First came Astrid, nimbly rolling to her feet after the long fall. Next was Tyr, and on top of him landed a bemused looking Tiber. Micah followed, significantly more graceful and still floating around spookily in the air like some ghost.
“Expected a bit more out of all of this,” Tiber coughed. “That's life for you though, once the gods are involved everything goes tits up until your asshole is winking at the sun.”
“...What?” Astrid glanced down at him, still laying atop the groaning form of Tyr and making no effort to move. “Convenient of you to drop us in the yard of the estate, Reader.”
“It is my pleasure, my Lady of Black and White.” Micah dipped his head amicably, one of three arcanums yet present. Astrid maintained her shard, Valkyrja, or more appropriately she shared it with Tyr as the proper host as her body wasn't strong enough to hold it alone. And Micah was 'the Reader' – one of Mimir's lesser Aesir – or so they said. They'd all been born with these things, it was just a matter of finding out how to awaken them.
Demigods, in a manner of speaking.
“I've had some experience with gods, Princess.” Tiber sighed, making a show of it by pushing back down on the exhausted form of his nephew and resisting being thrown away. “Used to serve one in a manner of speaking. They all...”
“Really like to hear themselves talk.” Tyr hissed in discomfort as his half manifestation fled him. What Indura had said unnerved him, leaving him anxious regarding her so-called master plan. Which could be any number of things, but he suspected she was attempting to surrender her aspect of lies and betrayal to adopt something else. Gods could change through faith and ritual, and what better ritual than that of a Crusade containing hundreds of thousands of men?
Indura wanted to change herself, become something else, or something more. He just didn't know how, exactly, she seemed to need him to do that. First she'd tried very hard to kill both himself and his mother, but a schemer was adaptable, and she'd changed tact. Then again, how could any many properly articulate the plans of a divine entity?
“That about sums it up,” Tiber said with a frown, finally rising and dragging Tyr up with him. “That was all a shell game, I would imagine. Indura is known as the lady of truth, law, and purity of flame. But you know as well as I do what her true realm is, her followers tend to eliminate those that preach it though. They're all pawns, she wanted to see you with her own eyes I think, test you.”
“And?” Tyr asked.
“I do not know, but you failed whatever the case.” The man shrugged, “Relax, it is not that I am not proud of you, to think you'd one day be the equal to a Hero... Had it been any other, you would have mulched them, and so the others may just retreat out of fear of you. A boon, but a disturbing one.”
“Why so?” Tyr remained in the dirt, pondering.
“I'll let you know when I figure it out,” Tiber frowned, “I will contact the Chosen of Awl, as I once was, they may know more, though I doubt it.”
“This is--” Micah droned on, his voice fluttering as his aspect drained and left him a collapsed ball of snoring limbs on the ground. Hopefully they wouldn't be seeing that guy for a while, whatever god the 'Reader' was. Liked his criticism, liked to send many pointed messages at Tyr telling him how awful he'd acted in his 'time on this world'. Not awful as in his behavior, such as killing folks, but rather 'awful' as if to pointedly name Tyr's entire life a joke.
Indura. The Lady of Lies, betrayal, and deceit. Strategy, too. The antithesis of her brother Agni and father Astarte, the duplicity of flame that could warm and bring life but also burn away. Refusing to let Aurelius properly engage until whatever plan she was concocting came to fruition. But if it was the Crusade, it was a poor plan indeed, Tyr had his own plans for them and knew very well that he had very little chance of failure. He might not be a master strategist, but some of the eleven that had sprung from his mind weren't too shabby. Tyr was arguably the strongest, but Leo and Andre were damn close – and there were a lot more pieces in play then just them.
Things he had waited to reveal until they were absolutely necessary, as was his character, what he'd learned from his various mentors. However... Did Indura, perhaps, want to claim a Primus? Could a single god do so? If they could, the amount of power that'd earn them would be immense.
“I am starting to realize that most of my life and the paths I've taken were determined by these gods of yours.”
