Harlan and Xol worked through the night to finish his work.

He didn’t need Nemain, he just needed hundreds of bodies, two weeks where he had no other serious responsibility along with the help of the oldest non-deity on the planet whose magic was second only to actual gods.

Marigold didn’t know why her husband hadn’t come to bed the night before, but she would find out why.

She arrived in the lab, finding both of them hunched over a sleeping Goliath.

How he was not dead despite many of his organs laying on the moving tables around them was a matter of Harlan keeping the man’s soul in a state of suspended animation.

So long as the mind and soul remained inside of the body, an entity wouldn’t die.

In the short term, this was fine, in the long term, it would lead to what Harlan could only call soul cancer.

Data that should be purged or replaced is instead looped in the soul, leaving it in such a state that it cannot understand that it should be dead.

She sat down and watched, they barely paid attention to her.

“Oh I never could resist a good dissection. Well, I actually hated science class during my schooling, cutting up frogs and fetal pigs made me shake with anxiety, turned me off of meat for weeks. But I have come to love understanding life.”

Harlan had a rare chance where Xol seemed caught up in something and could perhaps reveal more of himself.

“How was schooling back on Earth?”

“Do not seek to know more of myself than I intend to reveal.”

Or not.

“But… perhaps my words the night before have loosened my lips some. Ask me questions, but don’t do so under a veil of deception.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know that you are.”

“I don’t even know what exactly to ask, but you mentioned the giant cities and a revolt before.”

“Things weren’t terrible, but slowly we were marching towards our end, we were killing the planet with our creations and only those with wealth beyond understanding were leaving our world for new ones.”

Xol rarely displayed remorse or shame, at least not so clearly.

He turned his eyes from Harlan and put down his tools.

“Our goal was always to make the people equal, and to that end, I wrote, to change minds, hearts, and to incite them to action. But, when it happened, the revolt was won, we realized that our backers did not believe in our cause, no, they simply wanted to seize power from the government. And so The United States became The United Companies. I had worked tirelessly, and all I got was bondage for the people I tried to help. But it was better than the ones who were more important, who simply got a bullet to the back of the head.”

Xol turned back to Harlan.

“When one gains much, and loses little though it, wear a shell on your back and your heart, lest you be slain by betrayal.”

Marigold gripped her husband from behind.

“Luckily you don’t have a heart beating in your chest.”

“Is it time for bed?”

“No, that would’ve been nine hours ago.”

“Really now? Time does fly when you are having fun.”

“You have the lungs of a flayed man not a foot from you.”

“Yes, and it is exciting that Harlan so quickly understood and implemented my magic which will let us put him back together as a living man still.”

Harlan had discovered exactly what he needed, and Xol did as well.

The most lowly of mages could feel when a spell was wrong, they could improve it from there, but those with drive would improve it far more, they could become sensitive to the mana, and take a low fireball into a warspell by instinct if given enough time.

Xol could never develop such an instinct, he fumbled like a blind man with magic, his soul, born in a world where magic was held only by those creatures which were now called Fae, was not intended for what he became.

If Harlan could do what he did with a few hundred lives, Xol would take thousands more.

But, the benefit which Harlan had not, was an encyclopedic knowledge of magic.

Together, there would be very few things that couldn’t be achieved.

The Lich and the king shook hands, and vengeance was ready.

Harlan stood outside of his city, and he waited for Thrash.

The man came down, making a crater as he did.

“You got me my magic yet?”

“This man here can perform magic of two types. Go, show him.”

The Goliath, whose name Harlan never asked, and forgot after reading in the book of prisoners, moved his hands, and the sigil carved across his back pulled in mana from the air.

Harlan and Xol’s solution to the weak soul, unfit for magic, was to put a large sigil on the back which would use what little magic was there only as a switch, on and off, pull mana in, or not.

Atmospheric mana, unfiltered by the soul, was not intended to be directly used, but the anti-magic properties of the Goliath’s body kept the mana from poisoning it, acting as a shield for the soul.

The only other change they had to make was adding an extra vein, a trace which the mana would flow from the back into the hands, and then one which led from the stomach to the sigil, the fastest way to bring mana from the soul to the sigil.

The Goliath veins which were just under the skin and slightly bulged, glowed, and he moved his hands, and shot a fireball.

Not one large or great in heat, but it was a fireball like any man 20 years of age should be able to launch.

