They had prescribed bed rest and no stress or spirit walking. They had also found an old journal on Costan, but it was not in his hand writing. They had decided that a quick skim of the first page or so wouldn't hurt anything. The first paragraph made them realize that it could hurt.

"I am not Costan as you may know him, and this journal is not for anyone but Costan. You may reference me as Nihix, the Shaman. I am writing this so that Costan will not have to rely on third hand information when we sober up. This would not have been necessary, but the events leading up to the rearing of Greq children prove that we will never be one. I will be stuck as a passenger, and Costan will never actually know what was done or how during my active periods."

They decided to not read any further. It was like a schizophrenic writing to themselves. The whole thing being written in a mix of ink that smelled like ash, blood, and burned gunpowder made it all the more creepy. They let the Colonel read it, on his request. They cautioned him against it, but he did posit a retort.

"I was here and watched, in person, as the Goddess of Fertility came through a fucking portal, demanding that Costan care for the Greq, only for him to punch her in the face. I have seen some sure enough shit, and am sure that I'll be fine to figure out what our War Shaman Nihix has been up to."

Grimcar got to skimming. It was like an autobiography, starting back when Nihix was part of Nihil. He skipped ahead to after Costan was drafted, luckily most of it had dates. He skimmed through the various "deployments" and found that Costan, as a whole, was being screwed on pay and leave.

Nihix dilated time in a strange way, even going as far as to explain it. The Empire owed Costan and Nihix over a million years of back pay and leave time from just the child ethics mission. Grimcar took the time to pen in a description of what happened and what was done when they arrived back from the mission, as well as how he would try and get him his back pay and leave in a way that would be useful to him.

Costan woke up with a headache that was so bad he could hardly move. He was shocked when someone gave him a mild pain reliever, nobody allowed him anything like that since rehab. He just stared at it, unsure if it would break a law or something. Shetieve broke the mental loop.

"Emperor K.A.R. retracted that law as it caused undue suffering."

Costan could hardly tell who she was through the pain in his skull. He just kept staring, unfocused. She got tired of it, dumping the pills into Costan's mouth and making him swallow. He grumbled slightly and just laid there until the medicine took effect.

"For someone so powerful, you are rather pitiful. If you ever fully achieve adulthood you will rival Turnunder and his wife with shaman powers, on top of being strong, tough, and smart. The original divine plan had you being the answer to most things, you know. Then I messed everything up and the new plan didn't account for the spontaneous reincarnation of Nihil into you." Shetieve was speaking softly as to not exasperate the headache.

"Then again, these Vllthed were not in the plan, and moreover, most of what has happened to you was not in the plan. Don't worry, because we immortals have our own plans that the gods can either work with or face us in a second God Immortal War. We may have lost the first one, but you are grinning and probably far less adverse to such a conflict than Nihil was, and they even have Turnunder angry enough to cause a rapid evolution."

"I imagine his wife, Turnover, shares that simmering rage?" Costan's headache was subsiding slowly, but he was very intrigued on what Shetieve was saying.

"Yes, she stayed out of the war on behalf of her husband. It's the reason why we lost and had to start treating our ancient histories as folklore. It's why we don't have the following or sway that we used to have, and the reason why none of us upkeep any of the gods temples."

The conversation went on as the headache slow went away. Then Shetieve turned on the lights and blew out the candles that were gently glowing around the room. Costan got dressed in, yet another, new uniform. This one had his rank as a C04 Specialist, still a private, but a higher ranking private.

It was also adorned with all applicable patches for things that he was or had done. He wasn't expecting a modified Subjugation patch, but it's something he'd have to look into along with most of why his normal uniform had so many patches and pins. He didn't want to see his dress uniform, because those have pins and medal instead of patches. It probably clanked and rattled, given the multiplier marks on the patches.

Costan was to report to his Commanding Officer, which he should have done weeks ago. Sergeant Larkesh had been angry at how his subordinate had never shown up over the past weeks, despite having hobbled their ass to the bridge and reeking havoc. Staff Sergeant Larkesh was tempted to forgive the Private because of receiving random medals and a promotion, but then again the Specialist never even bothered to send a message. Then Sergeant Grisky came in.

