The boy cried out each and every day, loud enough for all the world to hear.

"I am the greatest! I am the most beloved! I am the most beautiful! I am the strongest! I am the one above all! I am the one above everything!"

And each day his elders, great heroes and warriors all, would scoff and chuckle and laugh at his boastings, for they thought that he was worthless. They would sneer and giggle behind his back, thinking that he could not hear them. But he could, and anger blossomed in his heart.

One night, before he would usually wake and boast, the boy snuck through the village and slit the throats of his elders each and every. By the time the sun rose, the boy was the only living person left in his hometown.

And so it was that he became known as the slayer of many great heroes and warriors, all of his boasts finally becoming true.

"The Boastful Boy and the Whisperknife", Superbian Children's Tale

----------------------------------------

"And so the boy came to know that perfection always lies above," Giovanni read solemnly. "And that, to his elders, his boastings were just like those of the ant. He resolved to abandon false confidence and instead seek out the fruition of his desires. By the time he reached perfection, many years later, he found that he was king of all he surveyed. The end."

He closed the book, looking up at his rapt audience. "Are there any questions?"

One young boy stuck his hand up. "After he became king, did the boy live happily ever after?"

Giovanni blinked. "Of course," he said. "That's how stories work."

The boy who had spoken up was not even the youngest. The crowd of listeners, gathered in the small chapel, were children one and all -- those under the direct care of the Superbian church, without parents or families to call their own. Their patrons, the Assemblage of the Little Children, had asked for Giovanni to read to them today. Like many in the sect, they held him in the greatest esteem.

If that was the case, then who was he to deny them?

It was the duty of the Apexbishop to care for their flock. That had been one of the first things Giovanni had learnt, and one of the few lessons Brinkmann had taught him that he still held to heart. It was also one of the ideals that now made his heart feel so heavy.

Giovanni reflected on it as the children were led out by their teachers, talking loudly amongst themselves. The situation on Polis had not deteriorated any further since the ship had been destroyed, but that just meant the planet was balanced on the edge of a knife. Voices from Giovanni's own faction urged him to take action daily, to finally bite the bullet and declare war against the Humilists.

Was that really the wisest course of action? Giovanni would prefer to play a longer game, to slowly encroach upon and reduce the Humilist's influence in the galaxy. Direct warfare would damage the Superbians just as much as their enemies.

"Gio?" Pablo said.

He'd tried to get spies into the Humilist headquarters, but they hadn't made much headway into the upper echelons. From what Giovanni understood, Gertrude Hearth had gone into seclusion since last night. Was she pondering the same quandary as him? Did he even have time to consider it, if she was thinking about the same thing? If the Humilists attacked first, they'd be caught on the backfoot. That would be the worst case scenario.

"Gio!" Pablo repeated, louder.

Giovanni looked up. The chapel was empty, save for himself and Pablo. For a second, Giovanni almost looked around for Jamie in confusion, only to remember a moment later… he was dead, after all. Killed needlessly.

How many more would die needlessly, if Giovanni made the wrong choice here?

"What?" he said.

Pablo held up the day's schedule on his script. "It's time for us to move on. You've got that thing with Dr. Brinkmann, right? I'm sure you don't want to be late."

Giovanni winced as he accepted the script from him, reading it for himself. That was right -- that was today, wasn't it? Brinkmann had been irritating him for days now, sending him messages, and Giovanni had finally relented. He was due to meet with the old scientist in his laboratory.

Ironic. He'd come so far, grown so powerful… yet he still found himself obeying the commands of that decrepit old bastard.

He stared through the screen of the script. "Pablo," he said quietly. "Do you care about me?"

Pablo opened his black eyes, yellow irises looking down at Giovanni. "Huh?" he said -- and then, a moment later: "Of course I do."

It was the answer he'd expected, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. Giovanni had been coded in the artificial womb to rule over people, and part of that was understanding them. Those words from his friend were all Giovanni needed to be certain.

Pablo did not care about him. He highly doubted that Pablo cared about anything. Perhaps Jamie had been different, but Jamie was gone.

Giovanni smiled. "Thank you, Pablo. I appreciate your support."

"Of course," Pablo said, awkwardness forgotten. "Shall we go, then?"

