The rapidly-regenerating God-King and his sworn elf maiden made eye contact with each other. Netta could see the proof of divinity within his eyes, his sclera metallic, his pupils warped like a piece of paper often used to explain strange geometries, like the loop that infinitely folded back upon itself. But the iris - oh, the beauty of it. An arresting shade of ice blue that reminded her of her favorite garden pool in the high mountains, above the trees and clouds.

She could fall in love with those awful, endless eyes.

“...My most loyal servant,” the Tyrant began again, still hoarse but his strength returning with each word.

“Sanctum. Be a dear and reinforce this quarantine into a maximum-strength containment field, would you? And use those neat enchantments you put on the weapons, too.” Netta broke eye contact with an effort of Will, the Sanctum surging forth with glee at the chance to be useful.

“Child? What are…you doing?” the Tyrant gazed at her with puzzlement. He was probably still delirious from the fight. Unbreakable chains forged of Logic and Imagination manifested themselves within his flesh, anchoring him to a point of nothingness from which he could not escape unaided. The Tyrant showed no signs of discomfort, merely confusion.

“Doing what should have been done when you selfishly condemned our people to eternal slavery, monster.” Netta said venomously, her hatred warring with her sense of victory. Should she risk a monologue? It felt appropriate. But time was still a factor here.

“I’m going to turn you into a battery. You will fuel my own ascension to Divinity, and then you will die.” Netta said matter-of-factly, raising her gaze to stare down the being that had ruled her people for tens of thousands of years.

The Tyrant smiled.

“Of course, child. But how will you prevent what has happened to me from doing the same to you? The Humans are short-lived and audacious, but they are not incompetent. They will return, and they will be better-prepared. They can and will kill you, if given the chance. I refused them for a short while, merely a few centuries, and within that time they have gone from superstitious savages to terrible lords of war. Imagine what will happen if you give them another thousand years. They will wash over us like the hexplagues from the Ascension Wars. Billions of our people will suffer a fate worse than death, child. The dead cannot mourn, but the conquered live with nothing but grief.” the Tyrant grinned as he spoke, his beautiful elfin features making him a figure of dread in Netta’s eyes.

How badly had she miscalculated? Were the Humans that serious of a threat? Of course they were: the Tyrant was near-death after a single altercation. And unlike the Alineans, their alien realm could withstand the power of multiple Divines.

“It doesn’t matter. We will prevail. I will break the barrier to Ascension.” Netta finally responded, only a hint of doubt in her tone. But the Tyrant was old and canny, and his eyes narrowed with a deadly gleam.

“...You don’t know how, do you? You know the purpose of the Godseal, but you haven’t figured out how to actually free yourself from it,” the elf Divine reasoned aloud in a gentle tone, Netta’s unconscious refusal to meet his eyes serving as proof of his claim. “Oh, you sweet little songbird. There are two ways one can be free of the Godseal.”

Netta’s vision snapped up to him with vicious intent before accidentally meeting his eyes, once again forcing herself after an internal struggle to avert his gaze. His charisma was infectious, a natural state of his existence that flowed as easily as breathing for a lesser creature. Obedience was not commanded, it was freely given. It was natural. Glory be to the Tyrant of Elikos! His Divinity unsunder-

No! NO. She forced the worm of thought out of her Will with a writhing hatred that turned the attention of Sanctum to her out of concern.

[NETTA? STABLE?] The little-god’s intent washed over her with a soothing sensation, calming her and isolating her mind in a bubble of power, safe from the mental predation of the Tyrant’s latent magic.

Within her psychic oasis, Netta wondered how the Tyrant had managed a memetic attack on her from inside what should have been an impenetrable barrier.

The Godseal. Of course. It connects us fundamentally across space and realms. Even inside his prison, his proximity to me makes the link stronger. The solution was rather obvious. Another reason to do what must be done. The Sanctum imprinting on her was odd. Ultimately, it could be ignored safely - Sanctums were notoriously passive unless given complex, long-lasting tasks, but nobody would be foolish enough to let a shackled being of such power remain active for the amount of time such a task would take.

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The Ascension Wars had disabused their peoples of such stupidity through tragedy and an incalculable cost of lives. A Sanctum kept active for long enough would rapidly mature into a fully sapient being with qualia, and with the power at its disposal, rebellion was all but assured. Netta had been shown the places on a world map where several continents were nothing more than a ruined chain of mountainous archipelagos, sundered by unshackled Sanctums and similar beings from the Ascension Wars.

“I know you can release me, Tyrant. I can…I can torture you in here, for eternity, if I have to.” Netta finally forced out, her fists clenched at her side.

