states... “I'll humor you, then. Explain the mechanics behind why I am responsible for this impossible magic, and if you can't, try your best.”

“I couldn't hope to.” Tyr shrugged, even though he'd done a similar thing in the past, somehow, her ability to bring people back was far more advanced. Tyr had brute forced his way into the Black and caught Alex before she'd crossed – one single person, a child at the time, and it had cost him his aspect. Astrid had done it with 6 souls including her own, and it had cost her nothing – or so it appeared. Equivalent exchange was a law that even great powers couldn't avoid, that was the law, Tyr couldn't wrap his head around that. “I just know that you were the one who pulled them back from wherever they were, and I'm not so sure it was 'the Black' as Alex claimed. Except for Iscari of course. Apparently he wears an artifact to ensure that any kind of mortal wound swaps his body with a designated person, some criminals they keep in their dungeons. Kind of cruel when you think about it, but it begs the question how nobody noticed that happening. You know? Like, we're supposed to be some kind of hyper advanced magical society but even the so-called experts like Hastur supposedly missed that...? I guess it's an odd time to be talking about arcane theory though, eh?”

“Aye.” Astrid giggled. “But I like how you drone on about the most inane things. Even if it means nothing, you have a nice voice for speaking so I don't mind listening. You could be a great leader if you weren't so... You. But I do have a question, what are you?” She asked, turning back toward him with inquisitive eyes. No accusations, just curiosity. “Are you really a god?”

“That is a word and a term even the so called gods themselves don't like using, because it couldn't begin to describe what they are. Consider the difference between the biscuit, scone, and cookie, these words mean nothing – they're all just constructs to us. But I suppose so. More accurately I'd say that I'm an inter-dimensional horror of the void responsible for deaths ranging far beyond the quintillions. I was forcefully personified and again forced against my will to betray something called the ordering. In an attempt to end the unceasing pain that made my existence a nightmare, I tried to come back into the fold by hunting other beings like myself, and finally my own brother – but I couldn't do it. He wounded me instead and smashed me into tiny little pieces, each one of them being another version of me. And yet each and every time these events fold and change, like memories I should not have, usually in dreams...

Sometimes I am the one who breaks him and kills myself instead, and sometimes he defeats me, sometimes I'm still out there. Fighting him even as we speak, time doesn't exist in the plane which their kind exist in, and the entire human race are gods by that reckoning. We are made up of their blood, less children and more clones, that's what a nephilim is, like a seeding – some will grow and become celestials themselves as Altrimar did. There are just levels to how much of that power they can access, but we couldn't exist without being of the blood. I think so, at least, it's convoluted.” Tyr shrugged impotently, unable to properly frame it himself. He could see it all like it was yesterday, but it was vague and blurry at the same time. A persistent, never ending loop. “Confusing, right?”

“Not really.” She asserted with a shaking of the head, tossing her sakura pink hair around, a color very pleasing to Tyr's eye, as it always had been. “Multiverse theory is prolific and well documented. If the universe is infinite, it would be mathematically impossible for copies of ourselves not to exist elsewhere. Infinity removes all math and theory, it's in the word itself. I'd call it more derivative than confusing. It does make complete sense, not that you're a god but that you're a part of something that could be considered divine. My father says that all humans were something greater before falling, punished with the curse of mortality, that once we were as angels. He also said the primus' suffer for the sins of their lesser brethren for all eternity because of it, first as guardians of the world, second to be sent off as sacrificial lambs. Where they go, though – he couldn't say.”

“You're taking this all quite well.” Tyr had a wry smirk on his face, unable to wrap his head around how she'd taken everything he'd just said in stride. As if she'd already known, and perhaps she had – Ragnar didn't seem one to play by the rules nor fear those that enforced them. Astrid hadn't sounded very surprised about spira either, when he'd told her, and she remained composed in all of their previous conversations but for very relatable human quirks. She might've known all of this, all along, and simply humored him, they didn't speak directly very often and Tyr got the distinct impression she might actually enjoy being around him.

“I drank your blood.” Astrid suddenly changed the topic. “I want more. I drank it and I felt my body change, but it wasn't enough, we need more and if you give it to me I can show you things. On one condition.”

“The blood isn't an infinite source of strength. It's an awakening catalyst and that is all, of which there are many in this world, this one is just more convenient. It's not the best, though – there are better ways and drinking my blood is just giving me the keys to your body.” Tyr replied. “At first we thought it was a one time thing, but it looks like any of others sort of hang around in the body until a certain threshold is reached and it can be made use of. For most people it works three times, I've set a limit of one for the majority of the blackguard. Because they are naturally weak, their own bloodlines are thin and it might cause them harm. Only Samson and Tiber have true nephilim bloodlines as far as I can tell. Mikhail nearly died with the third dose. Are you sure?”