Giovanni rose to his feet. Day by day, his body seemed heavier. The weight of the world took a long time to settle.

He was the closest person to God. He understood Y's will. That, in itself, was the greatest responsibility of them all.

----------------------------------------

The laboratory smelt of medicine and death. It hadn't changed in the slightest. Giovanni did his best not to be drawn too far back into his memories as he walked through the sterile space.

"It's been a long time, um, my Apexbishop," Louis Xi Testament smiled weakly as he limped ahead, leading the way.

As one of the more imperfect results of the Testament Project, he'd been kept on by Brinkmann as a personal assistant. He had extremely fragile bones, apparently, and a correspondingly gaunt appearance that made him seem much older than his few years. Thin brown hair hung from his head in clumps.

Disgusting.

"It certainly has," Giovanni said placidly, eyes inscrutable. "You were an infant the last time I saw you. How have things been?"

"Oh, um, good," Louis said hurriedly as they reached the door. "Very good. Did you, ah, go through the disinfectant, by the way?"

"Of course I did. There's no other way into this place." Giovanni's skin still burned from the sensation of those chemicals raining down on it. He imagined he'd be feeling that sting for hours.

Louis nodded, more to himself than anything else. "Okay. That's good, yeah. Dr. Brinkmann's very vulnerable to infection right now. We need to be understanding. Okay…"

He placed his hand against the palm reader, and the sleek white doors slid open. Giovanni stepped through, while Louis stayed behind -- there were no guards in this place, nor any real security measures, yet his sibling was still reluctant to step into this most inner sanctum.

This room was as white as the rest of the 'laboratory', so clean as to be uncanny. One wall was occupied entirely by rows and rows of vials -- each containing a single drop of blood belonging to a member of the beloved Sainted Bloodlines. Another was covered in monitors, facts and figures and codes scrolling by at high speeds. This place did not smell of medicine, at least.

It didn't smell of anything at all.

Brinkmann turned around in his automatic chair, the piece of furniture floating over the ground. From what Giovanni understood, the old man's legs had stopped working six months ago, and he'd had this machine commissioned to retain his mobility. Countless spindly metal arms, like the limbs of a spider, protruded from the headrest.

"It's been a while, Sigma," Brinkmann said, his grizzled voice effortlessly reaching back into Giovanni's childhood. "You look strong, healthy. I truly am a genius."

He had an appearance more suited to a lumberjack than a scientist. Even with his deteriorating health, the shadow of physical strength could be seen in his thick arms and wide frame. A white beard, hoarse and untamed, hung down from his chin. His eyes were a dark brown, and -- even if only one of them was now capable of moving -- the glint of great intelligence could be seen shining in their depths.

Giovanni glared. "What is it you want, old man?"

Brinkmann stared at him with his one good eye, his gaze drilling into Giovanni's until the younger man was forced to glance away. Then, the slightest twist of satisfaction pulled at the edges of his lips.

"You talk as though it's a special occasion -- for me to call upon you," he said. "When you were younger, you'd respond obediently to my summons. You were a good child back then. Where does this resentment come from, Sigma?"

"I'd prefer you call me Giovanni, as it's my name." Giovanni's words were frozen venom. "When I was a child, I had no choice but to do as you said. Don't mistake innocence for loyalty."

Brinkmann leaned back in his seat, grunting. One of the mechanical arms plucked his script from his desk and handed it to him. "When you were a child?" he chuckled darkly. "Tell me, Sigma. How old are you now?"

"You know very well how old I am."

"I do, but tell me. I want to hear it out of your mouth."

Giovanni glanced away, crossing his arms. "I have the musculature of a twenty-two year old, give or take a few months," he muttered, shrugging lightly.

Brinkmann's eye narrowed fractionally, a subconscious indication of pleasure. "That's not what I asked, Sigma. How old are you?"

It was infuriating, but Giovanni found himself looking down at the floor as he answered. Against the man who has created and raised him, the armour of 'Apexbishop' seemed just as effective as wet paper. It was as if nothing had changed at all.

Giovanni mumbled the answer.

"Speak up, boy," Brinkmann snapped.

"Six years old," Giovanni said.

