Oh? Chernobog sounded like he was biting his tongue not to laugh. Tell a few little lies, and no one will believe you when you tell the truth.

Those "little lies" are only a fraction of why people hate and fear you, I replied angrily. You say I'm a fool for trying to stop you, ask what I'm hoping to achieve? Why the hell are  you doing, I gestured at the Blackness and beyond, this?

You assume I will tell you. Why?

People like you love to gloat. "People".

Some, after we achieve our goals.

Was he trying to scare me? What had he achieved? Reducing Faerie to nothing seemed too...petty, for him. Or...

It's the Fae, isn't it? I asked. You began with the Seelie, because they uphold civilisation, and that offends you. Then, you're going to hunt the Unseelie down. But why empower them, then? How?

Interesting idea. Chernobog checked his claws. I will be sure to put it in practice.

I tried not to snarl. Why not just ally with the Unseelie and get rid of their enemies? Your goals align. So do your methods. They're even willing to take your power. So, why not? Competition?

You think upholding civilisation is enough to make one my enemy-and you are correct. My enemies are without number. What you forget is that Oberon thought he could bargain with me. As if we were equals...no. It was a taunt addressed to the pantheons. He hoped that we would either destroy each other, leaving a power vacuum for him to exploit, or that he could harness my power and destroy them himself.

So you, what, punished him for his presumption?

For that. Chernobog nodded. For what he is and does. Because he sheltered me, for a time, and there is no sweeter decay than that of trust, however shallow. So that he would call you here, and I could get my hands on you again. The Black God spread his arms. Or, perhaps, all of those are lies. Perhaps I do what I do because I can, because I am bored, or evil.

He spat the last word, sounding less disgusted, and more like he was struggling with the inherent absurdity. People will tell you there are such things as good and evil-clear, distinct things, as opposed to what the majority decides. "Evil" is everything one dislikes and can't bear. It's much like "truth", really...you count those whose minds perceive reality differently than the majority as mad, or strange. But say that everyone suddenly lost their senses. Would reality not exist, because it can't be perceived? Would nothing be true? For nothingness would surely seem to be all there is.

Cute monologue. I faked a yawn. I think I first heard it in...kindergarten? No, before that. Pops was teaching me I should hear out most opinions, even if I disagree with them or they're just painfully stupid. No shit, morality is subjective. The fact we-most people, so don't feel called out-have any at all makes us better than 'objective' beings or machines.

Your stepfather. Chernobog tilted his head, antlers-darker than the Blackness, but still visible, though I couldn't see where he was, or even if he was here-swaying in the nothingness like algae underwater. An abhorrent concept, to be sure. Not just one caring for those weaker than them without any reason, not that reasons would make it palatable. This idea that you should...respect...others' thoughts.

Talking like you're slow won't convince me you're not.

I did not think it would. But then, you are awfully hard to convince, aren't you, David? Especially when it comes to obvious things. Why did your god say nothing when the spawn it allows to tempt and corrupt tricked you? That precious free will, perhaps? Much good it does. The priest is more vile than I could ever be for poisoning your mind like that.

As if a bastard obsessed with deception and possession had any right to talk shit about that, or anything else, for that matter.

 Or, Chernobog continued, how about the fact that you refuse to accept "women fighting over you"? Yes, David. Your "personality" would repel most of them better than any spell, but do not think your self-deprecation will make reality go away. It never has. It never will. Although, I must commend your faith in your zmeu. "Fighting"...implies she has a chance. I am moved, honestly. Not surprised, but moved. You have always been willing to indulge and overlook her atrocious flaws, because she smiles at you and touches you and has a cunt. What else could you ask for?

Chernobog moved towards me, making my knees buckle from the pressure of his presence. As there was no floor, I began falling, or rather sinking. The Blackness had the consistency of mud or wet sand, though it burned like acid.

