Burnt and blackened, Iscari rose with a hoarse groan to behold a field of indiscriminate slaughter. They'd only taken a handful forward in the initial charge, a trap. Ears filled with a sharp whining, deaf again to screams and the barking cracks of mana towers continuing to engage. All was still in her vicinity, glassy ground and the crater she'd stumbled from to behold the next wave. It had been a close thing, but at the last moment something had sparked and blown some of those shots wide. No, not that, not a redirection.

That rampant energy of so many mana engines coalescing had been devoured by something waiting for their coming. As though 'it' had known it, it had feasted on the magic and filled itself. It, she felt, because Iscari did not see, feel, or sense in any other way a man.

And it had eaten away at so much more than that.

In front of her hovered a book of no title, navy blue cover with the silver head of a wolf embossed on its surface as the only decoration. And yet she knew its name, so dear to her, reaching out to grab it and hold it in her hands. This was all that was left of him, now.

This was a soul, a Black Book.

And in his book is but a single word. End. Speak it, and all things will.

The Book of Tyr.

And in seeing it Iscari came to the dawning realization that everything was gone, all her efforts had been for nothing. More than that, she was too late to save him, falling to her knees, clutching that book in her arms and gritting her teeth. The Primus of hope, with none left in here, because this... This should not have happened, she was promised.

They had promised her!

“Why!?” Iscari howled. Years of effort, she'd finally found an answer but he'd left and she could not find him. A way to bring him to full awakening so that he might rise as the greatest champion of man to rule alongside her. Someone who could protect her from the others as she'd protected him, the only woman to ever become a Primus. They'd sworn it, Dag and all the other beings she'd communed with, given oaths and bargains of forbidden knowledge – promising that Tyr would live beyond this conflict.

All lies.

More lies until they were never ceasing.

It could've been us, it wasn't the time, why sacrifice himself for the lives of these people who hated and scorned him?

Do not be afraid. The book said, seeming to embrace her back, an immaterial hand caressing Iscari's face affectionately. Do you love me? It whispered in a dark dirge, but the inky black had never frightened her, for one hand held it and it was the only hand she cared for.

“Yes! I love you, I've always loved you!”

Do you need me?

“I need you!”

Would you... Kill for me?

“The whole world and all those beyond!” She was being slaved, manipulated and lied to.

Iscari Longinus did not care, this was her only peer, equal... brother, even if only half she had no relationship with anyone as important as this. Whether he had tricked her into it or not didn't matter, because through him she had been her best self, her real self, because he had known.

Then make it so, kneel to me and offer me piety. Exalt me. Love me. Need me. Give unto me all of your faith until there is nothing left.

“Please come back, I'll do it!” Iscari howled madly, ripping away at the bindings of the book in an attempt to open it, but it refused to budge. The locks there were beyond her. “Please, you're all I have!”

Yes. I am, always was, and always will be. Worship me.

“I do! I do! I swear it!” She cried, but yet still the book would not open itself, “Please believe me!”

“Damn!” Someone cackled, Iscari's insane mask whipping up to behold thirteen impressive looking figures. Heroes, of which he knew many, with Aurelius at their head. “He's still alive!”

“That's a look, eh? You alright there, Prince?” Men and women alike had come to greet him, mixed in their reverence and respect to be sure. “Wasn't us, your Grace, I swear it.”

“Can't believe Hastur did that, what if he'd died?” Someone cursed, Iscari did not know her name, “That stupid fuck!” Clearly, many were wroth with the attempt on the life of a Primus. Putting one in the dirt was one thing, but death?

Aurelius lowered himself on his haunches until he was at eye level with the 'Prince'. Not such a Prince after all, it would seem, Iscari's armor was ripped and rent, revealing the body of a woman beneath. Her form unraveling under the mana, stripping away the mask she'd worn all her life. Never before had any story been told about a female Primus, and yet here one was...

Octavian had been about many lies to protect this daughter of his, but the churches were duty bound to murder her. A woman could not be a Primuse.

But... Aurelius smiled nice and wide.

All the better, Aurelius liked his women and this one was the most radiant thing he'd ever seen. Even he was a bit shocked, and far be it for him to look at anything and call it sacrilege, Hastur had put great effort into killing this Primus. If that's what she was, as females supposedly couldn't rise to the station – an interesting revelation that would awe the whole world. Perhaps that was the point, less to kill and more to reveal. To shake the foundations of the high lords and raise yet more banners against them.

He didn't know, and he didn't particularly care either.

“What has he done...?” Ryker approached as well, pulling his fox mask free to reveal the face of Daito Takahashi. A man who by all estimates should've been a close friend and ally of Tyr Faeron, and yet here he was on the opposing side. So many traitors, all Iscari saw around her were traitors, to nation or Path or religion it was irrelevant, they all deserved to be hung from the highest tree. “I can't believe it.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“What is it?” Wehrmar asked, the Hero and chosen son of the volcano god Ruau. Aurelius was subdued, mostly hero in appearance, but his contemporary of the House of Fire was barely recognizable as a man. His hair scarlet and burning, cracked skin to reveal a magma floe beneath, twin crescent axes chained to his wrists so as to not lose them in the rages he'd often fly into. Otherwise, he was calm and composed, but Ruau was a fickle god and his mien changed quickly.

Daito had not meant Hastur at all, but rather Tyr Faeron, who had done something terrible yet again, to eclipse all other deeds. A master stroke and an Opus lay before them, clutched in the hands of a 'half dead' Primus. But still a Primus...

I have to get that away from her...

“That...” Daito sighed, “Is a Black Book.”

