It was known as the Soul Forger, not because it lacked a name, it had more names than most realities contained. A sea of titles that would make the stars in the sky look lonely, but that was the name that people ended up using eventually. It did not mind this, of course, the concerns of gods and titans were like the dreams of sparrows. Unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

Soul Forger or rather Urmalaratyk as it preferred to think of itself in this eon, had only a few beings that it considered worthwhile thinking about. The 9 World-Architects and their little cluster of competing realities, the Leviathan of Souls, and the Wardens of Oblivion were the only beings that Urmalaratyk truly found worthy of concern. Not that it couldn't interact with lesser beings but it rarely found cause to do so.

One of its many feathered limbs scratched at an itch near the quantum tentacles as it gazed down into the Sea of Oblivion. Souls from worlds without magic came here, without gods or magical systems to catch them they fell into that which sought to consume all realities. Pure oblivion, but souls could survive where base matter and magic could not. At least they could for some time and it was those lucky few that Urmalaratyk scouted for.

Tiny specs of souls that it could reach out to and offer a way out. The Wardens did not appreciate this naturally, but the accord them and it were such that they did not begrudge Urmalaratyk its fun. Once, it had been a god in a world known to those who traveled the universes as "The World of Misery". Urmalaratyk was the firstborn of the 5 that rose out of the madness of a prophet, mental neuroses given true sapience and power beyond mortality through twisted faith. It had then been a he and had given birth to itself by merging with and mating with a cluster of insects, a dying shrimp, an ape, and a squirrel. He had birthed the first demons of that world and conquered hell, but eventually, even that grew too limiting for him.

Urmalaratyk had reached for the sky and become more and had eventually ended up as the transcended Soul Forger. It occasionally wondered if any of its siblings would follow, Ko who had eaten and replaced the sun of that world was the most likely candidate. Yoorisha was too distracted with her mortal foibles, Umaruth was a simple brute that would be content with mere destruction. Even now after countless millions of cycles, Urmalaratyk shuddered at the notion of its sibling Quwerinxex becoming like it.

It cawed with the primary beak to banish the thought of that and redoubled its vigil. Soul shards were hard to sea in the nothingness and it did not wish to waste an opportunity by idly thinking. An opportunity was wasted, but it was not because of idle thoughts. Urmalaratyk felt a call flow through the Ethereal and several of its beaks beneath the skin clacked in annoyance.

The dimensional ritual used to communicate was crude and clearly came from a world that was not experienced with such. A quantum tendril reached over to touch the incoming magic so it could be read.

"An entropic god? A mere god is bold enough to try a ritual of communication?"

Urmalaratyk was genuinely surprised something so puny would reach out to it. The message was simple enough it asked how one could track down a Conquest Seed that had been summoned but ended up in the wrong location. Such could happen of course as a Conquest Seed could end up going through a naturally occurring dimensional tear rather than the one created by a ritual. However, the cult that failed to summon a seed in such a manner would have to learn to live with their failure. Conquest Seeds contained the infinite potential of the soul combined with the limitless power of the end, they would have to become something else or face the wrath of the reality antibodies.

That was why Urmalaratyk had instituted the system of cult summonings rather than simply have the seeds smash through naturally occurring tears in dimensional membranes. Infinite and limitless were all well and good but if the natural magic the seed had to work with was a couple of barren rocks and a common cold spell, then it didn't exactly leave that much to work with. Nevermind that the seed that had ended up there had become a combination of stone and disease which almost toppled that entire reality. Cults could ritually maintain the integrity of the seed until it could change using more potent magical resources.

What answer should be given if any to the ridiculous request? Urmalaratyk considered the question for a fraction of a second before reaching a quantum tentacle down into the stasis chamber beneath the forge. One of its descendants from when it had been a mere god could serve as a decent reply. A shrimp demon lord should do the trick.

The tentacle threw the shard containing the demon lord back through the magic and returned its attention to the Sea of Oblivion. While the shard flew through the Ethereal to serve as a reply to the rather rude message that had been sent. The Leviathan of Souls swam after it while eating a stray Conquest seed it had caught on the way to investigate the interesting magical pulse that had been sent to the Soul Forger.

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Legio knelt down before the High Council of Apocalypse within the Sacrosanctum, the holiest chamber within the Stronghold of the End. A hidden castle built centuries ago by the founders of the order to safeguard the next generation of cultists and to have the grandest rites be done outside of the eyes of unsuspecting commoners.

"No signs of the Harbinger Seed have been found anywhere in this mountain range. The diviners have likewise failed to find any trace of it."

