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"And so it ends... or does it begin? I've lost track at this point. Surely the ending of one thing is only the beginning of something else. So is that really a bad thing? But then again, isn't the simple ending of something only good or bad, depending on the eventual outcome? And even then, isn't it all a matter of perspective?" The Overlord thought to himself as the little watch blew the bloody door off his cell, waking him from his slumber.

He coughed slightly and straightened himself up. A look down him clarified his worst fears. He'd gotten his clothes all dirty. Dust everywhere and oh it was just horrible! He brushed himself off with frantic pats and rubs. Had to look good for the big day! All these weeks of playing insane and losing a certain degree of sanity were finally about to pay off.

He stepped over the recently flattened door, little tinny clangs echoing through the halls. Hang on, he could hear the clangs? No that wasn't right... everyone should have be screaming in terror by then? He supposed it was just the hour or that Falcon had made her move early. But surely both were impossible ways for the entire corridor to be silent. Then he heard a familiar hollow whispering coming down the hall, and noticed the limp and slouched forms of the guards and "The Mouths" and he understood. She'd gone balls out.

He then rushed down the gleaming halls, hopping over the corpses and turning corner after corner, desperately searching for the weapons locker. When at last he reached the same corridor, heart trying to flee from the menagerie of his chest, it stopped dead. Firstly, the weapons locker was already opened, and the guards slouched at the feet of the heavy stone opening had definitely been killed with traditional weapons. Secondly, one Mouth was slowly gliding down the hallway towards him like a spectre, whispering up a storm in his mind. Before the Overlord knew it he was paralysed by fear.

Then, the creature turned down a branching side-path, towards the political prisoners. That was when he realised that this Mouth had looked different from the others. The face had been flatter. While most Mouths seemed to have had skin consume their facial features, this one had none. The outlines of cheekbones and eye-sockets were just gone. It had been an unmarred slate. To add more to it, there was a purposeful harshness and direction to the whispers that was not present in the other mouths. There hadn't just been a general vibe, there was a message. He wasn't sure what it was but it scared the **** out of him. To make matters worse, he wasn't sure whether he imagined some sort of bright blue light writhing beneath the surface of the skin or whether it was real.

He slipped into the contraband weapons locker, and sure enough his rightful gauntlet (the one stolen by Ray and the Falcon) was gone along with the weapons of the Family. But someone else had been here. Someone different. Why would Falcon and company take spears and swords plainly belonging to lowly thugs. He cursed and just wrenched a machete and a pistol from their racks before gliding back out.

You see, today was the day he was going to make the dream a reality. Today he would kill Void and seize the rightful place of administrator. Go through minimum security. Enter the maintenance tunnels. Sneak into the banquet and kill Void. Qustom's betrayal would not go unpunished. From there he would deal with Ray, Falcon, Dominus and the rest. Quite the plan he thought.

So, as he jogged jovially through the tumultuous corridors of the prison. Unlike in maximum, the corridors were filled and people were still fighting. Here, a group of prisoners pinned a guard to a wall. There, a rabid Mouth stuck its hand into a prisoner's chest, and the prisoner screamed and fell limp. The man who was once Starletts had to admit, Falcon's work was impressive. He hated when he was outshone. He had to do this, killing Void would scupper Falcon's plans! Yes, this wasn't even about Void and Qustom anymore. He had to destroy her with this!

And so as the Overlord muttered to himself and staggered through the prison on weary legs, the scenery calmed. That meaning, the fighting changed to corpses, and the only sounds still audible were the croaking whimpers of the dying, and the empty thuds and bangs of the battle upstairs. Then out of nowhere a plot thread hit him.

He was struck by the sturdy frame of Thomas Bone as he came to a four-way cross-roads, the pleasant guardsman tripping and tackling him. Soon behind him was Bird Brain, keeper of the zoo. Both were stripped of their uniforms, wearing the torn sacks worn by their pets in here. Their eyes were consumed by fear, and they were both scratched and bruised. The eyes of Bone seemed swollen shut, and he groped around helplessly to find out who was beneath him.

"Bird! Bird!" He cried, as his grimy hands met the cold stone mask. "I think the Overlord's out!" He chuckled, pleased with his jest.

"Come on T. Let go of the psychopath's mask and let's just get out of here." The warden irritably hurried, dragging Bone up to his feet and sniffing.

"Hey!" Overlord objected, raising the knife and pointing it at Bird, forcing him to back up. "Who are you calling a psychopath?"

Bird started to shake his head and hands frantically and objecting. "Listen I'm really sorry! I've had a terrible day. I've been beaten and locked in a cell while some corpsey-looking guy does a bad impression of me. I didn't mean any offense. Honestly."

Then a familiar voice called, "Hello Star! Long time since I've seen you out and about! How's The Family?"

At the end of the grey and cracked hallway was a weary and shabby looking Ray. His beard had grown a further four inches, coming down over his frail chest. His eyes were sunken into his head, with fortresses of sagging skin guarding them. On either side of him was a pale-faced thaumaturge, one plainly still scarred from Aegis. Behind him were two others, both grinning with a calculated stupidity.

The Overlord had not forgotten about this one. He was eager for this revenge. He'd been so close to becoming a god. And this loyalist fool had destroyed it for both of them. Literally walked away with his godhood. No one walked away from the Overlord, especially not this man. Plus, Ray had always annoyed him with his obsession over the playwright and actor... Tommy Wiseau. This was to end there.

Overlord lifted the barrel of the pistol and empty the shot into the mage on the right, and spun back behind a wall, holding up his machete readily. The dethroned warden and his guardsman had continued to flee from their burning kingdom. Probably for the best.

Then a robed figure holding a wand burst round the corner. Just as he sent a burst of wind strong enough to knock a man out burst from the tip, the broken man gripped the arm and pointed it at the man's comrade down the corridor. A sickening thud struck the already crooked nose of the mercenary and bent it inwards, spraying crimson from the nostrils. He tipped backwards and sprawled out on the floor, limbs splayed. Overlord then finished the holder of the wand with a blow to the neck and he too was defeated.

Now, there was just one more mercenary, and then Ray. This one wasn't a mage, or even a Thaum. Just seemed to be some local they'd brought along to help out. Ray's network was developing holes. Overlord surged forward, batting the man across the jaw and threw him into the wall. He turned to his predecessor, who stood there grinning and arms spread as if he want a hug. The thaumaturge on the floor behind him was rising once more, and the local boy was already rising again. Neither seemed like they were willing to detain him without at least maiming him.

So Overlord grabbed their master, and the curved inside of the blade stretched across and embraced Ray's throat. At this both parties paused. The two mercenaries turned to bronze statues depicting a tragedy, arms outstretched desperately and with faces carved by fear himself. Overlord stood still in his embrace, vague and expressionless mask revealing nothing. The only one unfazed was Ray. Of course it was. He was never surprised.

"Oh Starletts," Ray drawled, a lopsided smirk tilting his beard. "I know you're glad to see me, but don't you think this is a bit excessive? I would have settled for a friendly handshake. But, I guess I should admire the enthusiasm."

"Don't call me that. And cut the jokes. We both know why I'm here." Overlord spat in response, attempting to silence his prisoner.

"Oh... Still stuck in your delusion I see? Haven't figured it out yet?" Ray said through tears of suppressed laugh. A little nick formed on his neck, and a small bead of crimson jumped onto the blade. The Overlord moved the blade out a little.

"What are you talking about?" He snarled.

"You're a figment of my imagination. You see, I tried my hand in writing for a wee while during the time the Family was still together. I came up with a funny little story riddled with purposefully painful spelling errors in which you were the main villain who wished to destroy the Craft. Then it occurred to me. What if Void some day gets in our way? What if we need to deal with him? We need someone who is obsessed with destroying an administrator. Someone strong and willing to take whatever means necessary to get "revenge". And so I made you. I wrote you into existence and programmed you as a subroutine within Complex 14." He laughed cruelly. "Your vengeance against Void is little more than a hashed in objective. I could have written Fabio in there and you would have taken a campaign against him."

"You're lying." Starletts quivered. Questions started to flood into his mind. How old was he? Who were his parents? What position had he held that was so close to Qustom? Where had he lived? How had he lived so long? Why did he have no memory of Zerg? Good Notch... "You're lying!"

"No I'm not. I wish I was. I did too much of a good job. Hence your attempt to betray Dominus and myself. Well, myself mostly. Nothing much left on the front of Dominus. He was a nice springboard, but I think I've milked him for what little he's worth."

The light-heartedness was gone, replace by darkness and ice. His hair became like dried grass, wilted and lifeless. His skin paled beyond that of Thaum, put to the point where he was indistinguishable and a part of the stone around him. He pushed aside the blade of the Overlord, turned and whispered something to his gaping mouth. The Overlord blinked twice, and the malice rushed out of him, to be replaced by child-like fear.

"Ray?" Spoke Starletts, terrified. "Where are we? What have you done this time?"

Ray smiled his wry smile, with warmth thrown into it. And he embraced Starletts, rivers spouting from his eyes and making a great delta of his face. And so he spoke, that Mayor of Williamsburg, with frost stifling his warm words, choking them as they lingered, "Welcome back old friend. You've got a lot of catching up to do."

Kay's perspective

"This is a message from Jeb's most humble of servants, your voice in the Divine council, Dinner Bone. Peoples of Mojang, there has been a disturbing development. We know who is responsible for this rebellion of the Thaumic scum!" My heart stopped dead as the old man's frail face appeared in every reflection. I turned and thrust my head over the nearest pool of water, nervous eyes boring into his, finding them to be uncaring and unaware.

"Who do you think they're going to blame?" Aaron asked, teeth gritted for the worst.

We both knew I was on the chopping block for this. We were about to be swamped by every soldier in the True Court.

"Behold, the traitor." And up came the face of... Void?

The picture was recent, but not recent enough to suggest that he had already been capture. I reckoned it was from his entry to the Gathering Council. He had not yet the frail and uncertain look he held just two days prior. He was more calm, collected. He was obviously perturbed by being away from his people

"What?" Atreidon was uncharacteristically thrown, mouth not quite closing, as if he could only breath through it.

But, as usual Brit was unfazed. He straightened his coat and plucked the handkerchief from his pocket far more roughl than he usually did. Taking a step back from us he dabbed his forehead, nose and moustache with a precise and practiced stiffness in movement. He made to pat his side but stopped rigidly, fingers freezing in a spasm-like pose. He cursed the hand and placed it back in his pocket. The handkerchief was hurriedly tucked in behind the dull silver box of a lighter. The eyes of the detective followed each of his moves, disinterested in anything else. He straightened his tie, titled down the rim of his trilby over his furious eyebrows. He then began to sprint back towards what might have been the direction of The School.