Tyr had penned one of his own somehow, and here it was, a tome of ten thousand words that all condensed to become one single rune. Occupying one page, the rest of it unblemished by any ink. A collection of understandings that the reality they existed in was a lie, and to speak the truth was to end it all and start anew the infinite cycle. The culmination of each and every one of its lesser tomes into one single form, a key composed of all his Dao.

Brick by brick, it was perfect, and thus one of any reason whatsoever would know that Tyr had known exactly what he'd done. This was no mistake.

“Is that a problem? No law against Primus' possessing one,” Jade Strider, chosen of the Hunter posited. Her deep green eyes creasing pointedly at Aurelius, wondering how she'd got caught up in this disgusting mess. Why Heru's pillar would join the crusade, that was a question hot on her mind of late. Not all of the Houses agreed, many had been forced into attendance under threat of their shrines being destroyed. Heru was a 'lesser god', a divine of the wilds, they lacked the means necessary to resist the Inquisition unlike the much larger faiths of Astarte, Bumi, and many others.

“Give it to me, Prince... Or I suppose Princess Iscari,” Daito extended an open hand, trying to remain as calm as possible. If she managed to open that book, something terrible would happen – and he doubted it was so clear cut as killing everything. Within those pages was a raging storm of fire come to 'purify' all things – knowing it was right in doing so, lacking anything recognizable as human. Within those pages was what was left of Tyr Faeron, manifesting his truest self into a magical artifact. “That thing must be destroyed at all costs, I cannot allow another to proliferate. Please, we are not your enemy, or at least I am not, and never was.”

“You are a traitor to all the faith in men.” Iscari hissed, spitting blood, her skin was cracked and withered by the bombardment but she stood tall.

“Your perceptions can remain as they are,” Daito frowned, “But that book must not be opened, or touched by lesser hands.”

“Indeed...” Aurelius scowled, eyeing the tome in Iscari's hand. As majestic in its simplicity as it was, he could feel something inherently unnerving about it, like he was staring at the greatest of all evils ever enacted by man, enough to make even him quake in trepidation, forgetting much of his personality in the moment. “That would be ideal.”

Even so, he was hoping Iscari would refuse. The fruit that bit back was the sweetest of all.

“This is Tyr,” Iscari said, expression relaxing and hand gracing the bindings of the book with an affectionate brushing of her fingertips. “It's him, and it's alive...”

“I know.” Daito replied, not refuting the fact, that book was a person, but not the person she thought it was.

“And you'd still destroy it, even knowing that?”

“I would.”

“Then I'm afraid you'll have to take it from me, you tiny, insignificant men,” Iscari smiled wickedly, that sanguine expression so common on her beautiful face rife with raving zealotry. She was already Called, lost and Branded like the rest of them. “And I genuinely hope you try.”

–

Alex lurched to the side, hand grasped around the bolt that had punctured her flank – lodging itself between two of her ribs. Nearly failing to avoid an agony maddened steed as it bolted past her, caught in the flurry of combat reengaged as the lull had ended. Tiber's militia forces had stepped up, drawing close in a tight square while the mages within ensured they remained safe from any and all ranged attacks.

The Pillars were breaking all their own laws today, even going so far as to use deuritium, the black steel that was anathema to magic.

They'd found Iscari, confirming him among the living thus far, before losing him again in a wild engagement as he faced off against a bevy of Heroes. Highlord Raddick had howled triumphantly, the maddest of them all, diving into the melee and vanishing from sight alongside his lion. Yet alive, though the same could not be said for the majority of his fellow warrior priests.

Not one of them seemed to care, their blood was up and there was no stopping them.

“War!” They cried, and... “Death! Death! Death!” Yearned for it, by all imagination.

The mana engines bombarding the field had played havoc with their formation, others with a similar idea to Sigi were rising from the earth – only to be dragged down by the sea of rabid crusaders bowling into them. Throwing themselves over one another in a mad rush to claim the kills, a few pockets of resistance coming courtesy of Tythas at the head of Tyr's undead. They would've made for an exceptional force multiplier given their ability to turn others to the cause, in death, but reports from across the battle were coming in regarding interference with any and all darkness magic.

Hastur had planned, even if the crusaders were willfully throwing themselves into the bloody hurricane that was Sigi – roaring like a wounded bear – it became increasingly apparent as time went on. What Fingers remaining loyal to him, some 14 or so, were pacing the flanks and tying the alfen up. Tyr's doppelgangers, all but Scott, were gone – and he was yet within the city engaged in some rushed project of his. Chaos distilled, men wailing in pain or screaming in rage, and every one they killed would wither to a husk once they'd hit the ground.

“Come,” A voice came to her rear, followed by a massive hand that plucked her blood soaked body from the ground. Deposited on the wide shoulders of Samson, Alex look down to behold him – his skin was even blacker than normal. Not from the brown tones native to men of his homeland, but rather the ebony veins that dominated near every inch of exposed flesh. Behind her were the new Dawnguard, most of them fallen to their knees, vomiting a suspiciously familiar tar-like black substance into the dirt. No, not a familiar one, they weren't simply awakening, and all of it was coming from the midnight flowers blooming all around their lines.

They looked incredible ill, as though they were dying. They were being reforged, killed and then, what...? She wondered at it. Was this resurrection? Samson felt mighty in the mana, not unlike Nala, only half real and a goliath for it, he smelled, through the mana... almost identical to Brenn now. But to what god, exactly?

“We will find the others and regroup, better together. And then we'll win this thing.”

Alex and the others had all felt their morale begin to flag, facing the seemingly infinite horde of ravening cretins dressed to appear as knights and warriors of the faith. But in Samson's bright eyes lay a conviction, a confidence she could not refute.

“Sam?” She asked. “Are you okay?”

“We,” Samson rumbled. “Are Chosen.”