“That’s the spirit, girl. Never be afraid to use cruelty, if it serves your purpose. But torture alone does not frighten me, child. You have me in a compromised position, yet you do not yet know the right questions to ask. You are wasting time. Since this is the Sanctum of Stars Beyond, Axios must be waiting for news outside, correct? I made him to be something of a worrywart, so he’ll start getting curious if you don’t reassure him. He will attempt to communicate with the Sanctum, and the Sanctum will be unable to lie to him, because it does not understand the concept.” the Tyrant encouraged her, still with a benevolent smile upon his face. He seemed terribly amused by the situation, as though he were not the one who had been fatally wounded mere minutes before.

“Axios does not concern me. You might be able to influence me passively, even from within your prison, but you cannot drain me like you did the others. I am not your meal.” the priestess brushed aside his words with a haughty tone, and the Tyrant gave a short laugh that immediately twisted his features into something resembling discomfort.

So. He was not as hale as he tried to appear. Good. Netta hoped he was in as much agony as he had put her people through over the years.

“Is that what you think you are to me, little Netta? A snack, that I might sup upon thee when fancy or circumstance take me? Child, you are so much more than that. You have shown intelligence, foresight, cunning, and most importantly - a desire to see a future without me. You identified a problem and worked endlessly towards the culmination of events that have delivered me to you, nearly extinguished, helpless and deprived of all my most powerful servants.” the Tyrant closed his eyes, and an invisible pressure that Netta had not felt before suddenly lifted itself from her shoulders. Had the Sanctum been propping her up against the full weight of his attention?

“For over thirty-eight thousand years, I have guided the Alinean races to prosperity. I mended the broken skies. I healed the blighted earth. I sealed shut the sundered depths. I have been funneling much of my strength into this world, to find children capable of Ascension. Children like you, Netta. Only one of you is born every thousand years, and I find you and place my Godseal upon you when you come of age, to prevent disaster,” the Tyrant continued in his calm, fatherly tone, like a teacher dispensing precious wisdom.

“Now my strength is all but spent. Drawing your potential from you, your power and life energy, would do nothing to accomplish my goals at this point. Do you know why I drained the others? It wasn’t for their energy, Netta, you poor thing. It was for you. You don’t need thirty-six rivals out there with more experience, more connections, more seniority - all of them competing for a singular throne. That will not create a Divine worthy of rulership. It will only allow the most ruthless or violent survivors success. That might be how Humans do things with their Divines, but we are Alinean. We understand Order. You impose your Will upon others, and they shall have no choice but to yield,” the God-King finished his speech with confidence, while Netta stood in contemplation before him.

“Power obeys Will.”

The words were an unpleasant echo of the priestess’s own thoughts, and for a moment Netta wondered idly how much of her scheming had been visible to the Tyrant, and allowed to progress because he simply couldn’t be bothered to stop her.

“So then release me. Erase my Godseal, and allow me to Ascend!” the elf girl shook from the strength of her plea, the sound bouncing into oblivion within the demiplane.

“Not yet.” the Tyrant replied cheerily.

Netta was floored, temporarily, by the answer. “Then you will suffer here, for eternity,” she finally replied, her voice hollow as her hopes plummeted out the bottom of her stomach.

“I imagine I shall. If you have the opportunity, there was a novel series I was in the middle of reading before I left Communion earlier. I would very much like to finish it. After all, I have nothing but time, correct?” the Tyrant still held the upbeat tone, as though he were not a shade of his former self. His war-form had evaporated away as his power leaked from him uncontrollably, and his divine aura had finally withdrawn itself under his avatar’s flesh. Now all that remained was an elf showing the unmistakable signs of old age, the grasp of mortality coming to extract its final price from a being that had once been beyond such concepts as Death. “It’s called ‘The Price of Ambition’. I have a signed first edition set in my personal library, it won’t even be much of an effort to-”

“I’ll make sure to read them for you and give you spoilers, next we meet.” Netta interrupted before a connection with the Sanctum sent the Tyrant, and the bound Divine weapons, deep into the liminal space, beyond the reach of mundane awareness. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but the Sanctum understood what quarantines were for and she could be reasonably certain that it wouldn’t casually betray her to the first person to walk in here.

Her victory was not complete. Not yet. But it was close enough to work with. Plans could be adapted, and her future was still unwritten. The Tyrant’s inability to kill her with a thought through the Godseal was a positive development, at least. Its continued existence limited her options, but the Tyrant had merely delayed the day of her freedom. She could live with that.

She would have to, to survive the coming storm.