Do not fear, Little Ones, that you feel

small compared to the scope of the

Six Worlds, for even the mightiest

Titan began as a child.

-Saint Kalimia, Church of the Crimson Waters of Life

The massive woman was backed against the face of a cliff, her face a mix of desperation and defiance, her brown eyes smoldering with hatred. She was nearly ten feet tall, a massive woman with muscles hardened by a lifetime of hard work and savage living. Her reddish skin was dirty and crusted with old blood, covered in savage scarification and tattoos, with her only clothing a tanned wolf's head held in place by a woven leather belt beneath an outthrust belly swollen with her latest unborn child. Her rough black hair was cut brutally short, the braid normally worn by the women of her tribes cut savagely away in grief.

Around her were the endless legions that had destroyed her people, who had crushed them in a brutal military pogrom that had lasted over six decades. She had been born and grown up during the pogrom, had known only war, oppression, ruin, and despair. Before her womanhood had come to her the endless legions that surrounded her had killed her mothers and their men, had destroyed their crops and herd animals, and driven them from their ancestral lands and into the lowland of the dirt people.

Now the black armored warriors surrounded her. Their fearsome masks of steel were covering their faces, concealing whether the armored warriors before her were living or the undead. She had discovered years ago that the dead of her own people had been tasked with slaying their own people when she had torn the mask from one of them to reveal her own blood sister's pale face. The endless legions were uniform, their weapons, armor, and even their color scheme the same. Their uniformity made her feel that even if she struck them all down they would arise again to hound and harry her.

She had nowhere to go. Her belly prevented her from climbing the cliff and escaping, she was surrounded by the black armored foes to the point where the stretched from horizon to horizon and beyond her vision. Only a small circle surrounded her was clear of the upright, and she stood on top of a mound of fallen foes twice her own height.

Motion caught her eye. A single pennant snapping in the breeze that cooled her sweat slickened skin, the black background marred only by a single vertical red line. The sight of the banner made her blood run cold, for it signaled that the day she had feared her entire life had come to pass.

The Blossom of Death had arrived to take her, for she was the last of her people.

But she was of The People, and would not be taken easily. With a snarl she lifted her spear and prepared to defend herself and her unborn child that slept beneath her heart.

* * * * *

The throne room was massive, with floor tiles embedded with precious metals and gems, columns made of fantastic material, all of which imbued with magic. The natural acoustics of the architecture were amplified by the powerful magics that had been layered into the building while it was being constructed. There were one thousand seats against the south wall, elevated in tiers of one hundred seats in each gentle arc. On the floor, nearly a hundred feet toward the center of the room, one hundred seats, more elaborate than the thousand, were arrayed in a single arc, all facing the center of the room as well as the north side. In the center of the room was a black iron plate engraved with a spiral of blood red fiery runes that glowed and flickered. On the north side of the vast ornate chamber were thirteen elaborate thrones arranged in an arc, with the middle throne made of harsh black iron and atop a dais of bleached or blackened bone twisted into shape and hand polished to smoothness.

Each throne sat upon stones that were colored and arranged to represent the civilizations that had fallen to the Elder Kings during the Great Unification and the Ascendance of the Undying Kings nearly three centuries ago. The stones were to remind the Great and Lesser Kings that civilization had existed before them and only the will and power of the Elder Kings had subdued those often-powerful civilizations. Banners hung from the walls depicting not only the lands that the Elder Kings came to power in, but also lands of particular significance in the Six Worlds and history. From Alben, where the races had first begun to practice agriculture and the first kingdom was established, to Von Lon, the Empire of Dreams where steel had been invented and brokered into an empire that spanned the Six Worlds, to the Second Orcish Empire, established during the Elder God War and fallen during the Demon Gate Wars, to many other nations, some lost to history and others still existing beneath the Elder Kings and their subordinates. Many of the thousand thrones had the sigils of those kingdoms graven into them, to signify where the Lesser King held sway.

