Prior to the Ternary Strife, there was the Starscourge War, a conflict exclusively reserved for proto seraphists and daemonic anchors over the dwindling number of Genesis Shards in the galaxy.
With the fuel of their power growing scarcer, instead of sensible options such as setting up a multilateral group to monitor and distribute the resources (like the future Republic’s Council of the Measured Hand, which now had been folded into the Civil Service) or traversing the void to reach another galaxy (unfortunately, it remained impossible according to the smartest guilders of Caelivagantes, but the Outsiders should have at least made the effort), both seraphs and daemons had opted for senseless violence.
Later, it was agreed among historians that since neither had hailed from this galaxy, they were under no inherent obligation to preserve its integrity. In fact, for every one thousand light years worth of distance they wrecked, consumed, or despoiled, they would effectively deny the opposition a chance to conquer and reuse those territories in the next century or perhaps even perpetuity, a war ethos which was shared by both sides.
The Starscourge War, then, was fought not to claim the galaxy but to ensure that neither would ever claim it as their own. Beautiful planets, painfully terraformed and inhabited by millions of humans, became nothing more than strategic points where proto seraphists and daemonic anchors clashed their Domains with reckless abandon. And if the benefit was not worth the fight, then the local star would be extinguished or detonated. Their orbiting celestial bodies would be released into the void’s cold embrace or promptly incinerated clean, and every life in the system would be taken with them.
Around one out of ten stars in the galaxy disappeared before humanity decided they had had enough. For a painfully long time, even when these Outsiders bickered and ravaged their home, they endured because it was the path to prosperity. Humanity would still be wallowing on a ball of dirt if not for the Miracles. Fighting back the powerful masters was a fool’s errand anyway, until the damned War. Death awaited wherever they looked. They had reached their breaking point. No longer compliant servants, humanity chose to walk the Defiant Path.
Various organizations and individuals had been studying the Outsiders for decades, but their work was limited in secrecy due to fear of persecution by fellow humans and masters thereof. With greater support from their species, they came out and joined force into one. In the year 1445, the Defiant Path built the first Circuits, allowing a select few to achieve their true potential. They also invented, among other wonderful things, sa-serpents for interstellar transportation as well as the Demiurgic Science for creation of communal demiplanes. The Outsiders had lost their monopoly on Miracles.
Using the inventions, humanity seized dominion over their home system, transforming it into the mighty fortress of TerraSol, then built up their force for the coming total conflict with the Outsiders, later known as the Ternary Strife, the winner of which every Imperial citizen could recite in their sleep. The Defiant Path’s contribution was undeniable, but every great cause eventually succumbed to dissension and politics. During the times of the Republic of Ascendant Man, the organization was splintered into the modern Guilds.
Since then, the name ‘Defiant Path’ had faded into obscurity and became absent from the tongues of everyday conversations. To most living mortals, it was vaguely recognized as the predecessor to the Guilds. Still, among the more learned or the older generation, the name held weight, which was why...
“I’m flattered,” Manziholet replied. “Really, it would be a great honor to join your illustrious organization.”
“I’m sensing a reservation in your tone,” Relias said. “Are you hesitating to kill the other Seraphists? You only worked with them for a few days, and from what I gathered from the mortals, you got sidelined for most of the expedition.”
He chuckled. “I couldn’t care less about those Seraphists or their murders. What I do care about, however, is securing one additional condition. The Defiant Path had figured out a way to elevate mortals without ArchSouls into Daemoneers. I want you to grant my mother the opportunity.”
“Before we continue,” Fliker cut in. “Who is that girl over there, novice?” He gestured to Gersimi, who was standing with the horses behind Manziholet.
“She is an unimportant nobody,” he replied with a shrug. “But lay a finger on her, and you and I will become eternal nemesis.”
“A pet mortal, how quaint. I used to have one. Too bad she couldn’t keep up with my games.”
“Is he one of your exceptions as well? Independents like him have acted opposite to your cause their entire life, Daemoneer. Being flexible won’t excuse you from hiring a walking atrocity, and I doubt your colleagues have warmly welcomed him in the organization as well.”