That is more than enough for you to forget about your horns, isn't it? Unsurprising, coming from someone who claims to abhor adultery while worshipping a bastard. But do not worry, David! His face parted, revealing a gleaming set of even teeth. I'm sure that, if you spare her after your first time as a cuckold, she'll remember you're as impotent as your faith, and go find a real man to be the Yahweh to your Joseph. He put a clawed hand on my shoulder, pushing me even deeper down. Or a woman. Why not? It's not like you abhor sodomy, either; just the aspects of your religion that don't fit your tastes. Think they'll let you watch?

I shook my head, wrapping both hands around Chernobog's wrist and mouthing "stop". Why do you hate me so much? I asked, out of curiosity, rather than as a plea for him to leave me alone. Twice you've used me to kill people. I've only ever struck back against you moments ago, by freeing that Fae. What is it? I don't understand.

The Black God was silent for a few moments, and when he spoke, there was no arrogance or mockery in his voice. Only a weary disdain, which took me aback. Do you know what I desire, David?

Man, I dunno. Destruction of all that's good and fair? The end of civilisation? The decay of all things?

All those and more, Chernobog answered. It is my nature. Unlike you, I have never even thought of going against it. Should you live, you'll learn that no being true to themselves suffers from angst or doubt.

Way of praising being a spineless slacker with no ambition.

I already know you're crazy. So, that's it? No reason? It's just for shits and giggles?

You call me mad, then you say I am allied with Nyarlathotep. The disdain grew with every word, mixing with disbelief. I find it preferable to the Remaker, yes. Few don't. We are on the same side, yes, the side fighting against stagnation-but we are  not allies. We cannot be, as long as we remain as we are. The only way I could 'ally' with it would be as its servant, which you seem convinced I am.

Then how'd you come back? I asked, hoping to buy more time, even if I didn't get details.

Decay, destruction and death cannot be ended, he sneered. Let alone with the paltry means Negativity used on me. I pulled myself together, though it took longer than it should have, for I was torn apart by spectres of my old nemesis.

Nyarlathotep stopped us from striking against you in Fairie. We all but know either you or it drove the Dagda mad, starting the Cold Madness and the Headhunt.

Our struggles against stagnation, Chernobog said with weary patience. But we are no more allies than, say, Uriel is to your carpenter idol's church. We are the wildfire that burns down the forest, though for different reasons. But, for all its power, the Crawling Chaos is just as pathetic as you are, David. It knows it is a dream, and its puppet strings are like a choke-chain to it. It amuses itself by tormenting creation and its inhabitants, yes...but that is nothing more than a distraction. Do you know what it truly wants?

Well, according to Japan...

It wants it all to end, because it cannot stand being manipulated. It would rather not exist. Mind, the destruction of everything else is merely a bonus to it, and not something it seeks out of, he chuckled, a desire to 'free' others.

And you disagree with this, I said rather than asked.

I do indeed. Even if existence is not 'real', I feel like it is. Plunging all creation back into chaos would end me, which is reason enough to oppose the Messenger. Doing it because it can't stand existing anymore? Suicide is pathetic enough without dragging everything else down with you. Besides...just because I oppose civilisation, it does not mean I crave chaos. Anarchy is a symptom of being at the mercy of nature: one's surroundings, body, mind, all of them.

I smiled patiently. Is this the part where you explain that tyranny is better than anarchy, as long as you're in charge?

I do not need to explain that, David. Nyarlathotep thinks that its power will humble me, or perhaps enrage me enough to attack and be destroyed by it. It is foolish. I shall bind it in chains so cruel it will forget about even thinking of returning all to oblivion. And then, I shall create a better world.

Oh,  there it was. Better, you say.

Indeed, David. How many mortals live short, meaningless lives, without awakening their mana or being turned into something stronger? How many die without even knowing they are or could become mages with just a nudge? How many are  this close to power, yet so far, because of a few flaws that could be removed through careful breeding?

