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Today, I’m going to tell you about a very special motherfucker named Yaoldabath.

Yaoldabath is an elf. That means he’s immortal. No, not the Blade of the Immortal-kind of immortal, or Highlander-immortal. Just the regular kind that runs for office every term and somehow keeps getting re-elected, whether anybody votes for him or doesn't, and never takes the hint to retire. I don’t know what to call that flavor of undyingness—I’ll let you decide—but that’s how he is, and he’s been at it for a decent while.

This Signor Yaoldabath probably never did one good deed in his longass life and was only a massive dick to everybody he came across, like the characters in those cautionary fables meant to teach children strict black-and-white morals and a stubborn us-vs-them mentality. No brave hero ever showed up to give the scoundrel his dues. Instead, he went on to live thousands upon thousands of years, building himself reputation as the godfather of those boys you don’t want to mess with.

In fact, the madlad has gone so far in life, even our Order of Do-Gooder Dumbasses—which I lovingly call the ‘Douchebags’ for short—has heard a thing or two about him.

And, as you may know, I know that name too.

We’re going to be hearing it again later, and so many times it’ll stop making you giggle, but let’s go back to that point where it was still new and exceptionally challenging to read.

Deep in the heart of the Menneroix castle is a grand, vaulted hall without windows. Three summers have come and gone since I settled down in the cozy vale of Orethgon, with the fourth fast on its way, but this is the first time I see the basement hall in question, which is where the Masters of the Order gather to discuss RIT—the Really Important Things.

Looking at the place, I’d reckon it was a banquet hall once upon a time, featuring a large-ish fireplace in the far back. Even now, I can vividly picture huge oak barrels of mead stacked tall by the walls, and hear in my ears the songs of the brawny warriors of yore, and the farting and the burbing and calling earl in the early hours of morning.

But the current master of the castle doesn’t drink.

The barrels have been cleared away, the stone floor washed clean.

In the middle of the hall, under the light of a wheel chandelier, stands one big table.

You guessed it; the table is round. So that all who sit there can feel equally important and represented, and so that nobody has to sit with a corner between their legs if it gets crowded. That tends to spoil the mood.

Ah, now this is the shit.

All secret organizations should have a room like this one. A room where history is decided in candlelight, bold oaths are sworn, traitors expelled, and heroes promoted. Just breathing in that stagnant, earthen air, I feel every bit like a legendary hero myself—and like I’ve been chain smoking for thirty years. Even though I haven’t won any battles worth talking about and botched my first real mission like an idiot.

I go and brazenly take a seat at the two o’clock chair. There’s no name on it. If somebody wants my chair, they’re going to have to fight me for it.

Today happens to be one of those rare occasions per year when every major character is at home.

There’s good old Sephram in the five o’clock seat, looking appropriately burned-out and dead inside after the balls-up in part one.

There’s Master Teresina, my magic mentor, life counselor, and landlady in the eight o’clock seat, veiled in her washed-out, eggplant-colored robes and shawl, like a generic witch. I keep telling her to buy trendier clothes, but she has a very anti-fashion attitude, like many old people tend to have. Even if she doesn’t care about her image, she should worry more about mine. I’m too embarrassed to tell anyone where I live.

Then there’s Master Endol in the seven o’clock seat. Another worthless hermit, who does nothing but float around looking aloof and talks like a pseud on loan from early nineteenth century literature. I’m still unsure what’s his role in the narrative. He can’t be just an ancient know-it-all, can he? A talking wall would be more interesting. The odds are high they'll replace him in the movie.

There’s Master Gunlau in the four o’clock seat, the local martial arts master, and all-in-all one of the most decent people around, in addition to Irifan. Monks are always based. I owe him so much. He taught me how to throw a punch right and how to kick people without breaking my toes. Though all the trouble his daughter gives me kind of balances out the gratitude.

There’s Master Khram in the ten o’clock seat, our crulean expert, who looks like the result of an awkward night between a buffalo and a dinosaur. Somehow, the offspring of that radical union ended up a professor instead of a badass. I knew right away which chair was his, because it’s twice as wide as the others. The only reason I didn’t steal it for comedy purposes is because it might give people the wrong impression about the size of my ass.

“...”

Among the people present is also Vysania, granny’s second disciple, in the eleven o’clock seat. Just three chairs from me!

