Between the ability to switch bodies with any of his spawn and the ability to travel the Abyss, Redmane assembled his Imbued allies in a remarkably short period.

  Flora was easy to find, because she was everywhere.

  And then there were Pietr, Dobrogost, Vang and his demi-human band, and the Ice Warg Gale, whom he could spawn wherever he chose.

  He gathered them all together at the Abyssal Well beneath the town of Rollo’s Pass, knowing only that he urgently wished to speak of what he’d learned.

  But once he stood on the ledge of the Well, as if it were a podium, he found himself momentarily speechless.

  There was much to explain.

  He found himself at a loss for where to begin.

  “I am the cause of the Blight across Volos.”

  When in doubt, deliver the worst news first.

  It raised more than a few eyebrows. Even Valtr and Vengarl looked a little perturbed.

  “I take it you’re gonna explain that,” said Valtr.

  Redmane nodded. And then he began by explaining what he used to be in lifetimes past. He described what was done to him at the hands of the Five Heroes, leading to his ultimate fate as a captive creature in the custody of the Morholt family, who, over the long course of generations, forgot the duty entrusted to them.

  He explained his connection to not only the peoples of Volos but the very beasts of the land, owing to his original nature as the divine father of all animal life. He explained what his seditious son Vos had done to him, the death of his original self and the birth of the Lord of Hunger.

  The reactions of his audience were mixed.

  Flora, Pietr, and Dobrogost listened attentively. The latter two nodded along at times.

  The Imbued looked skeptical.

  He noted all their reactions, but spoke on.

  “Which brings me to the present,” said Redmane. “To what I believe my purpose is, in light of the doom hanging over our world.”

  “Doom?” asked the Magister Irina.

  “The coming of Numantia portends the death of Volos, as it has for every world it has ever colonized.”

  If the Imbued were skeptical a moment ago, they were now upset. A few appeared insulted.

  Valtr had his arms folded, a bushy eyebrow cocked. “Well that’s a claim. What gave ya that impression?”

  “The Numantians have been nothin but good for Volos, far as I’m concerned,” said Vengarl.

  “And you should know! Yer in the System too!” said the Justiciar Vella.

  “If anyone should be grateful to the System, it is I,” said Redmane. “I owe the Numantian god my freedom. But those who command Numantia’s magic power do so only to conquer and consume. And when nothing remains of a world, they close their Astral Bridge and depart, leaving a dead world behind.”

  Irina’s brother, the warrior Radovid, appeared to have heard enough. His brows were drawn together and there was a flush of anger on his cheeks. “This is nonsense. Let me guess, Redmane, we’re to take you at your word for this, yes? Can you furnish any proof of these claims?”

  Redmane frowned and shook his head. “I cannot.”

  “I can,” said someone standing behind them all.

  The group turned as one.

  There stood a tall young man wearing a hooded cloak made of a dark, silken fabric. When all the eyes in the room turned his way he doffed his hood and bowed floridly, with a sardonic smile.

  “Lar Tathvaal, Dicentis of Taracon, at your service. I’ll try to make this explanation concise, because this place will be overrun with Sicari in a moment.”

  A towering spectral image of Jarel Craith appeared in the Sanctuaries of every Faction in Volos, including the courtyard of Castle Redmane.

  The Praetor had bathed, fixed his hair and healed his injuries, and he wore a fresh set of robes. Anyone who hadn’t met him before would not have noticed how gaunt he now looked, or how much his hairline had grayed and receded in a few brief minutes.

  “Imbued of Volos, I am Praetor Jarel Craith. I send this emergency message to the Sanctuary of every Faction. First, I wish to extend my sincere thanks to you, valiant guardians of our land, for your unwavering dedication and perseverance in these perilous times, as you have borne the brunt of so many difficulties.

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  “But it is my great regret to inform you all that there will be more difficult times ahead. We have discovered the cause of this unprecedented Blight. By the negligence of Governess Mecia Porsena, however, it was allowed to run free and grow in power, and now — perhaps by the Governess’s very complicity — it appears to have infiltrated the System itself.

  “I have confronted the Governess with these allegations, and the concrete evidence which supports them. But rather than submit to my authority as Praetor, she chose resistance. And so I regret to inform you I had no choice but to answer force with force.

  “Governess Porsena is no more. And my first action as Provisional Governor is to call a colony wide hunt on her accomplice, the one called Redmane.

  “The Faction known as House Redmane is declared anathema, an outlaw Faction. When this message has concluded, their access to the Pharos network and Marketplace will have been severed and any Zones under their control will be considered fair game for any Faction who wishes to expand their territory.

  “The demon known as Redmane, their ringleader, shall be considered a Monster and dealt with as such. By the authority vested in me as Praetor, I hereby strip this Imbued of his status and protections under Numantian colonial law, along with those of any Imbued who stand with him. The colonial government will richly reward the Imbued who brings me their heads.

