“Don’t worry Amara. We’ll figure this out. Somehow.”

Amara watched as Captain Morwen turned to leave. She exhaled softly. That was too close. She wanted to tell the Captain so badly what was happening. She almost caved. Almost.

“Interesting. So you refused to tell her anything after all.” It wasn’t the Remover’s voice. Someone older. Someone different. She could see her breath and noted the chill that settled into the cell. Standing, she turned to see a black-robed figure with a hood. The hood obscured the face too much to see anything more than a pale face.

“You’re not the Remover. Who are you?”

“I am Death.”

Amara scoffed softly. “That’s melodramatic, don’t you think? No really, who are you?”

“I am Death.” The figure repeated.

Amara blinked, unable to shake the shiver that rippled up the small of her back. “Oh. You’re serious. So um. Why are you here? Did the Remover make good on his word?”

“No child. I’ve come to fulfill an obligation to your friend.”

Amara’s brow arched. “Obligation? To who?”

“Akamori, the shadow of Xanofex. I promised a miracle. You are it. But you are…embryotic as you are.”

Amara rose and faced Death. Goosebumps raced down her arms. She knew why Death was here. “Nemesis.”

The hooded head bowed solemnly. “I am here to awaken that which slumbers within you. Dereliction in this duty on my part will have negative ramifications that the system can not weather.”

“Okay. So what you’re saying is if I don’t let the scary voice in my head out, the system breaks?”

“Inelegantly put, but yes. You are correct. I believe Akamori’s influencing you in negative ways.”

Amara chuckled softly at the observation and nodded. “He’s rough on the edges, but he grows on you.”

“This is true.”

“So. What does this entail?”

“An investiture of power. You are currently not strong enough to ascend to true godhood. But I can elevate you to a demi god. This will awaken the divine soul anchored to you. The Remover took a great risk in gifting you a divine quantity of power. I do not know to what end his schemes function, only that fulfilling my obligation to Akamori requires that you be of a certain level to assist him.”

“Assist him with what? What’s he gotten himself into?”

“He is currently single-handedly defending survivors on New Xinjia from Necromantic demi gods. It is…going unwell.”

“That oddly sounds exactly like something he would get into. Okay. Let’s do this then. If I’m supposed to help take the heat off of him, we shouldn’t waste time faffing about in conversation.”

Death tilted his head. Standing closer to him, she could see his brows furrow at her comment.

“I have frozen the time stream and removed you from it for this conversation. Not one second has elapsed since we began this discussion.”

Amara blinked in mild shock. She’d only worked with time magic once, so the concept of its use still came as a surprise. “Right. Sorry.”

Death held out two skeletal hands and channeled magic into Amara. She gasped as white hot fire poured directly into her soul. A beam of raw aether that had soul magic in its aspect punched right into her soul, pooling out and increasing her AP. Her body tingled with energy, like she’d drank a gourd of the sergeant’s home brewed beer.

“It will take time for your body to acclimate to your power. I will return once you are ready. You may find the acclimation process disorienting. I apologize in advance.”

Amara’s eyelids drooped with exhaustion and she toppled over, asleep. Death caught her before she could hit her head on the deck plate and laid her down gently. The timeless being rose, regarding her silently before disappearing from reality as though he’d never been there to begin with.

She awoke with a start, but disorientation set in when her senses perceived where she was. Or more accurately, where was not? Color faded to an off negative tone. Like looking at photographic film negatives from the Brotherhood. All around her, souls flowed like water. She rose and realized with sinking apprehension she was in the Soul Plane.

“But why?”

“Because this is where I need you to be.” It was him. The Remover.

“You. Why me? Why here?”

“You don’t need to know my plans. You’re going to do as I say because your friend needs you to. Failure means his end. The end of all your friends. I only offer you a chance of success. Nothing more.”

“Awfully generous for a guy so mysterious.”

His trunk swished side to side lazily, but his dark eyes studied her curiously, as if calculating just how likely it was she’d listen to him. Eventually she relented and allowed himself a pleased smile.

“Alright. Fine. Why am I here?”

He pointed a massive, watermelon sized hand into the distance. His large stubby digit of a finger pointing out a massive pyramid.

“You must reclaim a piece of your past. Your true past. Not this shell you’ve been existing within, but your true soul self.”

Amara looked at the temple. Within, she could sense something glowing with divinity faintly. She tilted her head curiously, as it seemed to call out to her. Her brows furrowed with a question.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

“What?…”

She turned to where the Remover had been and found nothing. Rolling her eyes and sighing, she pressed onward. They crossed the nondescript distance to the temple, finding herself at the steps of a large pyramid. She discovered an entrance that led down beneath the structure.

“Did they build this within the soul realm?” She wondered.

“No. You did.” The Removers’ voice said.

She looked around and saw nothing.

“I am always watching,” he reminded her.

Making her way inside, she came to a massive chamber with a large scale within it. A large statue was holding the scale. One that looked a lot like herself, she noted.

“Uncanny resemblance, wouldn’t you say?”

