Pulling aside the cloth covering the glass case felt disturbingly similar to carving through the earth of a grave to peer at the corpse inside. Forbidden. Ominous. The feeling that perhaps one should not be doing what they were about to do washed over and through me, icy coldness sliding through the veins and arteries, stilling the muscles and tightening tendons.

I yanked the cover off, a shower of dust flying into the air. This part of the room was not well kept. But was that because Augustas refused to let servants clean this out of secrecy or because it was too much of a risk?

The second option. I thought.

Within the clear casing was a spear. A spear I had seen before, the weapon I had wielded and then given to Augustas to kill Zeus in the vision that Kronos showed me.

This was the instrument of war that would kill a god. The tool that would bring down the heavens to a crashing ruin.

It was as I remembered, a spear shaft of carved ancient wood from an oak tree and a chipped obsidian spearhead with jagged edges. I had not recalled the binding that held the obsidian to the wooden rod though. The cord was golden and as thin as a spider’s silk web, seemingly too flimsy to hold it altogether but accomplishing it regardless of an observer’s assumptions. It must have been too small a detail to really engrave it in my memory.

“What is that strand there?” I said pointing.

“A thread from the Fates’ loom.” Augustas replied. “Appropriate and necessary for its purpose.”

“And the wood?” I said, looking at the spear shaft.

“Wood from a hamadryad, a spirit of trees. This one being bonded to an oak tree, as you can see.” Augustas said.

“Did you break off a branch from her?” I asked.

“It came from deeper inside.” Augustas said. “It was unfortunate that her death was necessary, but this too was critical for our ultimate goal, our prime mission. The oak is a symbol of Zeus and it will strike closest home to his essence.”

“And the obsidian?” I said. “Carved from the hardened lava flows of some sacred volcano?”

“Why don’t you see yourself?” Augustas said. “Go ahead, my grandson. Touch the dark glass. Look and see.”

I pressed my left thumb against the rippling cool surface.

“Nothing.” I said.

Then I tried to pull my hand back and it stayed seal to the spearhead, glued unnaturally with such adhesion that I thought I might have to tear my thumb away.

“Hm. A delayed reaction.” The Regent commented.

A shock akin to electric discharge rushed from the obsidian and through my thumb into my arm, tracing its path all the way to my brain.

Screams. No, roars. Hundreds of them. Thousands.

My eyebrows rose. Tens of thousands. The howls chained together in a dark harmony, the grating and unbearable death screams of monstrosities coming into a strange unity. The discordant sounds blending together into a single killing intent. In that black glass, if I stared deeply, I could see the overlapping images of teeth and angry eyes. Enough hatred to devour a world.

“It reminds me of the Ghostforged weapon I used in the Corpsefather’s realm.” I said. “The same compression of souls.”

“It should. It is a similar principle. The spearhead is fused remnants of the souls of Infernal Beasts after I captured them and cut their bond to Hades.” The Regent said.

I tore my thumb away finally, a thin layer of skin remaining on the obsidian before burning away into colorless smoke.

“How long did it take you to collect that many?” I said.

“Less than you would think. There are ways to speed up the process than sending hunters off to desolate corners of the Dominium to take them. One can engineer harvesting stations by taking advantage of how they appear in the lands of the living. The Beasts spawn close to but away from human inhabitants and especially in shaded environments. I cleared a section of the dungeons and stationed staggered groups of temporary settlements as bait.” Augustas said.

Something was keeping me from picking it up. Less nervousness than the overriding feeling that I was missing something that was vital.

“I remember from the vision that I am holding this at the last moment,” I said. “And then pass it to you to finish off the king of the gods. Why do I need to be the one to do so? And why did you say this weapon has been waiting for me?”

“You must wield it because it will kill its user.” Augustas said.

I stiffened. “And why would I willingly pick it up then?”

“You won’t die before I reach Platinum. You are perhaps my finest creation despite being something I had no conscious choosing of, Adrias. This weapon was forged to kill a divinity, but at a cost, the price being that the killer must also have heavenly blood and is doomed to die upon slaying a god or having wielded it long enough.” Augustas said.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“I’m far from even being a full demigod.” I muttered.

“And that is the beauty of it. It will only actively speed your demise while you are calling upon my father’s flames. Unlike anyone else capable and willing to using it to its full potential, you can pace the descent and prolong your lifespan just long enough for me to Advance once more and save your life.” Augustas said.

I still didn’t want to pick the damn thing up.

“Without this, you will be unable to face my enemies with me. The heavens will shatter your body and spirit like glass, destroy your true soul so deeply that even if I won without your help that I could not recall you from death. A demigod stands in two realms, mortal and immortal, but you dance between them. I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t think you could bear this burden. If I didn’t need you.” Augustas said.

I seized hold of the oak wood shaft, but it didn’t budge.

“You need to feed it.” Augustas said.

My veins filled with flame and a golden glow shone from my skin. The skin on my right hand cracked and streamers of surging fire arced out of me and then drained into the wood. The weapon lightened and I picked it up, but it was draining power from me at a disturbing rate. The left side of me was entirely cool as the majority of the holy energies were being yanked away towards my right arm.

