Aurelius hissed, that black blade of House Longinus' appropriately named royal arm splitting his cheek to herald a gout of bubbling blood. He'd not been cut in some time, and now twice in only a few days... He didn't like it. Iscari was talented, but given their numbers it was only a matter of wearing her down over time. Pack hunters around the mammoth, picking at its flanks, some more enthusiastically than others.

Iscari was monstrous in her ability but she lacked the mastered finesse of Tyr Faeron's swordsmanship, much stronger but much slower. Where Tyr had built himself Iscari had merely been born this way, but now that she was full of psychotic hope, that woman was still mighty. Her form was wreathed in crackling lightning, and everywhere she swung that pole of hers the ground was ripped away in the ferocity of her fighting retreat.

Wehrmar's glittering crescent axes cleaved phantom lights in the air, with berserk blows to match Iscari's artful, twirling dance. Slamming against the guard, alternating out as Jade feigned joining the skirmish, and Rollock Malis ducked beneath all to continue looking for weak spots with those daggers of his. Talented, elegant, sublime In the grace of the dance, but Iscari was unable to make full use of her polearm, frantically protecting that book she'd been holding with her offhand.

Forcing her into a defensive posture, one that couldn't last forever. One handed a spear user did not make.

“Once again I am disappointment in the face of a Primus.” Aurelius grunted, his glittering longsword coming about to crash into her unarmored skull and sending the 'little girl' rolling away. 'Away', but only into another attack from the great many heroes surrounding her.

Elsewhere, the main crusade component was engaging with Amistad's army and swamping them in bodies. The Kriegers and their heavy shock cavalry wheeling around the exposed flank in preparation for a charge that would wipe them out in one fel swoop. All according to plan, but Aurelius, the person that he was, was unsatisfied. There were many soft targets here to flay, and yet he'd been stuck in an engagement to the one person on the field that would beat him by herself.

Barely, but it was true, if Tyr Faeron were a 7, this girl was an 8.5 and only because she felt weaker than she must normally be. Caught off kilter and tired, grievously injured too, and yet still so able. With not a single need of the contrivances Haran's scion had needed to succeed.

“You can't match me,” Iscari growled, triumphant in knowing that she was weighing herself against no less than 13 Heroes and yet still they hadn't managed to inflict major wounds. Every year she'd grown stronger, and hadn't attempted to use magic, though their Arcanums that all took the form of weapons or armor would disrupt that in any case. Alternating her eyes independently between targets, come to the point of laughing at the few that seemed to find such a thing disturbing enough to flinch. Dislocating her own joints as she'd seen Tyr do before, ensuring that the length of her spear was always in the right place. “I am the righteous hand of man, the Primus of Hope, the daughter of Octavian Longinus and second greatest Primus that shall ever be or ever was.”

Though despite the joys and all of the knowledge that she was vindicated in her long labors to be the best, and how she had finally mastered her squeamish, cowardly self...

Iscari didn't want to fight.

She needed to get this book anywhere else, away from prying eyes, and her father that would surely come for it. Ducking low to avoid the sideward sweep of a sickly looking scythe, hopping in the next moment to avoid the bladed whip seeking to take her from her feet. They were all slow, but that didn't mean they were weak. She'd tried to flee and they wouldn't let her.

A stalemate, and that felt a lot like a failure too. A Primus should be stronger, she felt undeserving of the title.

“You make mockery of the word swordsmanship with your juvenile flailing,” Iscari stomped, scowling as Aurelius managed to roll his downed form out of the way. Enough power in that falling boot to crater the earth and throw several of those so-called 'Heroes' backwards.

That old saying.

What was a king to a god? What was a god to a nonbeliever? What was a Hero to a Primus? It'd take a Saint to stop him now. But he needed time.

“Here I was, informed of the legendary humility of our Varian 'Prince'.” Aurelius snorted in wry humor, shaking his head at the absurdity and sheathing his sword. This was a waste of his time, and he didn't have a whole lot of it left, he wanted to enjoy this war, and she wasn't going to let him.

“Giving up, then?” Iscari glared, piercing the hero Jade on the end of the spear and flicking her off with the force of a cannon to slam bodily into the approaching form of Swan Everblue. Once Aurelius was away from them, it came with no difficulty, he truly was the mightiest of them all. The rest were clowns, and she sneered down at them, all six foot of her seemed titanic in comparison, even if not in inches measured.

“Petulant little girl, I've never once claimed myself a swordsman, I'm simply that talented,” He smiled, and instead he withdrew... A feathered quill? “I suppose if I want to glean any enjoyment out of this experience I'll have to do as my Lady asks and destroy that book. Of course I'll kill you too, take your face and put you to rest. Now... Shall we?”