"Six years old," Brinkmann repeated, putting his hands on his knees. "It's laughable, isn't it? The cardinals asked me to make them a new Apexbishop, but they didn't have the patience to wait for me to grow it. So they get you. I wonder how that ended up for them?"

"Laughable?" Giovanni sneered, some of the fire returning to his belly. "I'd say you're the one that's a joke here, Brinkmann. Look at yourself. Greatest genius in the galaxy, and you can't even fix your own decaying body. It's pathetic."

It was true. Brinkmann was a rather unique kind of Scurrant -- one that the Gene Tyrants had used as control cases in their experiments. As such, his body rejected most forms of modification, including gene therapy and the majority of medical treatments.

Even with all his expertise, Brinkmann was helpless against the withering disease that had seized hold of his body.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

If it bothered the old scientist, though, it didn't show on his face. He simply waved a dismissive hand. "Greatest genius in the galaxy? Perhaps once, when I was younger, but not now. There are monsters like Zephyr Pandershi doing good work in the UAP, and I won't live much longer anyway."

"You seem awfully at peace with that."

"Oh, I'm despondent," Brinkmann smiled. "But misery isn't terribly productive. You wanted to know why I called you here?"

"I'm desperate for answers," Giovanni replied, deadpan.

Brinkmann's smile curled strangely, like he was remembering a private joke. "If you don't mind, could you tell me what the purpose of the Testament Project was? The purpose of your creation?"

"Is your memory fading as well, old man?"

"Humour me," Brinkmann said politely. "Tell me."

Giovanni rolled his eyes. "The Testament Project was an initiative to design artificial humans with a greater connection to Aether, so as to create a powerful and capable Apexbishop to lead the Superbians. After numerous failed attempts, you found the success that was me."

"No," Brinkmann said simply.

"No?"

"No," the old man repeated. "We settled on you. We ran out of funding and goodwill, and decided that Giovanni Sigma Testament was the best we were going to get. Don't go flattering yourself, thinking you're some kind of perfect being."

"I became Apexbishop anyway. It doesn't matter what you say."

Brinkmann sighed, his eyes far away. "Yes, yes… and what a disappointment you are."

"Excuse me?" Giovanni narrowed his eyes.

"I said what I meant. You were meant to be a wise philosopher king, your mind occupying another level of consciousness entirely… and what have you amounted to? A petty nationalist, herding sheep against another petty nationalist? Crude and shortsighted, lacking focus and wisdom. Who could ever call you a success?"

Giovanni balled his hands into fists, gripped so tight that his fingernails cut into his palms. When he spoke, it was measured, precise and furious. "Watch what you say, old man."

Brinkmann did not watch what he said. "... and then, of course, there is the matter of your lifespan."

The rushing train of Giovanni's rage suddenly found itself flying over a pit, the terrain unfamiliar and bizarre. He blinked in confusion.

"Lifespan?" he said. "What do you mean?"

Brinkmann's eye twinkled. "We were talking about it just before, don't you remember? The matter of your accelerated aging."

Giovanni stepped forward. "Yes, but that's just… that was just so I was ready to ascend to the seat of the Apexbishop as soon as possible, wasn't it?" He hated himself for it, but the plaintive tone of a needy child entered his voice as he questioned Brinkmann.

There was a rustling as Brinkmann settled in his chair, as if he were getting ready to watch a particularly interesting show.

"I told them it would have negative effects in the future," he murmured. "But they were so impatient for their new Apexbishop. I didn't know how negative until just recently, though… if only you'd come to see me sooner, hm?" Amusement leaked out of him, through twitchy smirks and dilation of the pupils. He was loving this.

Giovanni stepped forward again and -- with enraged strength -- seized hold of the chair's arms as he stared into Brinkmann's eyes. Metal screeched as Giovanni squeezed, crushing it in his hands.

"What are you talking about?!" he roared.

All joviality faded from Brinkmann's expression, his face becoming slack and dead. Even before his mouth opened, Giovanni's quickening heart seemed to have some idea of the words he'd put forth into the world.

"Three months," Brinkmann said. "In three months -- give or take a couple of days -- you will expire from natural causes."

Giovanni's hands fell to his sides, and he felt his legs collapse from under him. He dropped down to his knees, eyes wide.

