The Eidolon of Sunor stood within the Oval Office.

To name the seat of power of the greatest nation… once greatest nation of the world after its architectural shape was unimaginative.

Were she being charitable she’d attribute it to certainty in the knowledge that their power was unchallenged hence the lack of need for a properly grand name to awe their citizens and enemies.

The president sat behind his ornate wooden desk.

The old man looked older every time she saw him.

It was within her power to grant him a measure of rejuvenation if he only threw his entire being into Sunor’s worship.

This knowledge would not be shared with the American leaders.

Old and entrenched men were never as loyal as young raised in the divine grace of the Gods.

Although, watching his labored breathing and red-blotched face had her considering giving him a small rejuvenation potion just to avoid an untimely death.

The vice president was less pliable.

She suppressed much of her divine presence.

Let no one say that she had manipulated the man with means beyond what the Earth humans found acceptable amongst their own kind.

It was simple statecraft… truly.

“I am pleased with the implementation of our new direction. The unity your people have shown through all levels has been inspiring.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to say that when you came to me I didn’t see things going this smoothly. Politics, you know? Everyone wants something, while everyone doesn’t want anyone else to get that something. Like herding cats… an expression of my world. It means—”

“An impossibly difficult task for it isn’t in a cat’s nature to be herded like simple sheep. For it is a proud and independent predator. The master of its territory.”

The expression wasn’t unfamiliar to her.

She knew many variations across different cultures on different worlds. The translation system meant that she had heard the exact statement on many occasions. For cats were on many worlds.

“A pleasant surprise.” The president nodded. “I thought for sure that the warhawks would’ve pitched a fit with the pullbacks. They’ve been waiting decades to flex their muscles.”

“I am not Salla’s Will, however, I’ve served as strategos for thousands of conflicts across my long existence and I’ve long learned that impatience is ever the enemy of victorious war.”

“And don’t get me going on congress. Both houses…” he shook his head. “Monsters to all sides and they’re still shoving each other over for whatever scraps of power they can grab out of the trough like a bunch of pigs. Course, they’re loyal, which is what really counts in these difficult times. Not like those ungrateful traitors standing in the way of my— our rightful destiny.”

“Patience. In time, the inevitable tide of history will sweep these misguided souls aside. They will learn the error of their ways and we will be there to reach our hands out to pull them back where they belong.”

“That’s a good sentiment, honored eidolon. Say…”

“You know you have leave to speak your mind freely when we are away from other eyes and ears, president.”

“It’s just…”

“Be assured that what is spoken here and now will remain solely between us.” She held her palm open and flared a bit of magic light.

It did nothing beyond look bright and pretty.

She had already placed a bubble of silence and interference around their talk, but she wasn’t going to explain the particulars.

“I’d like to hear more about Sunor and what he offers, but I have to be discreet, at least for now. My constituency wouldn’t understand you see.”

Her use for the man stemmed from his position rather than his personal qualities.

Sunor didn’t always abhor cowardice and greed for the two qualities, if properly directed, made for leaders that could maintain order and civilization.

She knew of the true reason behind the president’s hopeful and hungry gaze.

The other eidolons, under her direction, had undertaken a more open pursuit of gaining converts to the worship of their Gods.

The Eidolon of Salla planted her banner across all levels of the American fighting men and women, from old generals to young soldiers.

The Eidolon of Sut welcomed those that sought knowledge and the advancement of the mind, scientists of every discipline, alchemists and the like.

The Eidolon of Ekra spread her wings across the general population. Her speed allowed her to cover ground to the farthest settlements.

The Eidolon of Adras performed labors in honor of his God. Example through boundless strength. He attracted would be heroes and fighters that sought adventure outside of rigid order.

She suppressed her distaste for the latter.

Even they served a purpose.

As for her?

The Eidolon of Sunor had spoken softly in the halls of these people’s power.

Sunor was leadership.

He was the order of civilization.

The president, the vice president, senators, congressmen and women, judges, administrators, clerks.

From the highest to the lowest.

All belonged to her God.

“I would be pleased to share if you but have the time.” She smiled with perfection and allowed a sliver of the divinity in her to emerge.

“Yes, please.”

Longing entered the president’s voice.

As she spoke off Sunor’s worship his eyes grew wide with the greed that had led him to his position.

Power.

Control.

All things in her God’s grace.

As winter waned and spring waxed, they tightened their hold.

“I believe I have encountered one of these in the past,” Alcaestus said.