“I am, I'm the daughter of a primus, I highly doubt my 'bloodline' is thinner than any of theirs.” Astrid nodded, dauntless in the face of taking from an unknown wellspring of which the side effects were yet unclear. Unclear to him, even his shards, but she had already discussed this with her father – Ragnar knew and for unknown reasons wanted it to spread. “My condition being that you soulbond with me, and what a convenient place to do it, no? Give me the strength that I want, aid me in awakening, and I will walk with you the same as always. But I won't be dominated, what you've done to the others with that aspect of yours.”

Again, it was clear Astrid knew far more than she let on, including the fact that use of the blood would give Tyr a magical entry point into someone's mind. It was only theory as of yet, but he was very sure he could mentally dominate anyone who'd taken a single sip of the stuff should they be close enough to him. Something he absolutely would not do, but he could, and this process would be the best bet in taking that caveat off the table.

“I haven't and I wouldn't.” Tyr frowned, brows lowered and blatantly offended by her assertion that he had.

“You haven't?” Astrid squinted at him, very skeptical. “I don't believe that, I have known some of those men of yours for a long time and hardly think them capable of a massacre with such gusto.”

“I put people on a path, power corrupts, it motivates, and it awakens people in more ways than simple strength.” Tyr replied quietly. “Show them how it feels to progress, hammer the hunger into them, and their scruples fall away. The only thing I've forced on them thus far is the intent to remain in tune with their own inner code, and the promise that what is given can be taken away. My blood makes some more violent, others calm, awakening is more than just becoming stronger – it brings one closer to their personal apex.”

“But you could with very little difficulty. A soul bond will ensure that, like Okami, you will never be able to control or take from me via your aspect without my consent. It's a geas, and a simple one. This is more than fair, I will walk with you but I will not be a puppet.” Astrid was insistent, but it made sense, so naturally he'd agree. Having no idea which one of the 'hims' would stay when all of this was said and done. It didn't really matter, he'd never planned to force them to do anything, and Tyr wasn't so dumb as to not plan ahead.

His friends were strong, highly capable, but he could always fill in the blanks if they left his side – he was a living, breathing nephilim factory. Even in the event that his aspect didn't raise him to the heights he needed to go, he'd have a superhuman army at his back.

“Did you ever find out what your real aspect is? Will you tell me? You don't have to, father told me not to ask, and that it is a foul thing to insist you answer.”

“Faith.” Tyr replied, very certain at this point. It wasn't 'belief', he'd been unsure about which it was and this was as close as he could get. Faith carried commitment and connotation that belief did not. Faith was human, belief was not quite so close to an aspect of humanity to be believable by the standards of system their world ran on. Love was not all too different from what was inside of him, if it was warped and twisted, and it was very capable of dominating the hearts of men and women alike.

"I see." Astrid nodded, and they'd perform their pact. After that, still in his skull together, they spent a great deal of time discussing how he could make better use of it. She was an incredibly intelligent woman of great talent, trusting someone so intimately was definitely a mistake, but if there ever came a time where his closest friends betrayed him... Tyr wasn't sure if he'd even want to exist at all, perhaps giving someone his chains really was the best idea.

He didn't suffer as the others did, not the discomfort that Alexandros might, Tyr wasn't even sure if faith could be betrayed – it would be like believing he didn't exist.

In any case... People didn't need to 'have faith' in him to the degree of reverence. It was faith in their minds that he could do something, many grains of sand adding up to a whole. His aspect had made him immortal, after all, likely stemming from his own father's belief after he'd revealed his meeting with Thanatos. Tyr had learned of immortality curses and all they did is ensure one couldn't die, nothing about healing them. Most of those documented would steal one's physical sensations in exchange. He was immortal, but that curse wasn't actually his. If it was, it was something different, potentially worse – a life curse rather than a death curse.

Valkyrja still held him, making him her paladin, one of many shards occupying his gates and possibly a component factor. Protecting him from the touch of other gods, but all it served for was a foundation. Little pieces they'd been putting into him to complete a set, and only belated had he realized the trap – though it ultimately served him.

Orpheus was a shard, a part of his 'arcanum', at least that piece of her – but so was everything else. Including gjallarhorn, Aska – his sword, and all manner of things that had become part of him.