As always, her clean white cat ears are a wonder to behold. Vysania expertly avoids eye contact with me, no matter how I wink and wave at her. It’s starting to make me question if I’m visible at all. Can’t say it doesn’t hurt. We haven’t seen each other in over eight months. Eight months, twelve days, six hours and twenty-three minutes. Fifty-five seconds. She could at least say hi. I can tell you I’ve had her in my thoughts every day. Especially at bedtime and sometimes in the tub too.

Last, but not least, there’s our lovely boss herself, Irifan, who takes the chair at the six o’clock position.

Or maybe that’s actually the twelve o’clock chair and mine is eight instead of two? Oh who gives a damn!

That’s all of us.

The whole happy family together, around the same table, like it’s Thanksgiving. But there’s no turkey and I have a feeling there won’t be much thanks given either.

Hang on, since Irifan asked me to join in, does that mean I’m one of the masters now? Seriously? Am I reading too deep into this? Did they ever even make me a full member in the first place? There was never any ceremony. No fingers cut off, no magic vows. I got no rank, no title, no lunch coupons, or gym cards. Geez, where’s the sense of achievement?

What if I don’t actually want to join at all? I might walk out. What would they do? Then again, I’m still here after three years plus change, so it might be a little too late for a change of heart.

Nobody wants to fight me for my chair.

In fact, there are vacant chairs on both sides of mine. They're pretty loosely spaced too, there’d be room for a lot more.

Is that seriously everyone we have?

It’s the second part, my god, where are all the new characters? Are you telling me this is the whole noble brotherhood fighting evil in the world? Did I join the wrong Order? Maybe I got the junior league of heroes, and there’s a bigger show next door? I’m beginning to worry about our box office performance for real. “Suicide Squad” might’ve been a more fit name for this fiction, if that weren’t already trademarked and synonymous with a bomb.

“This place has seen livelier days, that's for sure,” Master Teresina sighs as she watches my head spin. “There’s no getting around that we’re miserably short-handed.”

“Sad but true,” Irifan concurs. “Ideals alone are hard to sell in the world of today. It’s not so easy to find individuals willing to stake their lives for others, for so little personal gain. Yet, the frugality of our rewards is by design. We’ve learned the hard way that money doesn’t buy loyalty. It’s only when a person toils without weighing his purse that you can be sure he toils for what he loves. But it’s a harsh test! Day by day, our burdens grow heavier, whereas our coffers lighten.”

“Alas,” Master Gunlau adds with a sigh of lament, “the will to fight the good fight, though admirable, is not enough on its own. Training can only take one so far, and we cannot send lackluster braves to die in vain. People of unusual talents are needed, experts of unique fields. Not only because it makes things more convenient for us, but their own safety’s sake.”

And big talents ask for big bucks. I’m starting to see the problem. Which begs the question, what the hell am I doing here again?

“If you like,” Master Khram cheerfully chimes in, “I could recommend a name or two. I know several stout fellows who fear no trouble, and do not ask for much in exchange, only a spot of good time.”

“No offense, Master Khram,” Sephram answers him across the table, “but your people tend to somewhat stand out…everywhere outside Qazaria.”

“Er-hrum, well, yes, that may be true, but—”

Master Endol interrupts Khram's rising counterargument with a dry cough.

“My own kind would be no less eager to act for the good of the many, and they care not for rewards either. However, the Accord still binds us and we are to honor it. Until mankind stands as one and requests our aid of their own free will, we must respect their right to forge their own path. Even in the event that this path appeared mistaken to us.”

It’s a less than subtle jab at Master Khram. Emiri and cruleans both are bound by the Accord as Rank 3 civilizations. It’s not like in Star Trek; they don’t have to keep their existence a secret from us. We still live on the same planet. Individual tourists are fine too. They just can’t interfere with our organic course of history. Which is kind of what the Order does. We’re a border case, and the last thing we need is more international attention to our activities.

“If only man were less self-centered and prejudiced,” Vysania suddenly speaks up, “we wouldn't be so alone and the bloodbath that befell Nikéa would never have come to pass.”

Whoa, shots fired.

Is it just me, or is she basically saying that had we had anyone to send but me, and had that someone been more like Patrick Steward and less like Chris Pine, we wouldn’t be one ball closer to apocalypse now? Because I—I disagree!

“Chin up, friends,” Irifan tells us. “What happened in Nikéa was a heavy blow, I won’t deny that. Yet, failure is the best of teachers, as my grandfather used to say, and I daresay we’ve learned a great deal from ours. It has been a full year since then. The reason I summoned you all, busy as you are, was to review what was learned and determine how to best proceed. Maybe it would be appropriate to begin with a brief summary of the situation. Master Mansoix, would you like to begin?”

