As a Chaos Duke went, the One Who Watches was poorly understood even amongst his peers. Not that he had many nearby. It was well known that the Eternal Empire of the Righteous Order had only two Knights Imperious, but it was also understood that because of the Imperial Path, those two were more than a match for five other warriors of the same level.

The Watcher wasn’t strong for a Chaos Duke, but he was unmatched in the capability to survive. How else could he have lingered in the vicinity of the Empire? The Verdant Empress was far above her Knights Imperius as those were above a common Knight. If the Watcher were easy to kill, how could the Empress have tolerated him all the while? Not when he had corrupted one of her children, even before the girl left the planar territories.

That wasn’t to say that the two had not clashed. The Knights Imperius had once cornered him in a Fysalli and annihilated every particle of his being. The unfortunate thing for them was that what they destroyed was merely an incarnation. A clone, really, and the Watcher had thousands of such clones. As long as any one of them survived, he would, too. As for why each of those had not been found, as certainly those two were more than capable of doing so, much less the Empress, it was because many of those clones were so good at hiding they often didn’t even know that they were.

Each one had a partition in their minds that contained a sliver of the Watcher’s bountiful Anima. Unknowingly, they were also what gave him his sobriquet.

The One Who Watches was close to truly ascending. Many of his plans had come to fruition, and even though many of the parts had failed, or turned out to be false, enough of them were true that it was only a matter of time until he succeeded.

And then, he would finally have the capital to stand amongst the strongest and rule his own destiny. No more would the unseen Threads of Fate bind his Anima, and no more would his kind dance to the tune of the Primordials, extant and fallen alike.

His incarnations were spread throughout Rumiga, in the form of the sacrificed nameless, and even some of the newly formed Chaos Lords. In his Forge, the Cauldron melted and mixed all of the fragments that made Chaos barons. The Forge had been in operation for millennia and every time a new baron emerged, some part of him existed within them. Not all of the fragments grew to bear fruit, but enough did.

Now, he watched through his fragments as they laid siege to what was once the Imperial Capital of Rumiga. The Agminis Legion’s Legate had finally done the right thing after Seasons of vacillating. It slowed the Watcher’s timeline, but either way, he would be victorious.

He focused on one of his vessels.

Rumiga City was a smouldering ruin after the Legate destroyed the Gemheart, and its residents had scattered towards the west. But they overlooked one thing. The Chaos Fortress that the Ancient child created by accident was a thorn by their side. The barbarians of the north had sacrificed themselves to the altar of the Forge and created an army that was now bearing down on the beleaguered Imperials. In the south, those eager fools of the Federation of City-States have pushed north. No…not fools at all, but puppets.

Unbeknownst to all but a few, many of their leadership had been infiltrated by the Watcher. Their Spirit Binding lineage…Watcher smirked. A newborn animating spirit wasn’t all that different from a nascent Chaos Lord.

Both armies swept into the Imperial centre and rolled up the defenders just as they were fleeing the ruined city. And just like that, the number of sacrificial bodies had increased a hundredfold.

And now, to turn to the west. The Mountains, no longer named Zarek, were still a problem. The heights they reached were formidable, and now that the Avos was dead, so was the mountain. It no longer moved to the creature’s whims, but that also meant that the refugees’ passage was all that much harder. Agminis’ Legate was still strong, and she managed to save the core of her Legion. Now they were fleeing to the last remaining Gemheart. It was the only thing stopping him from proceeding with his plans, and that place had proven tougher than he expected. No matter, now that the eastern Empire had been turned to rubble, there was an army available to use.

Unfortunately, it looked like the warriors were weary. He sent nudges through his slivers, but the pushback was strong. But he sensed that it wouldn’t take all that much longer before they regain their spirits. What was a Season or two, eh?

But he was so close he could practically taste it.

A sting drew his attention, and his consciousness turned back into the Chaos Sea. What was that?

He frowned as one of his satellite Fysallis was destroyed. But it was far from the front line. It was one of the Waypoints that eased travel between the plane and the Forge, slowing the transfer of sacrificial humans…

He set one of his incarnations…no, a full dozen of them, searching. He was blinded there, and he couldn’t afford the little bites at his rear.

Another thing pulled his consciousness. This time, at the battlefront. A fleet of ships were closing in on the Forge and he had to throw hasty reinforcements at them. This crucial Fysalli was at the centre of his power, how did that fleet approach so closely without notice?

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Ah. Traitors.

Those fools in the Solamnus Court. Idiotic Chaos dwellers wishing to become plane-borne. They think that they could achieve it by pandering to the humans. What he wanted had to be taken by force. No matter.

He sent a message to the Asheron Court, and the three Marquises reacted in anger. But their forces were also committed.

Now then, upon this great Shatran board, which pieces should he move?

The game was nearly done, and there were only the finishing moves left.

