In quick succession, Faelmac Westrisser killed the rest of the floating insurrectionists. He didn’t even really need to manifest his image. The feathers binding them stretched and ripped through their bodies, somehow ripping their way through any resistance. Shredded remnants of their organs squeezed through the feathered and splattered down on the rooftops below.

Idly, Jotem reflected that if someone didn’t go up and clean up the offal, Malloon would soon have quite a literal stink on its hands. And probably a fly problem.

I think I’ve had quite enough of city life, Jotem resolved. Uncle can handle the skyislands himself. Perhaps the Nether King was right; what I need is a stretch of peace nurturing plants on the farm.

For almost two more minutes, Westrisser remained in position, his feathers softly falling across the whole of the city. The purity and power of his image became an itch against the half-origin Beast’s skin, but he dare not move, lest he draw the tyrant’s attention. Let justice be served, huh…

Westrisser’s gaze burned, brooding and intense, focused on the crushed remnants of the insurrectionists he had just executed. Finally, the Patron of the Abyss cleared his throat and broke the tense silence. “Well, it appears you have the situation well in hand, Lord Westrisser. We will leave you to mop up the remnants-”

“You cannot yet leave,” Finally, Westrisser shifted his focus to them. A cyclone of discarded feathers swirled around his body. “I have not yet cast judgment on the two of you.”

For the first time since Nether King Hungry Eye had walked into his shop, Jotem realized he would soon die. The pressure of the city lord’s image against his skin suddenly took on a horrific note of finality.

“...surely you jest, Lord Westrisser,” The Patron of the Deep affected an amused tone. Yet from the trembling of his inflated body, Jotem knew his uncle also felt a horrible, existential fear. “This used to be Jotem’s shop, yes, but we have no connection to these rabid anarchists. We are not responsible for this attack.”

“On the contrary,” Westrisser replied slowly, spreading his arms and gesturing at the chaos still gripping the streets below. “Would we be suffering such attacks if Elhume had not spent years indulging and emboldening such foolishness? I cannot think of individuals who are more at fault than you.”

Despite the pressure Jotem felt, he found that statement a little difficult to swallow. They might now be dead, but clearly the captured individuals had been more at fault.

Yet what really stopped Jotem’s heart were the Patron’s next words. “If you insist on being bullheaded about this, at least let my fool of a nephew go. I have no doubt you’ve been thoroughly observing him for a long time; he is a simple, and relatively talentless merchant. He has not involved himself in the matters of Elhume.”

Jotem made the small noise of an animal being strangled. He felt oddly touched that his uncle appeared to be defending him while simultaneously deeply bitter the Origin Beast had found the opportunity in that laudable pursuit to insult his acumen as a merchant.

The Patron of the Deep lived to straddle that line, Jotem knew.

Westrisser smiled, yet there was something different about this expression.. His long wings stretched out as he regarded the Patron. He spoke in a low voice. “I have not been systematically slaughtering your people to allow you to now escape. You both foolishly delivering yourselves to me is unexpected, but I will not reject your generosity.”

The sudden application of gravity around the Patron of the Deep bent light. Even the fluttering ivory feathers of Westrisser were forced away. The power was sudden and overwhelming; Jotem looked at his family member with wide eyes. He understood his uncle had traveled with Elhume, but he had no idea he had such power at his disposal.

The larger being took several deep breaths, his eyes bulging. Weirdly, the first emotion on the Patron’s face was triumph. “I knew it. Betrayal most foul, a conspiracy against greatness! Now that I have discovered the culprits… but no, this could not have been accomplished by you and your Feathered Serpents alone. Who abetted this travesty-”

“The dead need not concern themselves with the affairs of the living,” Westrisser gestured. Another feather whipped out of his wings and screamed forward to impact the gravitational threshold the Patron of the Deep had established.

The first reverberations of power blasted outward and Jotem felt his ribs pop.

For a moment, the feather stabbed ineffectually at the edges of the barrier, a nail dragged across a sheet of metal. The noise hit Jotem’s ears with enough force to make them bleed. Both images spread to fill the surrounding space, the Patron of the Deep rapidly trying to make up ground while Westrisser had been thoroughly claiming the surrounding influence with his rain of feathers for the last several minutes.

The barrier cracked and exploded after two seconds. The last true Origin Beast released a furious bellow, but Jotem spun away from the explosive slap. This sort of clash was far above him; the fact he hadn’t been instantly pulped could be considered a victory. A world of sound and color wheeled around him until his perspective crashed to an abrupt halt.

Jotem whimpered as he tried to gather himself, his body shattered and ragged after drilling through several floors worth of wood and plaster. His gaze blurred and swam. Houses, he noted to himself, were not very good at catching things.