Sephram obediently pops up from his chair to speak, like we’re at school.

“It's good to see you all, after a while,” he begins with a casual nod. “I am freshly returned from the Sultanate, the very site of said educational misadventure. In early spring last year, as you doubtless recall, the Kingdom of Alberion launched a major military assault deep into the territory of that troubled land. Officially, the goal of the campaign was to put a stop to the flow of opiates from Nikéa to the western lands, but this turned out to be but a handsome ruse. The war and opiate trade both were orchestrated by Marshal Erwin Hume of the Royal Army. His purpose was not to battle crime per se, but to break into the ancient ruins beneath Nikéa’s royal district, and steal the celestial relic therein. The war was merely a means for Hume to cover his tracks and eliminate unwanted witnesses.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Did we really need a summary now? Is this showing on Fox? Then again, we live in an age where they can put a recap episode in a one-cour anime, so I guess I shouldn’t say anything.

The handyman carries on,

“The relic in question turned out to be a part of a massive construct of heavenly origin, called by some a ‘Heaven’s Pillar’. We retrieved the relic in an effort to keep it from falling into Hume's hands, but…failed to hold onto it. Hume and his followers were defeated, but, alas, the relic was broken. As to what these Pillars are and what they do, I believe Master Vysania can tell you in better words than I could.”

Sephram passes the torch and sits back down.

Without batting an eye, Vysania gets up. Did they rehearse this beforehand, or what? I wouldn’t know what to say if suddenly put to the spot like that! Hope nobody asks me to explain anything.

“Honored masters of the Order,” the cat girl starts with a stiff bow of her head. “For the past year, Master Endol and myself have gone through scores of old texts in search of any further mentions of these allegedly divine constructs; Master Endol in contact with his overseas sources, and I in the Academy of Kaldession, which holds perhaps the most extensive arcane records in the mortal realms. Our findings have been scarce, but what little was unveiled corroborates the existing hypothesis.”

Vysania raises her hands and uses light magic to conjure a three-dimensional model above the table.

The outline of a big, blue ball appears to hover below the chandelier, and I assume it’s our home planet we’re staring at.

Nice, but I could do better.

“When the Age of the Gods ended and the Age of the Covenant began, five great towers appeared around the planet, presumably raised by the Old Gods themselves.”

On the slowly revolving planet’s surface, five tower-like thingies are highlighted in bright orange.

“Over 17,000 years old, very little is known about the Pillars or their functions today. Earthquakes and other cataclysms have caused most of their frames to crumble, leaving only the nigh-indestructible foundations. However, certain main points have been preserved in oral tradition, and the Immortals’ records, which shed some light on their role. Each of the Pillars draws in prana from its surroundings to generate a low-intensity energy field, which envelops the entirety of the globe. Emiri scholars observed this field already in the fourth cycle, and surmised it is meant to regulate planetary energies, thereby to preserve the conditions ideal for organic life.”

This chick may be one unsociable, stone-cold cunt, but I never get tired of listening to her voice. If I could have a record of her talking about oral traditions for ten hours, I’d listen to it every night before bed.

Vysania manipulates the illusion to zoom in on one of the towers and switches to a side view of the interior.

“The relic we call ‘core’ is the central power reactor of the tower. An adaptor, which maintains all the tower’s functions. We should assume all five have one. The removal of the core unit renders the Pillar in its entirety inactive and inoperable. Our study of the relic recovered from Nikéa concluded that if shut down, or physically destroyed, the reactor cannot be repaired, restarted, or replaced by the scientific knowledge possessed by any of the existing cultures. However, the core's shutdown can be prevented if it is properly disconnected from the host system. In this case, the device will enter dormancy and may be safely transported or stored.”

Guess who discovered that? Yes, me. Where’s my credit?

“Based on our cursory measurements in Nikéa, carried out over the last year,” Vysania goes on, “losing one tower weakens the energy field, but does not disable it even locally. The remaining devices presumably adjust their output to cover any regional gaps. However, should all five Pillars be disabled at the same time, the global energy field is certain to vanish also. We can only assume the long-term result of the field's termination will be…our planet turning inhospitable to life.”

The cat girl’s voice trails off and she looks down. The illusory tower diagram fades away.

As you’d expect, that gets to her too, however tough she acts. The literal end of the world.

Damn. What would I do, if I knew for sure this is going to be my last day alive? Watch Blue is the Warmest Color, eating ice cream, and not set a foot outside my room? Wait, isn’t that just Sunday?

