"The followers from the 7th battalion are equipped and will be headed to Garshome by the end of the day," Pheralynn said through her com.

"Beautiful," Zane replied, looking out over the city. "The 4th battalion should be arriving within the next two days. Ensure that they're properly equipped."

It had been weeks since the Temple of Aramaz entered the city with force, but the battles were finally dying down. Crassander had put up the most resistance, with undying being one of the more obvious strengths.

Smoke poured out of where a quartz obelisk once stood in the city's center. Before its destruction, the light from a small flame could resonate through the gemstone monolith, focusing light into other obelisks spread throughout the city. However, it served as little more than a broken trinket after its defeat. Zane hoped it could serve as a symbol of the city's destruction.

"What else can this one provide for Aramaz?" Pheralynn asked reluctantly.

Slowly she was warming up to her new life of servitude, probably discovering that the more she offered, the looser her chains would become. A subtle difference is being commanded to perform versus offering one's services. The same result usually occurred, but rewarding proactiveness seemed to promote solidarity. In Zane's experience, a follower whose bindings tightened often wouldn't last long in any positions of power, leaving them condemned to a life of hard labor or death.

"No, Aramaz is pleased for now," Zane replied. "But Cassidy will be leaving for Thricehome shortly, so we'll leave Dulcrois in your care."

"My Fang," Pheralynn bowed in response. "I thank you for this great honor. You will not regret this."

Zane shrugged. "It doesn't matter much to me how you do. Yates vouched for your competency and trust. If you fail, I'll send Arizel or another Fang to take your place."

"Understood," she replied, sobering up with his response.

Zane ripped apart the paper used for communication, allowing the strips to drift slowly down into the city below.

Zane, a familiar voice rang out inside his mind.

His vision blurred, slipping slowly into blackness. It was a feeling all too familiar to Zane. In preparation, he sat, leaning against the railing overlooking the city. The void crept inwards, leaving only a tiny slip of light to peak through until his vision was consumed entirely by inky blackness. He closed his eyes and felt his body consumed by a thick mass. His chest and limbs felt constrained. His face was the only part of him that was left exposed.

Upon opening his eyes, Zane was greeted with a porcelain mask. The mask was featureless, but he could still sense a feeling of curiosity pouring out of the Numina.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked.

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You've done well securing the city of Dulcrois. The voice replied, echoing solely inside Zane's mind. My influence grows daily, and it all stems from your success.

"I'm honored you've decided to tell me in person."

I will be sending Yami to deal with the Otherworlder.

"Hood?" Zane questioned. "You said the tailor would be my responsibility.

And he will be, in time. Patience, my Fang, will yield any result you wish.

"Of course, I apologize for my shortness."

Nothing to apologize for, the voice comforted. I chose you for your greed and wisdom. Your skills are needed somewhere else; Yami is arriving in Garhome now. Brief him, then head to the mountains south of Tellac'Ren.

Before Zane could confirm his orders, the mask retreated at lightning-fast speeds. What was once a bright day with clear skies had shifted into night with his absence. A blade of cold steel lay pressed against his throat, with its owner hovering above. A simple black mask covered the sword bearer's nose and mouth, only exposing eyes filled with hatred, looking down at Zane's person.

"Oh good," Zane replied, clearly unthreatened by his assailant. "She said you'd be coming. You hungry?"

"Tell me the details of my target so I may leave." Yami requested.

On the table before them laid a bountiful meal. Freshly picked grapes and mulberries piled up on the center of the table. Around it, dried meats, hard bread, and the soft light of several candles illuminated their conversation.

"Come now, Yami, it has been years since we've seen each other. We can take a short bit to catch up. How have you been? Learned any new tricks?" Zane asked, in between stuffing slices of dried meat into his mouth.

"Nothing I wish to share with you. Those who trust the poisoned Fang are bound to choke on bile." Yami repeated as if it was a saying they repeated regularly.

"Who me?" Zane asked through a chortle. "Well, Aramaz did ask me to brief you, but she didn't say to do it quickly or well. So if you want to think about it this way, the more you play along, the better information you will get."

Yami paused momentarily, thinking of his orders from their shared God.

"Very well. I have no new abilities you are unaware of, just a development of my original skill set."

"Hmm? Oh well, that's fine and all. What about your love life? Any new friends?" Zane asked.

"No, and no," Yami replied.

"Boo," Zane pouted.

Pulling back the curtain surrounding their table, a server adorned with the serpents of Aramaz dropped bowls in front of the pair. Then slowly backed out of the room.

"Thank you!" Zane shouted out as they backed out of the room. "You said you weren't hungry, but you gotta try this."

Zane dug into the bowl of pickled fish stew as Yami looked on in horror.

"It smells atrocious, I know," Zane paused. "But the flavors are something else."

"You parade around making jokes, eating any food served to you, and engage in divine meditation without even a single person to watch your body." Yami paused for a moment. "I used to think you were the strongest Fang. I now see that luck alone has kept you alive."

"Oh yeah?" Zane asked. "I suppose it would seem an awful lot like luck from the outside. But, I tell you what, you wanna kill me, right?"

Yami nodded in response.

"Figured as much. Here go ahead and kill me, but then you have to try the stew," Zane offered. "Wait, hold on a second."

Zane grabbed a small cutting board and put it over their bowls.

"Okay, I'm rea-" Zane started.

Yami's sword swung and was resheathed in a blur. A spray of blood spurted out of his neck, covering the table and its contents with his juices. Zane's body limped in his chair as his sword slinked back into his sheath. Taking the board off their bowls, Yami indulged the dead man by taking a bite of the stew.

"Pretty good, right?" Zane asked.

Yami looked in disbelief at the blood-soaked table and back to the Fang seated comfortably, immaculately dressed, and digging into his stew.

"You wouldn't think the vinegar, fish, and cream would work well together, but they somehow make it all happen."