The others, all of the assembled Heroes backed away with grit teeth – fleeing from the scene by some unspoken command and running elsewhere. Iscari attempted to stop them, tossing the black spear of Longinus into the air as if a javelin towards Wehrmar, the most apparently able. In that moment something flashed in her mind though, the voice of Aurelius speaking into the sudden gloomy atmosphere.

“An excellent toss.” He said, and his voice... It was odd... adhesive, sticking in her ears like oil on the wind. With that voice came an odd buzzing, and her spear, a spear that could not miss, did. Going wide as though the trajectory had been far off and all along.

Iscari turned, brow arched at the man who seemed to be carving runes of blacks and reds into thin air. Focused on him, she missed the spear as it flew back towards her – the blunt end catching her in the temple and whipping her head around. Not missing a beat, she snatched it from the air, spinning forward to spit the cur on the end of its blade once and for all.

“What an amazing spear-woman you are,” He said, his voice as smooth as silk and filling every recess of Iscari's mind. “Graceful, elegant, your finely tuned motor functions are simply astonishing.”

Thumping, a pressure in her eardrums that threatened to burst from her skull at any moment. A wave of vertigo crashed into her, throwing her lurching sideward and rolling onto the ground, suddenly so very clumsy.

“Your late meal today was delicious.”

She vomited, bile rising in her throat to herald a projectile of half digested food, the nausea was like nothing she had ever felt. The rune for it burnt into her mind.

“You are so energetic.”

But she wasn't, Iscari couldn't remember a time that she'd been so incredibly drowsy in her entire life. Eyelids weighed down, threatening to close at any moment.

“You aren't blind.”

Her sight was taken, curling up into a fetal position as the world went black and his boot began beating into her. Aurelius laughed, as she clutched the book.

“So mighty you are, yon Primus of hope.”

Iscari's arms were made leaden, joining that exhausted feeling until all she could do is thrash impotently in a clumsy bid to pull him off her. But she was so... weak. Human.

“You are blind.”

And her vision returned, hair grabbed from the rear and head jerked back to reveal her neck by Aurelius, the golden one. Chosen son of the Great Betrayer.

“Do you see now? Well...” Aurelius ripped her head to the side, taking a clump of hair with it – tossing her to the ground still clutching that book for dear life. “Gods, but you're an attractive one, you really are – even as a male I might've given you a shot. I prefer women but I'm not so picky as to avoid a good roll with a soft boy, bit taller than I prefer them though. My power is lordship over the truth. I can make you deaf, dumb, and blind – any lie I speak becomes part of your perceivable reality. Clever, hmm? And so I am undefeated, and as my power has grown I reign supreme.”

A preening megalomaniac, as ever.

With another jerking motion, and clever use of the bladed end of his ink pen, her breastplate came free, revealing the milky skin beneath. Soft, round, ample breasts when freed from the tight binding cloths she wore beneath, to ensure none could identify her should Iscari slip in her shifting. He liked that, this was the natural state of a woman, in Aurelius's mind, flat on their backs.

Soft enough to enjoy the touch, and not so hard as to be immune to his blade, letting it sink slowly into the hand gripping the book. Her other came up to wrestle with his wrist, but for the foreseeable future she'd be impotent. She screamed in frustration, but she was impotent, whatever Aurelius wrote with his blessed pen became a lie, and reality made it so.

A lie told was a truth made real. The Arcanum of Indura was what made Aurelius the most powerful Hero in all the lands of men, it had nothing to do with martial ability or strength of limb. If that were the criteria, he'd rank near the middling line. He wasn't immensely durable, swift beyond ken, nor did he possess the might of mountains – he had something far better than all of those things.

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Perfectly suited to his sadistic personality and lust for flesh that he shouldn't be taking, he could compel anyone to anything and yet he rarely did, because it couldn't be savored properly that way. That's how She'd found him, his Lady, reveling when he'd taken the wife of his biological brother in full view – allowing the man to watch from his bindings. Why? Because the man had lied to him regarding a debt owed, a paltry thing of little true value, but his wife had served as remuneration.

Aurelius hated liars and betrayers, and so it was with some irony to attract the goddess of them all.

It was really too bad she'd found that fork and put herself down before he'd finished with her. But he'd been given far more opportunities than that. Lies, betrayals, and deceit to make others believe he was golden and glorious until finally he'd earned his position. He liked having power over others, dominating them, doing only the bare minimum so that they never enjoyed it.

And he hated when they enjoyed it, which made this fruit before him seem all the riper, as she wept and begged him to see 'reason'.

“These curves...” Aurelius whistled approvingly, resting a finger against her bared belly and moving it towards her waistline before gripping her pelvis in a hand and pulling her towards him. “But first, I'll need that book. And then I'll take my time with you, alright?”