In each throne, save a single empty throne to the right of the massive back iron throne, sat a creature long dead of each of the eight dominant 'civilized' races of the Six Worlds. Some looked to be fairly recent corpses, almost indistinguishable from a living version of their race. Others flaunted their dead status, accenting their half rotted appearance or death wounds, to display their contempt for the gods of death that no longer had power over them. Still others were nothing but bare skeletons clad in finery, some with carven bones overlaid with graven precious metals and studded with gems.

On the center throne, crafted with iron forced as tribute from humbled demon lords and graven with runes inlaid with gold and silver taken from the broken weapons of weeping arch-angels, sat the ruler of the Six Worlds. Thin wires of precious metals had been alchemically treated to be soft and plaint and then grafted to her exposed skull to replace her long lost hair. Her expensive and elaborately embroidered robe was gaped open at the top to reveal that on top of her exposed and inlaid ribcage was a pair of living breasts. She exposed her breasts, not to show her power over the gods of life and death, to show her distain for the natural order of things, but to remind all the undead present that in her eyes the living were her children. Before the black iron throne and behind the dead woman's legs a lush bodied young woman with pale skin and long black hair sat, the skeletal legs crossing the young woman's nude body possessively. Now and then the inlaid bone of the skeletal figure's calf gently moved back and forth to rub against the pale skin of the woman, who often rested her head against the bare thigh bone or nuzzled it affectionately.

On her iron throne the immortal IV (pronounced 'ehveh') listened to the droning voice of one of the Lesser Lich Kings as she pled with IV to allow her to crush the worship of gods that the people of the lands she had been given stewardship by IV had worshipped since before the end of the Age of Prophecy. The Undying Sharlohz found the worship of those ancient gods an idolatry that took away fear and awe from her own magnificent person. Now that the Stygian Wave was finished with their campaign to crush the tribe of defiant savages she wished to use them to crush and destroy all who worshipped anyone but her. The Lich King Army and her own personal troops did not bring fear to all like the Stygian Wave. Their black enameled armor with the distinctive crimson edging and steel masks created the fear that was the main weapon she desired.

IV knew what the shallow and petty Lesser King would ask for. Her spies, magics, and enslaved oracles and prophets had informed IV weeks ago that Sharlohz no longer ruled in stewardship of the people who dwelt on part of the Six Worlds that IV had entrusted her. Instead Sharlohz viewed herself as more than a steward, and IV knew that Sharlohz now viewed herself as a God who's every whim had to be catered to by the peoples of the lands.

The fact that Sharlohz was incapable or was unaware of the vast disturbance in very fabric of reality made IV hold the Lesser King in even more contempt. She herself had felt the disturbance for days now, feeling it draw ever closer at a steady pace. It was not a growling static on her senses, no pounding hailstorm, no spike or pressure, but rather a stillness that IV could feel in her very soul.

Her husband approached at the head of the army he led in her name.

In the middle of the Undying Sharlohz's rambling list of saints and demigods she found offensive IV suddenly straightened, the opalescent fire in her eyes going from a faint dimness that was a suggestion of light to a roaring fire that filled her inlaid eye sockets. Sharlohz mistook the fire for an interest in what she was saying and raised her voice from the faint whisper common to the Undying Kings to something nearly approaching the volume of a living woman. Arcane fire flickered around the undead woman and IV waited gleefully as the other woman preened in one of the most common ways the powerful members of the Undying Court preferred.

The Great Eastern Gates, the massive inlaid abyssal steel doors inlaid with celestial precious metals and gems, bulged slightly, warping under the pressure put forth by the mere presence of the one who approached them. They groaned like a great rude beast giving birth, tearing everyone's attention from the undead woman speaking to the doors. Sharlohz kept right on speaking, her concentration unbroken by mere sound.

The huge black oak bar, hewn from a massive trunk and large enough for a grown man to lie across, snapped with a thunderous sound that caused crystal to shatter in the windows and to rain down from crystal orbs containing the magical lights that provided illumination for the Undying Court.

