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Erick woke as he usually did; all at once, and with his senses unfurling across everyone and everything.

Quilatalap lay on the other side of the bed, the two of them sharing in the small warmth of each other on the rare occasion that both of them wanted to actually sleep. Other activities were more common. As Erick woke, Quilatalap woke up, too. The big guy smiled, showing off his big lower fangs, as he breathed deep and rolled over to Erick.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Quilatalap grinned more. And then he came in for a small kiss, and the two of them got up.

“What’s your plan for the day?” Erick asked, as he put on some glowthread robes. “I’m expecting more big meetings.”

Quilatalap dressed in his own clothes, which were not glowthread. Erick had wanted to give him some, but he wanted to make his own. He already had some glowthread spiders growing in ten different dungeons, and also in the Grand Benevolence Dungeon of Candlepoint. He had started to keep some real clothes here, though, in the cloud castle, now that the Red was removed from Veird and he could live outside of the dungeons.

The Red had tried to Erase him several times already.

As if Erick needed another reason to kill Nothanganathor.

Quilatalap said, “Still working on that reson-training dungeon.”

Erick chuckled. “I’m surprised you had any success at all.”

“The Dark isn’t the Fractal, that’s for sure.” Quilatalap said, “I managed to make the dungeon able to see my own resons, though.”

Erick paused. “Really?! That’s amazing!”

Quilatalap smirked, and allowed himself a blush. “I had to move a phylactery there, but I’ve started cultivating resons now.”

That was big news.

Erick grabbed Quilatalap in for a hug, holding him tight, saying, “Congrats!”

Quilatalap laughed a little as he hugged back. “This old lich can learn a few new tricks now and then.”

Erick waggled his eyebrows. “This calls for a celebration.”

Breakfast wasn’t happening for hours, anyway.

Erick put up a little [Hasted Shelter] to give them a bit more time.

- - - -

Erick entered the dining room and breathed in the scent of cinnamon pancakes. He smiled, and said, “I love those pancakes, Teressa.”

Teressa smiled as she set down a massive tray of cinnamon-swirl pancakes, her silver [Bracelet of Memory and History] glinting on her wrist, as she said, “I can’t believe I forgot about them. Dariok loves them too.”

A faint silver outline and an empty voice sat upon a chair to the side, next to Teressa’s seat. So far the only one who could see Dariok fully was Teressa, but she certainly saw him. Erick was pretty sure he saw some sort of smile upon Dariok’s ghost, though, at the attention that Teressa gave him.

Lenitha had taken to pretending that her father was alive and well, too, just as easily as Teressa had. She bounced in her chair next to the faint glow of Dariok, saying, “I love them more! Can I have ten?!”

“Soon as everyone else shows up, Lenitha,” Teressa said, as she sat down. “Can you help with the sausage, Erick? We sort of ran out.”

Erick easily copied the sausage patties on the table—

Poi and Rizala entered the room together, mind tendrils wrapped up in each other as they spoke of whatever. Poi joined the physical conversation, too, saying, “I’ll go to the store later.”

Variol, Rizala’s incani husband, walked in right behind them, saying, “I got that, Poi.”

“That works, too,” Poi said.

Rizala looked around… And then she ducked down, to look under the table. “Kenni, honey. You gotta eat at the table, sweetheart. Come sit in your chair.”

Kenni was a little older than Lenitha, but he was a dragonkin born of dragonkin and incani parents, so he was kinda really small compared to everyone else. He was whip smart, though. He said, “I am fine here, mother. I am playing monsters with Ophiel and this is the safe space.”

Erick smiled at that. He opened a tiny portal to Benevolence, only letting his voice through the opening, as he said, “Ophiel. It’s breakfast time. You can play later.”

Ophiel popped out of a different portal, saying, “Fiiiiiiiine.”

Rizala coaxed Kenni out from under the table, saying, “You can play later, too.”

Poi asked, “Quilatalap didn’t want breakfast?”

“Nope,” Erick said, “Too busy with the reson dungeons, though I am glad he decided to spend the night. I’m amazed that he’s making progress with resons at all, but if anyone can get that working, he can.”

Kenni said, “Quilatalap is a hermit.”

Erick laughed. “Yeah. He is.” He looked around. And then he opened a tiny portal to Yggdrasil at the lake, and said, “Breakfast.”

Yggdrasil’s avatar popped out of a portal. “No girls and boy?”

Erick smiled softly at that. “The more things change, the more they stay the same; the girls and boy are all doing their own things. I think Jane is with Sitnakov right now.”

Ophiel almost said something, blurting it out, but he stopped with his mouth open. He reconsidered. Erick looked at him a little bit. Ophiel pulled back.

“… Let’s eat!” Erick said, deciding to leave Ophiel’s trouble alone.

Teressa chuckled as she started dishing out breakfast, setting the very best swirled pancake in front of Dariok’s silver outline first, before moving on. Everyone helped themselves to the other stuff, as they wanted. It was delicious. Small conversations soon started about this and that—

“Evan is with Zorik!” Ophiel blurted out.

Erick froze, the bit of pancake on his fork dripping onto his shirt. He set down his fork and cleaned himself off, asking, “Evan is dating Zolan’s grandson? The paladin of Rozeta?”

Ophiel rapidly added, “Great grandson!”

Yggdrasil eyed Ophiel, then said, “It started 8 months ago, shortly after you came back. They’ve been circling each other at the House for a while now, but they went for it.”

Erick was kinda miffed to learn that his kids were in relationships without them telling him about it, but he moved on, saying, “Good for them.” He asked, “What’s everyone else up to, today?”

Teressa said, “Dariok and I are taking Lenitha to the movies.”

Lenitha almost leapt out of her chair. “WE’RE REALLY GOING?!”

Teressa nodded, beginning to say something—

But Kenni blurted, “I want to go too!” He looked to his mom. “Mom?!”

Rizala’s eyes went a little wide with a little worry, and then she put on a smile and said, “We’ll look into it, honey.”

Erick smiled to see the drama play out in front of him.

Breakfast was nice.

As for the drama of Erick’s own kids, Jane hadn’t spoken about it, but she was getting pretty serious with Sitnakov, from what Erick had heard; none of which he heard from Jane, herself.

Oh well.

- - - -

Erick stood upon a familiar black volcano caldera where mist flowed softly through the space. Rozeta and Phagar stood with him, but Erick wasn’t quite sure what this was about, and the mist was empty. It was just the three of them. They had called him here, but they hadn’t said much; just that they wanted to talk in an official capacity.

And so, Erick casually asked, “What’s up?”

Rozeta said, “There has been a development with the un-Sundering Project. Specifically, through a confluence of events, a person was ripped out of my Heaven.”

Phagar said, “And a day before that, Solomon brought back a person who had chosen the End.”

Oh.

Well.

… Hmm.

So that was a problem of a difficult nature.

When people died, a lot of different things could happen.

Most normally, when a person died, they usually went to a god of their choice, unless something happened along the way. Then, after a long time in that heaven, that person either remained themselves, becoming a paragon of themselves in that afterlife, or they chose to simply become one with that heaven; that specific god’s domain. It was like becoming a part of the god, but more like becoming a part of that mantle of godhood. The difference between being a part of the god’s domain or mantle was academic and religious, but probably more philosophical than anything. Becoming a paragon left a person as themselves, of course.

In the vast majority of other cases, where a person just didn’t care about an afterlife, or if they had no plans for after death, they went to Phagar, who shepherded them on to the afterlife of their choice, to see if they fit in with that afterlife, or they offered the person The End; a soft oblivion of eternal rest. Dead babies and children too young to understand anything usually ended up shepherded to Atunir’s heaven, to be reborn to parents wishing most solidly for kids, though that was mostly a ‘the same things used to make two different people’ sort of situation. It was not a [Reincarnation].

Phagar’s The End was a definite End, though, with the people who chose that End likely being those who had vehemently chosen the End. Phagar did not offer the End lightly, but it was always there, calling people to their ultimate rest.

Everyone had suspected that Solomon’s Un-Sundering Project was capable of undoing The End, and they knew it was going to be an issue, eventually...

And now that issue was here.

Erick took a moment, then said, “So he really can undo The End. That was kinda expected, eventually.”

“And now we are at ‘eventually’,” Phagar said, “I don’t mind immortality, but I am against pain, and the End is chosen by people who have chosen that for themselves. The person who chose the End was brought back by a great granddaughter who thought she was doing good, but the Ended person instantly chose the End again.”

Erick sighed. “So that’s bad.”

“Forcibly pulling someone out of heaven is not ideal either,” Rozeta said.

Erick said, “Pulling someone out of Heaven is… not ideal, either.” Erick paused in thought… And then he looked around. He looked back to Rozeta and Phagar. “Why are we here?”

Rozeta said, “Technically, what he has done is a blasphemy of the highest order, but we have bigger problems… Technically. And Solomon has already proven himself as an ally. If anyone else would have desecrated the afterlives of our people, then the Paladins would get involved.”

“Understood.” Erick said, “So let’s solve this problem.”

Rozeta nodded, her worries vanishing slightly, now that Erick had agreed to do something.

“Thank you, Erick.” Phagar said, “We want you to talk to him, and incorporate some sort of prayer into the working of his next iteration of this magic. A clearance-request, if you want to frame it that way.”

“… Sure?” Erick said, “I see no problem with that.”

… But if that was everything, then they wouldn’t be here, in this ritual space.

Erick asked, “But there’s a lot more?”

Rozeta said, “Sitnakov Ignited to Wizardry this morning, and we need you to talk to both him and Killzone before they kill each other.”

Erick’s eyes went wide—

Phagar said, “Ideally, if you work this confrontation right, then it is possible for both of them to Ascend to True Wizard at the end of it.”

“Which is what we will be hoping for,” Rozeta said, “Because I’ll pull the Script back from that spot and let whatever happens, happen.”

Erick focused. “That’s a lot. Now I actually do need to know what is going on with that relationship.”

Rozeta said, “We’re not done yet.”

“Today is a big day, Erick.” Phagar said, “Because we’re also thinking of asking Melemizargo to raise Solomon to God of Knowledge. It would solve a great many issues coming up with the Un-Sundering Project, and provide a better framework for all of that happening. He wouldn’t need to have prayer systems set up, and he could just act as the prayer system himself.”

Rozeta said, “With such a power, he could actually get Debby back and solidify his spellwork into a True Working of Divinity, as well as provide Veird with a God of Knowledge that would be able to directly fight against the Red’s anti-memetic effects.”