“He is pulling mana in, rather than the normal method, which is to use internal mana to manipulate the mana in the air. This extra step slows down casting speed, but perhaps I could make a better method in time. So, do you want get carved up now?”

The king was salivating, not in some metaphorical sense, no, he lusted and coveted magic so much that he drooled like a dog, and the drake pelt that he wore rose up with his small erection.

“I’m taking him.”

The size of the king compared to the prisoner was like a child and his father, he grabbed the 13 foot tall man and slung him under his arm, jumping back hard enough to nearly kill him through whiplash.

Harlan expected this, the king would be a fool to trust Harlan.

No, he would wait, see how the man was, then he would come back to get his magic.

It took a week, the king had made that man he took into his jester, and made him cast spells one after the other.

He couldn’t take it, he was a jealous man, he wanted that magic, he needed it, and he would have it.

He picked up the amulet that was like a grain of rice to a man so large, and he called Harlan.

“I will need a weapon, something that can carve your flesh for my sigil. And I’ll need a room, 30 by 30 at least, and paint, blood from a dragonoid of any kind would be best.”

“So you can stab me through the heart?”

“If I killed you, Lith would fall into chaos. No, you are worth more alive, fighting against the Castians.

It would be incredibly shortsighted and petty of me to kill you just for sleeping with my consort.”

“I would.”

“And I am not you. I would not trade the thousands who would die in your civil war and the weakness of new leadership for what happened. I aim for a better world.”

Thrash just laughed and laughed, rolling on the floor.

In the afternoon, Thrash had everything ready for Harlan.

The blade itself was godtouched steel, and 15 feet long, it was the king’s symbol of authority and came from melting down the blades of other kings.

“If you try anything, my men will rip you apart and rape your cities.”

“I know. If you still don’t trust me, I could do this to them first, then you later.”

“No, I will get this first, then they will.”

Harlan used telekinesis to lift the blade, and it cut through the aura of anti-magic, then the flesh of the king.

It was a short procedure, carving the sigil, then working through the anti-magic to fleshsculpt mana veins.

The king was up in less than an hour, and then Harlan had to just give him the words and hand signs.

He knew some of these from watching the Cast or his court mages.

The king laughed uncontrollably, the power long kept from him was in his hands.

He played for an hour.

Then there was a wrongness, he felt something bad in him, it was sudden.

They didn’t know sigils, runes, how the body worked, they couldn’t see Harlan changing the sigil, removing the off switch, or adding in an extra mana vein, one which was now pouring mana into his soul.

The king fell to his knees, his veins bulging, his body no longer listening to him.

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“YOUR KING IS DEAD.”

“I’m still alive, you little shit.”

He could hardly move.

“Close enough to dead. YOUR KING WON’T SURVIVE, NOTHING YOU DO TO ME WILL CHANGE THAT.”

The men weren’t exactly fans of Thrash, and that position that he gained by nothing but his strength, was gone. Such was the fate of one who ruled through fear and strength alone, and who treated those beneath him as being beneath him.

“YOU KNOW THAT HE IS DYING, NO ONE ELSE DOES, YOU HAVE AN ADVANTAGE OVER YOUR RIVALS, GO BACK, MAKE LITH YOUR KINGDOM, OR WASTE TIME KILLING A MAN WHO CAN’T DIE.”

They scratched their heads.

“DON’T YOU DARE, COME HERE, KILL THAT FUCKING BASTARD.”

The blood vessels in his eyes burst, blinding him and coloring his eyes red.

“Fuck you. You always took the best women, wine, food, and hunting spots.”

The men killed one another until a group of three were left standing which claimed that they would be the ones to rule as a council.

Then once Harlan said that there was only one sword of the king, they fought over the sword, and Harlan killed the last weakened man using it.

Harlan stabbed the giant blade into the ground and sat straddling the handle, using the guard as a seat.

The site itself wasn’t in Lith, it was constructed on a mountain top because Harlan claimed that he needed a magically isolated spot with high levels of mana in the air.

Really, he just wanted a private viewing.

The king could barely crawl towards Harlan, so he rolled over, he wanted to watch the sky as he died.

“Why not just stab me in the heart?”

“What is happening right now is that your soul is too weak to filter the mana. What your soul generates loses your will once it leaves the body, this is why spells that have an effect far from the caster are often inaccurate and they have a lot of extra time before they start.”

“What?”

