Argrave stared at his hand as they drifted across the sea. Not his first or second, but his third hand. There was one small benefit to active ascensions over passive ascensions—the effects were immediate. Anneliese had needed to wait a few days, but Argrave already saw the fruits of his labor before him. It was quite a small and singular fruit—a faint dark red hand projected out from his own, so translucent it was invisible when placed before the red ocean the whale took them across. His entire body had this little echo, and it obeyed his will absolutely.

He waved his hand in front of his face. The echo followed his movements with a slight delay, fading like foggy breath into the air. Over time, this echo would draw from his blood just as the silver bracer on his arm did. Once it could bear no more, another echo would be born. And another, and another, and another, for all eternity. They were all bound to his soul, and his will alone directed them as he pleased. Everything was just as he’d hoped from his A-rank ascension.

An idea came to him as he saw the thrashing waves. He started to siphon a great deal of his blood into forming the echo quicker. It was painful, but he still had to make full use of the elven realm’s regenerative abilities to skim a little off the top before he returned to the mortal realm. The echo’s hand gained clarity, going from a faint red mist to what was almost a red shadow. Before long, he could no longer see through it.

“Given how you’re grinning, I can take it you’re satisfied with the results?”

Argrave looked back and down to see Nikoletta anxiously sitting on the whale’s back. His blood echo, without his will holding it separate from his body, fell back in place inside him. His cousin had elected to travel with Orion and Argrave this time to seek an audience before Chiteng. He didn’t know why she’d decided to do so, but he certainly couldn’t protest.

“Yeah,” Argrave nodded simply, not wishing to speak for long.

And that was no lie. He was very satisfied with the results—it felt like he’d just found some addictive new toy. Of course, he’d made the toy. And this toy was actively killing him, technically. Many things that were addictive did end up killing people, he supposed.

The blood echo suddenly gained enough of his essence to complete itself, and he felt as though it shifted back to another layer within his body as the next took formation. He projected them both from his body, one faint and forming and the other dense and shadowy, its maroon a bewitching color. It required intense concentration to manipulate both at the same time, like driving two cars at once. In time, they would be dozens, or hundreds even.

The whale they rode atop shifted, and Argrave’s attention was forcibly diverted as the creature made harbor at the ivory docks before Chiteng’s throne. He looked up to see the god of flesh and blood staring down at them. He wanted nothing more than to spend all of his time delving into the intricacies of his new advancement, but he couldn’t. Other matters demanded his attention.

Still… while I’m here, I’ll make as many of these babies as I can, test out if my undying soul really is the best anchor I could hope for.

Argrave watched Chiteng up above as he stepped back up on the harbor. The god stared down at them, dispassionate as ever. He waited on the harbor with his cousin and brother until he heard a faint stone click and lowered his head toward the noise’s direction.

The towering white door at the base of the throne slowly parted. An elven woman in a red dress walked outwards, her hands held before her in a dignified manner. Argrave waited patiently for her to approach, making no rash moves.

She stopped before them, staring. Argrave didn’t recognize her, which was a rarity for important places like this. But that red dress was quite similar in tone to the robe Chiteng wore, so he made some assumptions. He wasn’t sure enough to voice them, though, so he waited as her eyes jumped from Nikoletta, Orion, and himself.

Her wholly red eyes finally settled on Argrave. “My father will receive you in his holy temple,” she said, not unkindly. “And you alone.”

Argrave spared a glance upwards. “Might we speak here?” He made sure to sound polite.

She made no indication of pleasure or displeasure as she informed him, “That would be ungodlike.”

Argrave nodded slowly. He was well used to dealing with people that needed to be given a lot of face—counts, dukes, margraves. Even now that he was a king, there was always a bigger fish. Gods ranked a little higher on the social pecking order than kings.

“Lead on,” Argrave said.

“Are you sure, Your Majesty?” Orion asked, his voice tense.

“If we’re alive now, we’ll be alive later,” Argrave explained, then followed after the red-dressed elven woman as she walked away. “See? Now you just stand out here waiting, Nicky. Told you it wouldn’t be fun to come.”

Nikoletta crossed her arm, hiding the blue swordfish heraldry on her armor incidentally. “Be careful,” she called out sincerely.

Argrave gave a gentle wave behind his back, then kept walking firmly forward. He passed by the two heavy doors, looking at the intricate carvings on them… and then into the holy temple beyond. He came here knowing what to expect. Between Erlebnis’ creations and the Order of the Rose, he had seen many fleshy abominations in his day.