Ah, eugenics straight from the start. Always a good sign. I could tell you about the statistics, but they're only marginally better than damned lies. Then, more seriously, I added, how do you know that those people don't  want to live "short, meaningless lives"?

Chernobog shook his head like I was insane, but pitiful rather than intimidating. No one wants mediocrity, David. It simply cannot be so. People always desire more. More wealth, more pleasure, more power.

You sound so sure, too. Have you asked them?

I have, in fact. Even now, my cults walk the world. They shall cast down the corrupt edifices that blanket Earth with their filth, that it may be prepared for my final return.

Now it was my turn to shake my head, in disbelief. What do those poor fools even hope to gain from following you? The petty shit you mentioned? Maybe they think you'll kill them last, then take them to your side in the afterlife?

There is no need to tell you, David. Chernobog waved a dismissive claw. You would not worship me if your unlife depended on it, not that I would spare you if you did. You are too dangerous.

I couldn't help myself. I lost it, letting out the ugliest, most ragged laugh to ever exit my mouth. I'm dangerous! To you? How? I asked bitterly.

Even if you never come into the fullness of your power, the words you speak are a slap in the face of my vision. A pious strigoi that fights for 'good'? You are as abominable as that clownish Spaniard, or that carnivorous bitch whose boots you lick. You must be removed, lest others begin deluding themselves as you do.

Funny, that comment about the 'carnivorous bitch'. I cupped my chin with a smirk. Applies to two women in my life.

...I will never understand how you can not only stand submission, but find joy in and joke about it, Chernobog said. No matter. Once I end you and take your body, everything will be set right.

Damn, was this how Sasuke felt? You really have a monster of a grudge against me, and fuck if I understand why. Even your revenge plot is petty and self-defeating. My body? There are stronger vessels out there, far stronger. I'm not even the most powerful strigoi. Why not just go take over something big and stupid? Would fit you like a condom, you dick.

You are not powerful, no. But Mimir's perception will not disappear once you die. It is burned into your being. That power, in the hands of one who knows how to use it? He laughed. It is a shame the pantheons didn't kill you, David. It would have been kinder.

Had you been kinder, maybe you'd have been a signatory of the Syncretic Treaty. Maybe you could have convinced them to-

No. Not for me alliances. I have never been able to live alongside another god, let alone so many.

For a few moments, he seemed almost regretful. Or was that just my imagination, trying to find something, anything admirable in this monster? What happened to Belobog? I asked. Maybe-most likely-he'd lie, but if he didn't, maybe out of a need to gloat, or just talk about it, we could bring the White God back, and...

I  did. The gleaming smile returned. But do not worry about that, David. Do not worry at all! I said I will make the world better, and I did not lie. Your power is the key to so many things...take necromancy, for example. Why only reanimate bodies and create callow, false minds? Why let brilliance and spirit depart into the hereafter?

You would deny the dead rest? Bind them to the world, enslaved forever?

I would, and I will. You let them go, and hope lesser gods will send them to you in your dreams, that they might mumble nonsense.

Are you so greedy you would make death meaningless? You-

Chernobog chopped at nothing, annyoyed. Death became meaningless the moment the first regenerator appeared. Life is merely chemistry in motion, when it is not supernatural power at work. Fools only pretend there is something sacred about life and death...and you believe that, too, don't you? He asked, sounding, for some reason, the angriest I'd ever heard him.

Confused, but not deterred in the slightest, I glared straight into his eyeless face. I  know there is.

And that, Chernobog said, voice thick with loathing, is why you cannot go back into the world. This is your end, David Silva.

***

English Channel

Mia did not move or even blink as she stared at the Unseelie across ice whose touch would have frozen any human's body, mind and soul until they crumbled into nonexistence, but which she barely felt. The Fae simply stared back, a smile plastered on her grey face, unblinking black eyes set in an angular, uncannily beautiful face.

