The bottom level of the Deepwell Monastery was a large, circular chamber, its centerpiece an immense pool of dark water.

  Framing the pool was a scene etched directly into the stone; Vos, holding the God Breaker in his right hand, his left grasping a pair of chains connected to the necks of the Lord of Hunger and the Lady of Plenty.

  Redmane stood with his back to this image, using the ledge of the Abyssal Well as a stage to address his allies.

  Now he shared the stage with Lar Tathvaal, the Dicentis of Taracon, and the audience didn’t seem pleased with his words.

  If it was true, it was damning.

  Numantia came in peace first.

  They sent Astral Pilgrims to establish friendly contact with a world.

  There would be a cultural exchange. Language, religion, magic and technology, food and drink, music and art and sport.

  The Astral Pilgrims would beg the local rulers for permission to build churches of the Nine. Then, when consent was secured and the first humble chapels constructed, they would begin converting as many of the natives as possible. Those who showed exemplary devotion would be chosen to take Astral Communion and become their world’s first Imbued.

  The next arrivals would be mercantile concerns. Trading companies in the employ of the Scion Families. The Numantians would establish a colony somewhere in the world, as a show of good faith to the natives that they were here for a long and mutually fruitful relationship.

  The colony was the true purpose of it all.

  The site of this city is to be chosen with care. The strongest available ley line convergence will be located and built upon. Usually the natives have little geomantic knowledge and thus have nothing of consequence constructed in these areas. Sometimes there is, and Numantia has to persuade the natives that the site would make for a fine city. A metropolis. This world’s shining hub of commerce, both Astral and terrestrial.

  Once the colony is built, the game is over.

  The city itself is a work of geomancy, designed so that it funnels the power of the ley lines directly into the Astral Bridge. And the colonial government assigns an Artifex to the personal retinue of the Governor or Governess, whose duty it is to ensure the efficient channeling of the natural Gnosis of the world through the Astral Highways, toward the convergence of all power.

  The Aedis Prism. The mind of the System.

  The System, in turn, manages a great hierarchy of lesser systems throughout the entire empire. Day and night, without ever so much as a moment’s respite, it operates the machine of Numantia with divine efficiency.

  Sometimes the natives of a world learn the truth about this grand design. The successful ones close ranks, spread the word, make their preparations and then rise in rebellion.

  Which is when the Legions are deployed.

  And the rebels have to contend with not only the vast military resources of Numantia, but also the large portion of their own population which the Numantians have converted to their way of life and the religion of the Nine, and if they do not begin the conflict fully sympathetic with their own conquerors, the Dicentis of the colony will adjust their attitudes, opinions, beliefs and political positions with the correct saturation of propaganda.

  The rebels will not be freedom fighters, in the eyes of the common colonial citizen. They will be demons. Demons to be exterminated without hesitation or mercy. If the Dicentis does his duty with even minimal competence, the demon slayers will always have the gratitude and moral sanction of the people.

  Nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a thousand, this is a losing proposition for the rebels.

  If Numantia can’t get its way by treating you well, you will be crushed.

  Because determined enemies can avenge themselves of lighter injuries, and neither the Triarchy nor the heads of the Scion Families wish to stand in fear of revenge from anyone. Ever. They’re a paranoid lot, despite their near-incomprehensible power.

  Redmane listened carefully to Lar Tathvaal as he laid it all out, noticing a hint of a sardonic smile on the Dicentis’s face. A curious expression to wear when delivering news of this kind. But perhaps that was simply the way his face looked.

  Then he looked out over the faces of his Imbued friends.

  There were many sets of wide, unblinking eyes.

  Valtr shook his head, mumbling in denial.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The Magisters Alma Brador and Evelina Crol, whom he’d met in Asgoph, held each other’s hands so hard their knuckles were white.

  The Justiciar Vella stared at the ground, her face tightened up in thought.

  Irina attempted to speak. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Which made her blink and shake off the daze, clear her throat.

  “If this is all true,” she said, staring up at Lar Tathvaal. “Why are you telling us now?”

  “Nine hundred ninety-nine out of a thousand seditious colonies are crushed, as I said,” he said. “But I have a good feeling about this one.”

  Her eyebrows rose, and she blinked. “A good feeling.”

  Irina looked as though a feather could have knocked her over. Radovid frowned with concern and put his arm around his sister, and she leaned on him. Radovid’s own face was a mix of anger and disbelief. He clenched his jaw, his voice a growl.

  "All this time, we've been helping them tighten the noose around our own necks...”

  “So they just let us all die?” asked Evelina. “They don’t let anyone out? Migrate them to another world?”

  Lar’s smile soured. “Well, yes. Sometimes they re-settle populations in other worlds. But only when a population is unusually productive or useful in some unique way. In such cases, they will shrive their memories clean, and fabricate a new story for them. The story of a world whose death could not have been avoided, and so Numantia, in its mercy, re-settled them at great expense.”