“Of mine?” Tiber snorted, his nephew and surrogate son had grown a lot more steady in the mind of late, but he was still as dramatic and doom laden as ever. “What of your gods, nephew of mine? I know you are not pious, hell, neither am I, but they are gods to all of us. Whether we believe or not.”
Tyr shook his head slowly. “I am my own god. The only one that matters.”
Both Astrid and Tiber squinted at him in response to the ridiculous things he seemed to say with greater frequency every day. The latter, however, accepted it as fact – a living god was well enough, Tiber had never worshiped Awl or any of the others. Doing their bidding was different, Sicario were an order of reason and science, the secular, because Awl was a god of objective good even if it meant engaging in evil, and did not demand worship, only reverence.
“Well...” Astrid cleared her throat, returning to her more human self. “The others are still recovering from their injuries, I'd imagine. I will assist, why don't you two... Go get us dinner?”
“I would like to see them for myself,” Tyr said, but Tiber's hand was firmly planted on his shoulder, a shaking of the head to warn him off. “Dinner it is, then, I'll be back in a bit.”
He glowered.
There was injustice in this world, and then there was his pride, he'd done so much, gone so far, stretched himself to his very breaking point and done everything possible. And yet he still couldn't kill Aurelius, so... How far did he really have to go? How much was he expected to sacrifice?
Such was the faulty logic of a man that believed himself a party to some crude destiny, perhaps one who deep down believed he was responsible for such a banal fate as 'saving the world'. As though this tiny place were of any great significance at all to the rest of it.
–
“What was that about, anyways? It's my estate,” Tyr grumbled, digging into his meal back at the 'Rusty Trombone'. One of his favorite eateries in the city of Amistad. It had been closed, only the proprietor there, no staffing available due to the panic – but he knew the husband and wife partnership that ran the business well enough. They were happy to host him since he always paid up front and never tried any foolishness, perhaps tacked onto the fact that he was quite literally their king. “Well...” He coughed, resigned to the fact, “Ours, I guess.”
“We heard,” Tiber grimaced, leaning back in his chair and sighing. “I know why you did it, Tyr, and as I've always said – I love you like family. You are all that I have left in this world, my legacy, my student, my ward and junior as a knight. I spurred you, I've killed alongside you, but the others... They will not understand the act – even if it was done to set an example. I barely understand it myself, but I will never turn my back on you, no matter how foul your actions become.”
“Foul?” Tyr arched a brow, “What have I done lately that was so foul in context to my many misdeeds?”
“Use your brain, son.” Tiber smiled softly, tiredly, he was old and this excitement was something he'd long thought past him.
“Ah...” Tyr leaned back as well, not much else to do. The place was dim and quiet as expected, it was still night and the owner had given him free run of the kitchens after retiring. A little befuddled why the man would come knocking at near midnight, but times were tough when coin was concerned and making a little with no effort was common sense. “You mean Taur.”
“Indeed.” Tiber nodded. “You slaughtered a city, killed hundreds of thousands of people, innocent people and betrayed an oath you made both to us and yourself. Broke code on us. We are not raiders, pillagers, or lunatic slayers, or murderers, Tyr... Never were. Or so they said, city killer, there's proof, too. Did you really do it?”
“Yes.”
Tiber tilted his head slightly, snorting, his face calming as though caught in the midst of a great relief.
“What...?” Tyr raised an eyebrow at him, Tiber had never looked at him like that before. The hard edges all softened until his old mentor took on the most sanguine guise. Through the ripple, Tyr could feel the faith of a nephilim move from one end of the spectrum to the other. An odd sensation.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Perhaps of them all it was Tiber who believed in him most, believed that while Tyr was of fault that he was good and righteous. Because killing was not an evil act, some men simply deserved to die, such was the code of the Blackguard he'd mentioned. Tyr rubbed at his bruises though there were no such thing on his person any longer, feeling uncomfortable.
“You are and always have been a shit liar. I won't ask your piece, boy, nor justification, but I am happy to know that it wasn't you. It was Princess Astrid, wasn't it?” Tiber had a soft smile on his face, amused rather than disgusted. And while Tyr would've lied again, he didn't have to, there was great honor in defending one's lawful wife and taking on their burdens. “They haven't had much time to process it yet, but I'm sure you can imagine the consequences of your choice. They will not see through you like I do, the one I call nephew, more son to me than any other. I am proud of you, but also the inverse.”