"Brit!" I cried. "Where in Nether are you running to?"

"Don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing, just keep on as planned."

"But-"

"Trust me!" I could have sworn I saw a frown on his usually emotionlessface as a flare overhead lit up the street with red light.

And so the clacks of his footsteps coughed through the dark draping shadows of buildings crooked and warped. Overhead shells pirouetted through the sky, screaming as they lost control, and brief grace turned to flailing chaos. Great smoke stacks rose across the city, forming great giants of fog, converging from all the Earth's ends to uproot the Divines' Mount Olympus. Through these great beings pulsed veins of orange and yellow. The wind propelled them onwards towards the Citadel, crashing their great forms against the beauteous white of the Divine throne. All the while the stars giggled childishly at the games of war played by we mortals; for to them these were little more than children playing with swords in the garden, knowing nothing of real grievance and conflict.

We were out in the streets before The Citadel. Not before one of the gates but near a breach in the wall torn by a Thaumic bomb. A few streets to our left, a series of barricades held by The Divine Army started, forming a large arc through the city down to the river to hold the line against the Flux. So far, it looked like the armour we'd accidentally passed on was just as defective as believed. That at the very least was working in our favour... and that of Dominus sadly.

"Well gentlemen, shall we head in?" I asked unenthusiastically.

"Let's just get this over with. I do not enjoy being duped, and I want these people dead before they can gloat of it." Atreidon growled, leaning on his gold-shafted spear with knuckles of white.

His anger however, was also seasoned by the return of his usual sombre mood. It seemed that every step we took was simply throwing more weight onto his face, weighing it downwards with sadistic vigour.

"Any chance you can tell us what's got you down Atrei?" Bokane pried, finally trying to gain the answers he'd fought for the last three weeks.

Atreidon chuckled at him as if he were but a child. His brow lightened a little, climbing back up the steep cliff face of the archangel's forehead but then stopping in exhaustion. He raised his mottled hand and brushed aside one dry lock of hair, thick as rope and of the same texture. Through leathered lips he spoke these bemused and foreboding words, "I'm sure explanation won't be needed in a few minutes."

"Why do you have to make it so hard to trust you?" I accidentally pleaded aloud.

He laughed and patted me on the back. This was the strangest reaction I'd seen to anything to date. But it thankfully didn't last. His face sunk once more into the morose familiar. "You'll understand soon." I did not look forward to resolving this subplot...

"So, yes. Let's head on in?" Aaron asserted.

We nodded in joint unease and hopped through the deserted crack. Before us was an opened back door. The only soldiers visible were too busy squabbling among each other as to who was responsible for irreparable damage to an artillery piece as a flustered looking little engineer tried feebly to remove a volatile shell from the battered and half-melted barrel, so it could be safely removed.

Their hair was wild and their faces youthful and grimy. Noobian volunteers no doubt. Early in training. Still at that awkward stage where they had not yet lost their willingness to die and die again, but also had not gained the skill to pose a real threat alone or the discipline necessary to be thrown at Vechs in the East. We might have risked a confrontation had there been fewer, even with their superior equipment. For if there was one thing Noobians new how to do, it was band together to be a real pain in the rear. Their bull-headed charges were esteemed and ridiculed in equal measure. Their weird speech patterns and terrible grammar was simply ridiculed.

"Yo are ded tis mate!" One hurled at the one Divine planted in their troop of ten.

"What do you mean Noobian?" The officer growled, turning his focus away from abusing the engineer. He removed his forearm from the barrel of the gun and turned, chest swelling with defensive pride. He seemed to grow in presence with this, to the point where he seemed to rival the Noobian underling, despite being a full head shorter.

"I sed tat yo arr one tat break gunn. Yo telled we to keeep shoot, 'ven t'ough te gunn waz bloody melt!" The two were now brow to brow.

"You..." The divine snarled. "You dare speak this way to your betters? I'll teach you how to treat those purer than yourself!"

From his side he pulled a riding crop and whacked the soldier on the back of the leg with a sweeping blow. The volunteer fell to his knees with a whelp and attempted to raise his spear in defence. However, the boot of the Divine brought it straight back to ground, firmly planted. With this he began to flog the injured man. However, he did not expect that the rest of the unit would then fall upon him in a storm of obscenities.

Seeing our opportunity we ran through the door's metal frame and into the labyrinthine Citadel. From there we wandered, taking every back passage we could, merging with shadow at the site of the lowliest cleaner. At last we found ourselves just two levels beneath the Library when we encountered our first major obstacle. However, the scene was sadly more interesting that I'd expected.

"Don't shoot! I said lower your weapons! Crawley stop them!" Came the harsh, authoritative voice of an escaped prisoner staring down a troop of mixed stragglers from the Divine Army. At his side was a hunched over scowling man, eyes swollen shut with bruises. He looked slightly familiar, but it was hard to tell.

They had evidently been called to guard the last staircase up to the Library. You see, at this point of the citadel, the great spiral staircase stopped and there were simply four long diagonal staircases. Each ended in the grand doors to some important location lined up perfectly with one of the clock towers.

North was Jeb's personal airship and hangar, for escape and leisure in equal measure.

South was The Library, in which the schematics for many of the Divines' fantastical machines were held, as well as the true history books and many great works of literature were held.

East was the Observatory, which did what was said on the tin. They observed the stars and the clouds, and determined what omens they held. A lot of paranoia and superstition if you asked me, but many people still subscribed to it. The Brotherhood were particularly embroiled in this.

To the West was the grove where the fallen moderators rallied. Little was known of what it contained and no non-spirit but Jeb and the other members of House Perrson (the so-called "Divine Council") were allowed in.

But yes, this group was definitely stragglers. Four or so Noobian volunteers, one of which held a smelter over his knee as he sat on the stairs leading up to the dauntlessly proud obsidian-laid doors of the Library. There were two guardians of the order of Riktigtjavlalangochkryptiskanamnmenintentardearcoola (good translate for easter egg). Both were in the thickest armour Mojang could offer, impervious to anything not enchanted. Thank goodness I had Amicus. Then of course there was the fallen moderator. Fully armoured, never more than a centimetre of bare skin exposed, and those spots could be counted on the fingers of one hand. From beneath the back of the helmet flowed some golden locks. A woman perhaps? Then, with a far softer voice than you'd expect from a military woman she put down the convict.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are," Said she, eyes burning beneath her visor, and voice muffled by it. "But as far as I'm concerned you're a convict escaped from the prisons without ID. To be completely frank with you, you're lucky I haven't given the order to have you and your little blind friend executed as instructed."

"I'm not blind! Not yet. I can still just about make out your ugly mug Crawley." Spat the hunched one. "It's us! Bird and Thomas!"

"Sorry, don't look a lick like 'em." Scoffed one of the... I can't be arsed to write that out again I'll just call them "important guard-men" who was assumedly Crawley.

"That settles it then," Said the moderator grimly. "Smelt them. If they try to run make it slower." And so the guard with smelter walked forward.

At this I begrudgingly gritted my teeth and rushed forward at the Noobians, swinging Amicus overhead, cleaving the hand off the soldier holding the smelter. One reacted faster than the others, sending a glowing-tipped spear for my heart as if it were a trained eagle. However, mid-flight it was struck by some strange half-visible blow, casting it aside in a tumbling blur. A split second later the guard in question was lifted from his feet and up the stairs like a rag-doll thrown by a child. His limbs splayed flat against the wall before he peeled off and tumbled unconscious down five steps before his momentum ran out and he reached a sluggish halt.

The other two had already rushed at Atreidon, the first being driven aside by a blow to the skull by the butt of a spear, running straight onto Aaron's protruding blade and jerking to a stop. The second dodged a swift jab to the face by Atreidon, attempting to thrust his spearhead into Atreidon's ribcage where his breastplate met his back plate. But the Archangel was privy to this trick, driving death aside with the shaft of his spear. Bend his spear round to his hip, he thrust it into the gut of the volunteer, before thrust him to the side a groaning and broken mess.

Meanwhile the important guard-men had flocked to the moderator, and were ready to rush us. Then, with a shrill and yet strangely familiar war-cry from the mod, they rushed us. Aaron and Atreidon rushed to meet the guard-men, whilst Bokane and I were unfortunately left to fight the mod.

It wasn't the ideal situation. The problem is, while the fallen moderators cannot channel moderator powers (for important magic reasons), they are trained specially to counter thaumaturges, mages and living moderators as well as standard combat. A staunch opponent, but it looked like we could take them.

Bokane acted first, swinging his wand from the candelabra above (containing about to the moderator with a great flourish, bringing down a cascade of fire aimed for her neck. However, before the fire could meet flesh, she held up her left-hand wrist, and a small circular shield of metal unfolded. Upon this the blade of fire broke and dispersed. To it the moderator responded with another trick, whipping her right hand, at which four thin ropes wrapped around her wrist. At the end of each was a metal orb.

I rushed forward, swinging a one-handed blow at her open side. She flitted back, before whipping the ropes at me. In an instant they had ensnared my foot, choking the life out of it. With a tug I collapsed to the floor. I swung at the ropes to free myself, but before I could do so they had released me and they were mere inches from her hand once more.

"Enchanted... wonderful." Thought I.

Bokane struck her in the abdomen with another intangible blow, winding her and blowing her back a few steps, but not having the desired effect of throwing her over the stone bannister and back down the spiral stairs. In return the ropes held his hand arm, she wrapping her arm through the rope even further, and fighting for ownership of the arm with the thaumaturge.

I pulled myself up and bashed the left shin-guard. Only a small crack was left but it startled the mod. She stepped back, but while her foot was in mid-air Bokane toppled her, running towards the nearest pillar. For a metre or three, the moderator struggled, attempting to get the ropes to relinquish their grip on the Thaumaturge's arm. However, Bokane had his arm firmly entwined in the midst of her over-zealous web. Desperately, the fallen woman raised her right arm and pressed in a button on her wrist. There was a flash of blue light from the compartment, which swiftly pursued the rope, devouring every strand it touched. Swiftly it reached Bokane, who in turn fell, writhing as waves of the light paralysed him.