“Seal the gates. Especially to the Nether King. Do not allow him to interfere.”

Even through the haze of pain and dust, Westrisser’s voice cut through everything. Despite that, it took a few moments for the words to register with Jotem. Panic set in, the certainty that he was about to die worming its way even deeper into Jotem’s body. He tried to push himself out of the wreckage, but his left arm didn’t seem to be working and his body sagged ineffectually. His face impacted a fractured chair leg poking up out of the rubble pile on which he rested.

His proximity to death loomed even larger when he saw a figure floating above the ruins, casting a shadow across where Jotem lay. A single beat of the wings blasted away all of the floating debris, forcing the dirty air out into the surrounding streets. Westrisser’s pale wings gleamed as he stared down at Jotem.

“The bastard first,” The powerful arbiter noted to himself. “Allowing the final Origin Beast to be of pure blood is the least respect they deserve.”

Jotem couldn’t breathe; despite everything, he found he didn’t want to die. Yet he had no ability to resist. The eyes of Faelmac Westrisser seemed to be searing their way through his thoughts, eliminating one by one, destroying his personality and consciousness just from prolonged contact. Even the certainty faded, replaced by apathy. At the end of a few seconds, he would be an empty husk; being killed at that point was almost a mercy.

A figure stepped between them. “I cannot allow this.”

The ancient Nether Herald who usually followed Nether King Hungry Eye around smiled up at Westrisser, like the two were simply passing each other by in the street. “This man is under the protection of my liege. As such, I cannot allow you to simply take his life.”

“You will stop me? Heh. Foolish mongrel. Do your worst.” Westrisser gestured casually, a hundred sharpened ivory feathers slanting down to slice through both of them. After those densely packed projectiles ripped through their bodies, all that remained of them would dribble away into Malloon’s gutters.

“I am a Nether Herald, bound by the ancient rite of Phaea.” The old being of Nether announced to the air. He seemed worryingly unconcerned with the descent of the feathers. Wind and image howled, almost drowning out his words. “As such, any place I may speak-”

“Is a place where I am,” Nether King Hungry Eye popped into existence next to the Nether Herald and growled, his emerald eyes flashing. He looked up at the descent of the feathers with a serious expression. Nether erupted from his body in a tidal wave. “Seize.”

For a split second, Westrisser’s massive and domineering image flared with power in response to the rush of Nether the sudden arrival unleashed. The two forces smashed into each other, not so much struggling as seeking to drown the other within themselves. And despite the home ground and preparations made by Westrisser, the two’s energies grappled evenly.

Still broken on the ground right by the confrontation, Jotem looked up into the face of Nether King Hungry eye as the moment stretched, the thrum of tension between these two figures escalating toward some massive fissure.

It was almost possible to allow the implications of the battle to fall away and indulge a curiosity that had long plagued Jotem. Secretly, he had always wondered why this being’s name had been Nether King Hungry Eye: powerful the Nether King certainly was, but his eyes usually looked mundane. Certainly with a lovely hue and possessing obvious depth and intelligence, but they had never seemed to earn the moniker hungry.

Yet now, Jotem understood. Every moment of invisible struggle saw the coloring in the Nether King’s eyes growing more pale and luminous. Until the color seemed to sear the world with such vehemence that everything else looked dull.

Jotem’s ears popped. In the next moment, the sky shattered and the remnant bits of feathers fluttered down around the group. Westrisser looked positively livid for a moment, glaring at the Nether King. Yet he quickly managed to cover up the expression with a sneer. “Nether King Hungry Eye. A cute trick, but I’m aware of the limitations of the bond of Phaea; teleporting would leave your body under immense physical strain. Do not antagonize me again or I will rip at your weakness and break you.”

The Nether King barred his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Rumors of my weakness are greatly exaggerated, I think you’ll find. Besides, I don’t think I’m the one you need to worry about.”

On cue, a well-muscled being with a flaming fist appeared in the sky behind Westrisser. His eyes burned, his image of strength thundering through the void created when Nether King Hungry Eye managed to shake Westrisser’s grip on the area.

“This is for fucking with my people,” Elhume growled. He punched and just the attack’s passage blasted away all the loose feathers filling the air.

Westrisser spun with a growl and met the punch with his wing. The resulting explosion probably would have stomped away the last remnants of Jotem’s life, had the Nether King not been standing above him. As it was, the teetering remnants of the building collapsed inwards in another billowing cloud of dust.

Everything started happening too quickly. More Nether poured out of the Nether King, filling the air and making it even easier to choke on the airborne debris. Several large impacts shook the ground as the clash between Westrisser and Elhume continued out of Jotem’s awareness.

However, Westrisser’s voice rose calmly above the chaos. “Guards. A few additional troublemakers are loose in Malloon. Put them down.”