“It wasn't her,” Tyr sighed. “It wasn't either of us, it was something else, but if people find out...”
“I've never betrayed your confidence, Tyr. Not once, I've only ever wanted what is best for you, have I not?”
Tyr nodded calmly. Tiber was arguably the most important person in Tyr's life, all of the things Tiber had claimed and more were true, and yet he kept treating the man like a tool, or left him out of his confidence entirely. It was his greatest regret how he'd surrendered to foolish notion to constantly abandon him like that. But no more, a man was as a man did, Tyr had given as much as he could to his old mentor and he'd continue to do so. That would have to serve.
“We're really gods, Tiber,” Tyr said softly, “I don't know how to describe it, but we are hosts to these things that--”
“I know,” Tiber grunted over his food, “I didn't always, but Samson said this all the way back at the beginning, that you are Ooni. A living god and part of their pantheon, Ogbunabali he called you, and I do not wish to hear anymore other than confirmation that you trust me.”
“I do.” Tyr nodded, there were some truths men might not want to know, lest it become a part of them, and this was a fel fate.
“It's good you know that, and I'll have your back through it all, to the end. Now finish your damn meal and find us an inn to sleep in, these things are better left for the morning and they need their rest. Princess Alexis was...” Tiber paused, chewing his lip. “I'm not sure how to say this...”
“...Was what?”
“You will see, but she is still alive if that was your concern. And be reminded that you should never make deals with nor follow the will of gods. Arcanums or not, that shit is all the same, I'm not sure how you got yours and managed to share it with Astrid, but I'd stop while you're ahead. Sicario scripture has a lot to say regarding these things, only using different jargon given the era in which it was written.”
“I see,” Tyr didn't feel very hungry anymore, he knew judgment was coming for him, from all corners. He could get away with a lot but the wholesale butchery of a city was not something anyone would ever forgive him for. Already feeling it, the fear borne faith cracking like whips in his core. “What did you think of Aurelius? And the chances of me killing him, from your perspective.”
Tiber pondered that question for a while, lips pursed and pensive. “He is a shit swordsman, I'll tell you that, but a Hero is a Hero, it's not some empty title. The short answer would be no, but if we get the boys together and you lock him down like you just did – we can do the thing. He's stronger, faster, and smarter than both of us – but he is exceptionally vain, every vice in him is so real and I'm sure I can exploit that with a hand. Daelin was worthless, by the way.”
“Daelin?” Tyr knew that name, the man from the disputed valley that he'd shared a conversation with when he was a woman. He still hadn't figured out how to change his body into other forms again, but he'd learned a great deal from Eve about relocating cells within himself and propagating them at will. To the point where he could use body fat as an insulation, or raise his blood pressure at will, he wasn't sure how useful that was, though.
“Daelin Host, a hero of Vanator's faith,” Tiber replied. “For a Hero, he was quite unremarkable, I believe with ample preparation I could beat him myself. Am I a Hero? A Hero with you as my god, or whatever?”
“No,” Tyr shook his head, “You are something else, what man was supposed to me under the Primus', though I couldn't give you a scholarly answer on it.”
Tiber nodded curtly, unconcerned.
“...But Hero. Huh.” Tyr found that a bit amusing that he'd never seen it coming, but he supposed it made some sense. Only an idiot would send a common crusader to hunt him down, though if they'd taken the time to hire the kijin it'd been done and over with months ago. And so quite simply the church would fail, if this was their true task, because they'd a racist Pope. “Aotrom once told me that paragons of the light are not permitted to harm humans except in the most dire of circumstances. I'm sure he tried his best, but whatever their respective Aspects are – what they call 'Graces' – I doubt it would be much use against a man. But... I'll say this – it was damn well effective against me. That's the guy who put me into the Labyrinth, I'm absolutely sure of it.”