They had a very brisk discussion on how to handle not so missing private, but received word of them being granted an extended paid leave. They factored it in with everything and came to a conclusion. They would just make him work out for a very long time when leave was over, unless he failed to show up after this round of brain surgery.

It was also factored in that Costan had brain surgery twice, was brain dead for a month, and was tortured by enlisted. It was also factored that he may have resentment towards Staff Sergeant Larkesh after the incident at the Northern Wastes Academy, which involved his son. He wouldn't be surprised if it came up and caused issues.

They went on to discuss how he would fit in to the squad. He probably wouldn't fit, the squad was mostly Cadets that graduated from the Academy and performed well in basic. The lowest rank was a Private First Class, all enlisted. He was a conscript that failed the Academy due to the conscription.

They were still talking when Costan made his not so grand appearance in the assigned bunk bay. They were not expecting guests, so everyone looked at the newcomer. Most of the squad had completely forgotten about the other Marine that was supposed to have been there over the weeks, despite having planned to chide him for being conscripted.

Nobody was chiding anyone as the mountain of black fur and uniform walked in, they just stared at him. Costan made his way to the empty bunk and locker at the end of the bay, getting a prison vibe from the enlisted. Then he put his pistol in the locker, and the shit show started.

"Marine, what are you doing?" The Corporal rattled of codes and regulations, but was stopped by Costan.

"None of those apply."

"How the fuck so?"

"One, I own this ship. Two, I am a child of the Emperor, a legitimate offspring. Three, no branch of the armed forces would willing enforce that on "

She cut him off "THE FUCKING LIES"

"ORDER IN MY SQUAD BAY MARINES", Sergeant Grisky cut off the lot of them.

"WHO THE FUCK IS THIS AND WHY ARE YOU IN MY SQUAD BAY?"

"Marine Costan, conscripted. Here to report for duty, Sergeant."

"Fine, now what was going on here Corporal?"

"Sergeant, the Marine is in possession of unsecured arms."

"Really now. Private Costan, let's see these arms."

"Sergeant, it is Specialist Costan or Marine Costan."

"The Marines don't have that rank, Private."

"Then, given that Conscription ranks follow standard Army ranks, by regulation you must address me by the closest rank by number. C04 is closest to Lance Corporal, Sergeant."

Sergeant Grisky was pissed, but Lance Corporal Costan was correct. If he didn't want to address Costan as a C04 Specialist, he would have to call him an E05 Lance Corporal due to there being no E04 equivalent and actively referring to him as an E03 Private First Class would be considered direct disregard of rank. His overt attempt at calling rank backfired.

"Well, Conscript Costan, present the weapons in question."

Costan proceeded to present the pistol he had been issued, now completely bereft of ammunition, but with all of the empty standard issues magazines. "Sure thing, direct commanding officer. This is my issued side arm." He then continued to pull his sword, shotty, and antimalarial gun out of what looked, to others, to be the forearm pen pocket of his duty uniform.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Sergeant Grisky was not having it, not the headache or the paperwork. This was the War Shaman he was dealing with on a ship that he owned. Grisky wasn't getting involved with the shaman bullshit. "Pack it all back up into whatever space sphincter you're pulling it from. This officially didn't happen, because I don't deal with shaman bullshit. EVERYONE AM I CLEAR?"

The reply was unsynchronized, but it was in the affirmative of "yes sergeant."

"Specialist Costan, when you are done settling in, go report to Staff Sergeant Larkesh. He will probably hand you over to the squad. Then we'll all get leave, courtesy of you doing everything while we twittled our fuckin thumbs."

"That's just dandy, Sergeant."

"You say that like you know it will be everything you hate."

"I don't know if you have the time to listen to all that, Sergeant."

"Yes, but Staff Sergeant Larkesh does, since he just drives a desk these days."

Costan dumped his duffle into the footlocker and went to meet the Staff Sergeant, who was not too pleased with him. Not every day someone gets saddled with a war crimes victim that could become a very big problem at any time. On one hand, a war shaman who was a badass without the use of peyote, on the other, a total liability that the whole of the Empire's leadership antagonized and could start handing out summary executions at any time for any reason.