I levered myself from the ground with a titanic effort, spin and skull aching. I raised Amicus and struck her on the temple, biting in the metal. Yet it stopped part way through, hitting the frame. Yet I power through with the swing dragging it sideways. With my blade the mod fell limp, until at last she hit the floor. Off her head rolled the crown of her helmet. There was a nasty gash in her scalp where the frame had bent in the helmet, but she was definitely still breathing. Then I realised where I had heard her voice before. And I knew her soft skin and her skewed nose and her short golden hair.

Before me lay the woman who had left Atreidon a widow with her passing. The woman with whom he had retired and married. The woman who many still believed him to have murdered in a drunken rage. Before me lay Amaerin, wife of The Mad Dog, moderator of the Vanilla Craft.

And so Atreidon walked sorrowfully towards her sleeping form, and we two stood there motionless. The depression was back in full force, settling upon his wrinkled eyes with permanence. His lips were cracked as dry earth, starved of moisture and words alike.

"You don't have to tell me you know." I passed to him.

"Of course I don't." He said, followed by a swallowing. "But it's best I tell someone. But first..."

He knelt on glass-like knee, eyes cracked with trench-like veins. He reached with quivering hand into the little leather satchel at his side, he rummaged a second, and then his hand emerged once more. Clasped gently in his sweating palm was a lily, brilliantly white. He laid it upon her chest, and then lay a light peck of a kiss upon her brow, before quickly retreating.

"Illness took her in the end." Said he as if in the confession booth. His eyelids were closed, with his pupils writhing around beneath like he were being whipped. "We kept the funeral a private thing. We were afraid it would attract confrontation between well, parties like yourself and my then Brothers. Only attendees were myself, Dominus and Ellen, Starletts, Trivius, Void, Tauto, and lastly his bodyguard. Unfortunately it was the recently turned Beat who was his bodyguard. But, that's another story. As for my recent morbid outlook, well... She can't or chooses not to remember a thing about me beyond the fact that I was a fellow moderator and that there were allegations of corruption filed against me. To be completely honest, I'm not sure which possibility is worse."

I couldn't say anything. He with eyes still so tightly shut. I with hanging jaw. How I could have suspected this man of anything ever seemed impossible fantasy. Yet now he was confiding in me, the fool who had fallen for these traps. He was just an old man who had held strong for too long, and needed a rest. I raised my hand and planted it firmly atop his shoulder, offering as firm yet reassuring face as possible. He turned his head to look at me, but his eyes seemed to stare through me.

"I'm sorry Atreidon." Came the voice of Tauto so suddenly it caused me to jump. I almost reached for Amicus but Atreidon stopped me.

"It's fine Chrone." The Archangel sighed. "You kept my secret, and it was no doing of yours that I found her."

I stared at the man I had just sworn to kill, with his black war-paint and calculating eyes. He had compassion, he had dignity. He was my equal easily. I would make his death the last and the quickest. But for now, we needed his help. So I mustered a welcoming gaze and offered a handshake, an unspoken truce.

I surveyed the forces that had come with him. There were bitter Komplex and the fiery Jay of the Brotherhood. There was the proud Vacar of Arcation, armour glistening in the candlelight. There was furious Ozzy of ELITE, with eight of his finest warriors. There was endearing Key, with ten of his militant bums and beggars, the finest of their kind. Aaron was helping the still jittery Bokane to his feet. Lastly there was weary Void, with ten of his faceless and nameless guards.

"Care to explain what is going on gentlemen?" Void asked with a small, cough-like laugh and a weak little smile.

And so Atreidon and I took it upon ourselves to summarise the nights events for the administrator. His reaction was thankfully better than we expected.

"THEY'RE WHERE?" He burst out in uncharacteristic rage.

"The Library. We've been duped from the start. The only chance we have now is to spring the trap or be executed on sight by Jeb. Dom has likely forged some artful evidence against you and Jeb isn't exactly blessed with his father's patience." I explained.

Void sighed and began to burrow his fingers into his temples. "I need to ponder this."

"No time sir." Muffled one of the black-clad soldiers of Void from behind their primitive sack-like gas mask. "Divine soldiers are ascending the stairs as we speak. You have to get out of here."

"I'll stay behind with your soldiers, the rest of you head up there and stop the Family. Spring the trap. Just make sure you survive." Atreidon asserted. "Komplex! Vacar! Tonight we face Jeb."

There was a grim enthusiasm that seized them all. I could've sworn I actually saw Komplex crack a smile for a second. And so they ran to the great spiral staircase to face Jeb's horde, and we ascended the stairs to the iron-laid doors of the Library. Void reached it first, casting the doors open with a twist of outstretched wrist. I was mere steps when I heard Aaron's call.

"Kay!" He shrieked from a few stairs down, pointing at the centre of his distress. I followed the path of his finger and saw it.

Further down that great flight of stairs were the pair of stripped guards, Bird and Thomas. Bird was guiding the ailing Thomas upwards, whilst simultaneously fighting a losing battle against the rising swarm of True Court and Realm soldiers.

I gave him a look of disapproval, questioning his sense of priority. I was treated to an aggravated shaking of his head followed by his rushing down the stairs towards them. Bokane immediately leapt into action, blasting back those who came too close to Aaron or the pair, effectively thinning the ranks. Soon after Void began to fell anyone who came too close to the door. I begrudgingly ran after Aaron, shunting one of Jiibrael's samurai down the stone steps as I went, eventually sullying my trouser legs with his ashes.

Aaron was already standing at the forefront, batting back a unit of Tryhard's soldiers as Bird as good as dragged Thomas up the stairs. I looked further down the stairs, Tryhard himself and a pair of fallen moderators were readying to relieve this group. I had to move fast. I came down, leaping the wounded pair and planting both feet into the jawbone of one soldier, snapping his neck and causing him to crumble.

I rose just as Aaron levered his titanic blade from the skull of another, leaving the corpse to fall like a ragdoll. Another soldier, lithe and spindly in form came up to his left, thrusting forward at his hip with blue-tipped spear. Aaron merely bounced this off of the plates of metal diamond on his forearm. He then cleaved the spear in two before hurling this twig of a man into the pillars of men rushing about around him.

We continued to grapple with these soldiers, giving ground as our charges did. But eventually we were faced with Tryhard and the fallen creatures. Bokane took a momentary break from guarding the door, bringing one of the candelabras down upon the moderator nearest us. We glanced at each other, and fell upon the duo.

I stabbed past the rounded shield of Tryhard, catching him just at the armpit but failing to do much more than graze him, for I found myself being lifted away by his comrade. I was held over his head in both arms, and then violently crashed into the ground, back aching. Aaron attempted to help, but Tryhard's hammer kept him at arms length. Tryhard, apparently more fazed than I had first foot, as his shield-arm was tightly tucked in to stop the bleeding as best he could. His hammer-arm's flailing was his main method of defence.

The mod raised his gauntleted hands above his head, ready to crush my ribcage with a two-handed blow. I readied for an abrupt and unfulfilling death, eyes forced open to face it. However, he swiftly found a dagger in his gut, which brough him to a jittering freeze. Then a brotherhood boot pushed his corpse to the floor.

Standing there was Tauto Chrone, my saviour. He wasn't going to make this easy was he. He then swung twice, the first cleaving the hammer of Tryhard down to a mere stick, the second catching the captain of the guard across the bridge of the nose. As Tryhard staggered backwards, hands stemming the flow as best the could, throat groaning horribly, Chrone offered me his hand.

I scanned him momentarily before, finding no malicious intent, gripping his hand and rising to my feet. We were just about to turn and flee when the spear pierced his side.

I cried out, lifting him into my arms as he fell. I then rushed up those final stairs, Aaron wildly swinging back behind him, felling anyone who pursued too closely. My hand was pressed on top of his, holding the wound together as best we could.

We reached the door, bolting through, everyone retreating. Void's defences were beginning to crumble as we moved. Then, just as the last man got through, Void brought his arms together, slamming the door with a crash like thunder. We were safe momentarily, but already they were beginning to batter the door with their weapons. With no proper bolting mechanism in sight, Void was forced to hold it together with all his might.

I laid out Chrone on the floor as tenderly as possible, continuing to press down on the wound, painting my right hand red. He was sweating an ice cold sweat and his usually olive skin was turning unpleasantly pale. Immediately I was shunted aside by his distressed brother, who took my place completely. Aaron too sat with him, resting him on his knee. I, with bloodied hand decided to figure out why we were here.

There were sixteen of them in total. There was of course the ever-smirking Hamish, who was standing right before the marble plinths upon which the most important books were kept. To his right were Muffin and Beat, throwing lesser books (books which had multiple copies in the Library) at each other in some kind of ironically playful fight, giggling like school-girls as they did so.

Muffin had been allowed to keep his tattered suit, and had since regained his Thaumaturge’s equipment. His eyes were still just as wild and bloodshot, seeming to flail as he moved. His grin was still just as crooked, but now his teeth had turned purple. “Damn that’s clever… fillings.” Thought I.

Beat was wearing the torn sack-cloth garments of the prisons, but evidently ready to engage his armour at any moment and attempt to tear us apart. Thankfully, the burn marks on his arms and legs (evident through the various tears) suggested his runes had been burned off. Considering that it almost killed him last time, he might avoid applying the great Hax in future. Then again, this was Beat I was thinking about.

Falcon of course was skulking in the background, her hood drawn lower than ever, and hand covered by a blatantly half-finished gauntlet. I could feel her smirking at us, despite not an inch of skin revealed.

There was absolutely no trace of Huskers, Unknown, Complex 3, Fedwin (he’s somewhere in this story) or Falcon’s remaining storm troopers. In their place were twelve of Hamish’s goons from the Inquisition. Four were equipped with Smelters; the others held the usual assortment of weapons.

“Hello Kaybo!” Oozed Hamish. “I’m glad you came. Would have been such a shame for you and all your little friends to miss the gift I’m about to give.”

“And what such gift might that be?” Asked Bokane.

“Ooh, haven’t met you yet.” Hamish chortled. “New mage is it? Not so new. Always played second fiddle to Astro. Picked up on the way to the Vanilla Craft. Sorry about your mate though, an unavoidable tragedy.”

Bokane looked like he were about to strike Hamish down there and then when Ozzy intervened; placing a hand against his chest when one of the smelters was raised to a bookshelf.

"Oh hello Oz, welcome to the real world. Still following the path of deluded revenge? Thought as much. Suppose that's what can be expected with that sort of parentage." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them as if trying to sprout fire from them and grinning wildly.

Just as the pair of them I were about to make a run at Hamish Key made himself known. "ENOUGH!" The room stopped to stare at him. "I believe you have an actual reason to drag us hear beyond baiting? Or was I mistaken about the mighty Hamish? Is he a criminal? Or is he really just a playground bully with particularly good information?"