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The Ortal Mountains were not the largest mountain range in the world, but they were notoriously treacherous to travel through and it had caused Legio and his team no end of trouble to search through it. Weeks had been spent looking through it and five men had died or been maimed in accidents over the course of the search.

"So you are coming with nothing? Well thanks a lot for that you bloody git, we now have so much more to go on. After all "we found nothing" and the "diviners can't find it" are such useful pieces of information."

The High Scholar of Oblivions put so many layers of obvious sarcasm into his irritable muttering that Legio almost winced. In the silence that followed only the quivering and moans of the fleshpit could be heard before the High Priest of Endings spoke.

"Seeker Legio, what my colleague wished to say was that you have performed your duties admirably considering the circumstances. I wish for you to continue proving your dedication to us, take 10 cultists with you, and travel to the lands of House Du Eralt. Establish an infernal pit there and establish a new branch of the Order there. We will need young men like you to take initiative in the trying times to come and we lack influence there. Leave us to our discussions please."

Legio rose from where he had knelt and bowed deeply. True joy filled his heart at knowing he had avoided a soul purge or becoming part of the fleshpit, so an assignment to some county in a foreign kingdom did not matter much to him. He spun around and retreated out from the sacred chamber so quickly that his red cape flapped in the breeze that it caused.

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The High Hierophant of Change smiled over to her colleague and hoarsely whispered. She flicked her wrist and the darkness obscuring the shapes of the High Council disappeared as the young man did.

"Was it necessary to butter up the little thing that much?"

"I believe in rewarding hard work even if that hard work is for naught. We all knew that the chances of the Harbinger Seed landing in the mountains were slim, now we know that it didn't at all. That it entered through a hole in the sky rather than coming through the summoning circle was strange enough, but it made it difficult to predict where it landed."

"The gods' damned math I have had to do to try and predict where it ended up"

The High Scholar seemed content to continuously mutter curses instead of coming with anything productive, in spite of the angry glares given to him by the other 4 High Councilors. The High General of Cataclysms spoke up next and roared with their commander voice.

"Well, we are going to have to find where it ended up. The Harbinger Seed needs to merge with our Champion, and who knows what sorry sap it has taken in its stead. The end will be a mere whimper rather than the glorious battle that has been foretold."

"If it will bring about the end at all, the prophecies were quite clear about this. The seed has the potential and the power, our greatest Champion shapes that power, and together they will bring about the end of society and the beginning of a new age."

The High Oracle said casually while she knitted a scarf. She was peculiar in that she thought it appropriate to work a craft in this sacred hall, it was also peculiar because she tended to dip the knitted works into fleshpits before giving it to children in random villages far away from the Stronghold. The last such child had been given mittens by the nice old lady and a few weeks later the child had been found eating the face of their grandmother.

"I have sent a message to learn more."

A raspy voice of an old man heralded the arrival of the man himself, an old Monk that had served in the Stronghold for longer than any living cultist could remember. Everyone in the Stronghold had theories about how the old one had survived in the Order of the Apocalypse for all of these countless years without being killed, sacrificed, or even maimed once. And almost just as many people had nicknames for the withered hunchback. However, most knew him only as Seril the Monk and kept it at that.

His yellowed eyes swept through the ostentatious chamber before he continued speaking in the ponderous way he affected before the mortals of the High Council.

"The Seed-Maker is a mysterious being so I have sent a magical message to those who might know more about how to track down a co- Harbinger Seed."

"Good, you serve us well Seril."

The High Priest spoke before any of the hotheads could berate the geriatric scholar for stepping into the Sacrosanctum without being summoned first. Someone who could wander in despite the myriad of protections layered around the chamber was worth being shown every courtesy.

"Yes, I will have to continue doing the math."

As for the High Scholar he didn't care about the withered man and simply departed the chamber and when one left soon the entire meeting evaporated as everyone felt a strong compulsion to leave. No matter that there were still things to be discussed or the awkward and stilted way the meeting ended, they all left and when the chamber was vacated then "Seril" straightened up.

"I should never have listened to Molek. The wizened old man disguise is insufferable to deal with and I do not care for the joint pain."

He muttered as he sat down and let his aching legs dangle over the edge to the fleshpit. Hopefully, the Seed-Maker would answer his request to give him the means to track down a Conquest Seed. It had been way too costly to buy the information about how to do the Ritual of Apocalyptic Summoning and that was before the costs of the ritual itself were factored in. Resil the Corroder of Chains would not fail now, not after all of the time spent to bring about an end to it all. Also because he really did not want to lose yet another bet with an extradimensional entity. The bet he lost to let the Carnies into this world had been bad enough.