I slammed down onto Sune’s altar, blade drawn. I acted swiftly, the quicksilver blade Liberty lashing out and extending like a whip. The pirate brought up her own swords, but the impact of my strike still sent her hurtling through the air. The eyeless one, the Nightborn, as my instincts were learning to call them, was not so fortunate. My weapon cut through his throat, causing blackish-white blood to guzzle forth from the wound. Its wrapped its hands around the wound, desperately trying to halt the flow. I moved in a heartbeat later, a dozen cuts occurring in just a few seconds, causing the severed chunks of pallid flesh to fall into the cracks of the stone.

Around the cavern, I was all too aware of how the battle was faring. Uherion and his giant-blooded band were slaughtering the crews before them, his flaming axes cleaving through armour and flesh alike. Diantha was similarly successful, her cabal of magi launching flying blades or bending time to age their foes into dust. Frodain Kairn, that devotee of the Allfather, brought forth his spear to send forth arcs of golden lightning that cut down the crews that dared to challenge him. Yrsa Vrang challenged the Nightborn and their mercenaries, her portal magic throwing all their eldritch power and ammunition right back at them. Eudoxia and her assassins faded into shadow the moment they arrived, lashing out from the darkness to cut down the unsuspecting foes. Gamma Hawk and his mechanical brethren moved with lockstep efficiency, his Freya blessed hammers cracking skulls and shattering ribs. Bergunn and the other Bright Shields fought with the familiar madness he had learned to expect from them, driving the foes before them to flight.

Satisfied with their work, I turned to face Sune, who was still laying on the table. His eyes were full of wonder, his jaw hanging low.

“You’re real,” he whispered in awe.

Before I could respond, I sensed danger. I snapped into position above him, right before Captain Aethos’ bullets could take him in the skull. The ammunition bounced harmlessly off my armour, and wasn’t nearly enchanted enough to harm me even if I had been naked. The commander of the Midnight Stalker was firing at both of us now, retreating from the fray with what few crew could rally to her.

Many were retreating now. The sudden arrival of my knights and Bergunn, combined with their ferocious charge and my proclamation had shattered the morale of the crews. It was looking like a complete route, with the Valtrium forces nearing a complete victory. Their foes were used to fighting on their own terms, choosing battles that were in their favour. I doubted any of them had faced a collection of veterans that had helped shatter an empire and all its foul champions. For all their dark reputation and years of experience, these slavers were ill suited to anything close to resembling a fair fight.

But as I was about to throw myself into the fray, to kill every last one of them before they could reach their ships and either flee or acquire reinforcements, the stones of the cliff wall opposite the entrance began to shift. They slowly melted away, revealing a floating host of dozens of Nightborn. Their features were still twisted in those too-long smiles, and they floated towards us all with casual malice.

“Uherion, Gamma, Diantha!” I roared, my commander voice still intact. “Pursue the pirates! Let none of them reach their ships. Bergunn, Eudoxia, Yrsa, Frodan, gather up the civilians and get them off this island! Move!”

“What about you?” Uherion called, his face slick with gore.

I looked up at the Nightborn. “I’ll deal with them.” I turned back to Sune. “Lead the captives out, Sune. They know you.”

He was still staring, dumbfounded.

“Get moving!” I snapped, shocking him from his reverie. “These people need to get out of here, boy. Show me the brother that Eir esteems so highly!”

That got him moving. He nodded sharply and threw himself from the slab and rushed down the altar.

“Everyone, with me!” he shouted, his own vocals carrying throughout the chamber.

Still somewhat intimidated by the Valadonians, the now former slaves rallied to one of their own. Uherion, Gamma and Diantha formed a speartip in front of them, their various cadres clearing a bloody path for them to escape. Bergunn, Eudoxia, Yrsa and Frodan made up a rearguard, shielding them from any harm or potential skulkers.

Leaving me with the Nightborn.

Silently, I launched into the air and began the art with which I had become a master of: killing. In one swing, the extending blade of Liberty severed nine heads. Before any could react or retaliate, I swung again, the sacred weapon extending and beheading yet more of Her army. Blackish-white gore stained the crimson-glowing cavern, the stone eroding at contact with the eldritch substance.

The flying horde, there must have been over a hundred of them at least, responded with unnerving alacrity. Like locusts they swarmed all around me, darting through the air like eels and were just as slippery. They bent their bodies around to further avoid my swims, their cloaks melding into their translucent skins as they flew like alien acrobats through the air. They launched a barrage of psionic magic at me, and I felt the greasy protrusions of their mind attempt to rip apart my own. Their efforts were for naught, however, as I was beyond their ability to control or frighten. I could sense their frustration, their hatred of anything they could not dominate or even truly perceive with their psycho-arcana.