“Don't!” Iscari screamed, not from the pain nor the fact that he'd begun flaying her flank whilst disrobing her – but out of pure desperation. A dire need to ensure that friend of hers remained... 'Alive'...? “I'll do anything, I'll give you my body if that's what you want! Kill me, but don't hurt him, I'm begging you!”

Whether that meant being raped by this degenerate on a field of war was irrelevant, she meant what she said. Tyr Faeron must live, or her life had no value, of all things he was her best friend, and she would not betray him like the others had, but only out of true ignorance. Tyr would have never butchered all those innocents, something else had happened, something else was going on here. To believe otherwise was to abandon all hope, he was not a murderer, he was a killer, and those were not the same.

“Oh? I like it when they beg,” Aurelius cocked a brow, taking his time with her as he'd said, slamming his pelvis into her own and playing at a breast. Other hand still cutting, practiced motions, a ritual repeated so many times he'd ceased needing to pay attention to it. “Anything, you say? But what could you offer me that I could not take here and now?”

He was amused. Amused that he was currently in the process of defiling a Primus, and the first female Primus at that. He'd be a legend, they'd never forget him after this. Amused that nobody had come to help this 'paragon' of humanity, leaving her chastity ripe for the picking. He was sure he'd be the first to pluck this one, in that way, at least.

“The royal vaults of Varia!” Iscari nodded manically. The strength of which she held onto that book defied logic, refusing to budget but in that one simple action. “We have wealth beyond measure, more than entire kingdoms – we are the wealthiest of all!”

“Money?” Aurelius laughed, mouth split towards the sky as his groping hands paused. “I don't need money, woman, there is no shop or parlor that would refuse me anything. But please do go on, I'm intrigued. What else would you give me?”

“I'll...” Iscari choked, panicked beyond measure. Aurelius' knife had risen again and was primed to cut into that book, she knew he could. An Arcanum against those pages would wound it and possibly eliminate any chance she had of resurrecting Tyr, and surely the latter was a possibility!? There were so many options, he might not be a Primus anymore but that was okay! There were flesh golems, soul matrices, all manner of things... As long as his consciousness remains intact, all was possible. “I'll marry you, I'll make you Emperor one day!”

“Truly...? Now, that...” Aurelius pondered, intrigued by the idea of it – but one who lied did not so easily trust. Regardless... “That is tempting. Imagine, someone as beautiful as you, who could heal from all inflicted wounds within a day or two – or so I hear. Endless exaltation, I might even be the father of a Primus, to shape them in my image. Marvelous, you'd do that, you swear it?”

Iscari nodded energetically, hope blooming in her eyes. “I would! I swear it!”

He treasured that expression, always when the hope was at its thickest, dashing it was the most fun. He had only middling real interest in her flesh, really, the rewards he'd glean from Indura at bringing a whole Empire crashing to the ground was something transcendent. Sainthood guaranteed, Hastur had merely offered to show him the way, not grace him with it. To be more than a Chosen, but a god!

“You must love him quite a bit, to go so far.” Aurelius frowned, he seemed... sane, for a moment, and she nodded yet again – waves of relief washing over her face.

“More than anything, please! There's so much I can give you, I'd do anything for him!”

“I like that a lot, a shame I can't see his face when he finds out what I've done with you. And believe me, we're going to have a lot of fun together. Perhaps...”

But under no circumstance would he allow that book to exist, it didn't matter who or what was inside of it, only that Indura howled her commands and he obeyed. KILL IT! She said, and while he loathed being a slave, there was nothing else to do but behave, and be rewarded.

With the pause given him, Aurelius raised the pen made dagger in his hands and lanced down until it split the book and pierced Iscari's chest along with it. Her eyes widened, open mouth moving like a fish out of water, that look of disbelief was so pleasant.

The look of a woman who felt scorned, but there was a problem here, no?

He'd expected more resistance, frowning at the torrent of black liquid mingling with the crimson runneth from a punctured heart. She wouldn't die, of course, or... Wouldn't have died, he had no idea what would happen when that liquid got inside of her – forbidden magic was confusing and very capable of slaying a Primus. Even if people wanted to believe it could not, Primus' had died before, the history books simply didn't speak on it.

Backing away carefully, flicking it free of his knife and checking his hands, Aurelius was content to observe with morbid curiosity. Iscari had frozen, gone pale in the face and stilled – laying there limp and lifeless. A shame. And yet there was such a transcendent smile on her face, full of... love? No, not a question. Love. Real love. Beyond the romantic or aesthetic or platonic, unconditional in all ways.

It disgusted Aurelius to the very core of his being. Love was a weakness beyond any other, in any fashion.

What is this? Aurelius' attentions turned elsewhere, observing the worming, tar-like filth running a spiderweb up his gilded gauntlets. Working their way into every crease and groove until he felt it, Indura, she was here with him – fingers perched on his head.

DO NOT LISTEN! She screeched.