“So it is,” Irifan grimly remarks while everyone else stays quiet. “Why speak of this now, after a year, you may ask. Isn’t Erwin Hume long dead and buried, and the threat to the towers together with him? Alas, based on what was uncovered during the operation in Nikéa, we have a strong reason to believe Hume did not act alone, but under orders from someone else. A figure, of whom I'll let Master Endol tell you more.”

The person in question, seated left from Irifan, rises from his chair like a man-shaped tower himself. He seems more like a butler than an intelligence agent, never mind one of the mythical Immortals.

“You grace, my friends,” the emiri Sage begins courteously with a bow, and then delivers his speech, dry as ever. “I dearly wish I had better news to share with you after our period of separation; words of solace and encouragement. Yet, I am committed to serve only the truth in all matters, even when lies would seem fairer. And the truths I am to share with you today are dark indeed.”

If your goal was to make me feel worse than I did before, it’s a job well done.

“Messages of grief and strife vie for our Order’s attention every which way, and in ever increasing quantity. No realm upon this little planet appears free of trouble in this time. Hither and thither conflicts and bloodshed, discrimination and prejudice, enough to make the common man lose his faith in the morrow. But not all is as it seems. The current state of affairs is not so much about sentient life taking to moral decline, for reasons embedded in our root nature, but rather, unsuspecting souls are purposefully guided in ill directions by nefarious minds. Again and again, we hear one name spoken betwixt tales of death and terror, if only in frightened whispers, and I am aggrieved beyond description to confess it is a name I know well, a name held in great esteem in my land of origin; that of Duke Yaoldabath, the Governor of Elevro, and Sorcerer Supreme.”

Shivers race up and down my back and arms. I may not know the guy, personally, but even a hardass like Hume only had despair in his eyes when he said the name.

Well, Master Endol seems different.

“I once harbored naught but admiration in my heart for the grand Duke. Though of a younger generation than myself, his talent and groundbreaking discoveries in the arcane arts have inspired me greatly in my own modest research. Sadly, the days I could be proud to cite his work are now in memories alone. The person I hear described in horrified tongues today can ill be recognized as the same. And yet, each time embers of conflict burst to open flame somewhere on Ortho, one need not look far down the links of causation to stumble again upon that name, so far removed from its rightful context: Yaoldabath! In Nikéa last year, the many harrowing anecdotes we have stumbled across found their common nominator. I cannot even begin to guess his driving motivations, but the evidence against him has by now grown damning, and past denial. It is the Heaven’s Pillars the Duke of Elevro motions to overthrow—and with them, the future of all living. For the evils of my compatriot, I may only beg for your forgiveness.”

Concluding his part, Master Endol bows again and sits back down.

Imagine the hectares of forest they’ll have to cut down for the paper to print that spiel. Then again, recalling his school lectures, the above was still fairly short and to-the-point.

Our brave leader is the first to interrupt the uncomfortable silence.

“It is the worst development imaginable,” Irifan tells us, giving everybody around the table a look. “But it also makes our course of action exceptionally clear. We must locate the remaining Pillars and protect them from Yaoldabath and his servants. Whatever his reasons, we cannot allow the cores to be destroyed, and life together with them.”

“A most noble endeavor, worthy of fighting for,” Master Khram comments, “but how to achieve it? We are scholars, counselors, and spies—not so much soldiers. But an army is what we’d need, if we are to oppose the Duke of Elevro, who is a master of magic, and a commander of legions. Yet, is not avoiding bloodshed to the last our Order's founding principle?”

Irifan nods.

“Master Khram is correct. Our role is not to fight the battles of others, and we mustn’t forget that. Our primary task is to help the peoples of this world help themselves. However, there are many ways to fight. To choose the best one for the situation at hand, we are still in desperate need of more information. How much do we know of the locations of the other four Pillars?”

Master Endol answers,

“Your grace, the Dominion archives present that two are in the West, two are in the East, and the last resides in the far North. Of the western Pillars, I already have the whereabouts of one. A tower of particular prominence and fame stands in the sacred mountains of Ukulu, and albeit is has been known by many names before, it is undoubtedly one of the five. I shall make confirming the status of its reactor forthwith my mission, and look thereafter into the location of the second Pillar of the west. If there are indeed two also in the east, then it should stand to reason we will find another somewhere in Noertia.”