A shudder that had nothing to do with the cold ran through her body. The bitch looked the same as when she'd torn half her face off before Christmas, but her features now reminded her of David. Strangely, she didn't...feel...

...Oh, fuck. It was happening already, wasn't it? Thinking of David warmed her heart, but only that. On the other hand, the Fae...

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

Stupid zmeu instincts, she thought sullenly, reminding herself that there was only one way she really wanted to tear the hag apart. Snorting fire, she glanced down at Szabo from the side of her eye.

The strigoi was dressed in a thick, scaled dragonhide jacket, with fur pants that smelled of a were she couldn't identify. On his face was a mask made from a basilisk's flayed face, petrifying eyes forever open. There were far more than two, of course. Szabo had never settled for small things. Several basilisks had been killed after the one that provided the mask, and now, their eyes covered its top, sides and back, so that nothing that wasn't immune to petrification could attack from the eyes' field of vision. There were even some stitched into the mask, under Szabo's chin, so he couldn't be attacked from underneath, either.

'She asked for me?' Mia asked for the second time. She'd just been leaving Beijing when Szabo had called, telling her of a dangerous Unseelie apparently interested in her, and...

'David, too,' the strigoi said. 'But my brother is indisposed, so let's hope she's not picky, zmeu.' He never called her by her name, which she was, in a way, grateful for. Twisted attention whore...

Tch. On any other day, she'd have been flattered by a woman like that looking for her. Maybe especially when she didn't want David. But, between the memories, David's absence and Szabo being there...

'Here's to hoping,' Mia said, then raised her voice. 'Cloudshade, right? I remember you. Usually, people who want to mess up my face aren't so literal.'

'Zmeu,' the Fae whispered, but her voice was as loud as a gunshot, despite the kilometres separating them. 'You are Silva's mate.' Cloudshade's followers stepped forward, flanking her. 'You are my way to him.'

Damn, girl. Nothing gets me gushing like being called a tool, Mia thought drily. 'I don't think you understand what our relationship is like.'

The Fae smiled, showing small, even teeth, head tilted to one side. 'I can smell your arousal from here.'

Growling with anger more at herself than at the Unseelie, Mia heated up her body to the point her uniform began smoking. Steel would have turned to steam, but the yamadium weave meant she didn't have to literally burn through outfits. 'Can you smell this, too?' Mia asked, pointing at the black smoke rising from her nose slits.

'Zmeu,' Szabo whispered. 'She's taunting you.'

'I know your  relationship,' Cloudshade's smile widened. 'Is open. David Silva has to redeem himself, but I would rather not walk over you, if I can avoid it.'

'How generous.' Mia's smile was just as wide as hers, but far sharper. 'Do you know what David is doing right now? The exact thing you came to Earth for. So, why don't you haul arse to Fairie to help him, or the aether, or  anywhere else, before someone remembers how many people you bastards killed and decides you need some iron in your system?'

'Hypocrite.' Now, Cloudshade's smile thinned, becoming sad. 'So, it is fine when you put horns on him, but not-'

'David can have all the women he wants, for all I care-which, for your information, I do not. Even if he gave a flying shit about stuff like that, he wouldn't go for someone like you,  or let you touch me, whether you intended harm or something else.'

'And why not?' the Unseelie asked, expression as cold as her voice, colder than Paladin's unnatural ice.

'Because,' Mia said with all the fake sweetness she could muster. "He is fucking dead, darling. All love he feels is romantic. Mental. Everything else is shapeshifting-and bless him, he does more than enough for me.'

'Are you saying he can't grow to love me?'

The zmeu laughed, shaking the frozen Channel to the seafloor. 'Are you saying he  can? After you tried to kill me, after you all tried to wipe the world clean of civilisation? Or,' she raised her eyebrows. 'How about something more recent? Like that poor schmuck you set up to get in trouble with the Welsh moon goddess? Oh, don't look so surprised. New Camelot hasn't been as secretive lately.'