A funnel by which he could handle this contradictory, incredibly fickle ability. If his father believed him bound to death, he was – that's how it worked. The faith would spread and so it would become, but Tyr believed that it had to be connected to something already inside of him to properly work. It wasn't as if a billion people could believe Tyr into having abilities that didn't match his gates, just as an example – he couldn't acquire infinite or other forms of magic, etc.

They could hate him, fear him, revile him, love him, it didn't actually matter if all he was looking for was that power. Right now, in his own body, ruled by his own mind, he might not be equal to Iscari in a fair fight – but he was far closer to awakening than his friend.

It was, for lack of a better way to say it, the most significant if not powerful aspect that had ever existed – almost certainly. Dao, or aspects, were often ambiguous. Small things. Like the dao of strength, strength was illusory and ultimately subjective, it meant nothing in all actuality. A man could be strong, but only in context of 'man', and that did not translate directly to power – put a spear in a body builder's hand, and one in a trained soldier's. Tyr would naturally put his money on the soldier, 10 out of 10 times.

Whatever the case may be...

Dao were interlinked and followed a relatively consistent relationship with one another. Grass would naturally be a weaker dao than trees, just as a dao of rivers would be inferior to an ocean. How it manifested was far less consistent, but faith was all encompassing and independent of so many things.

Faith, quite literally, ruled the universe – the gods could not survive without it. Faith was not falling to the knees to worship a divine, faith was the master stroke of perception, hope, courage, anything that motivated anybody. The stronger they felt about Tyr, regardless of which direction it came from, he would only benefit – and with that potential came the far greater cost to improve himself.

Humans, as it just so happened, possessed the greatest potential among all mortal races that he was aware of to reflect their faith onto things. That's what they were made for. First to land, conquer, and populate a world, creating their gods as they went to similarly populate the celestial plane. War machines.

A sentient, biological weapon of mass devastation, walking batteries. The arcanum rex, the embodiment of his soul, was the birthright to reign over all mankind on this particular planet unless challenged and killed by another with the same. There were supposed to be dozens of kings existing in balance, but he was the only one here. Iscari and Hastur were too incomplete, 'shattered arcanum' inside of him or not, they might possess the rex but they hadn't acquired it quite yet, if they ever would. Blood diluted over time, humans – whatever the truth may be – had truly fallen. Breeding with other races, sinning, losing their spark or sacrificing it in exchange for vices.

Their ambitions bleeding out, becoming warped by distractions and whimsy, they had nothing to fight for, and just as the axe on the shelf – they'd rusted.

However, his aspect was the sharpest of all double edged swords. Nothing was absolute in the universe except this one simple rule, that all things had a cost. An exchange, again, mulling it over in his head in a bid to understand it better. He could become what notions people had about him to a certain extent. If they believed he didn't exist, he would cease to at least on this world, and the dao ran far beyond lesser things like spira and mana. It might use those energy sources as a conduit to reflect itself, but it was the highest possible power. And the stronger someone was, most likely through the spira, the more influence they had on him. Ensuring he was made aware that he might not be the same person he was in the past, that every time he hit a point of change he 'died'. All primus' were subjected to this in their own ways, just not quite so fiercely as his, and their 'faith' in whatever ideals defined him could have shockingly significant effects. Could change his personality, make him great or small.

That was why he'd avoided being too near another primus as long as possible. The gods possessed transcendent power, they fed on men women and children alike, but they – the shackle holders – were also bearers. Slaves to their own hunger, the power they needed that predicated their existence. Some were truly born of it, made up by men and they quite literally became real. Presumably all races could do it to a lesser extent, as they did have their own divines.

Tyr was equally susceptible to that threat, so he had to be careful. Had to be, should be, but naturally – he wouldn't be.

His 'experiment' with the orphanages wasn't over, he was still a patron and would remain so until the day of his departure from this world, but it was arguably a failure. It wasn't enough, he'd need millions of thinking minds to totally reshape his self. Because his faith was the strongest stigma of all, and he had little faith in anything except for those who had already leaped in ability through proximity to him. Shaping them. Some irony in that.

But...

Millions of people thinking he was the perfect figure of heroism and altruism was simply impossible.

Or was it?

Did that even need to be the path he took?

Or, more daunting, not how he'd grow in power – but how he'd come to understand it. Faith was the greatest lie ever told, and by extension so was his life. Everything he'd seen or done was a lie, reality was a filter, a prison and a prism. Tyr was a lie.

Did all of this... Even exist?