“I shall look into that,” Vysania says. “I already have a lead on it from the Academy records. Old travel journals speak of a grand structure, possibly of godly origin, revered by the natives of the ancient land of Ibolhyma. The way there is long, but the source is reliable. I believe it is a line worth pursuing.”

I’ve been wondering for a while, but what's this academy thing, anyway? Like Hogwarts for hot-and-cold cat girls? You mean, paradise? Sounds like a place where I belong!

“And one was in the north, yes?” Master Khram speaks up. “No other land in the north but our Qazaria, the Northern Continent! And our lead can only refer to the tower on the frozen plateau of Leng, spoken of in the folklore of my people. That makes dividing tasks simple! I shall depart for the Forgeyard this very day, to inform my brethern of the looming threat. While there, I will also look into the alleged involvement of our crafts in Nikéa’s conflict. No offense to anyone here, but I still find it immensely difficult to believe the Forgemaster would allow the Accord to be breached at the bidding of an emiri noble! Such runs counter to all I know of my own race.”

“Be careful,” Sephram cautions him. “I know it is your home turf, Master Khram, and they don’t like emiri very much, but the enemy this time is exceedingly cunning. Do exercise a bit of healthy doubt towards everyone you meet.”

So I’m not the only one who’s noticed our horned mentor is a bit…simple. Well, you don’t learn much about caution, when you weigh half a ton and can wrestle with a wyvern.

“Hmph, I shall get to the bottom of this plot!” Master Khram declares with confidence and smacks his chest, and completely misses why we’re worried. He’s coming back in a bag, isn’t he?

“I’d love to join any of you,” Sephram says. “But I fear I still have unfinished business left in the former Sultanate. I hope to stay there at least until the last of Alberion’s forces depart this coming summer. I can also keep an eye out for any aftereffects of the Pillar’s shutdown whilst there.”

What, does he have a secret wife there? A secret husband? Give the rubble pile a rest already!

“Please do,” Irifan tells him. “I don’t gladly send you back to a place so dangerous, but following the developments in Nikéa could also give us new clues regarding the purpose of the towers, and why Yaoldabath is so determined to ruin them.”

“——Why don’t we just go and ask him?”

Everyone falls quiet and turns to stare at me.

I hadn’t said a word until now, and didn’t mean to say anything later either. It just sort of slipped out before I knew it.

“...Pardon me?” Irifan asks me after a drawn-out pause.

Great. Now I’ll look like a total pussy, if I back out and say it was nothing.

I take my boots off the neighboring seat and quickly fix my posture.

“Well, I mean, yeah. Even at the risk of being Captain Obvious here, wouldn’t all this be settled a lot faster, if we just went and took out the bad guy himself? Since he’s kind of famous and we know where he lives too. Isn’t that right? So we knock on his door, sit down for tea, and say like, ‘why are you so evil? What the beep's wrong with you? Did your dad whip you too much or too little?’ And then, if we don’t like the answer—bam! We bust a cap on him right there. The end. The world, saved.”

I slam the table for emphasis. Sorry, table.

Across from me, Master Teresina snorts.

“He would destroy us. You’ve got spirit, pipsqueak, but no idea what you’re up against. Yaoldabath was already a wizard at the time man still lived in caves and ate his meat raw. The greatest of our mages couldn’t hold a candle to him, very few of his own kind can either. He’s gone to great pains to hide his intentions from the rest of the world, while sending his pawns to do his bidding. Announcing we’re onto him now would be tantamount to suicide. The only way this doesn’t end in tears is if we steer well clear of his view. In that, being small and pathetic works to our advantage. We ought to keep it that way.”

“Yet, I believe Zero has a point,” Irifan suddenly declares.

“I do? Did?” I blink, surprised.

“The future of the world is at stake,” she says. “We cannot afford to only play things safe from a distance, but must risk personal presence on stage. Yaoldabath is an emiri lord. To defeat him, we're going to need firm connections among his own kind. Which is why, Zero, I would like you to join Master Endol and travel to Amarno. Go to Osgonnoth and seek audience with Lebennaum, the Master of the Golden Cradle. If you could tell her of our plight and enlist her aid, we would be one bold step closer to success.”

“Wait.” I point at myself, unable to believe my ears. “You want me to go to the elfland?”

Isn’t that a lot more important than whatever the others are doing? Are you sure you want to give me a job that crucial after Nikéa?

Though she has to be aware of the stakes, Irifan looks back at me with eyes full of great expectations.

“Yes, Zero. Will you do it?”

“...”

Oh boy. When could I ever say no to those eyes?