Staff Sergeant Larkesh knew that, despite his bravado filled chats with Sergeant Grisky, he would have to treat Specialist Costan like a live omnimine, ready to absolutely destroy anything and everything nearby. Even though Costan should have checked in, he was technically still in medical. The compounded conditions of Costan's health should have sent him back home with a medical discharge, but they kept him on. He wouldn't be cleared to assign Costan any active duty roles for at least another month.

Everyone with access to Costan's file clearly would know what the red capitalized words on the first page meant. "DISGRUNTLED, SEVERE" was something that was never in the file of someone still in the military, because someone would have found a way to get them quietly discharged. While a disgruntled Marine was nothing new, when it got to where it was in their file, they were discharged before they started disobeying orders or "accidentally" killed their CO.

Colonel Grimcar knew that he crossed a line. He gave an order that was outside of a Marines expected duties and jumped the chain of command. He expected Costan to have at least protested, but he didn't. It left Grimcar to contemplate what kind of mental condition Costan was actually in, still following orders despite the severity of his disgruntlement.

Colonel Grimcar would just have to take extra care and planning around it. Grimcar already asked about an honorable discharge for Costan, but the Emperor drafted him. The only one who could sign those discharge papers is Karcos, unless he dies, then Yitan could. He sent a notice to all who might encounter Costan, Grimcar wanted to know everything that was remotely off about anything to do with the Marine. He didn't have to wait long.

Costan sat down with the recently promoted Staff Sergeant Larkesh. It started with a formal, cold, and professional greeting between CO and subordinate. The tone quickly changed when Larkesh requested Costan voice anything that was a miss or wrong. He didn't expect Costan to instantly become extremely defensive over a simple inquiry.

"What are you getting defensive over? While your experience as a conscript may have been rough so far, the military doesn't work right if things don't work as they should. Just about everything that has happened to you shouldn't have, I, as your CO, am trying to help."

"I'm not trusting anyone who claims to be helping me. Emperor Karcos said that he was helping, and after all that has happened, he wasn't and intended the opposite."

"Specialist Costan, just give me a quick list of things to fix and I'll get someone on it... Part of being in the Marines is that we look out for and work with each other because our lives often depend on it. We are like a big family, brothers in arms in fact."

Costan did not relax, his ears went back instead. "I'll get you a list."

"I realize that my choice of words was inappropriate. Your actual family... I will try my damnedest to resolve everything within my power. You have to give a little faith to the system."

"The system failed. My family is malignancy incarnate. And you want me to trust you, to give faith to a failed system? You might as well ask me to pray to the gods that have directly spited me."

"That... Um... Can I get an explanation on the gods part? I am aware of the shit that your family and the system have put you through, but what did the gods do?"

"Nevermind that Staff Sergeant, I will write you a list."

Larkesh tried and failed to get Costan to voice complications, open up, vent, or even have a fist fight. It was like Costan had a bigger plan, a place that could be lost if he didn't keep his tongue in check. He gave up trying to pry Costan open, and handed him off to Sergeant Grisky. He had the short list in hand before Grisky even showed back up.

Sergeant Grisky showed up and took over as Costan's CO. They went back to the bay, Costan had a lot he could complain about. Larkesh looked into the list, but everything was effectively a stone wall. A drafted person without the ability to access his pay was something that should have been a very hot topic because it stands to present a very big problem, even when in peace time with enlisted.

It would seem that while everyone knew that what was happening was completely incorrect, but didn't want to mess with the Emperor's orders. Staff Sergeant Larkesh got a feeling as to why Costan didn't want help. It was all a waste of time and energy, and possibly put a target on him.

The Void Hammer was contacted by the Samaritans before the squad could take leave. They wanted Costan to accept some honorific medals for things. The Emperors, plural, approved it as a uniform compliant ordeal and forced Costan to accept. He looked absolutely miserable in his revised dress uniform, clicking and clanking. He kept a straight face, but the clues were obvious to those who knew to look for them. The Samaritan Elder didn't look exactly pleased to be giving the medals to someone almost as tall as them.

Costan was not talking to anyone unless necessary, or ordered to do so, and kept the answers short, often monosyllabic. The leave did nothing to offset the mentality. The colony world of Stralia Four was just about heaven for most of them, but not Costan. In hindsight, taking a eunuch to a colony known for brothels wasn't the wisest choice. Costan ended up illegally camping for the entire time, and was forced to temporarily attend one of their schools since he was twenty five.