Erick’s brain broke a little.

And then he said, “Ah. Yes. This is a big day, I see.”

“Big day. Potential to be a catastrophic day. Lots of moving parts, and we’re only at the initial blush of the solutions to our burgeoning problems.” Rozeta said, “But we believe it might be a very good day. You might need to do a lot of Time Magic to get it all falling down in the correct ways, but maybe not.”

Phagar said, “It’s all connected. None of them know this is happening. But we’re here, because we’re hoping that Melemizargo will choose to show, and lend a hand. Depending on how he reacts, we will have to react accordingly.”

Erick looked around. “… Melemizargo?”

Shadows swirled.

Melemizargo halfway appeared out of the gloom, only really showing the whites of his eyes, as he said, “You would need to release the dead Goddess to me.”

Rozeta looked to her father.

A moment passed; eternal and deep.

Rozeta spoke with a voice that sounded almost like that of a lost daughter, asking her demented parent, “Are you really there, father? Are you really the Dark God that I grew up knowing?”

Melemizargo materialized more. “No. I am not.”

For the first time that Erick had ever seen the two of them together, Rozeta seemed both crushed, and actually hopeful.

“I am diminished, just like all that remains of the Painted Cosmology. I am barely myself on some days, daughter of mine. But I am still enough of a god to see this through, and to act as I should, especially for events as large as this. The only real question is if you truly believe Solomon is worthy of Godhood. He is, after all, born of me.”

Rozeta looked soft for a moment, like she wanted to believe, and so, when she spoke her request was deeper than her words, “He can’t have the Script, and yet he will try for that. Ask him not to take it from me.”

“He won’t try for the Script, Rozeta, because my goal in taking the remains of the Goddess is not to hurt you, or to damage what we already have. I would take the remains of the Goddess of Knowledge and make a Mantle of Wisdom for Solomon, to make him a demigod of you, for I would rather grant you the full power of Knowledge that I did not grant you at the beginning of our voyage in this Fractal Cosmology. I would enhance your Mantle of Ordered Knowledge into the Mantle of True Knowledge.” Melemizargo added, “But if you do not want this, then I will attempt to resurrect the Erased Goddess. All Solomon needs is to be a demigod, and that is easily achieved.”

Rozeta breathed deep. She closed her eyes.

No one spoke.

Rozeta opened her eyes—

The entire black land of the volcano’s caldera turned from cooled, black obsidian, to rippled, almost-invisible glass. Erick stood upon that glass, looking down at the remains of a body that was not a body at all. It was missing too much to be called anything other than a collection of parts. What remained of the Goddess of Knowledge was broken crystal at every edge, almost colorless, all affixed in the general shape of a person laying on their back, with their hands at their sides. It was also easily half a kilometer large.

What remained of the Goddess of Knowledge was a finger, a foot, a pelvis, half a head which was mostly just the right eye. The torso, right shoulder, and left leg were the most intact; they were connected to each other, except for a break at the spine, just above the pelvis. Long, white hair lay draped under the remains, originating at what had been the head and then vanishing off into the mists far to the edges of the caldera. Erick imagined that the Goddess’s hair was the mist.

The Goddess of Knowledge’s right eye was open.

The depths of that dead eye glittered gold, even now, 1453 years after the Goddess’s sacrifice.

Rozeta spoke, “I accept the Mantle of Knowledge.”

Darkness flashed.

The Goddess below began to crumble, her body turning into motes of power that evaporated under the glass. She closed her eye. Though she had no mouth, Erick felt she was finally at peace, and that everything that had come before had been a torture—

Rozeta breathed deep, and the world flowed into her. Her white wrought human body gained something deep in that breath and she gained a few inches of height, as well. Her white pantsuit turned into something ever slightly more elegant—

It was over.

That was it.

The Goddess of Knowledge was dead, and the Goddess of Knowledge lived again.

Rozeta breathed out. Rozeta’s eyes glittered gold; her right eye perhaps a bit more than her left. Rozeta blinked, and the discrepancy of gold glows vanished, both her eyes flickering brilliant before she blinked again and hid her power behind mundanity. And then she reached up and undid the clasp on her hair bun, her metallic white hair falling down into a soft flow of white, all the way down to mid-back.

Melemizargo said, “Welcome to true godhood, daughter.”

Rozeta did not answer Melemizargo for a moment. And then she looked up at his face, and said, “I expected more.”

Melemizargo hummed. “Acclimation will take time but you are already making this universe easier for me to understand. I suggest you appoint a few demigods before you take the full brunt of Infinity. Solomon can be Wisdom, but you should appoint Natural Laws, Magical Laws, Governance, and The Unknown.”

Rozeta winced a little as Melemizargo spoke, her eyes darting left and right as though the knowledge growing in her head was too much. Erick felt a spike of worry, both at Rozeta’s sight, and at Melemizargo’s words. If the original story of the Sundering was even a little bit true, the original Goddess of Knowledge had been catatonic from the influx of new knowledge from this ‘New Cosmology’.

But then Rozeta breathed deep. She calmed.

And Erick reminded himself that the original Goddess of Knowledge had surely already known of the Fractal Cosmology, and all those attendant facts. There was absolutely no reason for her to go catatonic at the beginning, except because that suited Nothanganathor’s plan.

Rozeta said, “I locked down my Knowledge base to a few ten-thousand side-realities. I’ll be appointing those demigods later to further solve the problem.”

… Oh. Perhaps the influx of knowledge actually did send the original Knowledge into a coma.

Rozeta said, “I did think it would be worse than this.”

Melemizargo raised a very large, scaled eyebrow. He looked closer. And then he pulled back, grinning. “Good work, daughter. I knew you could do it.”

“You didn’t, actually,” Rozeta said, perhaps a bit too harsh… And then she looked up at her father, and some of her earlier compassion came back. “… But maybe you did?”

“I am getting better, daughter,” Melemizargo said, smiling.

“Not to interrupt,” Erick began, “But did Nothanganathor notice this?”

“Yes yes. Work work,” Melemizargo said, fluttering away, into the shadows. “I’ll be watching.”

Rozeta said to Erick, “Yes. Nothanganathor noticed, but now I can truly solidify Veird and help several people Ascend.” She turned to Erick. “Will you please go and speak to Sitnakov and Killzone, now? I don’t want to weigh in too much in their personal lives; it will not be good for them. Phagar and I will work with Solomon now that this is the path we are walking.”

Phagar nodded.

“Sure. Congrats on a bigger mantle, by the way.” Erick asked, “So back to the previous question: What’s the deal between those two?”

“It would be better for you to find out from them.” Rozeta smiled. “And thank you. I… I have so much to do. I have to go now, too.” She vanished in a flicker of gold.

Erick chuckled at that.

- - - -

“I’m taking care of it, Erick. You don’t need to be here,” said King Alfonin Stratagold, standing with a few advisors on the side of the battlefield. Alfonin looked to Jane, standing near him. He said nothing, but his eyes said everything. He thought that Jane had called for him.

Jane’s eyes said everything, too, and then she actually said, “I didn’t call for you, dad.”

Erick said, “Oddly enough, I didn’t even know you two were here until I scoped out the place at the behest of another.”

Erick had stepped out of a portal onto a grassy hill on Sphere Six, The Warzone, in a spot somewhere over Nelboor, down on the Old Surface. This place was one of many battlefields that had raged between the Angels and the Demons ever since the Day of Genesis, when Solomon transformed Hell into Sphere Five and Celes into Sphere Seven. This land existed between those two ancient enemies, and it actually had two different directions of gravity because of that. Looking up, Erick saw a second continent in the mirror of this one, hanging overhead, instead of a sky. Everything between these two facing continents was lit up with an omnipresent light that flowed through the center of Sphere Six. Sphere Six was the only land like this, because both the land below and the sky above had needed a lot of water, ground, and just plain stuff, between the surface and the adamantium shells, so that people weren’t fighting directly on those shells. You couldn’t really damage adamantium at all, and especially not the adamantium that made up the Spheres, but having some extra dirt in the way of those shells helped to make things less worrisome.

Usually, this place was awash in spells and murder of all kinds, in screaming and killing and the clang of metal upon metal.

At least one thing remained constant; the sound of metal striking metal.

Killzone floated in the illuminated sky high overhead, far away. Erick estimated him at around 40 kilometers distant. He glowed with a silver presence that highlighted his black body.

Sitnakov hovered maybe 2 kilometers away from Killzone. He was surrounded by a mirage in the air; a density of air, really. Tendrils of thought connected him to Killzone, and their facial expressions were furious. This moment was a lull in the fight.

Erick wondered about all of what he was seeing, but most of his worries were about Sitnakov.

Killzone had ignited to Wizardry about a month ago, and here, right on Fated time, Sitnakov had managed the same thing.

Erick guessed, “Is Sitnakov an Air Wizard?”

Jane said, “Probably.” And then she fully committed to the fact that her father was here, and whatever she had been trying to avoid was suddenly out of her hands. “He’s been having trouble with this whole… thing. I’m sure you know.”

“I don’t know, actually. I make a point to stay out of people’s lives until it concerns the welfare of the many, or other similar situations.” Erick said, “And they’re communicating telepathically over there, so I can’t hear them, either.”

Jane paused. “… You don’t know?”

“Why is that surprising, Jane? I didn’t know the two of you were dating, either.” Erick said, “Found out about Evan and Zorik earlier today, too, but only because Ophiel simply had to tell me.”

Jane wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Alfonin Stratagold rapidly explained, “Killzone used to be a Heavy of Titanite, and his former shape used to be human, like all of the other adamantium nobility of Titanite. There’s a lot of them over there, so Killzone wasn’t high up at all. He was low nobility. His former name is Kosomov. He used to travel with Sitnakov and kill monsters together. Did that for a few hundred years.

“Kosomov and my boy, the Third Prince Chernom, fell in love, and Killzone was to be adopted into the family, by marriage. And then Melemizargo attacked before the ceremony, took Chernom, sundered him, then shoved Chernom’s dead body at Kosomov, causing a melding.

“Both of the boys have blamed themselves and each other to varying degrees ever since. Kosomov went on to become Killzone, and went on to Ar’Kendrithyst to die in battle, but that never happened, and Silverite managed to make him into a General.” Stratagold shuddered as he finished. “And that is something I hoped to leave in the past forever, but events conspire.”

Jane sighed a little.