___________

Gensan City, capital of the Richmond Confederacy, was blanketed in snow. However, the ice was already beginning to thaw, turning dirt roads into muddy walkways. The citizenry bustled about in their morning tasks. Lining up to receive their daily rations, then heading off to work. The industry of war was never-ending, and the factories devoured iron to churn out tanks, guns, and ammunition.

The city’s old architecture had been painted over, turning everything grey. All old luxuries had been removed, and put to better use. Prosperity for the Richmond people came when they’ve thrown off the yolk of their former oppressors, and now, they were the ones who pressed their boots on the necks of their enemies. For if they didn’t want to be oppressed, then they must be the ones to oppress.

Axel Voight, Warlock of the Richmond Confederacy, staggered out of his bed. Try as he might, he couldn’t quite remember how he managed to get here. In the city, not the bed. Oh, he knew that he had been in some action, one that had gone terribly bad for his side, and he had been one of the casualties. He actually couldn’t recall the battle’s details at all. One moment, he was in his quarters, then the next, he opened his eyes to find himself in Gensan Hospital, covered in bandages and being fed slop through a tube.

That had been weeks ago. Someone had rescued him from certain death and brought him here. No one else had survived, at least, not according to his superiors.

He had been drilled extensively to jog his memories loose. He’d even been brought before the Tyrant, in the hopes that the man’s august presence would do something.

It had not been the first time he’d seen the Tyrant, though this was the closest he’d ever been. The Tyrant was…statuesque. He wasn’t a Warlock but was knowledgeable about arcane matters. He was not a general but dabbled in strategy and tactics. He was the Tyrant for the Confederacy, leading them away from the chains of Norrinth, Karcellia, and Drunada. The man was the centre of the Confederacy, and he brought strength to the weak.

Awe had filled Axel every time he had seen the Tyrant, but something had been different that time. Instead of reverence, he had only felt indifference.

He had acted otherwise, however, as doing so was expected. Respect for the man, and for the office. But the visit had done nothing to jostle his memories, and he had been allowed to return.

Not to active duty, but to sick leave. For as long as necessary. He was only able to live on his stipend, vastly reduced since he was not on active duty. This apartment wasn’t even his, but one that was loaned to him by the corps.

He went through his morning ablutions, then picked up the early gazette. He skimmed through the propaganda and read between the lines. He pursed his lips when he realised how badly it's been going for them.

“Karcellian new weaponry countered by Confederate courage and ingenuity. The war presses on and the campaign against Drunada will commence once the weather turns.” He read out loud.

“That means that we can’t do anything about Karcellia, not from across the Inner Ocean.” He muttered. “The fact that we’re moving east means that Drunada’s a softer target.” He shook his head. The summoned daemons were wonderful cannon fodder, but the portal in the fortress had been blocked. There would be no more reinforcements coming.

But what could he do now? The open wounds on his body had turned into scars, and even though his muscles felt stiff, he hadn’t sustained a life-changing injury at all. The only thing left to check was his spellcraft.

Alas, the absence of his casting ring meant that he could do nothing. Occult resonance from reactive malachite was necessary after all, and without it, he was as mundane as the man down the block.

Is it?

Axel blinked. Those words were in his head, but he was sure they weren’t his. Someone was talking in his mind? Was there a spook nearby? Those blasted tricksters pulled many a prank back in his school days. Mind-to-mind communication, moving things with a thought, those were the hallmarks of Warlocks with a certain set of talents. But why would one be here? Granted, it could have been someone a few blocks away. He wasn’t that far from the Academy.

Shaking his head, he headed to his bathroom sink to splash water on his face. Cold water. He shivered at the icy touch then startled when he saw his face. His blonde hair had grown longer than regulation, and he needed to shave. That wasn’t the only thing though. For a long moment there, he thought that his eyes had turned to gold. But when he blinked, they were back to blue.

Shaking his head, he finished cleaning himself up and went out for a brisk morning stroll. By the time he returned for lunch, he was feeling much better.

There are better ways to use your time.

The voice spoke in his head as soon as he returned to his room, and Axel screamed in surprise.

Like a little girl, huh? Charming. You’d have to do better than that.

“Who…what?” He gasped.

You don’t remember? About time you did.

A spike of pain in the middle of his eyes dropped him to the floor, and his mind…unfolded.

He was in the middle of the chamber right when that golden devil came and slaughtered everyone else. He had been spared simply because he’d fled into a cave-in. There, he’d been trapped for hours, slowly suffocating.

Then…

The air in front of him ripped asunder, and a blindingly brilliant orb flew out and smacked right into his face. Then…he glowed with enough power to move the earth and stone out of the way. And he managed to get to the nearest town before collapsing. That orb…

“Who…who are you?”

I? I am your salvation. Ambition burns within you. As embers, yes, but it is there. Together, we shall rule.

“Oh. Alright,” Axel muttered as visions of glory burst into his mind. “Your name?”

Behold mortal, my divine sobriquet.

Axel waited with bated breath as the air stilled around him.

I am the Lord of the Dawn.

End of Book 10