I can remake you. Break and shape you. The voice whispered, but it wasn't Indura – she was screaming again but all he could hear was that deep, ancient rumbling. This... Aurelius knew, he'd had one in his head for near a century, this was a god. Another god... Take one, make two. Sainthood, your desires are so singular, I can grant you this and more. Speak my name. Love me. Exalt me. I am your god, she is nothing. We are everything.

DON'T YOU DARE BETRAY ME, WORM!

Aurelius' heart burst with faith, staring down triumphant at Iscari who'd begun twitching again, returning his look with a shocked expression. Alive. She was alive and this was good. And Indura... Indura had haunted him, pained him, stole his mind from him, enslaved him.

But this voice, this presence!

OBEY, SLAVE!

It drowned Indura's out completely.

Exalt me.

“I do not know your name, great one!” He called out, sniveling and desperate all of a sudden. The only thing left in this man was the dire need to achieve a position by which he'd be free of Indura's madness. That thing who'd possessed his first wife and driven him to become the man he was, his shackle bearer. To be remade was his greatest wish, to what purpose he did not care. “Where are you!?”

I am here. The voice was like a landslide, baritone and primal. I am in your walls. I tap upon your glass. Do you love me?

“I shall, if only you reward me!” Aurelius cried, immediately, with no resistance he shouted out his faith.

Do you need me?

“I do, I truly do – free me from Her bondage!” Aurelius was caught in so many emotions he had not felt since he was a young man, arms spread and exultant. “I will give anything!”

Chosen of Indura, I shall free you. Say my name.

“Tyr Faeron!” He cried, joyous exaltation splitting his lips, genuine tears falling from his eyes as he was made whole again. No more hungering for the suffering of others, no more slavery, the wholeness and stimuli experienced by common men returned to him, even the pain was pure bliss. Made pure, born anew in those fires roiling up within him, hot warmth and true happiness! “A million times I shall say your name, until a million tongues are screaming it along with me!”

Indura was gone, GONE! Finally – the greatest blessing he'd ever received. Aurelius had always been a cruel, violent man, a slave owner and a wretch – and he'd known it. But now... He'd never known what true purity of spirit felt like, contentment manifesting in his deepest parts. Happiness, the warm hands of a lover embracing him, a god of true light showing him that devotion to his fellow man was the truest of paths!

To be a good man. Or... At least to know pleasure in the endeavor, he was repaired. Fixed.

“SALVATION!” He cried aloud, laughing, he had not laughed so honestly in over sixty years, “YOU ARE MY SALVATION!” Aurelius wept, he who had only ever felt truly gold in that one blissful moment of surrender. A god... A real God! GOD!!! “TYR!”

Iscari was there, and Iscari listened.

“...Tyr?” Iscari pursed her lips, still prone in wide eyed observance of a weeping Aurelius, hands aloft in glory while saying the aforementioned man's name with a wide smile. And the blackness consumed him, that oily liquid running about him, dripping from his armored plate but he didn't seem to notice.

Bereft of a god's protection, abandoned outright as all traitors would be.

Tricked...

And that smile became a grimace, joyous tones turned to horrified screeching as the name came faster and faster. He could not stop, his throat cracked and bled. Every ounce of his faith... Iscari watched as it was harvested, fed upon...

'Tyr! Tyr! Tyr! TYR!!!' was all he could say until blood flew from his lips and he began to suffocate. Fire burst from his mouth, eyes put out in the blaze, consuming every part of him until nothing was left but a burnt corpse frozen in position.

One had indeed been made two. Beside the remains of Aurelius body was a muted phantom, a shrieking ghost with hands outstretched, begging for the happiness to return. His soul. And then, the body that yet remained standing, still frozen there in exaltation.

“I am the eternal soldier. Warbringer. I am the end of all things, I am the hammer that smashes and knife that cuts. I who have fought for eons stretching on as vast as the stars I have snuffed from existence, and I will never cease. War is my mien, ash runs in my veins, long have I slumbered but I am here now - you've opened my eyes. The darkness in you offends me, disgusts me, but I will correct your corruption as I bathe you in your sin. Thank you, Aurelius, and know now that I will make an exception I've given to no others. A new home inside me, another statue for my temple. Come, bathe in the grace of the truest God you shall ever know.”

“NO!” Aurelius, even a torn and sundered soul, howled, “PLEASE! I DID AS YOU ASKED! I DID AS YOU--”

“And I did as was the only oath forged between us.” Torn asunder, the Hero vanished, sucked into the maw as all his might was made a host for the return of his new, and wholly merciless deity. Simple as that...

An ignoble death for an ignoble man, simple fuel for the Maw, Iscari watched as he withered and wept, and vanished without a trace. Tyr...

“You're...” Her mouth moved like a fish out of water, and his shade, a half thing, gazed down upon her.

“Not yet.”

“What must I do!?”

“Obey.”