Jane had known most of that, but not everything. From the looks on Alfonin’s advisors, hanging back, they all wanted to pretend that they hadn’t heard anything at all.

But Erick wasn’t going to pretend. Suddenly, a lot of things made sense. In an offhanded way, Erick also realized why the Geodes of Titanite and Stratagold have always had a rivalry/hatred going for each other, or they’d had a rivalry for around 350 years, which lined up nicely with Killzone’s arrival in Spur. Back when Erick had been scoping out places to put a planting of Yggdrasil, some of that rivalry had shown up.

A ‘melding’ was a thing that Erick had heard about maybe once or twice in his whole life, because it, like most things to do with the wrought, were simply not spoken of outside of the Geodes. Erick now knew why Killzone had his orcol-shape; the human-shaped Kosomov had been dying and Chernom’s body was there, and Melemizargo threw them together and Kosomov had taken in that adamantium to heal himself, resulting in the adoption of Chernom’s body-shape, because Chernom would have had a lot of adamantium to his body. The Third Prince would have provided the majority of the metal necessary to heal whatever wounds Kosomov had suffered in Melemizargo’s attack.

Also, the mental anguish of having your fiance murdered and all the political fallout and all of everything else that would have happened —and losing Sitnakov as a friend, too— would have probably caused a Change in Kosomov, causing him to fully adopt a different bodily form. Erick had seen that in the Daydropper incident, when that one wrought had been melting and reforming, turning into someone else as he gave an account of what had happened when Odaali was attacked and everyone died around him.

Also, Silverite used to have a man-shape when she first moved into Spur and became the Mayor. She proceeded to be a male Mayor for the next 750-ish years, but then the Shades wiped out 95% of Spur, around 115 years ago, and Silverite Changed into her current, female-dragonkin shape.

Erick decided, “Okay! Good to know. Thank you for the information. Now.” He opened a portal back to Stratagold’s Gate District, but he kept the sound and sight of this space invisible from that other end, where people walked around moving giant shipments through the Gates. “This has officially become Wizard business, and I aim to help both of them. Please leave the area. All of you.”

Alfonin stared hard at Erick, but his voice was harder. “They’re both idiots, but they’re good boys.”

“And if they can pull through this, they’re going to be the front line of the war.”

Alfonin nodded solemnly, resignation in his gaze. His advisors held more worried expressions.

The wrought left.

Jane stuck around for a moment longer to say, “Sitnakov doesn’t hate Killzone, but it will appear that way.”

“This fight has been coming for a long time; I understand that.” Erick tried not to be desperate as he said, “Please leave, Jane.”

Jane spared one last glance toward the sky, where Killzone and Sitnakov hung across from each other, like two black orcols, one rimmed in silver and the other surrounded by flickering winds. They were moments away from starting a Wizard war. Thankfully, Jane left through the portal, to the Gate District, where the people already there were dealing with the sudden, unexpected appearance of their king.

Erick shut the portal.

Erick breathed out in partial relief.

Confident that they were at least partially alone, Erick took to the sky and began floating forward.

The first thing to do was analyze what was happening.

Killzone was not alone. There was also a platinum version of himself standing in the air beside himself. It was Chernom’s ghost.

In contrast to the stoic, silent Killzone and Sitnakov, the silver ghost was saying things and gesticulating at Killzone and Sitnakov. It was also silent, of course; all [Silver Heart]-derived people were silent, until they actually found their voice. Once they did that those people came back to life rather fast. Right now, the only ones able to hear the person that Erick decided to call ‘Chernom’ were Killzone, and through Killzone, Sitnakov. Maybe.

There were [Telepathy] lines everywhere.

Sitnakov was surrounded by more than just cutting wind. He had a presence that was altogether solid. Like he was a bared blade. Sitnakov’s usual twinned swords floated in the air beside him, ready to be grabbed when he desired. They radiated danger, too.

The two men were 2 kilometers from each other. Chernom’s ghost was right beside Killzone, trying to convince him of something, but Killzone only had rage in his eyes for Sitnakov. Erick stopped maybe 500 meters off-center of their stare down. Neither of the guys looked at him. They were too focused on whatever [Telepathy] they were sending to each other.

Erick spoke up, “What a fine day it is to get out some aggression!”

The guys glanced his way.

Erick rhetorically asked, “Why not fight and get it over with?”

Sitnakov said, “Stay out of this.”

“I am staying out of it.” Erick felt his Lightning Path connect, as he said, “I’m just gonna watch and make sure the world’s two newest Wizards don’t obliterate the world when they finally fight, like they’ve been wanting to for a very long time. You both used to be good friends, right? Knowing both of you, I imagine you talk best with your fists. So get on with it. I’m here to ensure nothing truly bad happens.”

The world stood still.

Killzone and Sitnakov stared at each other, and their thought tendrils stopped.

Erick floated backward. Chernom’s ghost glared at the guys, and then he floated away with Erick, the silver spectre shaking their head the entire time—

Sitnakov attacked at the exact same moment as Killzone pulled back, to punch the world.

Erick repositioned faster, to stand on the top of a mountain a good twenty kilometers away, just in time to watch as Killzone’s fist went forward, and the world whined in the passing, because Killzone wasn’t just punching with his fist.

The General of Spur’s Army transformed his kilometers-wide platinum aura into a giant black fist a good 500 meters wide, the immensity of it all crashing down on the Adamantium Wind, who responded with a whirlwind of slicing air that carved that fist into adamantium chunks. Black metal rained down on the countryside in pillars and slices each large enough to level several city blocks. That metal fell for a while, most of it headed down to the ground, but some went up to the second ground in the sky.

That had been a big attack.

Erick’s senses extended all the way to the battlefield and beyond, but still…

Erick calmly asked, “Rozeta? Can I get some numbers to know when I need to step in?”

It was a strange request, altogether antithetical to what Rozeta usually did in keeping people’s information private, but normal protocols failed when Wizards went to war.

Some numbers appeared in the air.

Killzone: 96% Health, 99% Resources, 80% Resons

Sitnakov: 97% Health, 98% Resources, 89% Resons

“Thank you.”

Sitnakov repositioned far to the right, the air churning with mirage-winds, the world whining as air sliced and then did more than slice. The very air parted as cleaving demands separated the space. Sitnakov was fighting with the very concept of severing, as he flew back to Killzone, repositioning—

A mirage-flash tore across the entire sky, all the way down and up into the ground of both continents, more than forty kilometers away from the fight. Stone flew from both lands, filling the sky with debris, as clouds and light tore apart in the middle. Sitnakov finished his strike far to the left, burying himself into a mountain that now had a great rent through the top part.

Killzone’s silver aura parted in the strike. Half of that silver aura vanished, but Killzone stepped out of the other half, completely unharmed. He had repositioned himself inside his aura. And now he flexed his fists, as though he was healing from gripping something he shouldn’t have tried to grip.

Killzone: 95% Health, 90% Resources, 85% Resons

Sitnakov: 96% Health, 91% Resources, 98% Resons

Their Health and Mana went down in that attack, but both of them gained resons? Erick imagined that must be because they were tapping into their real purposes in life? Perhaps this fight had been a truly long time coming. Sitnakov loved to fight, and so did Killzone. With that understanding, it was easy to believe that they had once been the best of friends. Looking at it now, they were little more than strangers deciding if they truly wanted to kill each other.

Sitnakov’s voice reached everywhere, “Always too fucking slippery, you slippery fuck!”

Killzone retorted, his voice twanging, “That’s gold coming from a hot shart of air.”

Sitnakov pulled himself out of the rent in the mountain and stepped into the air. He gripped both of his swords, and the air flexed around them—

Chernom stepped to Erick’s side, the silver outline of the guy turning a bit more solid. He said something, but Erick had no idea what he said.

In the distance, Sitnakov attacked with cleaving force, slashing his swords in an X, parting the sky into quarters. It was not nearly as big of an attack as that first one, but it struck Killzone head on. And yet, Killzone merely stepped out of the way, into the part of his silver aura that had survived and expanded far, far beyond the current battlefield. The entire sky felt a little bit platinum.

And then Killzone clapped his hands together, and two giant black hands, each the size of mansions, crashed together upon Sitnakov.

Sitnakov chunked those hands, and more black adamantium rained to the ground.

Killzone: 92% Health, 83% Resources, 84% Resons

Sitnakov: 89% Health, 76% Resources, 97% Resons

They were using resons now at a faster rate than they were accumulating them, but barely

Chernom scowled, his features suddenly looking more lifelike. Erick couldn’t hear what he said, and he had no lips to read, but as he gesticulated, Erick imagined that he had said something like, “Look at those two idiots. They’re going to kill each other.”

Erick decided to say, “They won’t kill each other. I’ll rewind time. It will work at least a few times, before Killzone slips out of that power and Sitnakov follows.”

Chernom laughed silently, his chest heaving, a smile on his face appearing. The silver ghost said something and Erick had no idea what he said, for it was long and complicated. Perhaps it was commentary of a deep sort that only he and the two fighters would know—

And then the sky rang with a series of explosions that caused Chernom to pause, and a wave of pressurized air to cascade away from the battle. Erick protected his space from the pressured air. Grass and boulders tore up where he did not protect.

Sitnakov had pulled out some explosion magic of some sort.

Killzone’s voice in the wake of those explosions had lost some of its twang, “Finally getting serious?”

“As serious as your betrayal, face stealer!”

Killzone’s face contorted in fury. His voice was solid, now, as he said, “Fuck you.”

And then Killzone moved.

The sky turned to a hailstorm of black fists, each the size of Killzone’s own real fists. He rained down upon Sitnakov, but Sitnakov dodged the rain in a way he truly shouldn’t have been able to dodge.

Sitnakov became a storm of tearing forces. The noise was incredible. It was apocalyptic.

Chernom looked as though he was shouting to be heard, grinning as he was saying something that might have been, “I wonder who will win!” Or something like that—

Sitnakov had been chopping at fists, avoiding them all, when suddenly one of those fists turned into all the rest of Killzone, and Killzone punched Sitnakov’s head clean off.

Sitnakov’s entire body disintegrated as though Killzone had splashed away a water balloon.

The wind died.

Chernom screamed. He wailed. He crashed to his knees.

Killzone stared at his hands, horror dawning, as black fists fell out of the sky—

Erick didn’t need to see Rozeta’s notification that Sitnakov was dead, but that notification was there anyway.

Erick rewound time.