The presence of the being rolled through the doorway, no longer hindered by heavy steel doors, and IV smiled inwardly as the presence of a Titan rolled over Sharlohz. The undead woman screamed in agony as her arcane power was first shattered and then snuffed out. Her physical form collapsed, magic no longer binding her soul to it. The bones bounced on the tile as the ornate robe of mystical material turned to dust and the carefully crafted metal ligaments and inlays on the bones peeled away. The bones turned to dust and flinders between one bounce and the next.

Hundreds of the Lesser Kings screamed as what had happened to Sharlohz happened to them. Hundreds more were partially reduced to dust or melted, and the backlash of raw uncontrolled magical energy lashed over the survivors, slaying many more. IV's exposed teeth were in a permanent smile, which for once showed her true feelings as she watched over half of the Lesser Kings destroyed by the mere presence of the figure who had entered the Undying Court.

The Great Kings, seated at the Hundred Thrones, fared slightly better, with only the twenty nearest the door and two of the farther suffered the same fate. Two others exploded as the arcane and/or divine energies that sustained them shattered, went haywire, and then were snuffed out.

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Three of the Elder Kings had arcane or divine energies flare about them as the newly arrived being savaged their magical protections, but none of them moved so much as an inch, not a bit of cloth was scorched, and not a single piece of jewelry was damaged as they weathered it all without a single hint of disturbance.

IV herself felt as if someone had poured warm oil down her missing skin, and her living nipples hardened in desire as her husband entered the Undying Court and so many of those who considered themselves more powerful than the gods themselves succumbed to his mere presence. Her skeletal legs tightened about the woman beneath them, pulling her against the black iron as arcane energy crackled across the metal covered bones. None of the powerful arcane energy that scored the black iron and melted the precious metals touched the nude woman's skin and she smiled as the carnage swept over the undead who sat in the thrones.

The figure in the doorway was a massive figure clad in heavy black armor centuries out of date with crimson edging. Unlike the finery and grandeur of the Undying Kings the armor was stark, with no ornamentation, heraldry, or sign of rank, like all the armor of the Stygian Wave. The only ornamentation was the engraved steel mask, a death mask of a rough featured human male, the empty eye sockets filled with blue fire.

Behind the massive, nearly seven foot tall figure, stood figures clad in heavy armor, eleven in all, with a single raptor-like figure clad in overlapping plates of black steel. All of the masks were the death-masks of men and women of the more warlike 'civilized races', orcs and humans. Orcs had once been human, before the fires of the Elder God War warped and changed their ancestors, although the orcs claimed that humans were the "Maddened Ones" rather then themselves.

None moved until the massive figure took a single step forward and then they all moved in step with the massive figure, the raptor hopping a short distance to match the steps of the heavily armored warriors. While all that was heard was the chiming of spurs on polished stone tile IV could feel reality surge and heave around her as the step brought her inside the pool of stillness that always surrounded her husband. Each step caused the world to violently heave, and the living woman IV held tight to the throne with her legs shivered in pleasure as the sensations washed over her.

The massive figure moved to the center of the circular iron plate, his spurs ringing, while the others gathered in a half circle around the south side of the iron plate to watch the skeletal figures in the thrones with eyes of burning flame. The figure's body language was defiant, almost contemptuous of the seated figures.

"It is done." The figure stated simply, the bass rumble of his voice felt deep in IV's bones.

"Kneel before the Undying King of the Six Worlds." The twelve skeletal figures intoned as one. The runes on the plates flared, the radiance vanishing into the flat black of the iron and the figure's armor.

"We do not submit, we must be conquered." The living woman said, her voice pure and sweet.

"Can you force the stubborn knee to bend, oh Elder Kings?" IV asked, leaning forward so she could reach down and stroke the living woman's hair. "Do you still possess the will that you once possessed?"

The eleven skeletal figures came to their feet, auras of power surrounding them as they drew upon their power. Most possessed arcane power, gained through random chance, bloodline, or willpower and discipline, but two of the figures were wrapped in divine power taken by force from dead gods and one was steeped in magic granted to him by nature spirits.

Chains of arcane energy snaked up from the iron plate, wrapping around the armored figure's wrists and neck. As the skeletal figures chanted or focused their will their auras increased in strength in proportion to the chains.