He stood at the edge of the tree line a visible sentinel to remind the inhuman creatures hiding in their stolen town that there was no escape.

Donald’s eyes narrowed.

“… that means it would’ve had to have been not on Earth?”

“Yes. My memory is clear. The man transformed, but before that… I’m now certain that his likeness was that of your American people.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Time is uncertain when traveling through the spires, but I’d estimate no less than ten years and no more than twenty.”

“That could fit past the ten year mark post-spires, but the cost to travel to another world… way too expensive for us normal people. Captain Patriot could’ve done it. She had enough points and the strength to fight if she had to on the other side, but we needed her here.”

“Yes, it isn’t wise to waste your best on simple scouting quests.”

“Maybe, the guy just looked like us, but wasn’t from here?”

“Oh? No. As I recall the encounter, I’m even more certain that he was native to your nation. His way of speaking was as yours.”

“This is important.” Donald hurried to pull a notebook from his small pack.

The young liaison was on his sixth.

“I shall share the grand tale of my battle with this Meat Parade flesheater from the days before I truly earned Adras’ favor, but that shall wait for the campfire after the battle.”

He had shared the tale with his main liaison, but Ronald was on vacation.

Ronald had already dutifully recorded it and no doubt had shared it.

The repetition was a favor to his temporary liaison.

The young Donald was an eager sort. Hopeful of being able to contribute something to his people’s cause.

It was a small effort on Al’s part to aid in that.

He had heard the scout’s soft tread on the wet ground a thousand meters away.

The young woman was good and had the Skills to enhance her natural ability.

He kept his gaze toward the town’s dark walls.

Let the young one think she had gained a victory.

It was good for her confidence.

And as all knew, that was the key to success.

A tentative finger tapped him on the elbow.

Donald jumped, stifling a shout.

Al glanced back, acknowledging the scout with a raised brow and a slight smile that he made sure reached his eyes.

It was dark, but her eyes shined in the scant moonlight.

“You have a report for me, Scout Bailey?”

“Yeah, honored eidolon.”

“Please, we’ve fought together. You’ve no need for titles.”

“Er… Alcaestus…” she tried it out and didn’t seem to like it.

He gave a benevolent sigh.

The rhythm of this was a familiar song.

Honored eidolon became Alcaestus became Al.

The progression took years and most never quite managed to reach the end.

“Er… I’m here to tell you that everyone is in position and that they’re ready and waiting for your signal.”

The month long hunt for their elusive quarry had revealed deficiencies in their communications security.

The cannibals had demonstrated an ability to intercept their comms whether they used magical, mechanical or a mix of the two.

Hence, reverting to the ancient method of runners carrying messages.

“Then it is time. Scout Bailey I trust Liaison Donald’s safety to your capable hands.”

“Alcaestus, please be careful. I know we’ve got a deal with them, swore oaths and everything, but watch your back. You can’t trust these people. They might risk taking a shot at your back if they see an opening,” Donald said.

“Don’t fret, young friend! I have made these oaths many times before. The wording is precise and they are backed by both Skills and magic. Only their most powerful can break it and it would prove costly. So much so that a knife in my back will be the last thing they do before I rip their heads from their necks like a meat fowl… er… chicken.”

His smile reached his eyes in a reassuring manner.

They gulped, nodded and headed back into the forest to the base camp.

Al regarded the makeshift wooden wall encircling the small town.

It was small by the standards of this world.

On the balance, he’d say that the town would be considered mid-sized on most of the worlds he had been to.

He imagined the primitive natives walking the streets or riding in their wheeled vehicles.

Form varied from world to world, while function was nearly identical.

Of course, that only lasted until the superior creations of the pantheon replaced the native ones.

It always struck him to see the similarities in human cultures across disparate worlds.

He pulled the tiny flare gun from his pouch.

An unforeseen problem greeted him immediately.

His finger couldn’t fit through the trigger guard.

He ripped the guard open, pointed the gun to the sky and pulled the trigger.

Bright red light streaked over the dark town.

Al leapt in its wake.

The wind whipped in his ears, throwing his long, black curls into disarray.

It’s time for a cut, he thought.

Spell and artillery fire exploded out of the surrounding forest.

He was the herald of their destruction.

Feet crashed through a roof.

Fire and thunder engulfed the town.

He pulled a sailor’s eye from one of his pouches.

Magic affixed it over his own.

It had been tuned to detect the essence of humans that ate the flesh of their own kind.