Killzone came in for the kill and Erick invisibly, intangibly, mostly just metaphorically, tapped Sitnakov on the shoulder from 22 kilometers away. It was a tiny touch. It was enough. Sitnakov saw Killzone and he repositioned, his swords swinging through Killzone’s body—

But Killzone was already gone, transitioned to another part of the sky. He tsk’d.

Sitnakov billowed with rending force, parting the sky in another explosion. Killzone’s storm of fists parted to the sides, metal flying everywhere. Sitnakov was the calm center of a paused storm, driving the platinum aura away, his voice a whisper that carried only to Killzone, but Erick still heard it.

“You tried to kill me, for real.”

“As if you weren't doing the same. You’re just bad at it. When was the last time you were in a real fight, eh? Maybe if you would have done more against real enemies then you would have been able to save Chernom.” Killzone said, “That was always your problem. Too much hero, not enough warrior.”

Sitnakov glared, the world threading into severing force all around him, as he said, “The only reason you survived exile for what you did was because you swore to die to the Shades. You failed to die. I will now be rectifying that error.”

“If you could have killed me you would have done so the ten times you tried to assassinate me in Ar’Kendrithyst.”

“I only tried to kill you three times. The other seven were you being an asshole.”

“Considering the first three times you found me were each attempts to kill me, then I was correct in trying to kill you back.”

Sitnakov flew forward, swords flashing through the sky, parting the light and the dust and the clouds, as he roared, “I never understood what Chernom saw in you!”

Killzone flashed platinum and dove forward, turning into a line of light that went right through Sitnakov’s left hand and part of his side. Sitnakov stumbled in the sky, wind dying, as he rushed to reorient. Killzone let him.

Sitnakov pulled himself together. “You didn’t deserve him.”

“I didn’t. I loved him anyway.”

Sitnakov suddenly Raged, his wind flexing Carnage red, the wind turning vibrant and cutting.

Killzone swept the wind with a swipe of his hand that turned into a thousand palms.

The fight resumed—

Sitnakov caught Killzone across the arm, slicing up the silver bracelet that was Chernom—

Chernom screamed at Erick’s side as he separated into two halves—

The guys panicked—

Erick rewound time.

“You didn’t deserve him.”

“I didn’t. I loved him anyway.”

Erick whispered, “Aloethag. Please take the Rage away.”

A Carnage voice echoed in Erick’s ears, “Sure. Sumtir and I wish to speak with you later.”

“Agreed.”

Erick had already had a few conversations with them about various war efforts and plans, but today was a big day, and plans would need to be updated. After Veird got two more high-tier Wizards, though… and maybe more. Could these two Ascend? Erick wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure that Rozeta was doing something in the background to help them. Or at least she was going to do something, eventually.

Erick was sure he would notice whatever she did when she actually did it.

Sitnakov tried to Rage, but he just roared and attacked Killzone.

Killzone countered with a storm of palm strikes.

Five minutes of fighting and three rewinds later, and the guys looked pretty bad off, according to the numbers.

Killzone: 46% Health, 46% Resources, 25% Resons

Sitnakov: 35% Health, 41% Resources, 19% Resons

It wasn’t that surprising to see Killzone as a little stronger than Sitnakov, considering Killzone fought Shades for most of the last 350 years and Sitnakov was kind of a playboy. Still, their wounds were extensive, and Sitnakov wasn’t a slouch at all.

On the broken land to the left, a legless Killzone hovered in the air and flexed his silver aura to replace his lost legs.

Sitnakov was on the ground to the far right. He stabbed the stump of his right arm into a block of adamantium that Killzone had created through Genesis. Sitnakov flexed, and then he pulled out a freshly healed arm and another sword from that hunk of abandoned adamantium.

Sitnakov glared at Killzone, saying, “You’re good for making resources, but we don’t need two Genesis Wizards. Now let me cut off your arm and take my brother back before you fuck him up again, betrayer.”

Killzone glared, and this time the hate was real. He spoke softly, “I’ve known you as an enemy longer than I knew you as a friend. All cooperative diplomacy between Titanite and Stratagold stopped when the Dark took Kosomov. Has it ever occurred to you that that is what Melemizargo wanted?”

“The Dark is a crazy fucking bastard. No one should take him into consideration when living their life.” Sitnakov took to the sky again, declaring, “But you’re a man who stole my brother’s heart and then his body, and now you’re trying to reclaim his soul. You have no right, Kosomov.”

The silver apparition beside Erick stage-whispered, “Technically I stole Kosomov’s heart, but Sitnakov never understood that.”

… Huh.

Erick didn’t react much, but he had a reaction, for sure.

Killzone and Sitnakov obviously did not hear, because both of them went right back to fighting.

Sitnakov used explosion magic that Erick had never seen him use before. The noise was incredible.

Killzone was getting serious, too, filling the air with fists and even a few feet, swinging at Sitnakov from all angles. Some of those limbs were massive, some were small, like bullets, and moving faster than sight could track. Killzone was moving about that fast, too, flickering around the battlefield, dissolving where Sitnakov exploded the sky and then reappearing with one of the fists trying to connect to Sitnakov’s head, or chest, or other parts.

Erick almost reacted largely to the sound of Chernom’s voice. It was so much like Killzone’s voice that Erick almost believed that it had come from Killzone himself. But that was definitely Chernom’s voice. Chernom was still a silver ghost, but he had a substance to him that was more than illusion.

Erick helped Chernom along, talking with him, “Sitnakov is rather hard headed.”

Chernom smiled and his face was Killzone’s face, or rather, it was the other way around. Chernom said, “I’m glad that Kosomov got my body. It’s nice to see me beat up my older brother some. I never could manage that. I was always the more artistic, magic guy.”

Erick raised an eyebrow. “You were? What kinda magic?”

“All kinds of stuff that wasn’t war,” Chernom said, soft as a whisper from three rooms away, as the sky ripped apart in explosions and screaming metal. “Organizational magic, which is really just the discipline of Book Magic. Light Magic, for Illusion work and artsy stuff. Pretty shit at it, though.” He laughed. “When I tried to sell it outside of Stratagold under a different name, I got no buyers. Not everyone goes for artistic nudes of people just being comfortable, or dancing at Bright Tea. The Bright Tea stuff didn’t get shown outside of the Geodes, of course. Maybe I should have tried more to get father to allow that, but he said no, and kings are kings.” Chernom looked up at the sky, at Killzone, saying, “Kosomov liked all of my stuff. He bought so much of it...” He sighed. “Gods. Look at how much better he is with that body! I could never move like that. That’s how a Son of Stratagold should be.”

Erick grinned. “Killzone is a pretty good Punch Wizard.”

Chernom laughed, and it was louder than his whisper. He spoke in a volume that was more real, “I can’t believe that we actually have a wrought Wizard! And two of them! You had something to do with that, didn’t you?”

“I did.” Erick said, “With any luck, they’ll both come through this better than before, and be able to actually fight against the real enemy.”

Chernom looked at Erick. His voice was a normal volume, as he said, “Kosomov spoke about the real enemy some. Says his whole life was a lie.”

“Not a lie. A deception. Everyone was deceived. Even Melemizargo didn’t know what was happening, exactly.”

Moments passed.

“Am I a lie?” Chernom asked. “I don’t feel real.”

“You’re a Truth that has yet to fully manifest.” Erick looked at the man, and he was vaguely translucent, but as Erick looked at him, Chernom turned opaque, the silver vanishing under black densities. Erick saw his Lightning Path connect. He asked, “Want to help them be friends again?”

“Yes.”

Erick nodded, and then he spoke to the air, “Melemizargo? Rozeta? Can we get some cooperation going here, please? A reenactment and an enabling of Ascension?”

A moment passed in an eternity.

Erick imagined Melemizargo and Rozeta speaking in the shadows, and in the clouds.

Killzone and Sitnakov struck each other and separated as they had a hundred times since Erick started talking with Chernom, but each one was running on fumes and resons.

And then it was time.

A blue pulse pulled back from the battlefield, from the contact of the two warriors.

Killzone’s Script-empowered silver aura and all of his ‘[Fist Storm]’ suddenly failed. He reoriented fast. He managed to stay afloat. His conjured weapons did not. Fists pattered onto the ground like the final rush of a great rainstorm.

Sitnakov’s Script-empowered wind faltered. He did not manage to stay afloat. He hit the ground in a controlled-crash.

The fight paused, for now.

And then Blue rippled away from the fight, twisting Genesis to rapidly create something real as the Script left the land, revealing a great land of white stone pillars with lines of gold all throughout. All of Killzone’s scattered metals vanished. The sky turned into more crystal towers. Up there, sky bridges connected everything to everything else, but down here, a blue river flowed between towers, between crystal shores laden with mosses and garden paths.

The participants in the battle were repositioned.

The Script would be back, but later, when the memory was done.

The memory was the set for a wedding, taking place at the bottom of the deepest parts of Stratagold. The wedding was not for today. It was some other day, in the near future. All that existed right now was a white arch of metal and a platform and some lightwards that marked out some seating arrangements. The chairs were nowhere to be seen. The tables that would hold the banquet were empty, without any table cloths.

Erick watched the memory from far away. He was alone. Chernom had relocated, too.

Chernom stood like an adamantium orcol wrought, stretching his black hands up and shaping some lightwards over the white arch where the ceremony would take place. He made light, and then erased light, forming letters and then erasing them, trying to get it right. He looked like Killzone, but there was a softness to him that did not exist in the man who would become Killzone. Chernom was an artist, making a series of triggering lightwards that would unfold and twist and then change as the ceremony went on.

Killzone set down on the ground at the end of the aisle that led up to Chernom. He still looked like himself, but also like Chernom, if Chernom were to hold himself in a completely different, harder sort of way.

Sitnakov set down to the far side, where he somehow ended up leaning against one of the giant white pillars.

Killzone and Sitnakov both had a surreal moment, because both of them knew that this was real, but also not.

Sitnakov stepped away from the pillar, his eyes going wide, as his body began to exude Air Mana. He was a disturbed breeze right now, for he was feeling disturbed himself. He had no Script-granted power at the moment, and though he had likely trained to fight in such a situation, considering dungeons existed for that exact reason, Sitnakov was still running on empty.

Killzone effervesced platinum, almost ready to resume the fight—

And then he locked sight onto Chernom, and his glow pulsed. Whatever was happening, whatever this was? Chernom was real.

Killzone’s voice cracked, “Chernom?”

Chernom turned, then scowled, though there was a hint of mirth in that scowl. He shouted, “Kosomov! You’re not supposed to be here before the ceremony. I’m still working on the designs.”