'He spoke ill of your lover,' Cloudshade said flatly, her guards beginning to shift their weight from one foot to the other.

'Oh, that solves everything! Didn't you know I have a list of every random person on the planet who talks shit about me and David?'

'...You're saying you won't share.'

'Depends.' Mia shrugged, tail swaying from side to side. 'Say you get your rocks off with his help. Or mine. Ours.  Whatever. Say David saves your home while you're wasting time here, rather than helping him. What else do you want?'

'David Silva bore the bringer of Faerie's ruin to its heart. He must pay. He shall live, but he must pay. In blood.'

'No, he won't.' To Mia's surprise, Szabo stepped forward, his eyes under the mask as crazed and wide as the ones on it. 'You think you can shatter a memorable relationship and replace it with your cheap nonsense? Maybe you can talk with Coldhold while you cool off.'

'You must give us the Count back.' Cloudshade stiffened, standing up straighter. 'You took him prisoner-'

'Oh, fuck you, bitch,' Szabo snarled. 'I needed new clothes, anyway.'

Paladin walked up beside them, covering dozens of metres in two long strides. Most of the French Crypt agent's swords were out, save one-for the Fae had made no move yet, and Durandal could not be unsheathed carelessly.

'We planned for you, skinthief.' Cloudshade's left hand dashed into the shadows around her waist, producing a small, sickly pale leather pouch. Mia felt bile rise in her throat at the sight, and felt Szabo stiffen, before walking forward, cursing under his breath.

'God guard and preserve us...' Paladin muttered, a hand on Durandal's hilt.

'You would open  that on Earth?' Szabo asked, nails growing into claws. 'You do nothing to disprove our views on the Unseelie.'

'What is it?' Mia asked, not knowing whether his senses were keener than hers, or if he had seen that pouch before.

'Vile, zmeu.' He forced himself to smile. 'It will make a great mantlepiece.'

***

Atum-Ra Cluster, Duat

'What is he  doing?' Set hissed, his elongated muzzle making the question sound more angry than curious.

Horus, refusing to acknowledge the desert god, leant over the edge of the solar barque to look into the dark waters that swallowed everything and returned nothing. 'Don't you think he's acting strange today?' the falcon-headed warrior asked, idly slapping the flat of his golden khopesh into his palm.

Bast, poised on the edge, a curved knife in each clawed hand, did not reply, tail twitching as she attempted to pierce the depths with her golden eyes.

'Of course he is,' Ra said gruffly. Upon his head rested a mirror of a pharaoh's twofold crown, topped by an exact replica of the mundane universe's sun, the size of his eye. The sun god walked forward, golden wood that could and had withstood hypernovas without damage cracking under his feet, admonishing Set and Horus with a silent glare, making them return to the oars. Flail in one hand, crook hanging at his waist, he put a hand on Bast's shoulder.

'The serpent is just getting a little long in the tooth, kitten.' He gave her a smile as large as his beak allowed. 'Aren't you, Apep?'

'Aren't  you, brother?' Apep asked back, parting the waters as he rose. His mouth, millions of kilometres wide, was filled with fangs that had split realities, but it was his eyes that drew the god's attention. Blacker than his scales, blacker than the waters, yet shining as darkly as Ra's were bright. "I think it is time we put this game to rest." His body swayed, and a minuscule fraction of the force bled over into the mundane universe, making it tremble and reducing trillions of planets to quarks as galaxies were destroyed, not even leaving cosmic dust behind. Giant stars, orange and red and blue, were erased from existence and history alike as drops of Nu's water fell on them, making it so they had never been.

Apep smiled impishly, then dipped his mouth into the waters, taking a deep draught. 'Nothing to note, scribe?' he asked, before spitting at Thoth.

The dog-faced baboon raised a rough palm, not raising his gaze from his papyrus scroll, nor moving from his crouch on the side of the barque. The waters covered his hand harmlessly, and Thoth muttered about childishness, remaking the past with a burst of will. Billions of stars burst into existence anew, histories intact.