  “To all those held captive against their will in the territory of House Redmane, do what you can to escape safely. But do not act rashly. Shelter in place if you must, and await the coming of the Imbued and other agents of the colonial government. And quiet your fears. Your deliverance is close at hand.”

  Aric Morholt found himself on an endless field of corpses.

  His cousin Aerin sat next to him, staring vacantly off into the sky, rocking in place, muttering to himself.

  The proud knight. The Imbued Warrior. Reduced to this.

  Aric would have taken more joy in the sight, had they not found themselves in such a nightmare.

  He’d never have imagined the afterlife to be like this. It was quiet. Tranquil, if not for the scenery. But if it went on like this for a while longer he supposed he’d lose his mind as well, like his poor cousin here. The grisly terrain stretched off into the horizon in all directions, rolling hills of gore, the blood bright red as if it had been freshly spilt. Objects of varying size floated in the orange sky, chunks of stone, half eaten buildings, sections of the bodies of titanic life forms.

  His reaction to the horror of it was to retreat into the back of his mind.

  To analyze it.

  Analysis was a safe thing to do. You could learn from it, become better prepared.

  Something ate all these bodies and body parts. He could tell by the jagged wounds, the bite marks.

  If this was hell, it could be ‘the hell of being eaten alive’ or it could be even more specific than that. The hell of being eaten by Redmane.

  If it were the second one, Redmane had eaten quite a lot.

  Movement caught his eye in the distance. A tiny figure near the horizon, approaching slowly. Soon it took the shape of a man walking alone. He drew nearer still and Aric could make out his features.

  The man bore a startling resemblance to Redmane, except his hair was brown and his eyes were green and he was garbed in a style Aric could only refer to as ‘ancient.’ A black cloak, decorative bracers and shin guards, a long loincloth and naught else.

  Aric’s pulse picked up a bit. He had a decision to make.

  There was no telling how long he would be alone out here.

  He did not know if this man was a friend or foe. But he’d died once already. Dying again would be worth the risk if the alternative was the eternal companionship of Aerin Morholt the vegetable.

  He stood and waved his hands in the air. “Hail! Over here!”

  The man stopped. Looked.

  And moved with such blinding speed that Aric fell back on his rear, his eyes wide with shock.

  Up close the resemblance was even more startling. But this man was definitely not Redmane. There was a distinct air about him, a hardness in his eyes.

  He looked Aric up and down, and then Aerin.

  “My father spared your souls, did he,” said the man. “Why.”

  Aric swallowed. Shook his head.

  “I don’t know. To torment us, I suppose.”

  The man’s mouth creased into a frown.

  “Come.”

  He turned and continued walking in the direction he’d been going before Aric hailed him. In a panic, Aric jostled his cousin, who looked up at him with wild eyes.

  “Uh?” said Aerin.

  “Come on, get up. We’re going somewhere.”

  Aerin turned out to be agreeable, in the way of a drunkard or a witless old man. Aric helped him up and the two of them hurried after the stranger.

  “Where are you going?”

  The man didn’t look back when he spoke. “There is a failsafe. A way out of this place. This was not an outcome I desired, but I planned for it just in case.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Aric.

  “I built the Lord of Hunger from the substance of my vanquished father. He was made to consume whatever I fed him. Things I didn’t want in my world. Those things will still be here.”

  Aric felt a chill go down his spine.

  His mind burned with questions, but fear of the answers sealed his mouth shut.

  Mecia Porsena beheld the dark waters of the sea coming up fast to meet her face.

  The impact would surely blast all the bones in her body to powder.

  But it wouldn’t hurt. The impact would knock her out, and that would be that.

  She didn’t notice how much darker than normal the surface of that water was until after she’d struck its surface.

  It felt like falling onto a plush mattress. Like the gentle hands of a mother catching and cradling her child.

  If this was death, it wasn’t so bad.

  She didn’t even feel the wound she’d taken from Lifedrinker. That was the worst pain she’d ever felt in her life. And even worse than that, she could feel the will of the weapon as it drained her life away. There was a sense of pleasure, of delight in her pain. Mecia touched her stomach, and to her surprise she found that while the hole in her nightgown remained, the wound itself had stopped bleeding and was closing on its own.

  The longer she remained conscious, the more she came to wonder if she was truly dead or if this was…

  Her bare feet touched what felt like solid ground beneath an inch of water. She looked about and saw no one. Nothing. Darkness stretching off into infinity. Her eyes slowly widened in recognition as she understood where she was.

  “Quiet thy fears. The Abyss is not so unfriendly a place.”

  She wheeled around toward the origin of the voice. Behind her stood an old crone in earthen robes, with brilliant green eyes and a smile on her crooked lips.

  “Do not thank me too soon though, Numantian. I have need of thy knowledge.”

  Mecia Porsena’s eyebrow rose.

  An Abyss Witch.

  So, Jarel hadn’t completely lost his mind.

  “And if I should refuse to help you?”

  “Then thou shalt wander the Abyss until thy very mind and soul come apart.”

  She smirked at the crone. “I can appreciate a good negotiator.”

  PATREON