“Not that surprising,” Tiber scowled, shaking his head at all the ridiculousness of the gods and their holy chosen. Awl was his god, or was, and he had no Heroes, no champions any longer, as far as Tiber knew. Didn't need them, but the Aspects he gave were for singular purpose, very utilitarian and limited to three uses in a lifetime. “Daelin Host isn't one of the more famous Heroes like Aurelius, Lancaster, Wehrmar, and I'm sure you'd know the others. But he is known to me, I was at the peak of my career when he ascended, and his aspect is penitence. Only those who feel great regret or remorse would be so effected as to be completely incapacitated, most of the other light Heroes would be quite inadequate in taking on humans now that I'm aware of it, people don't just feel deep guilt over their actions. Most don't care to.”
“And I do?” Tyr almost laughed at that, how many things he'd done. Remorse, surely, but honest guilt? Only two examples in his life made him feel guilt and they both involved his wives, and nobody else. Maybe that was enough to grab root on his mind, they were strong motivators for behaving in a certain way. His development in character had been driven entirely by his relationships with others.
“Mmm, that's for you to decide...” Tiber chuckled, smiling brightly back at his once young protege. Not anymore, Tyr was a giant now, muscular in a way that communicated cardio and endurance training, with nice shoulders that seemed ready to burst out of his linens. The scars about his jaw and above his eye added to the experience brought with adulthood, calm and watchful – rarely did he scowl any longer. These were good changes, and while Tyr might not be perfect, he'd managed to lift himself up out of a dark place and become better. Hadn't once moped about regarding Signe and her apparently lack of interest in reconnecting with her son, he'd forgiven Jartor, and found some small contentment in duty as protector of the mage state. A righteous man. “What's going to happen with this war of yours, Tyr?”
“I'm going to win it.”
“Aye, I have no doubt. But what of the others? Will you make them sacrifices in a conflict we had no business inserting ourselves into? You should make them leave, even if you have to drag them away – forcing them to stay is irresponsible whether it is their wish or not. Fennic nearly died, you know, might be dead, and as I said about Alex... Your wives are young, as are your friends, they have time left and should not be forced to do this.”
“Let's go,” Tyr abruptly stood up. “I'll see them now.”
“They won't let you.” Tiber replied.
“Let me?” Tyr snorted. “I'm the fucking king.”
–
Tyr didn't even make it five steps into the estate before Sigi arrived to intercept him. Not with the punch or slap he might've expected, but with crossed arms and a look of supreme disappointment plastered on her face. Exhausted but otherwise in good health, she'd been watching over the wounded and ensuring no further attempts were made on the children. “You should not have come here.”
“I want to see her.”
“She does not want to see you, and neither do I. I knew you said you were going to, but in retrospect, what you did was...”
Evil.
“Mmm...” Tyr nodded calmly, expecting this very same scenario. They'd just heard in the last day or so. Perhaps after their foolish attempt to attack a party of two Heroes and save the children, something he appreciated very much even if they had failed, it had bought him time to gather. “What I did. And I would do it again for you, or anyone else for that matter, does that not count for something?”
“Hundreds of thousands of people, Tyr. Innocent and guilty alike,” Sigi stared back at him. No anger, no derision, only an echo of consideration of what he'd done. A second Trafalgar. All her sadness made real in other pairs of eyes. “Leave now, and don't come back. We're done, I've petitioned to annul our marriage and I am leaving you – I expect Alex will do the same. I will not be wed to a murderer.”
She turned, and the way her boots clacked against the marble was like the loudest funerary procession he'd ever heard. A rock sinking into his gut, this was it, part of that vision. Alex wounded, Astrid's mind warped, and Sigi alone. He hadn't abandoned them after all, Tyr had been expelled and forced to leave by the authority they had over him and they'd all die, come from that act of forsaking him.
“But...” Sigi sighed audibly, the estate dark and quiet, front of it still under repair. “I'll be here, even in my disgust I still care about you. I have no idea what the others are doing, but if you ever need anything...”
“You're just a call away?”
“I might ignore you three or sixty one times. Just for old times sake, but yes. You'll want to avoid Alex, though. She's... Quite unstable at the moment.”
He'd not get the chance to follow her advice.