A flicker of discomfort crossed Relias’s face. “Technically, I’m having a disagreement with my colleagues. They don’t know about his contract with me, just as they don’t know about this Ruin. But it will be no matter. After I bring them the Orb of Eternal–”
“Outdated intelligence. We settled on calling it Pneuma Heart.”
“Thank you,” Fliker said. “I can’t stand one of my favorite flowerhouse’s name being cited over and over in some boring books. It feels like tarnishing something sacred.”
“–After I bring them the Pneuma Heart, they would have no choice but to listen to my approach. I can bring both of you in and share techniques that not even the Studium possesses. We invented the Circuits after all, and we haven’t stopped studying ever since. Also, yes, I can help grant your mother the mantle of Daemoneer. I read about her. She is among a list of individuals marked as viable allies, and those less deserving than her have met the Defiant Path’s criteria, so it won’t be difficult convincing the others. All that stands between you and immense power is your answer. Will you accept or refuse my offer, Manziholet?”
If Manziholet refused and they fought right there and then, Gersimi would inevitably be affected. But even if she was not here, on what basis could he refuse such an enticing offer? The son of Arin Claisara and Foidan Sylvektor, liar and cheater, grinned then gave his answer.
“I was beginning to trust you, Seraphist,” Gersimi said later, her voice tinged with anger and disappointment, as Manziholet tied her hands behind her back with a rope. “What kind of person so readily betrays his friends?”
He had suggested to the members of his new host that they let her go free. They refused, reasoning that the girl might run directly to the governor and called for reinforcement, which would make a massive mess of everything. All mortals at the entrance had been drained dry to the last one in order to eliminate that possibility. As such, either Manziholet would have to kill her, beat her unconscious, or do what he was doing.
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She spat in his face once he turned her over. She had aimed well. Her ammo would have wet his right eye had his enhanced reflex not brought his head out of the way. Manziholet pressed down on her shoulders and had her sit leaning against the wall, before working on her ankles using another rope.
True to her spirit, the priest struggled, which made it quite troublesome. Manziholet had asked Relias to use his control over the Domain of Blood to solidify up a cage and save them time. Surely, at the Third Circle, it would be an easy task for the Daemoneer. Relias declined, pointing out that he must preserve his vaepor.
“If we are somehow separated,” Manziholet whispered to her after the job was done, “go to the planet of Juno and find a man called Holting and his descendants. Say my name. They will help you.” Her response was inaudible, on account of the rag on her mouth, but it likely involved holy judgment and eternal damnation.
And so, down the tunnel he went again. This time, he rode on a tide of blood along with a member of the self-claimed Defiant Path and an independent who had recently upgraded his own job records to include treason against the Imperium. His mission had been, if the current state of affairs was anything to go by, switched from learn-and-support to slash-and-strike against his former host.
The patch of blood they were standing on, Manziholet also noticed, was not transmuted into the solid state like the ocean water on Mirish’s Armament but rather kept unbroken under the Daemoneer’s will. Relias had positioned himself at the front with Manziholet and Fliker behind him. The patch was then propelled ahead by the churning mass of red liquid underneath it.
“I’m curious,” Manziholet asked, “which one of you two decided I was worth the trouble? I am an insignificant novice, and with Raka and Mirish weakened, a Third Circle and Second Sphere like you two can murder everyone in this tunnel with ease.”
“It’s his,” Fliker replied, his hair flying behind him like a ribbon of pale silk in the wind. “When my Circuit picked you up, my first thought was to increase the pace, run you down, and rip you apart before you call for reinforcement, but he talked me out of it. He’s got this thing about keeping potential assets breathing, even if they are deadweight.”
“I have a feeling that he found you in the same circumstance.”
“My Miracle found him first, actually.” Fliker smirked. “For all his power, he was terrible at keeping himself inconspicuous when observing a hostile fortified position. The balls of blood around him were about as subtle as a war horn at midnight. I have met amateur independents with more sense in their pinky toe, seriously”
Manziholet glanced at Relias, who was locking his eyes on the path ahead, his lips pressed into a thin line. Both of his hands hovered midair, with each of their movements steering the direction of the blood tide. Whether Fliker’s words had offended him or not, his mind stayed focused firmly on the job.
“Our employer can’t talk, by the way,” Fliker explained. “He needs the concentration when manipulating this much blood.”
“Of course. I’m also curious, though, about what he’s promised you to betray your Imperium.”