I tried to cut the flow off, but the spear demanded more of me like it was a starving child. I strained, gnashing my teeth, my whole body shuddering.

“You can do it.” The Regent said. “Break the transfer.”

I screamed, glass exhibits shattering from the force and finally smothered the flame within. I fell to one knee, my hand refusing to let go of the spear’s shaft no matter how I tried to release my grasp. In the reflection of a shard of glass on the floor, I saw myself, exhausted and emptied of strength.

A disquieting thought occurred to me. The face in the reflection was painfully familiar, the same of the version of myself that I had seen in Kronos’s memory of the future. I had assumed that I had looked so drained and haggard because of some moral reason. But now…

But now it was almost certainly the fact that I was holding an object that would be bringing me closer to death every moment it was in my possession.

“I can’t let go of it.” I said, still staring at the glass shard, refusing to look at the spear.

“You won’t be able to until you pass it to another person with descent from a god or die yourself.” The Regent said.

I resisted the urge to swear.

“It will need to be fed periodically or it will immobilize and attack you.” Augustas said.

“You owe me for this. Fix Livia, protect my crew from anyone who would harm them.” I said, starting to get over my shock and unease to begin getting angry. Even if he was my emperor and adopted grandfather, this whole situation was a noose tightening around my neck.

“I’ll overlook your tone given the circumstances.” Augustas noted. “But I’ll swear to it. Your friends will be recovered and brought into a safe location in the Palace, the girl will be healed and your ship will be refueled and allowed to leave the warzone of Terra. You have my word.”

“Thank you.” I said. I stood to my feet and almost blacked out. The experience horrified me, what was happening to me that standing at a normal speed could cause a Golden Imperator to nearly faint?

“You’ll recover in between recharging the weapon.” Augustas assured me.

“Good to know.” I said stiffly.

“Your escort is here.” He said.

“Who?” I asked, still breathing heavily.

“One of my superior human creations. One of my Regnators.” Augustas said.

I grit my teeth and found the determination to present a face of strength.

“Where is he?” I said. My senses flickered in and out of function.

“In the adjoining hall.” He said. “You have my permission to leave.”

A spike of irritation shot through me. I used the spear as a walking stick most of the way out of the museum and tried to seem as healthy and mighty as I could as I passed through the door.

The creature stood waiting for me. He wore silver armor without exoskeleton cybernetics amplifying it and his eyes were entirely gold without any other features. The Regnator didn’t breathe or possess a heartbeat, but even without any details I could tell he was very intently watching my approach.

“My comrades and I have been expecting you.” He said. “You’re different from what I was anticipating.”

“What, were you expecting someone taller?” I said, trying to project a far less exhausted expression.

“No.” The Regnator said. “I have seen your proportions set to scale before.”

“Then what did I do that was new?’ I said.

“You changed your haircut.” He explained.

What?

“I’m sorry?” I said. “What do you mean?”

“The footage and images we had been given of you before you left. Your hair was a quarter of an inch longer then. Your face is slightly gaunter as well now.”

“Can always be leaner, I’ve been hitting the gym.” I halfheartedly joked, trying to cut away the tension.

“You could not gain or lose weight above a set level as a Gold. Perhaps your use of divine flame has caused permanent damage. A curiosity.” He said.

I smiled tightly. No, it was the spear that had damaged me.

“We do not have that expression logged in your records either.” The Regnator observed as he carefully studied every micro expression and facial twitch I made.

“Why do you care so much about my appearance? Why do you even care at all?” I said.

“Why would I not? I was made to die at your side.” He said. “To be led by you into the field of war.”

There wasn’t the slightest hint of resentment or fear in that statement.

“Do you desire your death?” I said. Had my grandfather programmed a suicidal impulse into them?

“I don’t desire my death. I know it. You are the Spearbearer who will carry the exalted weapon until the appointed moment. This was prophesied by the Creator when he gave me my purpose. The role of safeguarding you from the Fates snipping your life’s thread.” He said.

“That doesn’t mean you have to die though. Take heart, we’ll make it to celebrate our victory if we fight with the savagery of demons.” I said encouragingly.

“Why would I want to live beyond my allotted time?” He said.

“So you can…” I said, thinking of something that might appeal to this peculiar entity more than what would drive a normal human like a survival instinct or the desire to reproduce. “So you can improve yourself and hone your skills, build up a legend for yourself.”

It was martial and straightforward. Objective physical achievement matched with fame if he had the vanity for it.

“I was manufactured at an optimal level. There is no need for improvement.” The Regnator said.

“I don’t know how my grandfather expects you all to be considered a threat to the rest of humanity in the gods’ view. You’re so…” I said.

“Stale? Emotionless?” The Regnator offered.

“Yeah. Those fit.” I said. It was good that he was self-aware though. Better than nothing.

“Not all of us are this way. Each of us are different, specialized and directed by our Creator. Like how stem cells may become any of the human body’s tissue types.” He said.

“How does my grandfather change you to a specialty? Does he accelerate your growth in cloning vats while your mind is pumped full of knowledge through a neural link cable?” I said.

“I was not grown, Spearbearer.” He said with amusement, the first genuinely human expression I had seen on him. “Or at least, I was not grown in one piece.”