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They hated him for that, but their enmity was born of something far, far deeper. Within my soul lurked an ancient light, a spark of divinity. And it recognized these creatures, just as they recognized it. That I was not the original bearer of this mantle of godhood mattered little. In me, they saw an ancient foe returned to deny them their rightful place. That I also was the successor to a relatively minor soldier in the divine war hosts that had opposed them was also irrelevant in their gaze. Every single one of their foes had done unto them a grievous, unholy crime. A sin against the primordial and the pefect, blaspheming the true natural order that existed beyond the tiny confines of a single biosphere.

In another time, I might have tried to understand these creatures. Gods were fickle creatures at the best of times, and surely not all who fell into their prisons were wicked. Yet these beings had tried to commit mass ritual slaughter in the name of some unknown Mother. They had hired the vilest of predators to gather their victims to them, sending them to prowl vulnerable shores in search of ideal prey. This could not be tolerated.

So I did as my predecessor had done. I killed them, slaughtered them in droves. Their claws, their teeth, their psionics, they could not harm me. They were the basest of the old worshippers, forced into bodies that could contain their limited power. They hated me for what I was, yes, but they feared me as well. They knew they were no match for what I was, yet their revulsion at the sight of me spurred them onto suicidal dashes in vain attempts to leave even just a scratch one me. They failed.

I floated in the air, barely even winded, as the shredded remains of the Nightborn had been thrown to the earth. Their oozing, acidic flesh had been cast against the walls and floor, left to shredded pieces. I was confident none had been spared. I was about to fly through the cavern, to rejoin my brethren in the purging of the pirates.

But then I sensed it.

An ancient mind, as deep as the gods were great. A being whose conception of the stars had been complete before my ancestors had crawled out of the post-apocalyptic muck to scrabble images that would be the precursors of astronomy. Injured by the ancient conflict, it had taken time to recover, only to awaken to imprisonment. Yet I saw images, of a great beam of power that had split the world apart. That spell had shattered the wards that had kept it prisoner. It was the true architect of this all. A creature whose thoughts were so powerful they rolled off of it like tidal waves. A being who had served its Titan in a war against three pantheons and survived. It now emerged from the darkness to regard me, to observe the being that had slaughtered its acolytes and brethren.

I turned to face it, sword raised.

No… you are not him.

I paused.

You are… truly different. Not a biological heir, but one who helped slay the bearer.

“I am,” I responded, barely able to make out the colossal, dark shape of this being.

You… you are anathema to all jailors, to those who would deny free will. A champion of autonomy.

I remained there, floating in stillness.

You are the opposite of the original bearer of your divinity. He was a petty being, a little brother who dreamed of empire to overcome his station as one of the weakest. You have taken that light of petty dominion and made yourself truly unique.

“What does this matter to you, Prince of Night?” I asked, the title coming to mind with a flare of my inner divinity. “You have committed a horrible atrocity, bringing all this to fruition. Yet you speak to me now as if I may be reasoned with, despite my shattering of your operation.”

… The interruption of the ritual is inconvenient. But it matters not. The casting of the ancient spell freed more than just me. Many of my brethren have arisen into a world that has forgotten us. But our memory is deep. We will return, we will open the Way. You need not stand against us. We only seek to avenge ourselves upon divinity. That you have ripped yourself away from them means we face one less foe. Your efforts are… appreciated.

“And the mortals?” I questioned sharply. “Will you trample on them to get your revenge, primordial one?”

They will be ours, as they always should have been. Not chattel of the gods, but Her adopted children. Souls are more precious than you know, even if those of the Underverses would have it otherwise. We shall protect them from such damned influences.

“Yet you have tormented many in your efforts to open the gate,” I noted coldly. “Your priests employed the worst of my… of mortal kind to achieve this. Yet you claim you would protect them?”

We would embrace all aspects of mortality. Souls should not deny themselves parts of their nature. Let all be known, let all be embraced.

“I cannot accept that,” I responded coldly. “I will not permit you to allow such evil to continue.”

The thoughts of the primordial demigod turned cold as the void. You would choose to deny us?

“I would choose the best of what my people are,” I said, hoping that I had bought enough time for the others to escape with the captives. For I had a feeling I would not be leaving this island alive. Not when faced with such a foe.

Why would you… ah, I see.

It had read my mind. Somehow, despite the protection of divinity, it had searched through my mind with barely an effort. The psycho magic of the priests may as well have been a breath on the wind compared the cosmic hurricane of might this entity possessed.

You were born as a mortal, you were hurt as one. Once, you sought to drown your pain with pleasure. Now, you drown it out with the satisfaction that you are shielding others from the same agony done unto you. A wounded hero, never to recover. Oh, you poor soul. Divinity was the worst thing that could have happened to you.

“Enough of your pity,” I snapped.

I agree. Conversation has been a welcome refrain from isolation, but that pleasure is done. Your body will be atomized, your soul cast into the One True Afterlife, and the Spark shall be consumed. If you have any peace to make, whelpling god, make it now, for this is your final hour.

The creature emerged from the shadows. For all the beings of power I had faced, even with my ascension, I only now knew true terror.