He did not know how long he had been unconscious.

But, then again, did it count as being 'unconscious' when your very soul had been sheared away from your body and left to find its own way home? Aurelius did not know.

He was pretty sure that, at least for a moment back there, he had actually died. He had felt everything that was 'Aurelius Ambrosius' cease to be and merge with the story of the universe. In many ways, this had not been an entirely unpleasant experience. After nurturing so much hate and anger for so long, there was the ecstasy of release to be found in suddenly not needing to be that person any longer.

But then, of course, the inevitability of death came up against the force of his implacable will, and the Grim Reaper decided he had easier targets to visit that day.

With a sharp intake of breath, therefore, consciousness returned to the Bretwalda. What had been dead was now alive. However, whether that would turn out to be any sort of blessing remained to be seen.

His eyes started to pull the world around him into focus, and he recognised that there was a human-shaped form peering over him.

Well, his right eye did, anyway.

He did not appear to possess a left one anymore.

That was an unwelcome, if not wholly surprising, development.

The intensity of the torches in the tent he found himself in caused him to wince in agony, and he raised a hand to shield his face. Well, he would have done if he'd had a hand to raise. Or an arm.

Or a . . .

To be fair, he'd had less traumatic wake-ups in his time.

He could not seem to remember what had caused this level of catastrophic damage. Had he been training his resistances and, somehow, completely underestimated the dosages of his potions? That seemed spectacularly unlikely, but then again, so did his finding himself in such an appalling state. All things needed to be considered. Even his own fallibility.

Memories slowly began filtering back to the forefront of his mind, jostling the overwhelming pain out of the way as he sought to make sense of what had occurred.

Something had exploded. He could remember that vividly. And, unusually enough, he did not feel that he had been the one to cause it.

Which was odd because if there had been an explosion strong enough to put him flat on his back, with body parts missing, he would have expected he must have been the one to cause it.

No. Not something had exploded. Someone.

He had been moving towards a figure. Whoever it had been had seemed very important at the time. He could still taste the residue of his rage towards that person at the back of what remained of his throat.

He had been seconds from killing them, and then . . . this had happened.

Whatever 'this' was.

Knowing that the quickest journey towards answers was going to be getting some healing on board, Aurelius tried to move himself into his soul space. However, in a further unwelcome development, he found he did not have enough Qi to perform even that most basic of cultivation techniques.

He couldn't remember the last time such a thing had happened. He always had enough Qi. That was kind of his thing.

The whole situation was baffling him and, what is more, he was feeling desperately dehydrated,

As he no longer appeared to have a tongue, it took him longer than he would have liked to be able to croak out, "Water!"

The terrified-looking Saxon in his eye-line, looked down when Aurelius made this request with an expression that was one-part relieved, two-parts disappointed, and - he was glad to see - all parts terrified.

The man withdrew and reappeared with a cup he pressed to the High King's lips. Or where his lips would have been in a less brutally judgmental universe. As it was, the cup's rim rested against the exposed bone of Aurelius' lower skull.

"Are . . . quite well, my lord?"

"Perfectly fine, you fucking moron. I find I am always at my best when the skin has been flayed from my bones . . ." was what he would have liked to have said. But you needed more vocal apparatus than the explosion seemed to have left him right now for that sort of snark.

He settled for making some sort of non-descript groaning noise instead. Fortunately, though, the water that was being poured down into his gullet had just enough residue Qi for the most minor of repairs to begin.

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It was true what they said. Every little helps. Although he assumed that the purveyors of that little aphorism didn't have this sort of situation in mind. He still couldn't prise open his soul space, though.

Aurelius' attention returned to the man above him, who was still wittering on. "We were initially concerned that you had passed. However, after careful examination, it seemed that there was still a spark of life within you. I do not mind sharing, my lord, that we feared . . ."

"Yes, I can smell it."

Aurelius's mind tried to access the fragments of memories he still possessed. He found that if he moved backwards away from the moment of the devastating conflagration, things were a little clearer. "The captives? What had become of the Britons?"

There was a longer pause than suggested he was about to be presented with good news. “The explosion, my lord, it was utterly overwhelming. Indeed, we witnessed it all the way from Halwell Fort, where we were stationed. It was like the world was ending - the noise and brightness dwarfed even the sun. As soon as we saw it coming from the direction of the Dark Tower, I knew it was crucial to investigate. We made good time - it was only a week to get here - our wizard said there was something preventing her from fast-travelling. When we arrived . . . well, we found you and nothing else.”