'I really hope the strigoi wins...' he murmured. 'He sounds interesting, and I would like to teach a new Mimir...ah.' Black, beady eyes shone like the moon he had once stolen new days from. 'Interesting, indeed...'

***

Faerie

'It's stopped,' Tamar said, making the other Heads move closer to the Blackness. 'A single Fae? It took more. Are they...?'

'So optimistic,' Gaol John scoffed, chains wrapping tightly around arms so muscle skin split from the false muscles underneath. 'Perhaps Chernobog is wondering how to attack us. No bets whether he'll be wearing Silva's corpse or not.'

'Can't see through that cloud of shit despite being bound to him? No? Then keep your trap shut,' Ying Lung snapped, preparing to dive into the Blackness. 'This is vile, but I'll-'

'Wait,' Shiftskin said. 'If Silva fails-or has failed-we must have a plan to stop this. Even if Chernobog doesn't stick around, who's to say the Blackness won't spread to our universe after it's done with Faerie? Well?' He looked at his fellow Heads. 'Suggestions?'

'I have an idea-for stalling,' John clarified at Sam's hopeful look. Then, he bound Faerie's wellbeing to his, stopping the Blackness in its tracks.

For an instant. Then, small, dark streaks appeared on his skin, widening with every moment. Grunting, John unbound himself. 'I suppose stopping it after a heroic, but failed attempt to prevent it from eating Britain is not an option?'

'Bastard.' Tamar shook his head. 'We should never have let "people" like you and Strauss into ARC.'

'Don't start now, Tamar,' Sam warned him. 'Hex has been nothing but professional for decades-'

'Decades, indeed. Almost a century,' Tamar said, voice beginning to shake, not from rage, but from his demons thrashing inside his mind and soul.

'IDIOTS!' Ying roared, forcing everyone but Sam to their knees. 'Chernobog champions decay-and you'd let our bonds wither now? I'll kill you all myself if you do this again-except you, Sam. You, I'll leave to your mummy.'

Sam snorted, body blackening and exploding in size as he assumed Typhon's form and power, then growing larger and darker still as Tiamat's was added to it, waters as dark and destructive as the Blackness covering the vaguely dragonlike shape like a second layer of scales. 'You really know how to scare a guy, Ying.'

***

North Pole

As Pierre's eyes narrowed in anger at the accusation, Constantin prayed for forgiveness, if he was wrong, then struck out with his faithcraft in a circle.

Angus and Suzana fell to their knees, the former calling Constantin every name under the sun, while Pierre swayed like a tree about to topple, skin pale and covered in small burns.

Tyrone took it the worst, writhing in the snow as his surplice fused with melting flesh, singed threads slipping under skin running like wax and tangling in raw muscles. The pastor couldn't even find his voice to scream in agony as he raised a hand at Constantin, darkness gathering around his fingers.

'Hell take thee, false priest. Like the fools in the temple, thou hast sold thine soul for trinkets,' Constantin intoned, smashing his hand through Tyrone's, who shrieked like a dying demon. Constantin dug until he grabbed hold of his tender elbow, then twisted, snapping his limb in half. 'Weak and hollow, as is the flesh of all who follow evil.'

'How did you...know?' Angus asked, still dazed as he rose to his feet, glaring murderously at Tyrone. 'A guess...?'

'You helped me, Angus,' Constantin admitted. 'Your jab at Pierre, the way he avoided using God's name-I felt something was wrong the moment I arrived. But it was too obvious. Pierre has his reasons for his timidity, which he  will share,' Constantin gave the burnt, trembling priest a meaningful look. 'But he is not tainted.'