No, but… that wasn't possible. That wasn't fair. There was so much to be done still. The situation on Polis had to be resolved, that -- that would take time, so much time. He had to deal with the Humilists, too, and the Paradisas, make sure they couldn't threaten the Superbians any longer, he had to… oh, God, he'd executed his coup with the assumption that he'd be able to stick around long enough to ensure future stability. What would happen if he died before preparing the church for the future? Would it collapse? No, no no no, this was surely some kind of trick, but Brinkmann's eyes weren't lying, and he never told a lie, only the truth, only the truth that he knew would hurt, and Giovanni couldn't breathe, and his lungs hurt, and was that because he was dying?!

No, no, no, no, no…

"Why?" Giovanni whispered, slowly looking back up. "Why are you telling me this?"

Brinkmann looked solemnly at Giovanni for a long, long time, his eyes dark and sad. Then, slowly, his face spread into a wide and cruel grin.

"I wanted to see the look on your face," he confessed.

Everything went red.

----------------------------------------

Louis Xi Testament perceived Aether in a way different from most people.

From what he understood, others saw Aether as some form of electricity that surrounded a person's body. That wasn't the case for Louis at all. He couldn't see Aether with his eyes full stop-- that visual form was completely concealed from him.

What he could do, though… was hear.

Every person's Aether sounded different, and the sound tended to differ depending on their emotions. It gave Louis a little more insight into another person's personality -- but it also made going out in public torturous. Even just having two Aether-users in the same place was like listening to two different songs in two different genres simultaneously: highly unpleasant. For that reason, he'd never been judged fit to leave the laboratory.

The Professor had told him that there were cases where blind Aether-users perceived Aether in the same way that he did, but those cases were few and far between.

Louis checked his watch: the Apexbishop had been in there with the Professor for quite some time. Perhaps it was time to offer them a beverage?

He stood up from his chair, groaning from the strain on his legs, and gingerly made his way over to the quarantine doors. The control panel beeped as he pressed his hand against the palm-reader.

The noise was deafening. Louis winced, holding down on his ears as the doors to the Professor's office slid open. Then, as he took in the sight before him, he screamed.

Every inch of the room was dyed with blood. The samples on the walls had been smashed, as had the monitors. The Professor's wheelchair had been mauled into a pile of twisted metal, and the Professor himself… dear God…

The entire top half of his body had been annihilated, reduced to a pile of indiscriminate meat, the smashed remains of his spinal cord spread out like a dead centipede. No trace of face or identity remained. All of it had been far too brutalized for that.

And there, standing above it all, was Giovanni Sigma Testament. His hands were stained with blood up to his elbows, and there was a dead look in his eyes. He stared quietly down at the Professor's carcass.

When Giovanni had first entered the laboratory, Louis had heard his Aether. It had been persistent but beautiful, and somehow innocent, like the trembling voice of a sleepless chorister.

Now, it was silent. He wasn't using his Aether at all… for this, he'd used his bare hands.

"A-Apexbishop," Louis breathed. "What… what have you…"

Giovanni glanced up at Louis as if he'd just realized he was there.

"Louis," he muttered, his voice emotionless. "Move."

Louis opened his mouth: "Wha…?"

The roar of a wild beast. The buzzing of ravenous insects. The tearing of rancid meat. The incineration of a bonfire. The scream of something inhuman. The sound of a boot crashing against bone, again and again and again and again.

Louis heard his Apexbishop's Aether…

…and before he could say another word or take another step, his head was punched off his shoulders.

----------------------------------------

Giovanni smashed the door to his quarters open as he stormed into the room, the wood shattering from the impact. As he searched frantically through the drawers and wardrobes, a cleaning automatic flew over to clean off the blood covering his body.

The second it touched him, he whirled around.

"Get lost!" he screamed, voice breaking as he smashed the automatic out of the air with the back of his hand. It dropped to the floor, thoroughly destroyed.

Immature. Foolish, shortsighted. Destroying that automatic hadn't helped him at all. He had to calm down -- but where the hell was it?!

He resumed his search, pulling the room apart, until he found it. With trembling hands, he pulled out the punchpoint revolver. Ever since he'd gotten it, ever since the dark night when he'd put it to his head and pulled the trigger, it had served as his guiding light.