"Well spoken." Retorted he. "Too well spoken. You'll have to do something to reign this one in Kaybo. But yes," He hopped down the small flight of stairs and began to swagger towards me. "I'm going to teach you how to properly destroy someone."

He came up as close as possible, breathing his foul breath in my face. He was definitely trying to use the tone. I tensed for a moment, but the memories were well suppressed and it brought little more than discomfort.

"Well trained." He noted, grin vanishing momentarily. "He always did know how to counter our tricks." Hamish brushed the hair from his fringe from out of his eyes and continued. "You see, there's a difference between killing someone, and destroying someone. Killing, well, you can do that to any old ******* in the street but will it satisfy you? Maybe. Will it satisfy your lust for revenge? Hell no. You see Kay, men like you and I can't get away just killing someone who has wronged us. We have to know every way to make them hurt don't we? To have them under our finger first. You've never been in this position but it's what you've tried and failed to do. Let's remedy this.
"The way I see it, we need five things to destroy a man and cure the itch. The first two are obviously the face and the name. This is helpful but not even half way there. This is where is begins to get more obscure. You need to know their pain; how to hurt him. Simple enough but sometimes hard to find - wish I could say this of you but, that's besides the point. You of course lack this outright, just assuming that physical pain and personal threat will get me to succumb. Then there's their shame; really puts them under your thumb - but it can also be their pain at the same time. I excel in finding this. You'd be lucky to find out where a cow shat. Lastly, their story. Why? How? When? And this last one is why you've never got me Kay. Why you likely never will." He leant in, letting this sink in.

"And why is that?" I asked, starting to feel unnerved by have his warped and burnt skin so close to my face and so pushing him away lightly.

My answer proved the push a simple decoration, for he immediately backed away, fighting back tears of laughter. He was doubled over, guffawing eternally. When at last his breath was spent, he heaved in another and turned to give a knowing look to an ecstatic looking Muffin. He then returned his focus to leering at me.

"Oh Kay," He said with what could almost be mistaken for genuine concern. "You really have slipped in the last few years. You used to have such a sharp memory! I remember how easily you remembered our past encounters last time we met. Now you can't even remember that one. There's one reason you'll never be able to kill me. And it was the question that alerted you that change had occurred. Can you remember?"

He paused a full ten seconds, holding a hand to his ear, mouth wide open. With no response in sight, his head then slowly turned to face me properly once more, grin finally gone and replaced with dead seriousness. His left nostril was flared, pulling up his lip, and just revealing one of his cracked white teeth.

"I'll tell you then." He spat, eyes clenched shut and bottom lip momentarily wrenched down in his frustration. "Who's in charge?"

I sighed. He was right. I couldn't just kill him without knowing who it was who did all this. Hamish or the demon.

"Who is it?" I tried.

"Well obviously it was Fabio the whole time dipshit." He responded dryly. "Considering I just said that I would expire when you figured it out I'm not going to bloody tell you am I?!" He breathed deeply before continuing. "Listen kay, I have to admit, I've not been entirely truthful for you. As you may have noticed I was once like you, attempting to stay afloat in the sea of life by continuing to cling onto the contemptible little anchors known as "ideals", "causes" and other such romanticised sentimentalities. But, any anchor, however reassuringly firm and steady, will always drag you down with it. I'm just trying to free you from this anchor you have. The sooner you realise that life's just going to screw you over when you actually care about something enough to do something about it and start focusing on preservation of the self, the sooner you'll be free.
"Why am I engaging in this act of kindness you ask? I'm indebted to you Kay my dear numbskull. Your kindess helped set me free. Now it's only fair I do the same for you. Still confused? Don't worry, I have a musical number-"

"Hey! Muffin, Beat! It's true! This is where Seph kept his weird poetry!" Came a familiar laugh.

My blood stopped flowing and turned to lead in my veins. The door to the left of the plinths was burst open by a black leather boot. Atop his head was a dilapidated green beret, with the Gaian tree torn out. In it's place was inserted an upside-down version of the Realm's insignia (a rough map of their territory), but with a number 3 carved in with a knife. To his back were strapped two Gaian rifles, both with obscenely polished knife-long bayonets mounted on the barrels. I looked up and there was a gaunt face with mischievous eyes. Standing before me was Linx. And at the sight of me he froze, face carved into a bemused stillness.

"Well hello there Kay. Surprised?" He said slowly and carefully, but equally jeeringly, casting knowing looks at Muffin and Beat.

I was speechless. My jaw would force itself open, but neither tongue nor lips could form speech. The feeling seemed to be reciprocated around anyone who recognised him (in other words, only Ozzy was left out of the excitement).

"I imagined so. I'll explain myself as briefly as possible. I'm an extremely good compulsive liar who was able to create that fairy-tale of a story I gave you on an off day with a bad cold. I joined you shortly after the Brotherhood-Realm war under the promise that you were the most obsessive anti-Brotherhood man out there. I remained because you seemed to be following through. Then I lost enthusiasm when you decided to abandon the cause and make peace. You really let us down. The old guys from the Family said that Ray was planning a reunion concert so I hopped on the bandwagon.
"Since then I've been feeding Falcon what I can in terms of intelligence. We decided that as we were tossing you to the dogs (my recommendation by the way) we might as well bring me back in. How did I do this? Well, I'll keep it vague. It pays to have an excessively gullible twin brother who I'm not very fond of but is a suspiciously good actor and conveniently in need of funds. He always was tempted by the romantic life - where I got the idea of being a pirate from. He just leapt at the opportunity of joining brother dear in a life of espionage and intrigue. I'm surprised you didn't put two and two together. I even let him put the pin on the wrong way." He laughed.

"I had my suspicions." I mumbled, voice stunted and distant.

"Sorry Kay, can't here you?"

"Leave him, he's had enough!" Chrone interjected, indignity in his eyes.

"No, I'll do what I want filth. Now, you were saying Kay?"

"Can we hurry this up?" Strained Void as the door received a might pound, almost forcing itself open.

"I had my suspicions. I suppose it was a little obvious that a landmine was enough to blow up a rather insignificant housing block. I assume the Old Cow was in your employ as well?"

"How else could we set up Atrei?" Shrugged the sneak. "But nonetheless, I can't take full credit for this. M'lady," He added this last part in his best impression of Unknown. "Would you like to tell them anything?"

The Falcon leant against a bare plinth in another creepily familiar pose. Her elbows were planted into the marble, propping up her head. I saw the books laying loosely in a bag at her side. She seemed to take note.

"See something you like?" She chuckled, abandoning a vast amount of the rasping that usually accompanied her voice. She almost sounded human for once.

"The books? What do you need them for?" Spat Ozzy when I hesitated.

"Dom needs them to pin us. Silhouette needs them for leverage. I need one for reasons you don't need to know about and should have figured out by now Oz." Her harsh manner was gone and replaced with laxity.

"Stop it."

"What was that about the Silhouette?" Said I with a start.

"Oh he was giving the Flux funding prior to Dom's arrival. Put us into contact with Hamish. He agreed to give us the Flux's lives in return for the books. Opportunity cost at its finest."

"I said stop it!" Ozzy cried again.

"Stop what?"

"I know what you're trying to do. You aren't her and you... Don't even bloody well try!" Blustered the leader of ELITE, reduced to a stammering child by circumstance.

"Ozzy, what are you talking about?" Chrone muttered through the corner of his mouth.

"How is this in any way like Ellen?" Asked I in a manner that made me sound far slower than I thought it would.

"She is-"

"Oh let me do it!" Falcon interrupted.

With that she pulled her hood. The room fell staring. For the second time that night I was staring into the face of a ghost for the second time that night. Standing before us was a young woman of six and twenty years. A woman with filthy, tangled oaken locks and lively, curious eyes. There before us - skin the colour of stone and face covered with half-healed, hollow wounds - was Lady Tassadar of Williamsburg, (as good as the) adopted daughter of Ray Tunes, sister of Prodigy.

"Surprised?" Grinned she, the ice of the Falcon blending with the raw enthusiasm of Tass.

That was when the door was destroyed and from there my memory is hazy. From what I can gather there was a brief and bloody little scuffle in which the Realm and True Court poured in, ELITE's soldiers were defeated, Falcon defenestrated Ozzy, and the Family escaped in a Gaian airship acquired by Huskers and Unknown. Thus, event previously described were carried out with morbid zeal. At some point during all this I tackled Linx, but to little effect. In fact, he was the one who knocked me out with a quick kick in the head. Lies became testimony, challenges were issued, and I got the **** kicked out of me. That was how I found myself with a fiery brand about to press against my forehead.

The poker was spitting sparks void of heat onto my skull, mere heralds of heat's oncoming aura. Zerg's icy blue skin was all visible beyond it. The oranges and reds of the metal merged with his skin in my vision, creating a world of ice and fire before more. Then he jerked his head to the right, black eyes widening.

He ducked as a cannon ball whizzed over his head.

"You have one second Jeb, let them go or I destroy every goddamn book in there. If a single Divine makes a move that'll be the case as well." Cossack's voice rumbled through a crude megaphone.

Hovering outside the window was the condemning broadside of the Celestial Potato. On the deck stood Cossack in his drab lilac coat, eyes filled with the ever-rare flare of anger from the banker. Lined up along was a row of twenty-strong Gaian riflemen. Behind them were many champions of Gaia and the wider Vanilla Craft. There was Brit, and Gracey; Secret and Small; Abby; Bottany of the Brotherhood; even Wolves and Ruary were there, the former lighting up a home-made cigar and looking completely out of it.

I looked up, eyes weak as they could be. My whole body was ablaze with But despite this, my resolve was as strong as it could be. I would kill every last one of them when I got the chance.

This desire seemed to be held equally by Jeb and Dominus. Both of whom were glaring at their nemeses (Jeb's being newfound) with unrivalled passion. For a second Jeb seemed like he might actually give into the temptation to destroy the ship there and then. Then of course he waved his hand and the weapons of the True Court were lowered.

Shortly after the boardwalks were lowered, and the men aboard came out with stretchers, lifting them back to that ark of a ship. Those that could walk stumbled back to the ship. Void himself took a glance of sorrow at the scene. Then his eye met Jeb's. With this he pulled up his hood, and veiled his face with shadow.

At last they came for me, carrying my limp form towards the ship. For all I knew I may as well have just started floating. The pain was so all-consuming not a single other thing could I feel. The world from then on was just blurry outlines, faces, words, then blackness.