“I do what I do because I want to. And what I want is to see you die a slow death before my eyes and for you to know that you’ve lost, and I’ve won. But, as your soul will soon be stripped by Life, I wonder if it will be worth more to her if I explain the mechanics of my work. Or if such a low life degenerate has no value.

When I die, perhaps I’ll ask her what makes a valuable soul.”

“What?”

“Life, the god above gods, who takes all of our souls when we die. She eats souls, stripping them of their memories, and recycling them back down to the worlds they come from.

But, back to my explanation.”

Thrash couldn’t stop him from talking.

“Your body has begun to break down, all of the mana instead of it is changing to not have your will anymore. Without your will, the soul start picking up and replacing information from the surroundings.

I wonder, will you turn to stone, or perhaps fade into the wind? I could always put up a big wall of fire, see if you catch from the inside out, maybe I could dump you in a lake, watch as chunks of you start to become liquid.”

Thrash vomited up blood, a gallon or so by his eyes.

“That must be your organs breaking down. If you were human, or really just anything but a Goliath, I think you could survive this, we pull in atmospheric mana all the time, and it is even healthy for us. But you, no, your souls can’t handle it. Children born into high mana environments often run a fever, and infections are more likely to set in. But, if that environment is kept well lit, or better yet, is a place of healing, then the light mana in the air offsets this. Despite coming from the outside, light mana is so ordered that it doesn’t fight against the soul itself, and will instead die in a sense, becoming good clean energy for the soul.”

Harlan stepped on Thrash’s chest so he could stare into his eyes.

“Why can’t I move?”

“The soul controls how the body grows and maintains itself. The mana that is killing you is also taking you over, that is why you were casting for over an hour before something bad happened. Maybe one of your major muscles suddenly turned to stone or became an air pocket. That’s why I picked this mountain specifically, the highest peak I could find on the entire stripe. It’s funny, being so high up means strong winds and nothing but rocks, so both air and earth mana are in higher concentration, yet both of them are opposite from one another. No other elements exist in this way. The same goes for empty plains.”

“Shut the fuck up. Let me die in peace.”

“How many people have you killed? Innocents raped?”

“Do you think I ever counted?”

“No, I suppose not.”

It took four hours before Thrash finally breathed his last.

Harlan decided to go to Mercedes' office, where she was speaking with someone from Velvet.

“When you are finished here, come to my room.”

“Very well.”

Unlike the king, this man was stoic, reserved, and while his clothes were clearly high quality, he wore just a black three piece suit with coattails.

She came to his room as requested.

“It has been some time, should I undress?”

“You like me because I’m a violent man who doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

“Yes.”

“If I stopped. If I became peaceful, if I decided that what I have is enough, would you love me still?”

She quickly moved to answer yes, but the words were caught in her throat.

He could feel how conflicted she was.

“I believe that not a month ago, you would’ve answered yes to that question without a second’s thought, and it would be a lie. So why are you hesitating right now?”

“I don’t know, I don’t understand it.”

“Put everything else out of your mind. If I was not a king, if I was just Harlan, could you still love me?”

“No.”

“We are people who sought some manner of comfort in the other, but that isn’t love.”

“What now then?”

“I don’t believe that I need you for comfort now. I will search, and perhaps I’ll find a woman I want to make my wife. You should find a man to make your husband, probably someone weak.”

“Now why would you say that?”

“Because if you were together with a strong willed man he’d just break against you. And honestly, could you go after anyone stronger than me?”

She laughed.

“I am glad we can end this without hard feelings for one another.”

“Then we just return to king and advisor. Still, if you ever want to talk, I am here.

Oh, and I murdered Thrash and his high guard today.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain another time, I’m in a great mood, I need to get some things right.”

“You can’t just say something like that and leave.”

“Actually, I can.”

Harlan next went to Larenzac’s office in the main guard building.

“What can I help you with today, your majesty.”

“Please, call me Harlan. I came to apologize for how I’ve treated you.”

“Oh, oh, well then, thank you very much.”

The two of them sat in silence, just long enough for things to turn awkward.

“I don’t know what else to say. Take me to my guest.”

The city didn’t have a prison, either someone spent some time in jail, or they went to the fleshpits.

So Harlan had one of the cells renovated to be of a higher class and combined it with a neighboring cell.

The man had a nicer bed, a rug on the floor, running water, a bath, even a privacy curtain that went over the bars.

Yet still, the man was a prisoner.

Harlan sat down across from the man.

“You didn’t try to kill me when I came in.”