In a deep, soft sort of way, Killzone walked forward, speaking lines lost to history, “You could work on them for a year and still not be happy.”

“Yes yes yes” Chernom said, rolling his eyes. “Done is better than perfect.”

Sitnakov spoke his part, “I still can’t believe I have to be out here chaperoning ‘The Artist’. This is supposed to be your job, Kosomov. This could have been avoided if you would have denied his proposal. You two could be gallivanting off into Rozeta knows what places, living in sin like is proper for adventurers.”

Chernom sarcastically said, “How droll for me to want to make Kosomov an honest man.”

“I’m glad we agree!” Sitnakov said, “So you can call this whole thing off, yeah?”

“Fuck off, Sitnakov,” Kosomov said, without any real anger, like it was a thing he said all the time.

Sitnakov pulled one of his swords out from his hip, saying, “Make me. Prove your worth as someone who can actually protect my brother, and not just as some hanger-on from Titanite’s impure Heavies, trying to get into real royalty.”

The air flickered with Darkness all around the ceremony grounds, far away from Erick.

Upon the hill where Erick stood, Darkness also coiled.

Melemizargo whispered to Erick, “I’ll show you how it’s done this time. You get to do the next ones.”

Erick nodded.

Killzone and Sitnakov didn’t notice the Darkness all around themselves. They didn’t notice Chernom eyeing the sky. Whatever spell had been cast, was slowly leaving the two of them. They eyed each other, and realizations came forward, all the way. They hated.

Chernom made a show of looking up and all around, trying to stick to the script of the past, “Where’d the light go?”

Killzone and Sitnakov glared at each other. To call what was in their eyes something as simple as ‘hate’ was to miss centuries of companionship and memories and fights fought together and stories that went on to get sung in bars, or written down by Knowledge Mages. And then a souring of all of that, all because of one horrible day.

Killzone glared at Sitnakov, “If you wouldn’t have been an asshole, talking about my heritage and driving me to fight, then maybe we would have noticed Melemizargo staring at our gathering.”

Sitnakov pulled his other sword out of his other thigh, to hold them both, as he said, “And if you would have been a better man, maybe I could have trusted you with my brother, betrayer.”

Melemizargo appeared out of the Darkness, looming above the battlefield, his wings and body and tail flowing around the massive pillars like a primordial ooze. He was an event horizon, upon which all the world collapsed into focus, and that focus was upon his face, directly above the ceremony space, his white eyes glaring down at the participants. He made a show of his white eyes focusing on Killzone, then Sitnakov, and then landing squarely on Chernom, though that whole action had passed in less than a flicker of time.

And then Killzone and Sitnakov noticed Melemizargo.

They noticed.

Erick witnessed the moment that Killzone’s entire being fractured with ancient pain, and then he focused.

Sitnakov had a similar moment of panic and then calm.

Chernom became a real person.

Melemizargo spoke his lines, “I prefer Titanite and Stratagold as enemies.”

And then Melemizargo opened his jaws and descended, his serpentine neck curling behind his head, wide as all the pillars all around. His teeth were the size of mansions surrounding an open hole in the world. He would devour, and never stop.

Sitnakov and Kosomov became as they had been, and so much more. Without looking at each other, Sitnakov knew to head high, which he did. He became a slashing tornado, aiming to clip Melemizargo’s jaws aside. Kosomov headed low, aiming right for Chernom, grabbing him in a tackle that brought him far away from the battlefield.

But Kosomov hit nothing but platinum illusion—

And then the illusion became real in a flashing instant.

Many things happened all at once. Erick did not catch them all, because many of them happened outside of his sight, for the very first thing to happen was an explosion of resons from both Sitnakov and Kosomov, obscuring most mana senses. Erick did what he could to adjust his sight to little portals he opened to directly view the land.

Killzone held Chernom in his arms, rushing the two of them outside of the descent of Melemizargo’s jaws. Chernom held an arm around Killzone’s neck as they flew, and he kissed Killzone on the cheek. Killzone smiled. He flashed platinum, and suddenly he was kilometers away from the battle, and he was no longer black. He was fully white and almost iridescent, and his entire body had stopped effervescing silver.

Erick was reminded of the Curse of Adamantium at that moment. That Curse is what turned adamantium black, because Melemizargo did not like ‘black’ being associated with ‘evil’.

Killzone slowed because he noticed the change, too.

Chernom kissed him again, and then patted his shoulder. “You can let me off here. Go save Sitnakov.”

Killzone held tighter, “I don’t ever want to let you go again.”

“Go save him, or I’m not marrying you.”

Meanwhile, on the battlefield, Sitnakov tore through Melemizargo’s jaw and out the other side. He came out covered in blood that rapidly fell away, along with all of the black of his own adamantium body. He turned pure white, too. Even his swords were white. He was amazed at himself for a moment, because he knew he shouldn’t have been able to hurt Melemizargo like that at all, and yet he had. He had dived into the jaws of death, and come out a few tens of god-teeth richer.

And also Ascended.

Melemizargo’s top jaw crashed into the ceremony space, but his bottom jaw was not there to close the gap. Instead of eating the whole ceremony ground, he merely broke part of it, and then he vanished back into the gloom.

Sitnakov laughed at the God of Magic, “You fucking bastard! I got you that time.”

Melemizargo was nowhere to be found, but several teeth and scales littered the area. His lower jaw simply wasn’t there.

Erick rubbed his own jaw, wondering if when Killzone had struck there, he had been trying to replicate what he had been unable to do oh so long ago. And he had, a little. Sitnakov might have done the most ‘damage’ to the God of Magic, but even Killzone’s rapid extrication of Chernom had broken several teeth. Both of them had saved Chernom. Killzone, by taking the guy directly out of there, and Sitnakov, by delaying the descent of those jaws by a half-second.

A moment passed, as Sitnakov hovered over the battlefield, and at the gore covering the ceremony grounds.

Killzone showed up. He grinned at Sitnakov, speaking in a drawl, “They’re gonna have to call ya the ‘White Wind’, now, ya fuck.”

Sitnakov turned and paused, taking in Killzone’s new look, his eyes going wide. And then he looked down at his own hands and swords. “… Wha—”

A blue wave collapsed inward, from far beyond Erick’s senses, down into the battlefield. The white pillars of Stratagold vanished as that wave rushed in—

A tiny blue box appeared in front of Erick.

- -

Would you like a Wizardly Connection to the Script, Erick Flatt?

Yes / No

Note: This connection is optional.

- -

“No thank you.” Erick added, “Maybe later.”

The blue box vanished, just as the entire battlefield ahead vanished; as though it never existed. The marriage grounds were gone. So were the teeth of Melemizargo.

The crater-marked battlefield did not come back. Instead, a continent of green grasses spread out ahead in every direction, both on the lower continent, and in the sky, on the upper continent. The light returned in the middle layers.

The land was at peace… But what about the warriors?

Killzone and Sitnakov stood in the middle of a field of flowers, beside a stream that had not been there before. Killzone no longer had the [Shackle of Memory and History] upon his wrist, but he was full-iridescent-white, so it was easy to tell him apart from Chernom. Sitnakov had no iridescence to him, but he was still full-white, too. Both of them were slightly crystalline. Both were different.

Most notably, Erick couldn’t mana sense them at all the way he could mana sense normal people, like Chernom. Chernom had a soft silvery cloud for a soul, which was more or less normal, but it was still in tatters here and there. He had just come back; of course there was soul damage. Sitnakov had a white soul that was dense and strong, and completely fake; normal souls did not look like that. He looked like a crystal on the inside, and the outside. Killzone was a void that was not a void; it was a space of mana that was completely indistinct from the normal manasphere. If Erick didn’t have eyes and rather extreme senses, he would have thought Killzone was an illusion. Killzone was rather adept at being soft and hidden when he wanted to be —he had been fighting Shades for 350 years, after all— so it did not surprise Erick that the man had Ascended like he had.

The two men looked at each other, and at the sky and the land—

And then Chernom, far away on a hill, waved and shouted. He looked like how Killzone used to look, but softer. Happier.

Killzone went to Chernom.

Sitnakov followed, though he purposefully lagged behind.

Erick allowed them several private moments of quiet words and hand holding, while Sitnakov desperately wanted to throw an arm around Chernom’s shoulders and have his own time with his brother, away from Killzone, but Sitnakov stuck with just a quick hug. They could be a family later.

Before they got too into it, Erick stepped through a [Gate] to stand among the three wrought, forgoing all introductions and simply asking a question he could already see the answer to, “You True Wizards are done fighting amongst yourselves, right? Training time is over. Nothanganathor awaits, and we need your swords and your fists.”

Killzone was the fastest to reorient. He said, “I’ve gotten a blue box from Rozeta to help me solidify my True Wizard nature. I’ll be taking care of that first, and then I’ll be ready.”

Sitnakov asked, “How much time do we have?”

Erick said, “Rozeta became Goddess of Knowledge and the Script today. You two will need to work on your whatever-you-haves to make yourselves further immune to Nothanganathor’s influence, but you’ve been noticed. Big things are happening. We might have a day before initial probes start, or whatever happens. We might have hours. The Shelter is coming down, soon; one way or other unknown ways.” He looked to Chernom, then to all of them, as he opened a [Gate] to Stratagold’s Yggdrasil beach, saying, “See your family. And then prepare.”

Chernom smiled wide, then patted Killzone on the ass, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, saying, “You wear that body better than I ever did. Go prepare, for real. I’ll be waiting. And when you’re done preparing, we can talk about everything, and how none of us are the same people we used to be.” And then Chernom walked through the portal.

Killzone watched Chernom go, but he also looked at the air. He breathed hard, and said to Erick, “Rozeta is calling for a meeting with me and Sitnakov. We’ll get there from Stratagold.” And then he went through the [Gate]— He turned. “Thank you.”

He went.

Sitnakov went with them, saying, “Wait up!”

Erick watched them for a moment. They looked happy, but weirded out, which was just about the best way for them to be. Erick watched some guardians of Stratagold step out of invisibility and the area, looking shocked as they saw what appeared to be Killzone and some white wroughts in the shapes of Killzone and Sitnakov. Erick smiled at that. Sitnakov started to explain everything in his usual, brusque manner, which looked like it would get him in some sort of initial trouble—

Erick closed the [Gate].

And then he took a [Gate] to the Silver Surface.