"Submit." The figures intoned as the chains of energy flared. The armored figure's knees flexed slightly, but otherwise there was no sign of a struggle.

The Great and Lesser Kings that remained began joining in on the spellcasting, and the iron plate rang like a gong as additional power flowed into the spellcasting. Long seconds passed, during which several of the Greater and Lesser Kings succumbed to the power flowing through their bodies. One of the Elder King's thighbones incandesced but instead of falling over the Undying One used magic to sustain themselves upright.

The knees flexed slightly more as another Lesser King detonated, and more long seconds flowed by as the Undying Ones fought with their magic against the black armored figure's willpower.

The magic cut off as the Undying Ones ceased attempting to force the black armored figure to kneel and stepped back. One was a half step behind the others, and this was the one that spoke. "We cannot compel true obedience through only might."

"Will you submit to me, my husband? Please?" IV asked, her voice no longer commanding, but asking a simple question.

Finally the being in the center of the plate crashed to its knees, the plate ringing loudly as the remaining Undying Ones collapsed back into their thrones. The armored figures partly encircling the iron plate marched in step to various thrones and stood on the left of them, slightly back, and remained there silently. The Elder King who had lost her thigh crafted another one from pure magic and willpower in the moments it took the knight that stood next to her throne to take his position. The armored kobold took his place beside the empty throne, made of still living redwood that was covered in living ivy. A tiny peeper head poked from beneath the ivy, chirped, then withdrew.

IV unfolded her legs from around the naked woman, who stood up simply, walked down from the dais and across the iron plate, and leaned forward to kiss the front of the helmet of the kneeling figure. Once that was done she walked back, without a trace of self-consciousness, and ascended the short dais of the empty throne that sat next to IV. She drummed her fingers softly on the steel helmet that guarded the kobold's knob-like cranium before sitting down in the throne.

"The Living Lich King is enthroned." The kobold stated in a flat voice as the Eternal Elba, the Living Lich King and the Thorn Lord of the Stygian Lands, sat down comfortably, her fingers reaching out to caress the speaking kobold's domelike brainpan at the back of its head.

"Rise, my love." IV whispered. The armored figure struggled to its feet. "Did you return with what I require?"

"Yes, beloved." The armored figure replied. He waved his hand, signaling figures still in the doorway that had gathered during his forced submission to the Undying Council's will.

Two large armored figures, clad in the black and red armor of the Stygian Wave, held metal poles attached to the iron collar around a large woman's neck. She towered over them, her limbs thicker than the armored figures, even with the armor, and the expression showed that even though she was bruised, battered, and collared she was not defeated.

"Bring she who carries the Last Child to my feet." IV intoned. The figures pulled the prisoner forward, dragging her up the stairs, until they were able to kick the back of the woman's knees and force her to kneel before IV. One of the armored figures following the woman held a chain made of gold and studded with gems, attaching it to an iron ring on IV's iron throne and then the front of the iron collar around the pregnant woman's neck. They stepped back and marched out of the Undying Council's chambers, their spurs ringing on the polished floor.

"Thank you, my love." IV whispered.

The massive figure of Gor duMay, the Blossom of Death, bowed with a creak of ancient and warped armor. "I serve out of love."

"Elba?" IV's voice was soft, caressing like a naked blade against smooth skin.

"Yes, beloved?" Elba's voice was musical as she turned from scratching the back of a peeper with her forefinger to pay attention to the undead ruler.

"Her time grows short, the Last Child beneath her heart is almost ready to be born." IV answered. "Are you still committed?"

"Yes, my liege." Elba answered.

* * * * *

The woman screamed another contraction rippled across her stomach. Elba knelt between the woman's legs, ignoring the blood and fluids attendant to childbirth as she watched the birth closely. IV sat on her iron throne completely still, as if she was truly the inanimate corpse she appeared to be. Elba carefully helped the unnamed woman with the child, using her magic to protect the child as best as she could. The massive reddish peoples were heavily resistant to magic, and it took all of Elba's skill and subtlety to ease the large child down the birth canal.