Costan had a room right next to the Staff Sergeant's with his things already delivered. He never saw it. The hotel was also a brothel and casino, he was denied entry on grounds that he was a bintager and not thirty or over. This was made worse by the fact that his headache medicine was also in the room. The others didn't hesitate to point out that he looked like shit and hadn't seen him the entire time when leave was over. Staff Sergeant Larkesh had to send them back to collect Costan's belongings from his room in The Cougar's Den Hotel.

The war was pretty much done, so the squad had set to fully enjoy the leave time. They had taken to experience all of the things that The Cougar's Den had to offer, enjoying themselves enough to forget about the newest member of their team. Costan made a point to only talk to them if ordered to do so afterwards.

The war was over for a year before Costan got his discharge documents. Even though he had made plans around all of the stupid legislations, Emperor Karcos had control over Costan's finances and properties, making him have to list his dwelling as the palace. He hated having to live there. He always kept a weapon, and hoped that everyone would just leave him be, especially Karcos. Costan had a plan to murder anyone who even looked like they might make his life worse.

He was still stuck with being forbidden from this or that, and was often put in the dungeon due to false accusations or somebody thinking he was up to something. Then the killings began. Costan happened across someone who got him jailed and was quietly disappointed in them. Giagan was up to his eyes in murder cases with no hard evidence or whiteness, but a firm interconnection of them getting Costan tossed in the dungeon.

They got clearance for any sort in depth surveillance deemed necessary of Costan, the only actual suspect. They were not surprised to find that most of his time was spent sulking in his room and exercising. He only left his room for food or to stand outside during inclimate weather. They had no evidence that condemned or cleared him, but they put him in the dungeon just in case. They told no one of his imprisonment, and the murders continued.

Costan was left there for the three years it took them to catch the real killer. It wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't forgotten that he was there. What they encountered when they remembered about him was disturbing, but not unexpected. The air was thick with the scent of decay and sulfur.

Nobody had been into the lower levels of the dungeon for over two years. Though the smell leaned towards the death of the prisoner, the team still had to make sure if he was dead or get him to medical if not. The sealed suits of armor did their best against the smell, but it somehow found a way to seep inside. The temperature in the dungeon was usually fairly cold, but it kept climbing as they descended.

The safety alarms started going off on the armors, the sulfur was starting to eat at the metal. They did not stop, they were Palace Guards tasked with retrieving Costan, dead or alive. It was like getting a taste of hell as the temperature kept climbing with the concentration of sulfur and decay. Some of the gases occasionally caught a light, automatically igniting from the concentration and heat.

The team pressed on, checking cell by cell, throughout the hellscape that was the palace dungeon. The electricity had gone out on all the lower levels, the wiring eaten away by the infernal atmosphere and moisture. They were getting jumpy, trained soldiers or not, the dungeon went from imposing to fear inducing. They called it the creeps, the willies, the shakes, they scared. The growling and metallic groans that echoed around the deeper levels didn't help their nerves.

Two more levels to check. The dungeon was almost as broad as the palace itself, but with only two stairways between levels, interspersed to confuse would be escapees. The traps meant to keep prisoners in were now yet another hindrance. It was a hellish labyrinth now. Descending to the penultimate level, one stairwell collapsed under the guards. Two of them were stranded at the bottom with one pinned by the wreckage. The repeater beacons they had set up started to get staticky, adding to the mounting difficulties.

Guard Captain Giagan called in a Special Operations unit for backup when he lost contact with the team. He knew that they could have gotten into some serious danger. The last report of a stairwell collapse from accelerated conditions was more than enough to call in HCPJs. Maybe they could pull the team out before the sulfuric mix ate their armors life support.

Costan had been surviving on demon flesh from the tribute box. The air had been heating up and becoming extremely toxic, but he had dealt with far worse. The acidic sludge on the floor gave it a nice, almost hell like, touch. His cell door had long rotted away. Basic iron doesn't do well with sulfuric acid or hydrochloric acid... Or anything else aside from denatured oils. The sounds of a crash and panicked screaming got his curiosity.

He grabbed the things he'd made of hell iron and proceeded to where the stairs had been, only to have to jump to the next floor up because they had been made of iron as well. The screaming died down when he ripped a door in half. Whoever it was, they were easily spooked.