- - - -

Erick stood on a silver hill and stared at the black sky—

Solomon opened a [Gate] next to him and stepped out, looking… different. Erick allowed himself to stop looking at the sky, to look at Solomon, head on. He was… more solid. His eyes were platinum instead of grey, and shot through with lines of gold here and there. His skin was flawless, along with his platinum grey beard and hair.

Erick said, “So that [Gate] means you completed the Worldly Path and also True Wizardry, and got a mantle of minor divinity. Big day for you, too.”

Solomon smiled. “It all kinda happened fast. I hear you had something to do with all of that.”

“I did some Fate Magic with Phagar a few months ago. Tried to help you along with a bunch of others. Didn’t foresee the divinity, though. As long as you’re comfortable with it, I’m happy for you.”

Solomon made a long bench on the silver hill and sat down. Erick sat down with him. Solomon said, “Destiny is trying to Ascend, too, but we all told her to calm down. I heard you tried for her, too.”

“Oh yeah,” Erick said, looking up at the sky. Only a thin sliver of the view held any stars. The rest was the full-black of Fenrir. Not even the [Terraforming] storms remained. Nothanganathor was moving, and most of it was happening outside of sight. “I tried for a lot. Destiny, you, Sitnakov, Killzone. Even put some effort into getting Jane and my other kids there, but that would have been forcing something that wasn’t ready at all. I put the most effort into making it all happen at the same time. The gods did the same; more so than I knew they were doing. I had a feeling that Nothanganathor would notice as soon as we achieved something which he could not, and which could actually threaten him… and he has.”

Solomon looked at the sky with Erick. “Storms are gone.”

“Yup.” Erick pointed at a particular spot in the black sky. “Right there. Do you see it?”

Solomon looked— He breathed deep, and then he sighed. “Yup.”

Erick pointed to a different part of Fenrir. “There, too.”

“… Oh yeah.”

They were tiny red glints. Barely noticeable. If it weren’t for Erick’s monumentally enhanced senses and his ability to See beyond illusions, then he would have missed them. The red glints were small, with the one on the right bigger than the one on the left, but it was definitely there.

Erick said, “They’re more noticeable in the future.”

Solomon’s eyes flickered. “Yeah they are. And… It’s spreading? Yeah. It’s spreading. Whatever it is.”

“Nothanganathor has been doing something to Fenrir, but now he sped it up a lot. In a day you’ll be able to see it, fully.”

Solomon pulled a beer out of the air, made a copy, and handed one off to Erick. “Time enough to take a minute or twenty.”

Erick took the beer. It was good. “Did you hear? Chernom came back. Can barely tell the difference between him and the old Killzone, except for the mannerisms.”

“I think Chernom’s fangs might be smaller,” Solomon said, “Holds himself completely differently, though.”

“Oh no doubt about that. Anyone looking would not think Chernom was Killzone. I wonder if Killzone will change his name back.”

“He’s not really Kosomov anymore, so I doubt he’ll change it.”

“Wrought don’t really go backward with their trauma, do they?”

“Ha! No one really does.”

Erick nodded.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the sounds of the Silver Forest all around. Wind blew through the silver canopies of mountain-tall white, eternal stonewood trees. Smaller winds rustled the much, much smaller normal trees, with their brown trunks and green canopies, hanging out and growing at a normal tree-height.

Slimes abounded, and birds made their homes wherever they wished. Birds were the first to colonize the land up here, and they loved it. The most prominent birds were Koyabez’s starlings.

Those little silver birds were wonderful to watch in flight. They were like parrots, but bright silver and they formed almost 4-pointed stars when in flight, and when seen from below. They chirped at each other as they flew across the peaceful world, in Koyabez’s Silver Forest.

Poi had once shown Erick a transformative memory when he saw one of those birds, one time. He had sighted the creature when he was searching for answers in his life regarding the Dragon Stalkers who killed his mom, and about the Quiet War, and about hatred in general. Seeing that bird had been Poi’s call to Peace. After that Poi had gone to Spur’s Army to put his anger to use in a way that even Koyabez could appreciate. Of course it had been more complicated than that, but that was the outcome after years of soul searching when Poi was a kid.

Solomon watched the birds with Erick, and his mind probably went to the same places.

Solomon asked, “Did you manage to get that Fractal Mark in your [Telepathy] undone?”

Erick smiled. “Does Wise King Solomon think I should?”

“I poked at mine, but rapidly decided to stop that. Rozeta did all the hard work. I got a reson wallet like you, now. Rozeta said the Mark didn’t like being messed with by outside forces so we had to break the Fractal Mark to make that happen. We made what we could out of it.” Solomon said, “Rozeta warned me about that before we did the procedure. Still glad I did it.”

“… Huh.” Erick said, “I didn’t imagine that it would just… break.”

“From my understanding, Killzone and Sitnakov broke theirs at the same time.”

Erick nodded. “Big day.”

And then Solomon asked a serious question, “Why didn’t you try to get Jane, Abigail, Bethany, Candice, or Evan Ascended? Or at least Wizard Ignited? I mean… You talk about time frames… But I gotta ask, man.”

Erick asked his own serious question, “Did they want it? How far does a Demigod of Wisdom’s knowledge actually go? Or Rozeta’s new powers, for that matter? Do you think I could have helped my kids in that way? Or how about Ophiel? He deserves it just as much.” Erick said, “No; they were too far away from that sort of help, and if they ever found out during any part of the process it would be a horrible backlash.”

“… Fair enough.” Solomon said, “I’m going to work on Igniting them.”

Erick considered… that. And then he nodded. “Good. I hope it works out. They might listen to you more than they listened to me.”

“They’ve gotten better about accepting help, you know. They got dragon’d… But I suppose the journey to Ascension is personal, otherwise whatever True Wizards came before would have control over those who Ascended afterward, simply by being there at the base of the creation.”

Erick nodded. And then he smiled, and said, “Wise.”

Solomon barked a laugh.

Eventually, Solomon finished his beer.

Erick finished his beer, too.

Solomon pointedly glanced at the red glints on Fenrir’s surface, then said, “That’s going to take a full week to manifest at our current time dilation difference. You have time to make something of your own Fractal Mark.”

“I’m pretty sure I know what it has to be, and it’s not going to happen now.”

Erick was talking about something he didn’t want to think about.

Solomon understood, because he was Erick, but different, and then said, “That’s one option. You could choose a different option that leaves the Benevolent Sky with a future unhindered by uncertainty.”

Erick chuckled at that. “Come on now, Solomon. There should be some wisdom in leaving some uncertainty in the future.”

Solomon huffed a laugh. “I should have picked a different name. You and the girls and Evan make fun of me way too much. Melemizargo even started, too, by giving me this Wisdom Mantle.”

Erick smiled at that, and then he said, “I don’t want to make the Benevolent Sky foolproof. The future should be written differently from what the prognosticators say.”

“Yup. That seems pretty wise to me, too.” Solomon asked, “Ready to get back to it? Or are you gonna stare at the sky for a while?”

“For a little while longer. You headed back to the Blue Corps? Or back to your ‘kingdom’ of dungeon delvers and slimes?” Erick said, “I like what you did with Dungeon Island, by the way.”

“They’re all great people, there.” Solomon said, “There are a few more things to pull out of the Black Gate, with some of their help. Rozeta and Melemizargo expect Nothanganathor to have a few specific items, like the World Crasher Mallet and the Whirlpool. The Mallet is about as simple as it gets, but the Whirlpool would destroy Domains and other Authorities across a few lightyears of space. I’m going to grab the Light Shield and the Bulwark Bastion to counter both of those… Maybe a few more items, too.”

Erick shuddered a little. “Terrifying.”

“Yup.” Solomon paused. “I’ll look into getting something for morale, too, now that you mention it. I’m not even sure of a target for that…” He decided, “I’ll ask around.”

“See you soon, then.”

Solomon got up and walked through a Genesis [Gate], saying, “Soon.”

The gate shut.

Erick stared at the sky for a while.

There was a lot he could be doing and yet he had done as much as he was able to do. War would soon be upon them… or at least Erick hoped it was a war, and not an annihilation. Wars were winnable.

For the briefest of moments, Erick considered betraying Melemizargo and giving up the Painted Cosmology. It would be the easy way out. It would ensure the survival of everyone else… for a while, at least. And then Erick shook that thought away. Aside from Nothanganathor’s questionable ethics in upholding his deal to ‘take Melemizargo and no one else’ or however-the-fuck that slimy leviathan had phrased it, it was the ‘for a while, at least’ that really made Erick ignore the deal. How long was ‘a while’? Never long enough, even if it was millions of years long. Nothanganathor had proven himself as more than willing to play the long game.

And then there were all the smaller universes that Nothanganathor was going to consume if he were allowed to take the Mantle of the God of Magic.

No; Erick would not bargain with that horror.

He would not capitulate.

He would not falter.

Nothanganathor was going to die, and then he was going to be sundered in turn for what he had done to others, and for what he promised to continue to do to others.

Erick wondered what the Erased One’s opening move would be…

Aside from those glints in the sky, whatever they were. They certainly weren’t beam attacks aimed this way. They were something else entirely.

- - - -

- -

- - - -

- -

- - - -

On a black metal beach, a bright Red sky stretched all the way to the Throne of God. It was a wonderful view to Oozy, as he walked with a drink in hand. The drink was cold and the black metal burned his flesh, the soles of his feet sizzling on the surface of Fenrir. That was wonderful, too. All sensations were good.

Oozy wished that Everbless would have done some real terraforming, though. It all looked so shitty out there. Bare metal? Scattered lands? Scattered trees that were like splashes of green in the Red sky? Bah. That stupid World Tree could have done so much more by now. They had had a year and a half to get ready for Erick’s return, and now Erick was on Veird and Veird was already at…

Oozy hummed. “Are they at a year already? Under that Shelter?”

Maybe a little over a year, actually. Another hour and they’d have another year under that Shelter. Two years of prep! Surely Nothanganathor wouldn’t give them that much prep time, right? Of course not. Nothanganathor just wanted the garden to be ready for plucking; not turned into an unassailable fortress.

Surely it would be starting soo—

The sky vibrated, the heavens twisting into a whisper, into a command.

Nothanganathor spoke, “The time is here.”

Oozy smiled wide, revealing way too many teeth as he crushed his drink in his hand. He laughed at the world, at the endless, half-realized expanse of adamantium and scattered lands and oceans larger than any planet, all ahead of him, and at the bright Red sky overhead, that filled the entire space between here and the Throne of God.