I awoke in my chamber, bandaged all over, healing potions being fed into my veins through a tube. The room was that of polished oak. It was fully candlelit, the small porthole exposing a sea of cloud which our ship readily guided itself through.

At the foot of my bed was Aaron, holding a timid little smile on his face. He was dressed in a loose-fitting open-collared red shirt and mud-brown breaches.

By the door Cossack was leaning, hand on the hilt of his blade and eyes darting around frantically. However, at the sight of me stirring he allowed his face to melt into a warm smile.

"Finally awake." Aaron said with a customary little laugh.

"Just about." Rasping I, voice lazy from lack of use. "How long was I asleep."

I noted that my arm was still very much in a cast, and I had a few new scars to add to my collection.

"Two weeks." Cossack explained, swaying in a manner most pleased with himself. "Good news about what happened in that time, you're not going to die."

I must admit I wasn't prepared for this. "I'm not? How'd you manage that ********?" I reached for a glass of water from my bedside table but couldn't quite get that last two feet.

"Oh! Let me get that for you." Piped Aaron, hauling himself from the foot of the bed.

He lifted the glass tenderly over to my hand, seemingly as much for his own well-being as much as my ease in grabbing it. I gripped it but asked, startled by the appearance of bandages at his collar bone.

Cossack continued to explain the sudden postponing of my mortality. "There were treatments as you well knew, and I found them on a scrap piece of paper in your room. Now we finally have you in a position where you'll stay still long enough to let them take effect. You're out of action for the next three months whether you like it or not." I nodded with all the interest I could muster.

"What happened to your arm?" Said I to Aaron.

"Oh this," He noted, rubbing the sore region. "Well, long story short, Linx is dead and I killed him. Turn's out he and Abby were engaged. She took a hammer to my arm. She's in the brig now by the way."

I had spat out my water at the part about them being engaged. But settled for asking, "How did you get him?"

"Pursued their airship for a week. Finally caught up in stormy weather. Before we were forced to retreat due to the weather Aaron stuck one who was wearing a green beret and had a love of our muskets." Interjected Cossack. "It was a mighty good shot too I might add." Was almost forcedly added on at the end.

"Good." I commented, settling myself back down into the pillow. "Very good indeed."

Aaron's head perked up like a meerkat's. "I think Secret needs me on deck. Keep an eye on him will you Cossack?"

"My eyes are never off him, General."

"General?" Asked I.

"Secret gave the post to Aaron, feeling he was unfit for the post. Can't say I blame him..."

"Don't be rude Coss." Aaron warned.

And so the door closed behind him, and we were left in the room. The candles seemed to dim at his departure, casting ominous orange waves along the walls and our forms. The mask of Tauto Chrone sat sunken and depressed on the wall, weeping shadows from it's eyes.

"Come closer Cossack." I croaked, beckoning with my good hand, lying still on the bed.

He shuffled forward lightly, hat held before him in both his hands.

"There is a debt that goes unpaid. We must set about completing it the second we arrive at the Initiative. No sooner, no later. Do you understand?"

"What debt would this be?" He asked uncharacteristically timidly.

I smirked a little. "I want you, to destroy the Brotherhood."

END OF CHAPTER 3

The room was dark, lit only by the ever wary creeping of the sun out from behind the battlements of the horizon. Light fell through a dutifully perched balcony and loosely illuminated a large table, some four strides across. Over it was sprawled a map of the world as it was then known, covering what was known of all six continents: The Old Continent, The Tainted Land/Emirates, The Grand Archipelago, The Horizon/New Continent, The Southern Veil (what little we knew of it's Northern Coast) and even a rough guesstimate of where some of the islands within the Madrealms lay. Across it's surface were placed various pieces, making it seem like some deity's play-thing. And that it was.

Around this god-like chess-board were gathered in debate several such "deities", all half-dampened by shadow and half-dried by light. There they sat bickering, attempting to decide among themselves what the best course of action. For a moment pretending that they were in fact in charge.

"There is no sane manner in which this could have happened. Void and the Gaian are innocent!" Halberdson cried in raised voice from across the table.

His fist slammed into the table, causing the pieces on the stretching table-cloth of a map to leap in terror.

"I'm sorry Halberdson but there's no evidence to suggest they're innocent either. It's far-fetched as to how it happened but the Gaian confessed to the event being his orchestration before my own eyes." Said one thin young noble, wounds still open from the events of the night before. His joints were slackened and his brow was bent apologetically. "The meetings King Mandy - sounds so strange out loud - had with Void suggest that they were in league and that Void organised him as his representative in this affair. It seems that the Silhouette-"

"Bah! You and your silhouettes and conspiracies Torch." Belted a stout noble with mocking daggers in his voice. "It is plain that the Silhouette has just been a fabrication of the Court of Whispers this whole time! We must act against them at last lest they strike at us! Burn the Shore of Oddities. That and Void's head on a pike ought to get our message across."

"Want to get formal then Gerry?" Snapped back the lean man. "Well then Random, I believe it's high time you forgot the days of your deluded grandeur or stopped coming to court altogether. War has never been that simple and I doubt you've ever been in real combat!"

"Gentlemen, calm yourselves. There is no need to grow angry with each other. Yes, there is no concrete proof that there is any such Silhouette and in all likelihood it's just the Court of Whispers. However, that doesn't mean we should start war with them outright, much less lose what few allies we have among the Half-Breeds. We must deal with Void first and foremost." Reasoned a man dressed from head to toe in silver armour which glowed even in the dimness. A grey cloak was draped around his shoulders and coming down just far enough to assert his regal nature, but not far enough to impede his blade.

"Quite right my friend!" Came the voice of the blue-skinned man, clapping his ally on the back.

"Quite wrong I believe." Another shouted. "The controversy surrounding your aid to officer Hamish brings anything you say into question Dominus. Might I also mention your connection to the Overlord's revolt in the Vanilla Craft? A truly bloody affair which displaced millions! That's without mentioning the charges of heresy against the ring-leaders."

"Hear-hear!" Halberdson declared in a war-crime. "Why are you two even here? Three I should say. Why are the leaders of an as-yet unaccepted Craft and an illegitimate splinter Craft allowed to speak on such a matter? Much less bring their body-guards in?"

The youthful face of Jiibrael emerged from shadows and cast him a dirty look; he might have been about to respond when there was a silencing of all parties.

The light of the room seemed to drain, and all eyes sprang towards this leakage. Standing in the centre of the table was a pencil-thin and dirty-looking man. His hair was wild and unkempt, his posture sturdy as a marionette's and his leathered skin smudged with dirty. The simple clothes hung around him were torn from eternities of youth. Most hauntingly of all, all his face was shadow beneath his mane, bar two glowing black dots that both gave light and absorbed it in equal measure.

Before them stood the ghost of Herobrine, the spiritual form of the Blind Watcher. He who wandered the land in His centuries of slumber; forever ashamed, forever alone. Even now he seemed an exile, dejectedly spiteful in his blank gaze.

Then the inlaid double-doors swung open, and the candles were lit. The apparition was dispelled as autumn leaves upon the north wind. In the doorway were the true masters of this Earth. Or so they liked to think.

There was of course towering Herobrine. Once Lord over the Southern and Eastern Thaumlands; now master of Jeb's armies.

Then there was sly Dinner Bone; uncle of Jeb and brother of Notch and Herobrine. He was Jeb's advisor in financial, political and social affairs. Although he was too "humble" to take on any permanent responsibilities, preferring to entertain himself with hunting and horse-racing.

There was the insightful Grumm; Jeb's spin doctor and head of the news services, education system and keeper of the Library. He had once shared the last title with Seph... but that didn't end well. He was Jeb's cousin through his late mother's side, and delighted in reminding those who questioned him on any matter of this status.

Then of course there was king among Divines, Jeb. Fiery locks swaying majestically around, flowing over his shoulders and down to his armpits. His clothes were made of obsidian, the same as Herobrine's.

In his right hand he held the glossy sea-green orb, the heart of Ishinge, Notch's father (unless one subscribes to heretical teachings). Long since drained, this relic was the Divine claim to the three worlds and beyond.

In his left hand was clasped the key to his strength. The Edge of Worlds. The adamantine spear with which Notch slew Ishinge and cut out his heart. The blade with which Ishinge slew men and gods alike, and by which he eventually fell to Notch. The blade which crippled Notch in the hands of Israphel, and then fell upon in his transcendence. The king-maker, and the throne-toppler. One of the few weapons able to kill a god, and the only that could strip them of their power.

He had no such title beyond perhaps "Lord" on occasion, insisting that the people were the true lords of the land and that he were just a tool of their wishes. If only this were half as true as he wanted his people to believe. An inventive tactician, a well-known cloud-scribe and the master of bluffs who made the Court of Whispers whimper like a scared pup.

"This is not the way I expect the best of my nobles to behave. I bring you here for words of wisdom and calm temperament. To find dogs squabbling over scraps. To find disputes of personal belief and territory squabbles rip cruelly away the focus from the well-being of the people!" He was at the head of the table now, standing between Dominus and the stout nobleman.

"We are sorry Jeb," Halberdson responded. "But you must forgive us. The night's events were rattling to us all, and this addition of Dominus and the Kreatian to a council of administrators and more permanent Great Houses is a gross bending of protocol. Especially with the ties they have."

"Dominus alerted me to Void's treachery, he is of a Great House too. I feel he has a right to join us even if he is technically Craft-less. But I will agree with you, the night's events were rattling. I simply wish to inform you gentlemen of the course of action we have determined." His posture was straight as a rod but his face warmly softened. "Further discussion will occur tomorrow in the Gathering Council. There we shall vote on the viability of this plan. Then, once it has been carried out we shall wait one month before organising another debate on the wider issue of war."

All this time Herobrine had been taking furtive glances at the balcony, at last he spoke in the brief gap between Jeb's speech and the inevitable inquiries. "Excuse me a moment nephew, I need a moment of air."

"Dear Herobrine," Jeb turned to him with a glint of childish admiration. "You need not ask me, you are my staunchest advisor. Most trusted partner, do what you must if it benefits yourself. For I know that when you benefit this Court and all lands under its influence shall prosper."

"Thank you." Herobrine acknowledged, forcing the curl of a smile upon his lips before marching onto the balcony.

There he place his hands on the railings and leant forwards to survey that marvellous city. But as he knelt there, one could not help but hear his discontented rumblings, each an earthquake in their fury.

"Well my liege, any hinting as to what your plan might be? And why are we valued highly enough to receive an early glimpse?" Dominus' joints laxed themselves further and he propped himself against the map table with greased ease.