Chiteng’s house of worship was not like that.

All of what was within idealized purity of flesh and blood—the natural body of the elves. All the stone was as white and clean as the throne without. The ivory halls had only one color supporting them—the deep, dark, and rich red of blood. The two were so starkly contrasting it was a little wondrous when he saw banners of red, carpets of red, and finely dressed elven men and women all bearing red.

The figures here were all beautiful beyond compare, men and women both. Not all of them were so modest as to wear clothing, either. It was like a cult. He supposed religion was just a big cult, and this one didn’t necessarily seem depraved… indeed, they all knelt in respectful devotion to the figure far down the hall. Argrave kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead, using the pain of making the blood echoes to keep his mind sharp.

Finally, the lady escorting him stepped away into the crowd of worshippers, and Argrave turned his head back to see the white door shutting behind him. He looked up at what they all worshipped. An elven man sat in a throne sternly, wearing a vibrant red robe. From the look of him, Argrave supposed he was the lady killer of all lady killers.

“You don’t care to admire all you see?” the elven man questioned.

Argrave put his hands in his duster’s pockets and looked back for half a second. “They’re pretty ladies. Handsome men, too, I guess, but I can’t judge that half given as it’s not my inclination. Doesn’t matter. I found the prettiest thing a long while ago.”

“Perfection is a falsehood,” the elf continued.

“You say that, but love disagrees,” Argrave shrugged.

The elven man chuckled convincingly enough. But he wasn’t a man, just as all the men and women he’d seen weren’t elves. Each and every one of them were Chiteng’s servants. Supposedly, beautiful men and women that died before their time in honorable service to their people were sculpted to become immortal monuments in these halls.

“Can I speak to Chiteng?” Argrave got to the point. “One on one?”

“That would be ungodlike, as you have been told,” the representative said. “We know His will. We can transmit it to you.”

Argrave nodded, half-expecting this sort of treatment. “Dying isn’t particularly godlike. I wanted to try and stop that from happening.”

Argrave barely stopped himself from flinching when that great rumbling chuckle from the god sitting above them shook the house of worship. Argrave’s Brumesingers fell from his coat, looking up above and whining softly.

Chiteng’s representative stood and walked behind the throne. He grabbed a curtain and drew it across, hiding an area beyond the throne. Just then, Argrave saw gargantuan fingers poke up from above and watched with a frown.

“Father has deigned to appear,” the representative explained. “Though the flesh is beautiful, the act of making it lacks propriety. Please wait.”

Argrave watched as the giant hand moved behind the curtain, gesturing precisely as it rolled, kneaded, pulled, and pushed… no, as it sculpted something out of view. In time, the hand straightened once more and slid back into nonexistence. A normal-sized hand poked free from the edge of the crimson curtain, grasping it as though to pull it aside. Then, it pulled the cloth off the rails, and the figure standing there wrapped himself in the soft curtain, tying it with practiced grace until he stood with a neatly tied toga.

Chiteng walked out of his alcove to his throne, taking his place atop it. He slouched down until he was a mirror of the lazy, lounging figure outside. As ever, he stared passively.

Argrave thought it would be his turn to speak up, now, but before he could Chiteng said, “You had a bold message.”

His voice had such natural authority that Argrave found himself standing straighter. “I did.”

“You stare me in the eyes and bleed before me, inviting pain and misery unto yourself countless times until you reach your goal,” Chiteng noted, finger tapping on the throne’s armrest. “A human comes before me with that message, not moments after declaring your intent.”

Argrave blinked uncertainly. Had that been a message?

“The boldness of your message resonated. I intend to hear you speak in detail,” Chiteng said. “The Qircassian Coalition in force is beyond my family’s ken—this is truth.” It was an admittance of weakness, but Argrave did not feel the pressure abate in the slightest. “It is my duty to seek alternatives.”

Argrave tried not to jump in exuberance, using the pain of accelerating the process of making blood echoes to ground him in reality. Instead, he took a deep breath and said simply, “Thank you.”

“Another matter demands primacy,” Chiteng said powerfully, leaning forward. “Explain why you bear the taint of another god in your being. Should I take you as puppet for another? Why should one tyrant be welcomed while another is expelled?” his voice grew in volume until it was the same deafening rumble as the giant’s outside.

As Argrave’s Brumesingers yelped defiantly, the man himself stood as though rooted in place.

“Speak,” Chiteng said, voice shaking the walls. “Why are you thusly blessed? To whom do you offer allegiance?”