The universe thrummed.

“We set the stage.”

The True God stretched Red out into the sky of Fenrir, like needles the thickness of planets, threading through the void between the Throne of Nothanganathor’s Sun and the land where mortals walked. Those needles touched down and scraped existence into reality, ripping apart the veils between worlds and showing the true forces of God for all to see.

Oozy cackled as he gazed upon the True Kingdom.

- - - -

By the end of the first day after the ‘Big Day’, Erick knew this wasn’t going to be a normal war.

The two Red glints on the Surface of Fenrir were expanding at a phenomenal rate. They had been barely visible 24 hours ago, and now both of them were obviously visible. When Erick held his hand out, the first spot was less than the size of his pinky nail, while the second Red glint was half that size. With some very rough math, Erick estimated that each glint was maybe ten times the size of Veird’s diameter. So the Red glints were maybe 800,000 kilometers across? Less? More? Who knew.

Looking at those glints reminded Erick of looking at Jupiter in the night sky, back on Earth.

By the end of the second day, there were 79 Red glints on the outer surface of Fenrir, and the initial glints were more like smudges.

By the third day, the glints revealed themselves as something else entirely; they were a transportation or a reorientation or some other sort of transformational, Infinity-based magics. Specifically, Erick guessed they were reality reorientation magics. Solomon and others had more nuanced ideas. Whatever the specific case, everyone saw and understood what had happened, though they weren’t sure what Nothanganathor’s real goal was.

The Red glints had washed out across the land, and though they left Red wounds on the world, they also left behind civilizations. Villages and towns and cities. Metropolises. Oceans of life. All of it noticeable. All of it known. That’s what really got people worried, and for multiple reasons.

In a large auditorium in the Blue Corps center of Queen Anhelia’s Kendrithyst, the combined forces of the world had a meeting.

Erick wasn’t a speaker today. He watched as Jane stood in front of the generals of the combined Armies of the Blue Corps, and leaders of the world, in front of a projection of one of the most prominent Red glints. It was a close-up image, as much as could be had from millions of kilometers away, and though Red lingered everywhere, it was clearly an image of a mountain range.

A bunch of spheres floated around a central mountain inside the Red glint, like an orrery.

“The Orrery of Rozeta,” Jane said, as she spoke of the image behind her. “It’s been confirmed by Rozeta herself.” She flipped to another Red glint, and this one was less well-known, but Erick recognized those dark streets anywhere. “And this one is Death Throne, in the south. We haven’t put any names to any other of the locations, for all the rest were too crowded with Red to see what was happening, but these were the first two to come out, and we’ll likely know the rest as soon as the Red pulls back some. We’ll know more in the following week, because the Red Glints are expanding faster and faster. Fenrir is catching up to our time differential.

“In 14 days, we expect Fenrir to fully match our timeframe. The Shelter of Veird doesn’t need to be broken at all by Nothanganathor, or dropped by us, because Nothanganathor can simply match our speed.

“As for what is to come:

“We believe that Nothanganathor has stolen parts of Veird and is setting us up for some sort of ‘attack of our own’, or perhaps a lateral attack of some sort. That’s the bad news. More bad news is that many people who have been Erased or which we have killed appear to be coming out of those Red glints. We’re not sure what is happening there, but here is an example of something we can point to and see for what it is:”

An image appeared of a lich and a woman, walking along in a castle in Death Throne. There had actually been a bunch of examples of what Jane was showing, but she chose to show this one.

“This is Lich Toenail and his human slave wife Contay. Toenail was one of the main forces behind the eventual Redding of the Fractured Citadels and central Quintlan, because his current wife, Contay, was taken from him by the Red. Here he is, with her once again. So he got what he wanted, even though we killed him, and Quilatalap personally oversaw his containment, and we all oversaw his Sundering.

“More bad news:”

Jane switched lightward images to show the Orrery, where Teressa stood with Dariok and Lenitha, frozen in Red time, smiling as they looked up at the Orrery floating overhead.

Teressa and Dariok were in the audience, too, sitting beside Erick. Dariok had come back to real life just the other day. Lenitha was with Ophiel in Benevolence itself. Lenitha had no idea about all of this, but Teressa and Dariok knew of what was going to happen at this presentation as of hours ago, when all of this shit first appeared in the sky, so they had put their daughter into Benevolence. Lenitha was having a good time with Ophiel.

Jane said, “If Nothanganathor is bringing Erased people back to life, then that is what he is doing, but we doubt that any of these people coming out of the Red were ever Erased at all. We believe these are side realities brought into this one. Whatever the case, we will keep you all apprised as we strive to understand what is happening, but for now, we’re treating these people as versions of ourselves taken from other Veirds that Nothanganathor has consumed.”

The audience was rife with small words and disbelief and worry and scoffing and open hatred.

Jane let the audience calm before she continued.

Jane continued, “The good news is that the Red glints are still holding across the Orrery and Death Throne, and all the other lands that we can’t really see yet, so they’re still time-locked, even if Fenrir is speeding up to catch up to Veird’s timeframe. We expect all of that land to remain time-locked, until Nothanganathor delivers some sort of ultimatum. And then he’ll release them for whatever reason, or he’ll do something else.

“And that’s the state of the War.”

Jane called for questions.

People instantly started talking over each other.

It was organized chaos, and Erick helped to manage that chaos, but he was mostly outside of the command structure of the Blue Corps. This was Jane’s show. Erick’s forces only personally consisted of the Valkyries, and Shivraa, the minotaur Harmi, and a relatively new wrought Valkyrie named Phillal. The Valkyries were already in attendance, and hearing what they needed to hear with regard to this public information session.

Erick soon found himself speaking with King Alfonin Stratagold and the human adamantium king of Titanite, a man by the name of Somov Titanite.

Sitnakov was over with Jane, talking to some people from Nelboor, that included Nirzir.

Alfonin asked Somov, “Have you taken Killzone back into your Heavies?”

“No,” Somov said, looking at Sitnakov on the other side of the auditorium. “Though we have spoken with him about old times. He saw his parents for a brief minute. When this is over and we have won, we will consider more unification.” Somov looked up at Alfonin, his face going unreadable. “Titanite wishes to reforge bonds anyway; to put aside all distaste and rivalry.”

Alfonin said, “Stratagold accepts.”

Somov nodded, and then he looked to Erick. “How goes Phillal’s introduction to the Valkyries?”

“She’s adjusting well. She has a good head for Geode culture on her shoulders, and she’s a fantastic war dancer, so her introduction to the collective has made the whole organization stronger. We should be able to work well with all ground-based forces from the Geodes.” Erick added, “But according to what we’re seeing, I doubt this will be a normal war at all.”

Alfonin asked the big question, “When he comes to you with an ultimatum, what will you say?”

“That he can die in fire, as he deserves.”

Many people around the conversation of kings, not involved directly but listening anyway, relaxed at Erick’s brazen declaration.

Somov nodded in approval.

Alfonin smiled. And then he moved on, “We would like to offer a few more soldiers for the Valkyries, for Titanite can’t be the only ones to step forward. Phillal is one of Titanite’s best dancers and weavers, but we have Rubikia, and she’s been dancing around opponents of all sizes for a thousand years, including Phillal.”

Somov was a little miffed that right after asking to reforge bonds between Titanite and Stratagold that Alfonin would try to move in on Titanite’s establishing ties to the Valkyries, but then Alfonin mentioned Rubikia, and even Somov had to agree that it was a good idea.

Erick said, “I remember her at Bright Tea all those years ago. I’ll be glad to have her. I remember she trounced Sitnakov rather well.”

Rubikia was one of the main defenders of Stratagold, and Erick was happy to have her. But all that Erick really knew about the woman was that she was made of hellite, and that she was incani-shaped, and that she was accomplished at war. The only real question of her was regarding her base nature; her hellite body. Erick had no idea how that would interfere with her… taking the Valkyrie Class? Or was she going to ask for a real Blood Resurrection as a Valkyrie?

Erick didn’t want to ask those questions in public, though.

Somov said, “She’s as good of a fighter as she is a dancer, and being of hellite caste should make her into a formidable Valkyrie.” He added, as a question, “Or would that interfere with the Exalted nature of part of that magic?”

Erick said, “I was just wondering that myself. I will have to speak with her later.”

“We don’t foresee it being a problem,” Alfonin said.

‘Later’ turned out to be an hour later, and Rubikia had already gotten a Status Reset through Rozeta, and she was ready to pledge herself to House Benevolence and Erick himself. That was enough for her to be offered the Quest to take the Valkyrie Class, which, for her, was just a simple ‘do you want to do this’ sort of Quest. She said yes.

Rubikia transformed, her hellite body burbling into Carnage and Blood and then flashing outward into bright pink metal.

She was still made of hellite as a Valkyrie, but she was now 4 meters tall and with floating wings made of bone-swords. She loomed over Erick for a brief moment, and then she got down on her knees, to pledge, “My life and my swords for the good of all, and every individual.”

“I accept,” Erick said. “Welcome, Rubikia.”

Shivraa, also as a Valkyrie, but just a bit shorter and mostly made of pale purple bloodice, also accepted Rubikia’s pledge, saying, “Welcome to the front lines of the war, sister.”

Erick let them get acquainted. He had other places to be.

- - - -

Erick stood upon the inverted land of the Outer Core, where continents stretched up and around the blue Core of Veird, up there in the center of the clear sky.

Rozeta stood with Erick, and said, “The personal Script is not ready, nor will it be ready for a very long time, and I’m handing the project off to Ezekiel. He has come a long way with tinkering and runecraft. Further than you, by far, and Gnowmi is assisting him with that.”

“… Okay… That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but you have big reasons for delaying the creation of personal Scripts, I assume?”

“Yes.” Rozeta said, “Personal Scripts have to be personal, for I wish to make them into Ascension machines. Quite simply: To tie the Personal Scripts to divinity would be a failure of foresight. One only has to look at what happened to the original Goddess of Knowledge to know that this would be an unwise tying-of-power. A mortal working has a much higher chance of existing long, long after everything is done.

“That was the original philosophy behind the original manaminers, oh so long ago, and it proved prescient. Much of Knowledge is like that; to tie what a Personal Script could be to me would be to deny the Truths of others.

“As for making Valkyries immune to the vagaries of inclement Authority, you have already done that. I’ve tweaked a few things to shore up their Class to allow them to survive outside of the Script. That particular power will be going out to everyone, thanks to the [Spellsurge Weave] that can allow them to connect, even when they are outside of the Authority of Veird.”