Aurelius ground his teeth, or he would have done if he had any left. He crunched bone together in a significant show of irritation. "No bodies?"

"No anything, my lord. I should be clear, our scouts have reported that there is not anything for about three miles in every direction. Even the soil has been reduced to a colourless nothingness. It is as if the landscape has been wholly scrubbed of life."

Aurelius let that news settle for a moment. Whatever had occurred was unlike any offensive Qi technique he had ever encountered. That sort of leaching of life was almost counter to the very nature of Qi. What on earth had happened. "And my tower?"

"We have summoned slaves to begin the process of rebuilding."

Well, that was the final turd on a monumentally appalling morning. Quite apart from losing the perfect place to cycle Qi - and all the advantages that had given him - there was the loss of all those prisoners for whom had such exotic plans. That hurt almost as much as the actual exquisite agony his wounds were causing him.

"Bring me your company's wizard. Immediately."

The anxious face above him became even more concerned. If that was possible. "That . . . I mean to say, I cannot, my lord. We were still a day away when she suddenly cried out in agony, holding her heart, and then dissolved into ash."

Aurelius cursed, but he supposed that made a sort of perverted sense. Whatever had happened had drained all the Qi in the surrounding area - which explained why he was still in such a state a week after the event. Even debilitated, he should have been able to regen enough Qi to rebuild his ruined body. However, if this part of the world had been transformed in a Qi vortex - which he feared it might - then things began to make a bit more sense. Anyone unfortunate enough to wander into such a dead zone would suffer a catastrophic loss of atomic cohesion pretty damn quickly. Those with Qi would succumb first - it was a testament to his epic levels of resilience that he was still in one piece - but normal humans would not be far behind on the death train.

"I would guess you war band are all becoming sick?" Aurelius hazarded.

The man nodded, brightening now the Bretwalda had given voice to their plight. Half of the spears under his command had already taken to their beds - from how they looked, he did not think they had long left before they went the way of the unfortunate wizard. "Yes, my lord. It would be excellent if you were able to -"

Aurelius ignored him and tried to roll his torso to the side to sit up. He had minimal success in this endeavour. As he was missing all his arms and legs and, thus, lacked some fairly significant appendages for such a movement, this was not much of a surprise.

Merlin had paid him back, after all.

That thought, appearing unbidden in his mind, dragged him back to what had happened in those last few moments he could remember. However, no matter how he thought about it, his brain rebelled at the very concept of another cultivator having access to that sort of ability.

The power it must have taken . . .

"I'm sorry, my lord. I missed that?" The anxious man was not especially keen to get too close to the ruined remains of the High King. You never knew when dead could be catching.

"I said, 'Merlin's back.' And we will need to address that."

Aurelius closed his eye. Nope. Needed an eyelid for that. This whole situation was becoming quite unbearable.

"Pluck out my eye."

"My lord?"

"I don't have any eyelids. So I can't blink. So, my eyeball is tinder dry, and it hurts. Pluck it out. Now."

"I don't think that is a good idea, my lord."

"You truly do not wish to know all the things that are good ideas to me right now. If you do not wish my next mission in this world to be removing you and your entire bloodline from existence, you will do exactly as I say. Remove my fucking eye."

In the darkness that enveloped him, Aurelius found himself - bizarrely - realising he was not too displeased by things.

It felt pretty counterintuitive, but it was just possible this was not the terrible event he had initially thought. After all, in the six months since the 'death' of Merlin, it had been challenging to find things to motivate him.

It was true that Uther's surprising success in repelling the Saxon invasion had been mildly diverting. But now it seemed that Merlin was not quite so dead as had been advertised, and juices were flowing anew—or they would have been if he still retained any juices. That would come with time and distance from ground zero—that he had not realised he had missed.

He had killed the old goat once before, and he could absolutely do it again. Whenever he wanted.

The pleasure, after all, was in the expectation.

But first, he needed to get out of this Qi dead zone before this sorry little warband turned to dust and left him all alone again.

He gave orders for a litter to be constructed, for messengers to be sent far and wide to alert the rest of his people to his plight, and for him to be carried as fast as possible, towards home.

He assumed this first group—and potentially even a second—would perish before he was far enough out of the toxic air where his Dark Tower had stood to heal himself. However, provided the willing sacrifices kept on coming, things would work out okay.

And once he was back to normal?

Well, then there would be quite a reckoning for Uther, for Arthur, for Merlin and for his blasted apprentice.