There were many in the town.

Hiding and lurking.

This was thought to be one of the last and largest remaining groups of the Meat Parade.

They had terrorized communities with their so-called blessed sacrament for close to twenty years after the spires’ had appeared. They fed on their fellow man and gained strength in their profane class. Worse still, they took the young or the willing and made them partake. Forever turning them into monsters.

He cover great swaths of ground with every bounding leap towards the largest concentration of flesheaters.

They hid beneath the ground.

In the lowest level of a small peacekeeper barracks.

Thick concrete merely slowed him down.

They lunged out of the darkness like frightened vermin.

Distended mouths filled with gnashing teeth broke on his pale lavender fists.

Hooked claws skipped harmlessly off his metal-hard skin and muscles.

A clenched fist pulled them all to him at great speed.

The entire building groaned in protest.

Wall bowed inward.

Chunks of wall and other broken bits joined the one way flight.

Flesheaters broke against his unyielding body.

They broke against each other while debris hammered and pierced them.

Al stopped before the entire structure dropped on his head.

Broken bodies leaked wet red around him.

A handful moaned, moving weakly.

These looked smaller, thinner than the others he had killed.

Old and young.

Several had barely managed the transformation.

A young girl gasped for breath. Red bubbled from her lips.

Her chest was sunken in.

Red eyes stared up at him.

Fear and disbelief warred within those young orbs.

He moved quickly, stomping her face into the cold, hard concrete.

Though monstrous, he didn’t deem her deserving of an extended death.

Her suffering served him not.

That was what separated him from the monsters.

He dispatched the rest quickly and efficiently.

Old and young.

Weak.

Emaciated.

They had the look of starving predators.

Good.

Their empty bellies meant lives preserved and an easier battle.

He leapt out the way he had arrived.

The bombardment had ceased, leaving demolished structures and burning fires in its wake.

The plan was simple.

Surround the town.

Soften them up with artillery.

Close in for the finish and levels.

The street cratered beneath his feet.

Dark shapes ran in the crackling fire light casting distorted shadows in their passing.

The sharp retorts of the Earth human projectile weapons echoed alongside the much louder tell-tale explosions of spells.

Squads of American soldiers swept up the street behind him.

He pointed to the partially-collapsed peacekeeper barracks.

“I slew fifteen within. However, I would advise against collecting their bodies until the structure can be strengthened.”

“Understood. We’re securing our section. Light resistance so far. The cannibals are running rather than standing and fighting,” the captain said.

“And our allies?”

“Eyes in the sky say much the same thing.”

“Since they cannot flee past our closing jaws, they flee to the only place they can.”

The center of the town.

The seat of governance.

A sturdy old building surrounded by a park.

“Don’t know if I like that image on account of who they are,” the captain shrugged.

“It is the natural order of things. Predator and prey, such is the balance of existence. We aren’t exempt. But, don’t fret for tonight you fight with Adras’ Will!”

Al’s broad smile brightened the darkness.

He made sure to include his eyes and a bit of the divinity flowing through his body to chase away the darkness encroaching in the soldiers’ hearts.

The hunt for the Meat Parade had been difficult solely for the trail the flesheaters had left in their wake.

Though weakened from the height of their power they were still strong enough to sweep through and devour smaller communities and the rare group of travelers.

“Sometimes predators must be culled for that balance or put out of their misery. Rejoice! For we accomplish both this night. Come! Let’s finish the hunt!”

He strode imperiously down the street at a deliberate pace to allow the soldiers to keep up while observing proper combat tactics.

They moved a few paces behind him, dashing from cover to cover while under the aegis of each others’ weapons.

Long-limbed and clawed shadows danced in the flames.

“Contact!”

Short, controlled bursts peppered a lurking shadow.

An emaciated flesheater staggered out of the narrow alley.

Partially-transformed, the old woman bared sharp teeth in a grotesquely large mouth.

Another burst peppered her body and head.

“Threat?” the captain barked.

A soldier formed a circle with his thumb and forefinger and held it over his eye.

Al felt the mana rise from within the soldier to coalesce into a faintly glowing shimmer contained in the circle, like the sailor’s eye in his pouch.

“Negative life signs.”

The captain caught Al’s eye.

“Clear to proceed, Eidolon Alcaestus.”

“Beware the ambush, captain. A wounded predator is most dangerous.”

That was all the warning Al would give them despite his hunter’s senses alerting him to the flesheaters moving into positions down the street.

Experience was valuable.