The woman had spent nearly two months chained to IV's chair. Fed by slaves, rubbed with ointment normally only used by the richest peoples, and cared for carefully. Elba knew that the woman was little more than cattle to IV, her only importance the fact that she was the last of her people, and that the babe beneath her heart was the last full-blooded child her people would ever see.

Capture had not dulled her defiance during those months. She had crippled and injured Duty Bound Knights, her bare hands and feet damaging undead warriors that could not be harmed by normal weapons. One of the Great Kings had gotten too close and a kick from the woman had shattered its pelvis and left it screaming on the dais of IV's throne. Elba was glad at the woman's unbroken spirit, but IV was merely amused.

When the baby landed in her hands Elba marveled at its massive size. She'd been present or assisted in the births of all the races, in addition to having over a hundred children of her own over the eons she'd walked the Six Worlds, but the baby now in her hands was far larger than she had expected.

Roughly twenty-five pounds, a shock of black hair on its head, perfectly formed and looking as if it was sleeping. Its little fists were clenched and it had a scowl beneath all the blood and fluids.

The Lesser and Great kings watched nervously, their magical protections at full force, as Elba lifted the child by one ankle. The more powerful or those more in touch with their power could feel the pressure as destiny and prophecy aligned. Those who could not feel the pressure watched with boredom, while those who could feel the pressure increase waited nervously.

A slap rang through the Undying Council's chambers, and the baby's cry wasn't a thin wail of discomfort but rather a bellow of rage and anger that shook the entire structure. Crystal windows, replaced since the Blossom of Death's last visit, shattered once again. Magical illumination flickered, a few going out silently while others burst in an arcane explosion that were as wide as a man could stretch out his arms.

Elba pressed the baby against the chained woman's breast, and IV watched as the child's mouth opened to expose the fact that the baby had twelve sharp triangular teeth. The baby clamped on, the sharp teeth sinking into the breast where other scars already existed. She waited until the angry eyes closed, hiding the simmering rage that filled the newborn infant.

She nodded to IV, letting her liege know that the child was finished eating.

At that signal IV leaned forward with an obsidian knife in her hand, pulling the woman's head back by her hair, and slit the red skinned throat in one quick practiced motion. The blood sheeted down, covering the baby, and destiny collided with prophecy with an impact that made the entire Six Worlds heave and shudder to those who could feel it.

IV snapped the blade between her fingerbones and tossed it away, the ancient sacrificial blade that had been crafted eons ago by a cult long extinct clattering across the tile. She then reached down and lifted the sleeping child, taking the time to examine it.

A boy. Heavy and full formed. The sensitive tips of IV's fingerbones could feel the tiny bumps between the bulges of the knuckles told IV that when the child grew the small buds would become claws. What looked like scars just above the collarbones and at the bottom of the rib-cage told IV that the infant had gills to allow it to work underwater.

"The Last Child has been born." IV intoned, lifting the child to Elba.

Elba nodded as she accepted the child, bringing him close to breast.

"Take the Last Child home, raise it as you feel fit, and by my commands and the commands of prophecy." IV ordered. Elba nodded, looking down at the child in her arms that was nuzzling her breast. "What shall you name the child, oh Living Lich King?"

Elba looked up, feeling the pressure of prophecy and destiny bear down on her as she opened her mouth.

"A word that means 'child' in the language of his people." Elba said, still staring at the baby.

"Fraker."

* * * * *

"He's awfully small." The small red headed girl said, wrinkling her nose and frowning. She was dressed in a hooped pink skirt, pink ribbons in her pigtails, and shined black little shoes.

"He'll get bigger, he's just a baby." Elba said, nursing the child. She was laying back on a divan, her top open and the large baby held tight to her breast. She was wearing a comfortable kimono of expensive Von-Lon mist silk and a pair of inlaid naka-leather moccasins with careful beadwork.

"He smells like poop." The girl said, poking the sleeping child. The infant Fraker shifted irritably and passed gas loudly. "Ew, now he smells worse."

Elba chuckled. "Yeah, they do sometimes." The small woman chuckled. "Trust me, you'll like him a lot more when you get older, Aveliene."

"He'll probably still smell."