"Well Dominus. I will address the latter first. You are leading figures in your movements. I seek to garner your support in the debate tomorrow." Jeb placed his figures upon the map, stretching and spreading his arms across the Earth, his shadow casting even over the Court of Whispers. "I need a united stance, and I wish to gauge support for this plan from among you."

There was a chilling silence. They all knew what was at stake here. Dominus leaned in tentatively, a grim smile managing to curl its way onto his tranquil sheet of a face. Halberdson's brow furrowed, and his hands began to scratch at the wrinkled sack of his neck.

"I feel," Jeb began slowly, relishing his hold over these men. "That we ought leave Void for now. His forces are scattered to the winds, we have no need to seek retribution quite yet. In this instant, the enemy is obvious. The Flux must be stomped out permanently, lest they strike whilst our forces are away. Mojang is all but invincible. Even gods can be harmed. To leave the Citadel in any way weakened would leave them with a doorway. They will do nothing but exploit it. Savages will take any opening to act as such, and it will be no different for the Thaums. We'll wait one month, striking just before the trade routes across the fields of Acrisius are cut off by snow. The fields will stay blocked off for four months. I imagine that by the time we get there we'll have a force to crush them in two weeks at most."

There was unease in the air, with the rumblings of the Watcher being the only ambience. Even Dinner Bone and Grumm seemed unsettled. But alas, there was one other noise with broke or added to the tension depending on your view. A little snort of laughter.

"Shadow, servant, silhouette and sneak." Halberdson said, bemused thoroughly.

"And the souls of Acrisius which shadows shall reap." Jested Dominus, causing a round of laughter.

The master of the three worlds too joined in, releasing a weak retching not dissimilar to a sticking steam engine.

"You mortals and your prophecies." Mocked he.

"But yes my liege, it sounds like a marvellous plan." Said Zerg, allowing his icy demeanour to crack.

Soon the entire table were grinning their approval, making sure to keep their master happy. And in a few minutes the crowd of false smiles left the room. Only three men hung behind, the blue-skinned man and the silver-shelled lord. The eternally young again hung behind them, assessing the room mercilessly. Eventually as the footsteps faded their way down the halls, the only noise left was the rumbling of Herobrine.

"So, have you considered our offer Dominus?" Jeb grinned wryly.

"How could I refuse it? Two legions for the attack? A legion of Divines to keep? Myself an administrator? Vast tracts of land? Governor of my own parliament in Horizon?"

"Kreatious given sovereignty over the Fields of Acrisius and current Vanilla Craft." Zerg reminded his ally with an edge ready to draw blood.

"Of course. The point is that I couldn't possibly deny you Jeb." Dominus chuckled incredulously, sitting on the very edge of the table.

"I'm glad to hear that Dominus. I'm sure it takes a great deal of bravery to stand against a villain such as Void. Those who dare to dig in their feet deserve the rewards."

"There's just... one thing." The Emperor of the Realm conceded. "One question."

Jeb's eyes pre-emptively narrowed and Grumm cleared his throat warningly.

"Ask away Dominus." Jeb became intent upon scratching at hypothetical dirt upon his palm.

"Well, I just want to know why we wait so long. I understand the problem of the Flux but surely it doesn't require that many troops to deal with? Does it?"

Jeb puffed some air through his nostrils and closed his eyes with bemused disinterest. He turned and sauntered up to Dominus, maintaining his tranquillity like his very existence relied upon it. He then raised a hand and place it upon Dom's shoulder. He looked down the sculpted ramp of his nose into the eyes of Dominus with a godly warmth.

"Trust me." Said he.

With that Dominus retreated a few steps behind his ice-coloured associate.

"Any further questions?" He asked. When met with nothing but enthusiastic confirmation he nodded them out of his room.

Just as the Emperor of the Realm thought he had escaped, Jeb said something that turned his bones to lead, slowly poisoning his form as well as weighing him in place. "Just remember friends. Withholding information is just as bad as lying. And in any court, lying is sin. And sin is what we punish. I'm sure the fact that Jiibrael is an archangel just slipped your mind. Just a reminder for future reference of course."

Dominus gulped, a slight tremble entering his voice as a small peeling of sweat condensed upon his forehead. "Of course - My liege. How forgetful of me. I would never seek withhold the truth from this mighty court."

With that he bowed until his hair began brushing the floorboards and shuffled his way out as quietly and insignificantly as possible.

Jeb then sat down in his pristine armchair and began to smirk to himself with an impregnable confidence.

"He raises a good point nephew." Bone started almost scoldingly. "We have no need to keep many of these troops here. We actually have enough for the assault as is."

"Of course Bone, I'm surprised you and Grumm didn't pick up on this. It's power play."

"What exactly do you mean?" Grumm asked, bushy brows knitted and egg-shape head bowed.

"Of course," Dinner Bone smirked.

"We've promised to crush the Flux and ready the army for Dominus in one month. We could very easily do this. However, after two months Dominus will still only have half of his army and we'll still be dealing with the Flux. What Dominus doesn't know is that by this time we will have rallied three additional legions of Divines in Arcadia (relocated from the Eastern front), ready to sail South to their initiative at a moments notice. We'll pull four of six Noobian legions from the ruins of the Zine Craft."

"Firstly, isn't it a little risky to pull these troops so recklessly?" Grumm asked. "Secondly, I'm still not seeing the reasoning."

"Don't worry, Zine has calmed down recently, with the death of Ghostly the rebels have split as to whom they want to lead their new nation." Bone Explained, a glint of pride in his eyes. "I'll let you handle the last bit dear nephew."

Jeb smirked. "We let them gather strength. My enemies come from the woodwork and flock to Void like a lighthouse whilst they feel we're distracted. Dominus grows impatient and attacks early and weakens their initial force. Dominus is now stuck in Acrisius, sieging Void for the duration of the Winter. More enemies join Void. Dominus has no knowledge of the region's weather. There are passes in which aren't sealed for at least three months. Many nobles know this or will know this. By this time the three legions from the Eastern Front are guarding these passes, attacking any who dare try and enter without my knowledge. By the end of the three months we'll arrive with the main force of all we can gather, including Dominus' promised soldiers. We then proceed to crush Void as described."

"You're left with a huge military victory. The Court of Whispers is put in its place once more. And the system is much cleaner as we've killed off the majority of the traitors." Grumm smiled with an ambitious spark in his eyes. "Have I gotten that right?"

"You indeed have my dear Cousin." Jeb's grin now spread to the lobes of his ears, a vast quarry in his face, lined with precious opals of teeth. He looked to the Watcher, whose rumblings had ceased to hear this plan.

"It's a gamble." Spoke he, after a tense few moments of silence. There was an absent-mindedness in his tone and face, even though his words were precise. "Yet it could pay off greatly. I do however resent having to attack Void. And the Gaian's betrayal is perturbing."

"Yes, I imagined it would." Bone offered sympathetically. "He was a loyal servant of yours once, was he not brother?"

"He was once. But believe me my friends, there's something off about this business. Even the smells which would suggest foulness to me are vacant. But those that suggest its fairness feel perfumed too heavily." He stopped ponderously. "It is probably just a matter of sentimentality though, and he surprise of the night's events."

"Then let us to bed." Jeb affirmed with a firmness of purpose. "The night is long but sun approaches swiftly. It is best we have at least some rest, if only a wink of it."

Then the Divines parted, with the light of the sun splitting the map in two. Over the fields of Acrisius and the Southern Veil fell the light, and over Mojang shadow lay thicker than ever.

The room was seized by uncertainty and purpose in equal measure, the pair of them grappling dangerously among the minds and hearts of the men within. The walls were coated in a hasty lime green shade, paint lathered on so thickly and clumsily that the room gave the impression that it had been frozen in time just after it began melting. One could actually see the small, tell-tale craters where the air had escaped its slow-flowing prison. The tin-framed gas lamps were old, mal-treated and peeling in paint, revealing a dull shade that may once have been a shade light than silver. The window frames received similar treatment, the decrepit planks only half stapled down, the outer board rattling whenever a wind stronger than a child's breath blew by.

And yet, the rest of the room was lavish and rejuvenated, as if the house was in the middle of a restoration and these factors had been prioritised (oh screw it, this is precisely what happened, I'm just stuck for a simile, amend later). The glass within the unstable frames was pure and unsullied. The chairs were ornately decorated and the fabric was soft and stretchy. Even the objects pointed out earlier were cleaned to a spotless gleam, despite the conspiracies of time to cause the contrary.

As for how the room was laid out, it was a standard one. There were two large rectangular windows that allowed a thick blanket of white early morning light to embrace the room. Only the form of a man would block the eternal light, forming an unsightly stain as it intruded upon its land. In the centre of the room was a deep velvet sofa of a most royal purple. Woven in between these strands were sly threads of gold and silver, weaving in the emblem of the Domini. The mighty tortoise. Before this titanic gorge of a sofa was a mahogany table with the legs of a lion tearing into the floor. Beyond that was a chipped but sparkling black granite fireplace, with the angry tongues of a dying fire sputtering at anything, the carpet, the sky, the granite. To the left and right of the lion-clawed table were two armchairs of the same pattern as the sofa.

In the room were six . Of the seven kings there were three, the golden-haired Mathias, the decrepit Wise One, and the youthfully ancient Jiibrael.

Mathias was sitting within the maw of the armchair to the right, luxuriantly swirling a glass of brandy into a small storm that would have been catastrophic were it full-sized. His lips were perpetually fixed in a wry smile, and his mirror-like eyes gave nothing away other than a sense of vague mischievousness.

Jiibrael was stationed by the door in a manner which didn't risk his nose, but also rendered him invisible to any who entered the room unaware of his habits. His hands were placed upon the rectangular blade, and his eyes were filled with the swirled grains of remorse, indignity and vigilance.

Wise One sat across from Mathias, eyes vacant and facial expression eaten of feeling by the parasite of sorrow. His empty old eyes bore their way into the glass before him, trying to lose themselves in the dancing ghosts of fire reflected by the glass, hoping he could join them in their ambiguous existence. Cast across the half of his face farthest from the fire was the mysteriously cold blanket-like shadow of the fourth member of their small party.

Stood by the window was Zerg, lord of the Kreatians. His ice-like skin shone brilliantly but ominously in the early morning sun. His eyes were glassy but alive, like the eyes of a doll which had strived too hard to appear human and as a result fell into the valley. The valley in which thy were trapped mere inches from being life-like, but instead appearing a monstrous imitation - impure and suspicious. His right hand was pressed against the window, a mist formed around it like a stencil. His left was moulding itself around a glass of whiskey, which appeared almost glass-like in its texture. His rigid, eternally frost-flecked brows were entrenched in a crown of concentration atop his head.