“We had a deal. You took my strongest attack and lived.”

“You claim that I killed your father, but I’ve never seen magic like what you used.”

“I saw you cut my father’s neck and watched him bleed out in my arms, I heard you say your name and spit on me.”

“Then show me your memories."

“How can you ask such a thing? Would you split my skull with your hands?”

“Just give me your hands, and think on that day or night.”

The man put his palms on the table.

“Palms up, please.”

He did as asked.

Harlan saw his memories.

They were scattered, grief and anger clouded everything, and the man knew nothing about how to show these memories well.

There was fire, monsters, he and his father were guarding those unable to fight.

The man was struck by some sort of air attack and sent flying.

His magic was offensive, but unidirectional, and by pushing back, the force had dissipated enough that he didn’t kill him.

He wasn’t sure if he was passed out for minutes or seconds, but he saw his father beaten back, and then the final slash that cut his throat.

The man who killed her father then threw a bomb at the building where the children and elderly were huddled.

The memories lost all cohesion at that point, the fury boiling over from the man made them race past, to avoid what had happened.

Harlan only got flashes, the man staggering to his father, Harlan’s face as he stared down at him, the aftermath, charred bodies and parts of a wood frame, weeks passing in a haze, trying to track down the blue man with black horns and fire in his eyes.

Harlan pulled back his hands so he could wipe his eyes.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, but that man wasn’t me.”

“LIAR.”

“I was not there, I did not kill your father. Look at that man, and then look back to me. Are you certain that I am him? Because I saw how your memories are, and that wasn’t me. The horns are too curved, I don’t fight with a sword, I fight with my hands. His skin is too dark, the eyes have my pattern, but the colors are in the wrong order. Somebody wanted you to believe it was me.”

The man wanted to yell and tell him that he was wrong, but in his mind’s eye, the images of both of them overlapped, and they were clearly not the same men beyond a similar description and a passing resemblance.

He put his forehead on the table.

“I am sorry for what I’ve done. I can offer nothing but my life.

“No.”

“Then I shall offer myself into slavery.”

“All the damage you caused were bruises, broken bones, a torn up street, and a few golems that I had to fix. I will consider this to be no harm, no foul.”

“I cannot pay nothing, yet I have nothing to give, please, take something, a hand, an eye.”

“I can tell that you come from a society with a great deal of importance on honor, so you will not accept nothing.”

“I must do something to repay my transgressions.”

“Information then. I noticed that your magic is unlike mine. Why do your hands glow?”

“I pull the ki from myself and-”

“You mean mana.”

“Mana is from outside, ki is the power within.”

“So, internal mana. Can you use telekinesis?”

“What?”

Harlan lifted the cup on the table.

“This, moving objects with non-elemental magic by way of moving your aura around an object and controlling it.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Interesting. Give me your hand.”

He hesitated.

“Come now, if you intended to give your life to me once, surely you can do this.”

The man relented.

Harlan looked at his aura, and he wasn’t shocked to see it now that he had some time to think on what it was, that attack which could’ve mortally wounded this body of his.

“Interesting. Your aura is unlocked, but in a different way. It doesn’t seem wrong, but it is odd.

I already know that it is considerably stronger the closer your aura remains to your person, but what you showed was an interesting application of it.”

Harlan unlocked the man’s aura, and it spread through the entire room.

“Now, wait.”

Harlan got up from the table and stood in front of Larenzac.

“Now, push the cup forward.”

The ceramic cup instantly turned into shrapnel.

“I’m sorry.”

“When I first had my aura unlocked, it was by my sister, but she did so improperly, and thus I was stunted. I still tried to use it as much as I could, and I had become a middling user. But once I was properly unlocked, I rapidly became capable of incredible feats with the magic. I nearly killed another student by throwing a weight up in the air. I’m sorry, I never asked your name.”

“I am Da, son of Du, from the Sect of The Crane.”

“I am Harlan Fomoria, son of Harlow, from Ragne. I cannot bring back the dead, but if you invite me to your home, I hope to find the imposter and kill him.”

“I could not ask that of you after what I have done.”

“Then I demand to be taken to your home, to kill him would be to save my own reputation.

I cannot have a man committing terrible deeds in my name.”

The man knew that Harlan had rephrased the question only because he wanted to help but had been refused, yet how could he afford to deny the help?

“I… I will bring you to my home.”

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

Xol began his work on this new… thing.