The proof that… the proof that God was with him, God was with him, God was with him. So long as God was with him, everything else that happened was just a trial. So long as everything else was a trial, Giovanni could overcome it.

He loaded the gun, hands shaking, and put the barrel in his mouth. It took him a rare few seconds to work up the nerve -- but he pulled the trigger all the same.

Click.

It had jammed. He pulled the gun free, gasping for breath, a sense of giddiness infiltrating his mind despite everything. Again, again, he had failed to die. No, he had been saved.

God was with him.

"A good evening to you."

Giovanni leapt to his feet at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, crimson Aether raging around him protectively. It took him less than a second to identify his target and react. Two spears of red crystal appeared over his shoulder, pointing at the intruder.

Just as he had never heard this voice before, Giovanni had never seen this man before.

He had white hair and wore a white suit. He had white skin and wore white shoes and white gloves. If his voice had a colour, it would be white too -- accentless, emotionless, blank. The only trace of colour to him was the glint of bright blue in his eyes -- the telltale marker of a Cogitant.

"Who are you?" hissed Giovanni, glowering at the new man.

"As I said, good evening," the man repeated, smiling slightly. "I wanted to speak with you for just a couple of minutes, if I could. How about it?"

Giovanni fired the spears. They lanced right through the man -- but he did not die. The form of the hologram only shuddered as the projectiles passed through it.

"Needless to say, I am not with you in person," the man continued. "I have far more regard for my own survival than that."

"Who are you?" Giovanni repeated, a little calmed. He straightened up his bedraggled robes.

"My name is Jean Lyons," the man in white explained, one hand in the pocket of his suit. "I work for the Supremacy -- the Galactic Intelligence Division, to be exact. A little like your own Quiet Choir, I should think."

Giovanni circled the hologram, eyes narrowed, probing for weaknesses, but the man was inscrutable. All body language and facial expressions were carefully considered before being deployed -- no matter how hard Giovanni looked, this man would not betray himself.

"The Supremacy, huh?" Giovanni glared. "Is this an alliance proposal, then, or a declaration of war?"

Jean Lyons' eyes twinkled. "Neither, actually. I'm here to inform you of my victory."

Giovanni frowned. "What?"

"I killed Gertrude Hearth earlier tonight," Lyons said simply.

At that, Giovanni couldn't help widen his eyes fractionally. Hearth… dead? Just like that? In Giovanni's mind, she'd always seemed such an important, destined foe, something that he had no choice but to overcome. Was this man telling the truth?

Lyons continued speaking, seemingly uncaring as to whether Giovanni believed him or not. "I have plans in place to deal with Asmagius of the Paradisas, as well. Which brings us to you. My objective is to deal with the Final Church completely, after all."

"Oh?" Giovanni sneered. "And how exactly do you intend to 'deal' with me?"

Lyons' smile widened. "I am dealing with you right now. I hope you have enjoyed my gun. It took a lot to get it to you."

Without another word, the hologram flickered away, leaving Giovanni alone in his quarters once more. He stared at the empty space the man had left, confused for just a moment. Enjoyed his gun…? What did he --

Giovanni looked down at the revolver in his hand.

That bastard Lyons, he couldn't have…

No. Surely not. He'd had this gun since before he became Apexbishop. He'd bought it at a market on the planet Tenenbaum, sneaking out without telling anyone. He disassembled and reassembled it every day. If there was something there, some trick, he would have noticed. He would have noticed.

Wouldn't he?

Slowly, as if he had been hypnotized, Giovanni raised the gun to his temple. It was still wet with his saliva from when he'd put it in his mouth. Wet, and cold.

His finger curled around the trigger, and…

Bang.

The gun fired, and Giovanni collapsed to the ground, clutching his head.

He'd saved himself at the last moment, pouring all his Aether into the exact spot that would have been hit. It was still heavily damaged, but he would not die -- he would not die today, anyway. Blood poured down his head as he stared down, the pistol slipping from his grasp and falling to the floor.

With a reflexive stomp, he reduced it to broken metal.

His guiding light had been just another trick. God was not here with him. God was not here. God was not anywhere.

In the quiet of the night, Giovanni Sigma Testament wept and wept and wept, until at last his sobs began to sound like laughter.