At the one end of the couch was the elusive Synthenos, trapped in his state of blessed and unshakeable bemusable. His light grey balaclava stuck tightly to his jaw, near-smothering his mouth and nose and forming enough outline of each for his emotions to be roughly judged. The rest of his was coated by a similar smooth grey shroud, this hanging more loosely and with less form. In short, he dressed like the world's fanciest beggar. With his peaceful, impenetrable blue vaults of eyes he kept eying the man across from him as if he were some form of jester.

And of course, the man across from him was the man himself, Dominus, Emperor of the Seven Kingdoms, protector of the realm. His silver armour was cast in shade, giving it a dull luster. His greying black hair formed a thick, well-combed mane, and a heavy beard. His sea-green eyes were focused on the ceiling as his neck cast itself back at an almost elastic angle.

These men sat in a silence so fragile it made wet paper appear adamantine by comparison. Any breath from the frozen group could have shattered harmony. However, one of them started, one of them had to eventually.

"What exactly is an archangel an why is it of any significance? I always thought it was a formality invented by some bored writer." Asked Mathias, scoffing to himself.

"Well, Mathias, that's a very long story." Dominus began slowly. before crawling along at the same hesitant pace he heaved a sigh chasms deep. "Quite an interesting one actually. Just to point out, our friend Jiibrael hasn't done anything to wrong us, unlike some..."

He let this hang a moment, glaring at the glass-eyed old man expectantly. When nothing came he growled and continued.

"But, he is sadly a small victim of circumstance. You see, the Archangels were somewhat precursors to the moderators made during the Golden Revolution. Some of what were already the True Court's finest warriors, now bolstered by the fact that could live just as long as the greater Divines and like them couldn't die. They didn't possess the same power as a moderator, but were still a force to be reckoned with.
"They were sent out as freelance agents, hunting down rebel leaders in packs of at most five. Incredibly efficient. Problem was, by the end of the war Mojang had an excess of these guys. A large number of them quite rightly felt under-credited for the work they did. Jeb was afraid he'd have another revolution on his hands. So he cast the vast majority of them into the Great Wells they were created in, locked up those that could still be useful and had the rest of them hunted mercilessly. By the end of it all there were no more than a handful left unaccounted for. Notch felt they were sufficiently dealt with and unofficially called his boys off." Dominus straightened up and walked over to the table and poured himself a little wine glass. "Problem is, there's still doctrines barring them from setting foot in Mojang. And I have no idea what Jeb, Dinner Bone, Grumm or Herobrine's stances were on the matter." He scoffed. "So we could be ****ed, or Jeb is secretly impressed and intends to use this as some sort of leverage."

The room hung silent, none sure of how to react, but all awaiting the only one who could truly speak on such matters. Eyes were trained on withered Wise One, still glassily gazing into the fire.

Now in his eyes was a vague awareness of his temporary importance, and a sad satisfaction with it. This was his existence now, the one who was oldest, a fact book of Divine matters for reasons just as vague to him as they were to anyone else. Eventually even this need would fade, as others too grew older and superficially wiser - and with this need Wise One too would fade. Perhaps at some point Dominus would stop giving a damn altogether and just go down any path he deemed fit. But until then, he had a duty to do.

"I'm sure that the virtuous head of the Divines wouldn't stoop to such petty methods, especially one he clearly intends to sell as his champion." He said it with as much of his weak authority as he could, but he couldn't fully disguise the trimmings of doubt. He halted a moment, but all seemed placated, all but one. So he continued. "It would be more damaging to his cause if it got out that you were hiding those that history has sought to vilify, and I am not convinced that Jeb has the gall to risk it. Why... Why create the face of justice and good-will when you're a god trying to dispel"

Again they all seemed to be satiated, but for one. Synthenos had a wry grin on his face. He knew that Wise One was in doubt, there was no questioning that; the question was what he would do with this information. Dominus, seemingly still oblivious to this little fact, simply nodded his head, former boldness replenished. He began to hold his chin and spun around, muttering to himself.

"So we should be safe. This is good... We can just continue as usual. Best be cautious though. Keep ourselves on Jeb's good side. Send him some of that hair lotion of yours Mathias, sign of our appreciation. Amused by this are we Synthenos?" He scowled.

Wise One's heart proceeded to prepare its noose in that moment. Was he about to sell him out? Take his place as the wise mentor? Was his tenure finally up?

But Synthenos just smiled up at Dominus just lifted his head and grinned at Dominus. "Nothing dear friend. Just remembering an amusing play I saw the other day. A Yogs theatre production. Can't remember which one."

Dominus sighed and continued. "Well, that's all I need you for. You three can all leave. Mathias, you stay."

As Wise One rose with the stability of straw, eyes trained on the still smirking Synthenos, with quivering neck and widened eyes, the archangel began his protest.

"My liege," His face folded into the creases of a frown, breaking the illusion of his youth momentarily. "Surely you need-"

"Your specific area of knowledge is irrelevant here Jiib. You get some rest. If you see Raven send her in." Dominus' voice was eerily cold, although it was definitely supposed to be a reassuring note.

"But..." He was incredulous, in thirty long years as Dominus' most trusted general - reigning in his "illness" and guarding him in health - he'd never once been exclude from a meeting.

"You may leave Jiibrael."

And with that the eternal youth swallowed and receded from the room, pulling the door shut like a coffin-lid. Dominus waited until the footsteps faded and turned to the other two with haste.

"What should we do about him? You first Zerg; the writer hasn't given you enough lines in this scene."

Zerg peeled his hand away from the window, leaving behind a quickly fading handprint of crystalline ice. With movement like a mountain but silent as a really quiet animal he turned to glance at the Emperor.

"I say we kill him." His voice was unshaken and his facial expression still blank. "We're going to have to get rid of all the old kings at some point; Bar a few exceptions. Don't worry Mathias, long as you stay business minded you'll be fine. But I've said this before - you always go that deathly pale shade Mathias, do stop it - the loyalties of all are suspect. The seven kings must be even more closely monitored, as theirs are split right down the middle. To Emperor or Administrator. We have replaced those we can with adequate stand-ins. After Rome and fell to the Brotherhood coup you annexed Wedgewood. Sadly a certain someone is still breathing-"

"Synthenos understands what we had to do and why we had to do it. He's a man I have the utmost faith that he has the utmost faith in us." Dominus retorted coldly.

"Sorry, I believe you. Just don't let guilt cloud your vision. Void felt guilt, he let me live. Look where that got him." Zerg pause do let this sink in, with Dominus stroking his chin and nodding ponderously. "Nonetheless. He and the continued existence of others puts the men in a nasty position. Legend and Jared must be dealt with, swiftly."

"Who says they haven't?" Dominus smiled. "Raven might say otherwise."

"Impressive exposition, but I still don't see how this connects to Jiibrael." Mathias cut in.

"Well Mathias, it's simple." Zerg continued, eyes trained on Dominus in a calculating blankness. "He too could pose a threat to our system, I simply am listing the people we need to deal with. Wise One as well now that I think about it. He's been broken, but that's precisely the problem. Once broken a man the seams are worn thin - his failure is inevitable. But yes, Jiibrael's a liability, Wise One's a sheet of soggy paper, Jared and Legend I now assume are dead. Am I right?"

"They were both mugged by a particularly desperate Thaum last night, whilst on opposite sides of the city. You have to admire the robber's dedication. As far as the authorities are concerned they're just two more bodies. No investigation will occur for at least ten years, and even then it's an unlikely possibility." Dominus savoured his cleverness.

"I see where you're coming from Zerg. But I don't think it would be wise to kill Jiibrael yet." Mathias calculated, running the lives of men like statistics through his mind. "Least of all because he's a bloody archangel. I assume you're aware of a method, but I don't think we'd be able to pass it off as a casual spontaneous combustion. Do you?"

"Then we deal with him whilst at war." Dominus settled, nodding frantically at no one in particular. "Until then, we keep our heads down. And we make ourselves Jeb's pet champions. I'll be the face of justice and good-will across this empire. Then we'll strike, and we'll show the world how strong the Realm truly is." He sighed and grinned. "Face of the True Court's might. That ought to show them."

Starletts' PerspectiveThe square was bizarrely empty for somewhere in Mojang. Just a barren little waste of space. No businesses to speak of for at least two housing blocks. The few people who did still live there doing so illegally and as a result were not known for their outgoing nature. Then there were the rumours.

Oh the horror stories you'd get about Patriot Boulevard. Of slavers hunting for merchandise, not caring whether their prey was human or Jeb himself, so long as they fetched a good price. Of the people of Underworld using it to sell their more unsavoury products. Of Thaumic militias using the place as a meeting place in the dark of the night, committing ritualistic murders and drinking the blood of their women.

On such nights as that, such stories come to the forefront of your mind. You begin to see shadows move and wield all number of bizarre weapons. You hear voices whispering threats to you in the mere shuffling of your feet. And then you find yourself in the defamed square, and of all people, you find a group of bloody Thaums - lit by the world's most atmospheric lantern - staring you in the face.

I'd had a most distressing night, waking up in the heart of Mojang's most secure prison with everyone dead around you with blood on your sword and about to murder one of your closest friends. Add to this you rather suddenly learning that your administrator has been accused of conspiracy against the Divines themselves, you have apparently missed about five months of your life, and you were wearing the world's most uncomfortable mask not too long ago. With all this in mind, I think you can forgive me for being a teensy bit up in arms.

"Hands on your weapons lads! We're not going to go down without a fight! Mess with the True Court and Calais is your enemy! And remember, the Ghosts don't bleed!" Screamed I to two people, one of whom I didn't know and the other who had left Calais long ago.

This attempt at being strong and bold was at first met with stunned silence from the small crowd of barely visible pale-faced and shabbily dressed men and then, after some quizzical head-turning and whispering, descended into raucous laughter.

With that, several new lamps joined the first from various areas. One above, waiting on an old but sturdy wooden pathway, held up by struts of ancient bronze. One fro within a house, the silhouettes of several archers glaring through smashed windows. Then there was a small packs coming down one of the other roads into the boulevard. In rough terms I'd say there were about twenty of them, all most amused by my outburst.

Then there were two behind us, wielding crudely made clubs. I swung my torch towards them, illuminating their broad, grinning features in the warm orange light. I was ready to stab the man nearest when Ray grabbed my arm with a stern calmness.