Levels didn’t come without challenge and risk.

To coddle would merely keep the soldiers alive for the next battle. One wherein they wouldn’t have his divine might to protect them like a fierce mother gloom bear protects her cubs.

He continued his march.

The flesheaters wisely let him pass, waiting to spring their ambush on the last soldiers.

They must’ve had good concealment Skills because they slipped from his notice the closer he got.

Glass shattered as deformed shapes burst out of nearly-impenetrable darkness.

The soldiers reacted quickly despite being caught off-guard. The shot precise bursts and beat a quick retreat to the middle of the street away from the structures on both sides of the street.

Squad-coordination Skills from the captain down to the individual squad sergeants protected the soldiers from friendly fire.

The flesheaters weren’t without bite.

An old man bit down on the barrel of a soldier’s weapon, pulling with strength that belied his thin, withered arms.

The soldier cursed, flicking the selector and squeezing down on the trigger until it clicked on empty.

The old flesheater fell away with the back of his head a gaping ruin of wet red and ivory bits.

But, he succeeded in holding the soldier and isolating him from the others.

Children loped out of a dark alley.

Their small size allowed them to slip between the larger adults and avoid notice until it was too late.

The soldier spotted them.

He released his main projectile weapon since he couldn’t pry it out of the old flesheater’s deathgrip to draw a smaller backup along with a short, hacking blade.

He emptied his ammunition in a near panic, blowing away a child flesheater’s face.

Cleave.

A horizontal slash cut across the next three closest.

The black-coated steel blade bit into eyes, mouth and throat.

Automatic Reload.

He retreated, felling another child flesheater with lead projectiles.

“Some help!” he cried out.

Unfortunately, his fellow soldiers were occupied.

He hacked and stabbed— Automatic Reload— fired.

Small bodies fell, but enough reached him to dig clawed fingers around his arms and legs, piercing through clothing to draw blood.

Mouths distended.

Sharp teeth bit into his flesh.

Pain in his ankle drove him to one knee.

One of the child flesheaters had ripped through the back of his tough boot to tear a chunk from the back of his ankle.

Tiny fingers, stronger than they had any right to be tugged on his helmet, pulling his head back.

“Second W—”

The Skill failed on his lips as a bloody mouth bit hungrily into his throat.

The remaining child flesheaters devoured him with frightening speed just a dozen feet away from his brothers and sisters in arms.

Their focus had been drawn to a massive specimen akin to the first one Al had fought.

The flesheater charged through the storm of bullets, shielding his face with a massive arm bulging with muscles.

He must’ve had tougher skin because the bullets bounced off, drawing mere pinpricks of dark blood.

He trampled a soldier, then swept another off his feet.

The hapless soldier turned into a makeshift club, bludgeoning those too slow to retreat.

The break in the formation allowed the surviving flesheaters access to the soft belly.

They poured in like the starving pack they were.

The captain barked orders.

Soldiers tightened around him.

Perhaps, the monstrous humans weren’t mere animals for it seemed that they had a plan beyond falling on the closest soldier and savaging them to death for instead of pushing for the captain they retreated, dragging dead soldiers with them.

“Don’t let them escape and feed!” the captain roared. “Focus Fire!” he pointed at the behemoth soaking up everything they shot at it. “Company: Piercer Ammo!”

The sustained burst finally slowed the flesheater.

Concern flashed across his grotesque face.

“Company: Explosive Ammo!”

Many little booms blended into a massive one.

When the dust cleared where the behemoth had stood was a wide circular swath of street covered in dark blood and scattered chunks of wet flesh and glistening bone.

The remaining flesheaters had vanished back into the darkness with their prizes.

Al caught the captain’s eyes from the distance.

The set in the man’s jaws and the stone gaze in his eyes suggested that he was displeased.

It was natural when a leader lost his soldiers to the enemy.

Al didn’t begrudge the man what appeared to be anger directed toward him.

The captain had proved himself to be a sharp and canny soldier.

It didn’t take a leap of logic to surmise that the captain understood that Al had let the ambush occur without warning them.

Though, to be fair, he had warned them about the possibility of an ambush, if not about the specific one.

The captain’s expression darkened for a moment before he swallowed the anger and rushed up to Al.

“I’ve got wounded. Have to split my force. Half to escort them back to the staging area and half to go after the cannibals. We can’t leave them lurking behind our front lines. And I’ll be fucked if I let them eat my guys,” the captain spat.