  “How long is this draining going to take?” asked Alma.

  “Several mortal generations,” said Lar Tathvaal. “It’s a fairly gentle process. They stretch it out over a long span of time, so as not to alarm the natives too much. The process can be accelerated, but this is detrimental to the stability of the overall Gnosis yield of the colony world, so they don’t do it except in dire circumstances.”

  Flora, who sat on the edge of the well at Redmane’s side, spoke up at that. "I have indeed felt a strange pull in a southeasterly direction. I feel it in the roots and branches of all mine trees. It feeleth like the receding of the tide, a gathering-in of Gnosis."

  Redmane noticed the way Lar Tathvaal glanced at Flora, his eyes subtly widening. As if he’d just discovered something.

  His own eyes narrowed.

  Valtr spoke up next. “So if all they’re doin is harvesting Gnosis, why bother with any of this Imbued stuff?”

  “The Imbued are useful tools. Monster hunters, evangelists, enforcers of Numantian law. They found it helps for the hand holding the truncheon to belong to a native. It makes them look magnanimous.”

  “What happens to the Imbued when a world is done for?” asked Vengarl.

  “That depends upon the character of the Imbued in question, their power level, their loyalty to Numantia over their own home, their record of service and their overall usefulness to the colonial government. Sometimes the Gov—“

  Sight Beyond Sight

  Redmane’s third eye snapped open.

  A gigantic skeletal hand reached out over him and his entire group, and then that hand curled into a fist and crushed them.

  Death was near. It was here, now, in this very room with them.

  He turned and shoved both Lar Tathvaal and Flora into the Abyssal Well, with naught but a moment to spare before Sicari appeared all around them.

  Sicarius Neonate

  First Generation Imbued

  Level 100

  These he’d seen before. He fought one in a cavern not far from here. And of course, one of these was the fateful meal which set all this into motion. The Neonates had porcelain white skin and orbs of obsidian for eyes. They wore simple white robes and cloaks, and carried a single Star-Steel blade.

  This time there were eighteen of them.

  Sicarius Ancilla

  First Generation Imbued

  Level 200

  There were nine of these, standing in the back rank. They too were white as bleached bone with black pits for eyes, but the Divine Flesh they were made of seemed more mature. Their bodies were taller and leaner, longer of limb, and they held an assortment of finely wrought Star-Steel armaments.

  Twenty seven god-killers appeared in an instant.

  Twenty seven pairs of jet black eyes, fixed on Redmane.

  They moved as one. Neonates first, in a perfectly coordinated leap. The Ancilla simply vanished.

  Within the two Coteries of Imbued present, a few were quick enough to see and react to what was happening. While the rest of them were wheeling around to regard the intruders with shocked expressions, Irina the Magister and Krum of Asgoph were in action.

  Irina raised her staff, and its head glowed green.

  Aelia’s Emerald Arrow

  A comet of Gnosis burst forth, streaking toward a descending Neonate.

  Krum cracked his neck, grinning like a madman, and struck another out of the air with an overhand right.

  The Neonates descended upon Redmane's allies with precision. Blades clashed with a metallic ring, the chamber echoing with the sounds of struggle—grunts, the scrape of steel, the flash of Skills, the dull thud of bodies hitting the ground. The Imbued fought with determination born out of pure shock; as if it weren’t bad enough to have had the scales ripped from their eyes by Lar Tathvaal, this ambush drove home the reality of his words.

  Redmane’s other allies, all of whom were his own spawn, did not seem to share in those misgivings. Vang, Zorn, Nuk and Throk leapt into battle with glee. As did the Ice Warg Gale, who was plainly confused by Lar Tathvaal’s talking and how all the humans were reacting to it. Both the demi-humans and the Ice Warg greeted the attacking Sicari like friends making a surprise visit with swords.

  Pietr the priest and Dobrogost the warlock stood back to back, fending off Neonates with defensive Skills.

  Alma and Evelina made a fine pair, wielding Skills of fire and frost.

  Valtr and Vengarl had their weapons out and firing a heartbeat after Irina and Krum.

  Redmane took it all in at a glance.

  For a moment, things looked like they would be alright.

  Then his third eye burned.

  Flicker

  Gnosis: 2143

  A straight-bladed polearm appeared out of nothingness just before Flicker yanked Redmane’s body to safety.

  It would have appeared inside his chest.

  The Skill translocated him behind the Sicari Ancilla and he raised a claw to strike down his surprise assailant, a snarl in his throat.

  Which is when eight more blades and their owners appeared in a circle around him, all at the same instant, all in the middle of an attack of their own, the translocation a seamless part of their technique.

  All too quickly for him to use Flicker again.

  It was only the power of his third eye which made him aware of what had just happened, and what was about to happen. Through it, Redmane sensed the precise angles and velocities at which he was about to be stabbed and cut.

  All he could do was hope he still stood after the blades fell.

  PATREON