'I thought that "let's all be friends" nonsense seemed forced,' Suzana muttered, stamping her hooves. 'Playing peacemaker like...like he cared! Like-'

'Imitation, sister. Only the shallowest imitation of a pastor.' Constantin turned back to Tyrone, looking down at the burned man. 'No Outer Gods here, Angus. This evil is more earthly, and decidedly not uncaring.'

***

Old Centre, Bucharest, Romania

'I'm sorry to hear about that shit, boss,' Cosmin's voice rattled the false bones of Bianca's body as he walked behind her. Usually, she felt confident on walking around alone, unless it was before or after a performance, thus making it more likely to draw certain types of fans.

This was not usual. Paying security extra to act as an escort was not something she'd do when she could just ask Luci and Andrei, but...

'Must feel pretty rough, huh?' the ogre asked, walking closer to her. His green, leathery lips pursed as he leaned down.

Bianca nodded absently, remembering when they had found out.

***

'It was a good effort,' the Supernatural Service vamp said, arms spread. 'But we knew we couldn't gaslight you forever, Dravich. Too much snitch in you to be tricked.'

Andrei glared back at him. He didn't remember if he was Eric or Bogdan-they'd both been insufferable morons during their time being forced to slowly carve out the Canal, so he'd never bothered to learn who was who-, but he thought he'd been David's student for a while, before joining the Service.

And his son had done a shit job, it looked like. 'Had I remained there longer,' he leaned against the warehouse's wall, scraping off peeling paint. 'I'd have been put down during a full moon or another.'

'Whatever you say.' The vampire shrugged. 'At least you've grown better at controlling yourself, huh?'

'Not good enough to be trusted, clearly.' Mihai tossed a newspaper-an antiquity, really, mostly sold for charm-at the vamp's feet. 'Fucking...five  trillion? Do you have any idea-'

'We knew you'd get angry,' the Camelot agent, a dark-skinned, man of average size with a shaved head, said, hands raised. 'Hence why we made sure the news wouldn't reach you. Papers, news, magazines...we tried to delay-'

'Do you have any idea how David must feel?' Alex cut in. 'Do you...' The ghost put his face in his hands. 'How did this even happen? What possessed him to...?'

Standing between a stunned Bianca and the agents, Lucian said nothing, fangs clenched. But something, some instinct, told him Alex was closer to the truth than he knew.

***

'Yes,' the iela replied. 'But I know he'll pull through,' her voice lowered. 'He's stronger than he thinks.'

'That's nice.' Cosmin's breath ruffled her hair as he bared tusklike teeth. 'But you know what I heard, boss?' The ogre had his hands around her mouth and waist, dashing into a side alley faster than she could react. Despite her attempts to shapeshift, curse him or break his grip, the ogre stared straight at her as he pushed the iela up against the wall. 'I hear ya once went to Faerie and had a bad time. Heard ya did something to piss off the knife-ears, and they got angry, but forgave you. Heard Silva wants to kill 'em all for you. And,' drool began falling onto his brown shirt as his tusks gleamed. 'I wonder. Wouldn't the Fae like to get their hands on you? Maybe even alive?'

***

Faerie

Yes, I said, voice trembling with what Chernobog must have taken as fear, for he smiled. This is the end. I will take no more Fae from you.

 No, he agreed. You shall not.

Power crackled around his claws, through his being, as he prepared to both strike me down and defend himself, but I had no intention to do either. Instead, I grasped my strigoi self's hand, then we both clenched our fists around Mimir's power, compressing it to a single point within our core.

And then, as the alterations ravaged our flesh, opening yawning wounds for colourless, divine light to shine through, we drew the Blackness inside us. Chernobog startled as he felt a piece of him being yanked away, countless Fae gasping in relief as they were released and air rushed in to fill the void left by the blackness.

We could not keep it within us for long, not even changed like this, for it would destroy us-but we did not need to. Broceliande was a cunning prison, designed by one of the greatest mages in history, but tiny, temporary changes could be made, with the right knowledge backed by the right power.