Erick relaxed. “That’s good. That’s all we really needed, anyway.”

“Don’t let anyone stay out in space for an extended period of time, though. The basic system to allow spaceflight is just that; basic. Those who prove good at spaceflight can stay out there longer.”

Erick smiled. “Heard and understood.”

And then Erick waited.

… Rozeta breathed in, then out, and said, “Kirginatharp awaits your Benevolence on the other side of the Outer Core.”

“Thank you,” Erick said. “I’ll raise him up to a dragon again, if you want… But by your expression, that sounds distasteful to you?”

“Everything about this particular thing is distasteful, Erick.” Rozeta said, “But we’re in a war for survival, and I will need to protect my son myself. It will be difficult and… and I fear I will be unable to do that. I already lost one son to the Red. I cannot lose Kirginatharp, too.”

“I’m fully fearful of losing any of my kids, too. Hopefully most of the fighting will take place outside of Veird.”

Rozeta breathed, and then she nodded.

She opened a portal to the other side of the Outer Core.

They stepped through, and the two of them stood in the front yard of a mansion set back from a cliff, facing an ocean. Kirginatharp stood beside a stone table in that front yard. Erick’s purple lightmask-enchanted teapot sat on the table, steaming away, and three cups of tea sat waiting for them. The whole place reminded Erick of Windy Manor, at Oceanside, where he had lived with Poi, Teressa, Kiri, and Rats, and spent his semester learning magic at the arcanaeum.

It had been a long time since then.

Kirginatharp tensed as he saw Erick. And then he spoke first, “I had hoped to ease into… to talk for a while, and to mull over how much I was going to lose in the [Reincarnation], but it appears I would rather get this over with fast.”

Erick said, “Thank you, Kirginatharp, for allowing the removal of your Dragon Curse.” He turned to Rozeta. “Could you put up an absolute multiversal shift, to keep this part secret here from the other realms of Veird?”

Rozeta and Kirginatharp both paused as they looked at Erick—

Rozeta raised her eyebrows, as the Knowledge of what Erick wanted to do appeared to her. “Oh…” She considered. “It is done.”

A barrier flashed across the entire cliffside.

There was a conversation.

Erick tried to forget it as much as he could, and he didn’t have a clear idea of what he wanted to do, anyway. That might have been enough to prevent inclement prognostications from interfering in that plan.

- - - -

Preparations were done as much as they could have been done almost two weeks ago, by now. Or maybe even months, really.

The world was ready for war.

Fenrir was not ready for war at all, but it could be, soon. The people down there were locked in Red, but some of them were troops standing in formation.

Erick hovered in the sky, at the closest point between Veird to Fenrir. He was still inside the Script, but he was only ten kilometers from the Edge. From horizon to horizon, Erick floated between two worlds.

Veird was layered with silver trees and white light.

Fenrir was several orders of magnitude wider, and much, much further away. Civilization after civilization lay somewhat hodgepodged together down there on that green, blue, and cloud-covered surface… Once you got past the Red that covered everything. Red sparks clung to every surface, rippling and layering and containing the people in a [Time Stop]. But the clouds kinda moved like clouds should move. Or at least the upper clouds moved.

Veird and Fenrir were basically on the same time, and would be moving at exactly the same rate in about ten minutes, according to the maths.

Erick watched the clouds down there roll by, like threads of white upon the incredibly large surface—

Fallopolis stepped to stand beside Erick, her white eyes shining as bright as Melemizargo’s. The Champion of the God of Magic was looking good in her chosen form; like a warrior grandmother, with armored robes and her big black kendrithyst staff floating beside her, ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice.

Fallopolis said, “This is going to be a lateral attack.”

Erick had his own guesses, but he asked, “What are you thinking?”

“An attack along the fundamental natures of magic itself.” Fallopolis said, “Probably divinity-based; A twisting of the gods of Veird through mass worship. We’ve already shored up the Script to prevent that, but attack and defense are an ever-evolving war of trial and failure, and the people down there are copies of us up here.”

“I expect him to try something more normal at first, but yes, a worship-based, nature-of-mana lateral attack will likely be the main attack. He wouldn’t bring people from side realities unless he was going to use them. Could just be a show of civilization-building, though.” Erick added, “Could be making hostages.”

“Will you attempt to save them if they’re real?”

Fallopolis had asked the question innocently enough, but there was a reason Erick had raised the point himself. He and she were playing small roles right now, for all the other people behind them, watching from Veird, praying for miracles in Veird’s favor.

Those people focused on Erick’s one known weakness; he tried to save everyone. Erick almost wanted to deny that, to lie and say he would annihilate everything down there without remorse. And yet, to say that was just as callous, and would cause a morale drop on this side of the war.

So Erick said, “I have long ago chosen who to care about when it comes to infinity, Fallopolis, and the people I care about are here. We will be saving our own, first.”

Fallopolis was serious right now, but she allowed herself a small relaxation upon hearing Erick’s words. She didn’t grin, but her voice was lighter as she said, “You know? I still have that little Blessing of Minor Truth you gave to me so many years ago. It is a true comfort knowing that you’re telling the truth.”

Erick allowed himself a smile. “All these years later, eh?”

“Of course. I told you I would cherish it forever, our Fire of the Age, and I will.”

Erick lightly teased, “You told me you’d come up with a new name, too.”

“Ha!” Fallopolis said, “I might need to actually start working on that promise—” she waved a free hand at Fenrir. “—as soon as this trash is done with.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Fallopolis.”

Fallopolis bowed in the air and then flew backward, before vanishing into the shadows of the sky of Veird.

The Valkyries waited down below, in squads scattered around the entire Silver Surface. Most of them would head left or right or up or down, if they needed to. Killzone and Sitnakov were ready, wherever they were. The girls and Evan and Poi and Rizala were down below, at the main Blue Corps base and at secondary communication bases, though only very few people were at the main Blue Corps base; it was too much out-in-the-open, and too much of an obvious target. Ophiel was ready in Benevolence Itself to do rapid portals around the world, if needed, and Kiri was ready with the same. Teressa and Aisha were inside Benevolence Itself, looking at the Sky, prognosticating. Dariok was there with Teressa.

Teressa gripped Dariok’s hand in her own, and they watched the Benevolent Sky together.

Yggdrasil and the gods were down there, wherever they were.

Waiting.

Erick was the spear.

Darkness swirled around Erick—

… And he felt the weight of a world, or rather, ten million worlds, mark him with an indelible future.

… He checked his Status, and yup.

There was a major change.

Erick Flatt, [60-ish] [Current Year: 1453 (Veird, layer 789), [CURRENT REALITY=Layer 789, Veird]

Mana split; Soul, Body, Mind: 31%, 30%, 30%

Reson allocation rate: 9%

Soul: 913.71m per day / 10,575.34 per second , [Darkness Level = 62.3x Ascension baseline]

Body: 1453

Mind: 1971

Overall Stability: ↑↑ [+9,624.08, -9] Basic upkeep

Mp: 2.9t/∞, ↑ [+3,278.25, -3] Basic upkeep

Hp: 2.8t/∞, ↑ [+3,172.6, -3] Basic upkeep

Pp: 2.9t/∞, ↑ [+3,172.6, -3] Basic upkeep

Resons: 1.9t [+951.78 = +105.75]

He had bounced up to 62.3x Ascension Baseline.

That was double what it had been a week ago.

“… I think those people down there on Fenrir are worshiping me, too.” Erick frowned. “Well that’s weird.”

Yggdrasil whispered in his ears, “That is correct. I’m still siphoning your divinity due to Pact, but everything else is still yours. This does confirm the main thrust of Nothanganathor’s lateral attack. No one else is being affected by it, because we accounted for it, but you are outside of the Script, and so you are affected, somewhat. Know now that there are probably versions of the Veird’s gods down there, but they are Fractal versions. They are who their believers believe them to be, and nothing else. They have no Mantle of the Dark to make them more than ghosts of collective imagination.”

“Ghosts, eh?” Erick chuckled darkly. “I can already see myself venturing down there to kill those god ghosts, looking like Melemizargo the whole time, trying to ‘kill the gods’ like what people thought he was trying to do for the longest time. How’s that for Fate working reality over.” He sighed as he stared at Fenrir’s surface, saying, “Jane is supposed to be the one fighting the gods.”

… Oh shit, she probably heard that.

She was probably dying of embarrassment right now.

“Time is an ouroboros, father,” Yggdrasil said, saving Erick from his own words. “If you live long enough, you will see patterns repeat in everything. Thus is the nature of this Fractal Universe, and Life Itself. Children grow and live lives the same as their parents, or perhaps circumstances skip generations, or around, and then they have children of their own that go out and live lives that the parents prepare them for, but that they can’t really prepare them for because life, no matter how much it looks the same as what came before, is not really the same at all.” He added, “But if you live truly long enough, then you can see the real patterns emerge, and know that yes, time is an ouroboros.”

Erick smiled at that. “And so is [Renew].”

Erick expected Yggdrasil to say something more.

But then reality clicked.

Erick wasn’t sure how he knew what he knew, but he knew that Fenrir had finally time-locked with Veird.

And then Oozy Stormcaller stood twenty kilometers outside of the Edge of Veird.

Erick had no reaction except to simmer with rage.

Oozy wore red robes that held like ribbons upon his body, flowing down and billowing, almost like seaweed in an ocean, or mermaid hair. He raised his hands left and right, and called out,

“Did you have fun?

“Did you prepare enough?

“Was the reprieve enough for you to come to some correct decisions?

“Or are other measures necessary?”

Erick responded with a sky full of [Luminous Beam]s that started off as normal lines of light that then turned absolutely apocalyptic right past the Edge of the Script, where quasar-like particle streams touched the scant little atmosphere that existed out there. Oozy was atomized under so much nuclear fire.

When the space beyond the Edge cleared of explosions, the sky remained clear for a full two minutes.

And then Oozy reappeared, flying out from Fenrir at the speed of lightning, which was still sort of slow at these sorts of distances. It was fast enough. Oozy hung in the air, his ribbon-like robes turned into a cape, revealing red plate armor, with his helmet hanging off of his belt and his red hair waving in a nonexistent breeze.

He said, “We magnanimously give you a week to make a better decision, and then we kill you all.” He put on his helmet, his eyes flickering with Red lightning beyond the black eyeslits in that red metal. “Make bad decisions, please. I always wanted to kill everyone I ever knew.”

And then he vanished.