“The flesheaters cannot be allowed to regain strength,” he agreed. “The longer they’re allowed to fight and survive the more opportunity they have to counter level. It was in a siege echoing this that Joros of Adrasia, Gate of Shradezyx’s Pass went from humble smith’s apprentice to the legendary Torrukbane Bloodhammer of a Million Tears. In just a handful of years he and the defenders ground the greatest Torruk horde in recorded history to nothing.”

“That’s great for him and the survivors. Not so much for the other million. You’re on your own, eidolon.”

“I will proceed to the center. You will pursue and recover your men and women. Avenge them. Fight well and level. Become stronger for the next time,” he strode away without another glance, “for that is why we do this.”

Without the soldiers slowing him, Al quickly reached the town center.

To his displeasure he wasn’t the first to arrive.

Both allied forces laid siege to the seat of government.

The structure was unimpressive.

A square-shaped, squat thing of plain brick barely taller than a young giant.

Flesheaters fired weapons and threw spells out of windows while his allies retorted from behind makeshift cover or magic shields.

“You!” An imperious, high-pitched voice rang out.

He found the source quickly as she strode up to him while armored young men and women hurried to keep her shielded.

They’re armor and weapons buzzed with magic to his senses.

Scales and plate.

Weapons that resembled tooth and claw.

He remembered his time to the far south of this land.

Where he won a great contest in Adras’ name.

What was once called Florida, but was now Richellia, so dubbed by usurpers and what was claimed to be a dragon.

He had doubts.

A true dragon was a majestic and powerful being capable of claiming an entire world as their domain.

“Pre— Princess!” A young woman clad in cerulean scales and plate, held a shield made from the same material over the smaller girl. “We shouldn’t be in the open!”

The girl ignored her exasperated guard to stomp right up to him.

She had to crane her neck back to glare into his eyes.

They were decidedly inhuman, slitted and shining cerulean.

Al fought the urge to step back.

Perhaps, he had underestimated this one from their encounter the previous day.

The planning meeting had taken place in a large tent with representatives from all three sides.

He had thought the girl was simply there to gain experience or perhaps be seen by others as the heir to the true ruler of Richellia.

He hadn’t expected to see her in the thick of the fighting.

Her look reminded him of many a dangerous predator he had faced.

“You have arrived last while we arrived first!” her smug smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yes? That is correct.”

“A poor showing for a champion.”

Was this the place for a conversation?

“Those were games. This is real. Victory is measured by objectives met, not by a raised hand. Or who does what first.”

A low growl rumbled from the girl’s throat.

Beast like.

The cerulean armored soldiers had strange physical traits that he had studied from a distance over the short span of their alliance.

Slightly sharp canine teeth here, eyes that shined in the moonlight there or a faint cerulean shimmer to patches of their skin, as though they had fish scales.

Perhaps… dragon scales were more accurate.

It was known that the mighty creatures could grant boons upon their followers.

He leaned toward accepting the existence of the dragon-president as truth rather than what the American leaders had assumed was a man claiming a more fearsome reputation through a lie.

Peaking around the edges of the girl’s raised faceplate were scales.

Cerulean.

Vivid unlike the faint ones on the others.

This was one with a deeper connection to the dragon to be granted great power that he only now realized was contained within her small, slight form.

A dragon princess?

Her father or mother or both must’ve formed a powerful pact with the dragon.

He cleared his throat.

“Honored Princess of Richellia. Let us not squabble when there is a battle over fierce and vile enemies to be won.”

He had never been one to mingle with royalty, thus his poor address.

The princess snorted, spun on her heel and flounced away, ignoring the occasional bullets, arrows and spells that bounced off her guards’ shields and armor.

“Don’t get in our way, mediocre champion.” She threw a parting shot.

Mediocre?

What had he done to deserve such anger?

He hadn’t interacted with any of them on this Quest.

When he had fought in their championship he had been perfectly courteous, doing nothing to dishonor the guest rights they had extended.

Now?

Such unfair denigration made it a matter of pride.

Adras’ honor must be upheld.

Challenging the haughty princess directly was impossible.

Their temporary alliance was too important, as was the potential for extending it beyond this night.

It was simple.

He had to display his dominance through strength, just like he did by winning their games.

Alcaestus, Eidolon of Adras, charged the building.

“Yo! Crazy motherf—”

A deep voice boomed in his wake as he blew by soldiers from the nation of Atlanta firing from behind barricades made of old, rusted vehicles piled together.