In a place without light where life was inverted to something else, footsteps rang out across a void. It should have been somewhere deep below Calrenazzod, but this would ascribe to it something natural. It was not.

The substance of a spiral staircase was an affectation, forged of a mind-bending and unseeable contrivance of timeless purpose. You could know it was there, perhaps, just as you could know at the bottom was a pit somehow carved into the void. The most knowable thing of all was at the bottom of that pit — a pool.

The footsteps rang and rang, disturbing the peace as foul activity. Even a pantomime of flesh and life like the Sage was an intruder there. The echoes he made were violations worse than the constructs, because they, at least, didn’t move. Think. Act.

Finally, the footsteps touched the pit and there was no more sound as the pool was approached. The pool was something contorted and twisted from the furthest ‘distances’ — not just in the sense of space but of time, too. It was from Beyond.

As the Sage stopped before it and gazed into it, the pool shimmered with a kind of radiance. It was heat in the cold nothingness, and this violation was worse than the presence of the wiseman. It set off a terrible scream in the void, a howl. Horrible as it was, the Sage simply tuned it out.

The pool showed the image of a figure turning, cloaked in a dark cowl. His face was either hidden or didn’t exist, other than his eyes. These were two glowing, white rings, the same as the Sage. Twins — or mirror images distorted — stared at one another.

As a thought-broadcast, the Sage began to speak. “I have confirmed-”

“Needless statements without questions or useful permutations for Oblivion.” The figure in the pool did not thought-broadcast. He forged whispery words to resonate through the place, torturing and traumatizing it. The vibration of its pain channeled into syllables made the sounds. “All that you do is clear.”

The Sage paused briefly. “The last of the titans was not Seeded. Am I to interpret that our vision remains on course despite this?”

“Is it not already in your discernment?”

“In my assessment. Only you can verify.”

“Your assessment is correct. His improved health means nothing. The Totality of Oblivion for this worthless structure remains well in hand. The future is converging into nothing. Stay the course.”

The Sage was silent for a long moment. “I tire of civilization. I tire of my failed experiments.”

“Do as you will. Bring them Below and Invert them now. They are all meaningless. You know this. Do not forget the Truth I’ve shown you.”

Another long pause. “One last chance. The Sage of Truth has finally tasted it — earned his title. And he survived. Hubris is slain and he may have the right balance of fear and calm. His potential could exceed the last. It would be my finest work.”

The pain of the realm spiked up with intense, formless tremors, then died down. “Dalliances and playing with toys. Hobbies clutched in anxiety. You still hold to your ancient principles.”

“So it seems. But only by a thread. The last thread. You know a successful prototype would-”

“Obsessing over minute efficiencies is your strength and your weakness. There is only one conflict that matters, and you cannot lose if you execute the plan — with patience, with precision, with perfection. Do as the prescription we’ve conspired to write is writ and She, The Imbecile, will be removed from the equation once and for all. This broken reality will unravel… right into our hands — to remake properly.”

The Sage came close to a smile. “The lies of [Fate] will be no more. All will be whole, true, and harmonious. Balanced. One. Perfect.”

The rings of the Sage’s eyes flashed and pain shook the void. “Forever.”

✦•············•✦•···········•✦

Deikmorn Brakka was not having a good time. In and out, in and out he had brief stints through the darkest of nightmares that plagued his psyche. In and out of tremendous anguish with only the worst of it waiting for him in consciousness. His body was always hot, a fever to answer the cold grip of entropic death. Still, he refused to give in to that corruption. Mostly just to say, ‘Fuck you!’ But also because he was aware of his brother hanging around him almost constantly.

You stupid boy! That I protected you, that I cultivated you, it was not to be loved! Don’t throw away your own path to carve out in this world just for a dying soldier. Don’t throw it away for the clan, either. Self-sacrificing fool!

But he could only give the instruction to the taunting phantoms in his head, as in his brief spurts of fevered consciousness, he could barely open his mouth and sputter or growl, much less talk.

“I’m here, Deik,” Heskar said once, not long ago, one hand on his shoulder, eyes insistent. Worried; caring. “I should’ve been there, in the battle. I’m sorry.”

No! Not to die. Idiot.

But Deikmorn could only shake his head, the words trapped behind the hideous contortion and paralysis of his body, and he went under again. If only he could die, but that would trap Heskar to die, too, in taking up the call of vengeance. Deikmorn needed to live long enough to find words and a day or two of stability, and he could order a retreat. Assuming they believed he was in his right mind, anyway. Shalkans would dismiss a grudge or an insult only grudgingly. If at all.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Somehow, he discerned things had gone worse, though. Words overheard perhaps, that he didn’t fully remember. And he noticed they were in a hold, unmoving.

He’s going to die with me. Pruskin would take over, likely, and he’d clear a grudge with our family to deny us ours. Not to mention suit his own skin-saving. Damn it! Why can’t Heskar think like this?!

Try as he might, sheer force of will didn’t wake him up. Instead, he dreamed of arguing and it blurred into fighting and a hundred other things, hot like the terrible fever gripping him. It was a far more horrible fate to die knowing his brother would because of him, than if he had gone instantly against that sage. It might not have changed anything in reality, but at least he’d be ignorant.

Not like this! Not like this. Save him, at least… save him… please…

In the midst of the fever dreams, suddenly there was a light.