And, though the Blackness was not powerful enough to erase the chains, Mimir's power was more than a match for Nimue's spell, and I did not intend to break my prison, anyway. Just to break out.

But it would not let me. Even as the sky of my mindscape cleared, letting my hunger laugh triumphantly at the graveyard below, I knew the prison would not remain empty. Its brutish pseudo-mind demanded that someone take my place.

Chernobog, surprised less that I'd slipped my bonds and more that I hadn't attacked him-this, not striking in a moment of weakness, was beyond him-thrashed as I grabbed hold of him, and tried to drag him into Broceliande, to take my place. With a last, hateful glance as my power tore at him, he turned and ran, leaving a trail of destruction behind him.

But I had seen it. I had seen the gaunt face under the black one, the teeth used for empty smiles. The spindly ivory antlers under the ebony ones.

Belobog had not spoken. He had been too weak. But I had understood his plea, all the same.

KILL.

ME.

***

 Urziceni, Romania

On Constantin Silva's property was a pig pen. There were many pigs in it, pink and white and brown, and there had been for decades. Constantin kept little meat for himself, and not just because he didn't eat much. He spread the rest across town, every Christmas.

There had never been a black pig named Hogge there, let alone a pen dedicated to it. There had, indeed, never been a black pig in the pen.

Nor had there ever been a pig named Hogge.

Despite what David Silva might believe, there had never been, nor would there ever be a pig named Hogge in the pig pen. When he spoke about him around town, the townsfolk looked at him like he was mad, and how could they not? He was speaking of things that had never existed, and never could.

The thing that was not Hogge stood up like a man. It did so as naturally as it trotted about as a pig.

Neither suited it. It was too perfect, yet, clearly, a sign of effort, not instinct.

Uncanny valley? Perhaps.

The thing that was not Hogge looked up, up, up, past the cloudless night, past the moon and stars, past the edge of reality. It saw the aether, the unaligned souls missing, never to come back.

They had wanted to return to the world, not choose any god, or remain in a world of their own making. That could not stand.

It knew. It had ended them, after all.

It did not regret this, for it could not. It would not have, had it been able to, either.

Still, it felt like it could have done...more. Like it should have.

But that had never been its lot. There had never been examples to follow, or assistance. It had never been human, anyway. The dead, unclaimed and unaligned, had been its lot.

And it was failing them. It knew, in what passed for its core, that, should it happen again, it would slaughter again, until no godless dead remained, either destroyed or running into the embrace of deities.

That...could not happen. If it did, it would no longer...

The thing that had never been, and could have never been Hogge, looked past the Aether, into the Outer Void. It saw the chessboard that was a puppet string that was a scale-crude metaphors, used by crude fools.

'Not yet?' ot asked, mouth parted in an eternal, silent scream.

'Not yet.' The Remaker smiled sadly, head bowed.

'Not yet.' The Crawling Chaos grinned, head help up high.

The thing that was not Hogge looked between them, past them, at the shapeless being on the Black Throne. Sleeping, sleeping and dreaming, to the tune of flutes.

Each godless soul gone was like the ticking of a clock. How long, until it awoke? The thing dared not contemplate it, even as it knew it could not, would not stop its slaughter, should things come close to falling apart again.

This could not go on.

'Is he ready to take me?' it demanded. 'Will he take me?'

'He is not,' the Remaker replied, weeping at his deeds. 'But he will.'

'He is not,' the Crawling Chaos replied, laughing at its deeds. 'He never will.'

For an instant, creation was silent, utterly still, as a soul that should have drowned in darkness crushed it in his fist instead, and sent his would-be master running.

And then, something that had never happened, and would never happen again, brought everyone who perceived it to their knees.

On its throne at the centre of chaos, a being shifted, something that saw, but could have never been mistaken for an eye, almost opening under the innumerable layers that protected Its Dream from it.

Its movement humbled the mighty. Its voice broke them.

HE

MUST