Amara gave the Remover a flat look. It had been easier to process the concept of Akamori having some kind of divine past, given all the weird stuff that seemed to happen around him. Now that it was happening to her, she was far less comfortable with it. Having it being pointed out by the Remover of all people just made it doubly weird.

She strode forward and studied the inscriptions on the plaque.

“Lay bare thy deeds, that they may be weighed and judged.”

The statue held a sword in its free hand, within reach of the scale. Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the scale. Something within her pinged. The divinity pulsed out, washing over the scale and the statue. She felt the scale harden in place and the statue lowered its sword.

She turned back to the Remover, who gestured for her to advance.

“I don’t understand. What just happened?”

“You were judged worthy to proceed. Had you failed, you would have wound up like all the other souls previously to try.”

“What happened to them?”

“They were cut down and devoured by the Maw. It’s quite an effective security measure.”

“I see.” She didn’t see any other bodies here. Which meant the Maw would digest any undesirables that tried to crack the tomb. The only other safer place for a tomb might be within the Umbral Plane, she supposed.

Next, they approached a flaming sword. “The fires of justice burn hottest for those guilty of hubris and arrogance. Take up thine blade to see if the fire of Retribution will burn thy soul.”

Amara glanced back at the Remover. “The language on this is so stuffy. How old is this place?”

“Old. Before my time even, and I have many thousands of years on you.”

Amara moved to leave, but the statue was interposed between her and progressing. Her brows knit when she noticed the statue wasn’t just holding the sword it’d asked her to hold as a test. It was now offering it to her. She studied it for a moment. As blades went, it was a short sword. No larger than a gladius. A simple hilt, it was unfussed with looking ornate. A practical weapon for a practical user.

“I believe it’s returning something to its true owner.”

Amara glared at the Remover again before turning back to the sword. Finally she reached out and claimed the blade. She gasped when she did, sensing an awareness in the blade. It was simple, but present.

“I’ve witnessed the birth of many divine spell weapons, but none as unique as Nemeseikon. The Blade of Retribution.”

Amara glanced down at the weapon the Remover had just named. It thrummed positively at the name. Recognition.

“You know your own name?” She asked.

Again, it thrummed. She gave it a twirl, impressed with its balance and speed. It blurred through the air, leaving behind a faint trail of astral fire.

Amara and the Remover advanced to the final chamber, this time a statue held a shield. Another plaque was positioned for her to read.

“An arbiter of retribution and vengeance must defend and protect as much as she must put offenders to the sword. Let a true soul of vengeance step forward and reveal her wounds, that she may prevent others from suffering as she has.”

Amara’s hand drifted down to the scar in her torso, where she’d been injured in the attack on Hoshun. She’d left it behind as a reminder. Where Akamori kept his wounds on his soul, she wore hers on her exterior proudly, covered up as they were. When she presented the wound to the statue, it glowed with divine energy being scanned and accepted by the statue of judgement.

The stone shuddered to life, and it offered the shield to Amara. She took the shield and held it with the sword. A moment of deju vu overwhelmed her. She was suddenly no longer in the soul realm.

She was battling a black scaled dragon and rage pounded through her veins. Every attack thrown was meant to end lives. She moved with a precision the dragon failed to match with anything but ferocity. Sparks geysered from talon and sword as they attacked, parried, and blocked each other.

“You fight well for an upjumped spell warrior. If I had centuries, I could train you to be the best weapon the galaxy has ever known. Unfortunate that I must put you down like a rabid hound.”

“You’ve murdered my friends. Murdered worlds. You must answer for so much innocent blood on your hands.”

“How I choose to spend the lives of my worshippers is my business, Nemesis.”

“No, Maleficus. It is my business. Because unlike you? I’m no Aspect God. I’m an Icon god.”

Maleficus bellowed a laugh, pausing the combat. “What was that? Did you just say you were the same kind of divine being as death? Surely you jest. Only a fool would dare to utter something as so foolish and stupid.”

“Laugh all you like, dragon. You will meet your end of this day because I have decided it. Fate will not avail you. Your allies will not save you. It has been determined. Your reign ends here. Now.”

Nemesis crashed into the massive dragon with righteous fury. Buoyed by an unexplainable surge in power. Perhaps it was the anger, the rage, and the determination to end Maleficus’ terror and darkness. Nemesis had no answer. The trivialities of how power worked mattered little. Only the distribution of retribution. The dragon was skilled, but Nemesis was better.

Every blow blocked, every attack parried. Nemesis had a response for every move. Maleficus grew frustrated. Among his kin, he was unrivaled for his skill. Even the great Bahumet and Hravesvalgyr were wary of engaging Maleficus in one-on-one sword combat. But Nemesis knew no fear.

In the end, Nemeseikon plunged into Maleficus’ heart. Nemesis watched as the light faded from the dragon’s eyes. Nemesis tore the gladius free of the dragon’s chest, sending a spray of black blood that flung out into space. Thus ended the black tyrants war on the galaxy for control. In the distance? All that remained now was the coward Sauridius, and Morfayus had foolishly squandered the Star Slayer murdering Aeryn, rendering him defenseless against Nemesis’ might. Elder gods would fall, and everything would change. Mortals would rule themselves once again.

‎