The light cascaded over him and penetrated through him, a balm that soothed the heat and the fever from the skin to the marrow. The cold contrast of death waiting for him was banished. The nightmares evaporated and the agony subsided, leaving in its wake the dull, weakening ache of heinous injury.

When he opened his eyes in a small, soft bed — under a tent, surprisingly — he was already in amazement. What greeted him was doubly amazing.

Two Naugite beauties, one red-skinned, one blue, stood over him, both in impressive, stylish armor, their forms both of heroic stature. The blue one had a strange, crystalline sheen to her skin, and the red was glowing brilliantly with that light he felt. They had one set of their hands interlaced together, while the others were directed over him from which the light emanated. All of their eyes were just peeling open, as if rapturous from a miracle they’d performed.

Deikmorn marveled, a bit dumbstruck. “Am I… in Heaven?”

The two goddesses smiled as they exchanged glances, then laughed. The red one, who had a very impish look and general aura, shook her head in answer.

In a burst of hysterics, his brother practically fell on top of him. “Deik, you’re awake! Haha, you’re really awake!” Tears welled and fell from his eyes, such was the bleeding heart overcome with emotion. His hand took Deikmorn’s. “Is it gone? Is it really gone? Completely?”

Deikmorn ripped his hand from his brothers, scowling at him and glancing in embarrassment at the women. Was he blind?! “Every speck, every twinkle. Gone. As far as I can tell.” He looked back at the two Naugite ladies. “Thanks to them, it seems.”

They draw not just the eye and stir the gut, but the heart. A spiritual compulsion. I have my practice resisting the masculine version. I am ill-prepared for this. Hyoo.

Heskar ignored his brother’s demeanor, laughing again in joy and grasping Deikmorn’s shoulder to shake. “You’re alive! You’re going to be okay!”

He only relented when Deikmorn grimaced and hissed from his treatment. To this he frowned and opened his mouth, turning his head to the healers.

“He is healed but permanently damaged,” the red one oozed like the touch of silk bed sheets turned into sound. “The Gleam does miracles but cannot reverse time. I am sorry, but he won’t be the same.”

Heskar was stricken, but Deikmorn coughed a bitter laugh and grinned at the 'news.' He already felt it. A malus inhibiting him. “I appreciate you giving it to me straight. I’m glad there is a… Gleam at all. I will adapt. And I… owe you one, whoever you are.”

The red one smirked in a mysterious, mischievous way as her chin lifted. “I am Puck the Magnificent, Goddess of The Gleam and Pandemonium, recently earning the name Puck Hillraiser.”

Heskar interrupted somewhat excitedly. “She vanquished Dreixia Hillcrusher. She’s dead.”

Impossible. Deikmorn managed not to blurt it out loud, for which he was impressed with himself. But he stared at Puck incredulously. It at least gave him the excuse to look her up and down. Then again, Dreixia did get Entropified, too.

Puck ignored the interruption, never taking her eyes off Deikmorn. “And — Deikmorn Brakka — you owe me more than one. You owe me your life.”

This made Deikmorn wince. Here I was hoping for a ‘Helping others is thanks enough.’ Should have known better from a gal with two horns.

Heskar frowned worriedly. “Hey, wait just a min-”

Deikmorn almost slapped him with a hand as he stopped Heskar from continuing, forcing eye contact and shaking his head insistently. “Don’t mind him. He’s overprotective and nourishing, like a mother.”

“I think you mean nurturing,” the blue one said in amusement.

“Yeah, that.”

“I’m Magia, by the way — counsel, guardian, and paramour of Puck.”

“I see. The pleasure is all mine. Okay, Puck Hillraiser. Let’s say I owe you my life. What do you want for it?”

Puck crossed her arms, squinting her eyes as she rubbed her chin. “Hmmmm. How about your undying service to my worthy cause?” Oh so casual.

Deikmorn sighed grandly.

Heskar added, “You missed a rousing speech at the fortress of Prie Moraan, over the corpse of the Hillcrusher. This one has set a fire in the blood of the demonkin. It is spreading like… fire! Zadkiel lives, Brother! He recovers from terrible wounds worse than yours, but he will return to defend Merrington. The war is not done. The plan will be to crush them there and rekindle the conquest!”

“Liberation,” Magia corrected. “For what that’s worth, at least. Puck, Zadkiel, and Redberry are in alliance. Things will be a little different, but destroying the Dominion remains the key goal.”

Deikmorn frowned as he looked between them. Heskar seemed to have already been won over. Zadkiel, you survived, you shitstain. You old devil dog. Are you trying to score these two? And Redberry? Pah! You wish. I’d bet against it.

Puck grinned Cheshire and spread her hands out. “Care to fight on with that broken body, hero?”

Deikmorn scoffed and dropped back on his bed, suddenly feeling extra weary. “I think I’d rather lead from the back at this point. Maybe even from the bed.” He glanced at the hopeful face of Heskar and rolled his eyes. “Fine. We’re in. But it hardly clears the debt — I’d be joining anyway. In this situation, a Shalkan has no bloody choice.”

Heskar grunted and grinned in satisfaction as he clenched his fist in front of him.

At least this idiot will live a little longer. That’s the real debt I have.

Puck shrugged in a mysterious way — a terrifying way, to Deikmorn. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out, oh noble compatriot.”