“My justice scorched into the world,” the independent replied gravely, “and a fortress to shield me from the repercussions.”
“Mirish? He seems harmless. Did he insult your taste in hairstyle or commit some equally horrific sin upon you?”
Fliker smiled. “He did gravely insult my hair once, although, to be fair, it was after I poisoned his cat. No, dear Mirish is a good kid, and a competent Seraphist at that. Probably one of the better ones I’ve met. In a perfect society, he and I might have been business partners, maybe even friends, but regrettably” –he shook his head– “this society is far from perfect, especially when his mother, curse her pitch-black ArchSoul, stole the District Admin job right out from under me by falsely branding me as a Forbidden Script speaker. When the Service was done investigating, she’s already under the protection of the job while I must return to breaking my back for Shards. No, her son is a mere appetiser. That conniving woman is the delicious main course, which I will make sure to savor.”
“But is it really worth betraying the Imperium?” Manziholet asked. “You can hide behind the spatial lock on the Defiant Path’s planets, but the guilders will break through it eventually. When they do and the military orders go in–”
That made the man laugh out loud. “Listen, my naive novice, the government and the Church will cancel each other out long before they get to that. We’re repeating the War all over again, except it isn’t seraphs and daemons who tired themselves–”
While Fliker kept on talking, a much more important discussion was going on inside Manziholet’s brain. Betrayal, after all, was a serious business that deserved proper calculation and deliberation. Every risk must be weighed against its reward, and every consequence must be anticipated. ‘Never just burn bridges,’ his mother had said. ‘You carefully choose which ones to light up and when, preferably while the enemies are walking on it.’
Of course, on this occasion, he had no mother to discuss with. He had the perspectives in his head, though. The psychopath inside him was eager to begin first. It insisted that he should kill both of them and be done with it, to which another voice inquired: both of whom, exactly?
Simple. Kill both Raka and Mirish, so that he can get access to the most illustrious organization in history and their technologies. The Defiant Path is also the very definition of extraordinary, which he has always tried to achieve. Or, kill both Fliker and Relias, so that he will be hailed as an Imperial hero and greatly rewarded. They may even grant him enough Shards to reach peak Third Sphere. It’ll make no difference really, the psychopath grinned, as long as he chooses to betray.
But then, the pessimist pointed out, no matter what side he takes, he will likely be hunted across the galaxy by individuals wielding millions of vaepor units, each capable of unraveling his existence with a mere thought. Good luck finding joy in life while the very fabric of reality crumbled around him. Perhaps it’s wiser to take no side at all.
He has already stepped on the blood tide, useless moron, the psychopath replied. He is already on his way to the fight between both sides. When the time comes, he must choose one. There is no third option. ‘If he remains neutral, he will inevitably be seen as an enemy by the victors, for in their eyes, neutrality is no different from allegiance to the defeated.’ – a quote by the brilliant Vellian Charis. Don’t you remember the lesson?
Why am I not surprised you’re the one who remembers that? his conscience said. Anyway, it’s not just the pros and cons for Manziholet himself that must be considered, but also for his loved ones. What would happen to Arin if he betrayed the government? The Imperator wouldn’t be so lenient with a rebellion by another Sylvektor. Also, Gersimi’s loss of trust in him would be permanent, because she was right. What kind of person so readily betrays his friends? Therefore, he should side with Raka and Mirish.
Who cares about any of them? the psychopath replied with a groan, which earned it glares from the others, before more ideas were suggested and the conversation went on.
Meanwhile, outside in the real world, the blood tide was approaching the carts that Manziholet was supposed to oversee. They had stopped dead since the lead one had broken its axle and spilled massive bronze gears onto the floor. The distance between here and where Gersimi sat was big enough to shield her from any fighting.
If he betrays Fliker and Relias, the boy Manziholet, a new voice, reasoned, at least he’ll be adequately protected from the Daemoneers while he stays on TerraSol, as will his loved ones. And if he is certainly to do that, then this is the moment. Let’s put it to a vote.
Remember what truly matters in this world, his conscience reminded others, many of which rallied around it. Among them, in a brief departure from the norm, was his psychopathic tendency. With that, a majority was formed.
The final decision had been made. Manziholet struck.