"Calm now Starletts dear. These men are not our enemies." He relinquished his grip lightly and turned to the main group. The local boy looked about ready to run at the first sign of danger. "I am aware that you are in the employ of a man known as Zeratul." The crowd fell silent. "Are you not?"

After a moments tension one of them stepped forward with feline caution. After a few stretching sweeps with his long neck, squinting eyes bald head he opened his mouth, pulling it into a grin. Beneath his thin lips were a small number of twisted, chipped, rotting teeth. His tongue moved more like a snake than anything else.

He was definitely not from here. He wore his tattoos proudly, purple lines leaving marks like the claws of a beast down from above his brow to beneath his retracted sockets. He was a tribesman from the Thaumlands. By the looks of it no thaumaturge, although it was definite there was at least one in the crowd.

"We don't like strangers in these parts." Said the tribesman.

"Oh please," Ray spat. "Could you possibly be any more cliché? ZERATUL SHOW YOURSELF! It's me you paranoid git!"

There was a crack and Ray ducked, and then, realising it wasn't aimed at him, stood up. From within the house of archers swaggered Zeratul, putting on a false bravado.

He was a tall man, pale-skinned, dark spiky hair. Almost ageless in complexion, the wrinkles around his eyes the only really sign of his age (he was judging by them about 30). The iconic image of a Thaum. His face was square and his teeth flawless. On his head was a set of brass-trimmed iron goggles. Both were made for magnification, designed like telescopes. Currently they were pulled up his forehead, spiking up his fringe even further. Wrapped around his sturdy frame was a dark brown trench coat. Poking out from beneath the endless trails of this hulking mass of ragged leather was the dull tip of a scabbard. In his right hand was a still smoking pistol which found itself heavily ornamented by gold and bronze. At last his swaying steps halted before Ray.

"What is it you want? Has the pet lord-mayor been left out on the streets?" Zeratul jested.

"You know fine well that isn't what happened! I gave him perfectly good reason!" Ray snapped. "Now, I have called you here on a matter of unfinished business-"

"I have no interest in it. I'm clan-leader. I can do as I please and I don't need some washed up old man yelling at me, telling me to engage in nonsense."

Ray scoffed and said. "Firstly, you're no clan leader, you're many things. An advisor, an engineer and an assassin. But no, you couldn't lead a rock to the ground. Secondly, WHO ARE YOU CALLING OLD! I'm 54 you little ****!"

(He then roughly brushed me to the bed, forcing me down and zipping his zip down. Then suddenly Agnew appeared, Agnnew is love, Agnew is life.) <--- I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS IS! I LEFT MY COMPUTER ALONE WITH COSSACK AND THIS APPEARED. I'M SCARED!

"Sorry Ray, your "roguish charm" won't work here." Zeratul cut down. "If you don't want to be polite and offer the respect I deserve then you might just find yourself dead. Also, it doesn't help that the last time we met you tried to kill me."

"Zeratul, I..." He responded.

"You have thirty seconds to deliver the most heartfelt and all-inclusive apology ever otherwise I'll leave you to the mercy of my friends from the tribes." Zeratyk said with the faintest of smiles. And so he yanked on the fob of his watch and began counting down.

"Zeratul, you know there was nothing I could do. Dominus had us in a chokehold." Ray was starting to break down.

"Twenty seconds." He reminded.

"I was grieving, Void was threatening to allow the Brotherhood free passage to-"

"Ten, nine, eight..."

"DAMN IT ALL ZERATUL!"

"Five, four, three..."

He broke down on his hands and knees. "I'M SORRY!" He then began to weep and sobbed a feeble. "I'm sorry."

Zeratul then straightened his face, leant in close to Ray and said. "Not good enough." He bolted back up and began his irritating little dance away. "Kill them all boys. No point in tarrying any-"

"WAIT!" Ray burst out, bringing a silence to the floor, Zeratul himself stopping out of ancient instinct. "We've made a deal. She's going to give us her back."

The boulevard fell silent. Then, the tribesman from before made a move to carry out Zeratul's orders and was met by a bullet to the head. All of us were stunned as he dropped like a ragdoll and began silently weeping blood into the cobbled pavements. We turned back to Zeratul, iron-faced, now holding a second smoking pistol.

"This once Ray," The Thaum leant in with malice in his eyes. "I'm going to let you and your friends live. But believe me, if you're screwing with me, there is no where in all the worlds you can hide."

"I understand." Ray mumbled, eyes still glistening in the dim torchlight.

With that Zeratul jerked his arm and the three of us were dragged along by his presence like dogs on a leash. Onwards we went, nerves stretched down to mere string, into the soft orange glow of the doorway.

Sorry about the wait. Exam period's a nightmare. But I think this one was worth it. Probably some of my best dialogue, scenery and character development. Very proud of it.

Chapter 4: The Judgement of GaiaPart 3:Philosophy and Plotting Aboard an Airship

Cossack haltingly hobbled a path through the weakly swaying under-croft of the airship on his stump-like legs. Balancing himself on one of the roughly put-together walls of the lower decks, he determined that there were a number of potential explanations for his fatigue.

The first was that Cossack was a sufferer of terrible travel-sickness in general and the swaying of the airship did him no services in the department of balance. This made him appear weak, so he wasn't going to go with that. That was without mentioning that it was completely nonsense.

The second was that he'd never gotten acquainted with "these infernal contraptions" and something about the altitude had always done something to the strength of his knees. That he much preferred the navy and missed the old days. But then there was the fact that he had been in the navy in a cushy officer's position in Arcadia, had only seen one actual battle and had left port by any meaningful distance on fewer occasions than he had toes. And he'd lost a toe to gangrene on one of these occasions. He had been deserting during the aforementioned gangrene incident so he supposed that was just karma. Therefore, this explanation was meaningless as well.

The third explanation was that he was suffering from sleep deprivation due to concerns about the well-being of Kay. But no man aboard believed him to have enough of a heart, and it was only half-true to begin with. He slept as easy as a drugged sloth and whilst he was sleeping much less than he usually did, he still slept a good deal longer than most other men on the ship.

The fourth implied that Kay had him running a number of exhausting errands. However, the aforementioned had only been awake for two days and was still halfway in a coma, slipping in and out of consciousness sporadically. And the errand Kay did have him running were beyond the knowledge of even the bafflingly ever-trusted Aaron. To be honest, he wasn't sure if his king (he still couldn't believe he was in that position) was entirely serious or sane. But he had made multiple promises to carry out his bidding, some legal and some which actually carried meaning. Nonetheless it wasn't an excuse he could use without exposing the shadowy work.

The fifth and final was that he was just getting old. He was well over 50 years (enough so that one could clumsily round it up to 60) and his hair was already fairly grey. His senses were beginning to dull ever so slightly and he feared his ruthless edge was too. Why else would he allow himself to consider slipping into such sentimentality as missing the navy? But all "jokes" (using only the loosest definition of the word) aside he had been reminiscing fondly of days gone by. Perhaps it was a reflection of just how bad things were getting, but things had gotten bad before and he'd been able to ignore these sentiments then. He was losing sight of the teachings of Archibald, his late mentor in the banking business. His words echoed in his mind at that very moment.

"Cossack you little Nether-spawn, where the hell is my coffee?" And then there was the other one that was far more relevant, "Keep your eyes on the prize Cossack. Don't slow down to get involved with anyone outside the profession. The meek inherit the Earth, sure. They get the dirt. However, the quick-of-hand and sharp-of-mind, we get everything of value. Because in the end, the banker always wins. And don't you forget that boy."

Perhaps he was beginning to lose sight of the prize. He thought he could get involved with those outside, use them to him advantage. And to an extent he had, they'd kept him alive. But was he now beginning to let his guard down?

Trying to avoid further disturbing lines of thought he determined to bounce between the second and third solutions. Sure they would hurt his image, casting him as both an old grump and a pampered git. But what else was new? Simply reaffirming his current status. He had to focus on the task at hand.

He opened the palm of his hand and there was a small capsule containing his charge. A message. Cossack stared at it a moment before shoving off from the wall, turning the corner and slamming straight into the Jolly St. Jay. Stumbling backwards he looked up and his heart stopped. He dropped the capsule to the floor, where it loosened, revealing the blank edge of the paper.

Before he could scoop it back up it was being regarded by Jolly, who regarded the broken cylinder in his hands. Cossack readied himself for the Brotherhood's torturer to pull them further apart, unfurl the paper and expose he and Kay's little plot there and then. But instead Jolly looked up, completely uninterested in the cylinder, offering as genial a look as possible.

"Good evening Cossack." He grinned.

"Um... Good evening." Cossack responded, somewhat flustered.

"All well?"

"Quite, yourself?"

"Yeah, I'm doing well."

"Well then," Cossack blustered. "I'd best be on my way."

With that he tried to rush past the lean figure but was stopped by a firm hand.

"Listen Cossack, I understand that you're probably barred from speaking to us. However, we're stuck within at most a hundred metres for a few weeks. So I'm not sure normal regulations apply. Besides, of all of you Gaian filth... I'd say I openly despise you the least." He jested. "Plus you forgot this." He held up his hand, revealing the cylinder screwed back together perfectly.

"Thank you." Cossack forced an uncomfortable smile, waddling away from the strange man.

This was why he was so averse to these close quarters conspiracies. The other side always ended up making you feel bad somehow. They all became puppy-eyed and untouchable. Killing them felt unsportsmanlike. "Had it always felt like this? No. Probably not." He sighed.

And with that he hauled himself down to the bottom deck and towards a little ladder, with a guard on either side. Both were on high alert, paranoid beyond belief, throwing nervous glances out every window and constantly check that their rifles were loaded. I suppose that's what's meant to happen when your enemies claim to be gods. You're supposed to fear doing anything and everything, lest you feel divine redemption. To make matters worse for these poor lads, a storm was brewing and they were below cloud layer. But he supposed it could be worse, they could be down below, in the coup.

As the banker approached the little hatch downward one of the guards approached him. The young singer, Joseph.

"Sir, Mr Cossack," Joseph asserted, his magical voice showing the cracks of fear. "You can't go down there. Aaron- I mean the General's orders. We'll be ascending through the clouds soon and it'll be too dangerous for anyone else to go down."

"Nonsense, I'll only be a minute." Cossack put down. "Besides, you've been bypassed already. Be more careful in your phrasing."

"But how did you-"

"The hatch you irksome little munchkin." The banker put as much of his waning authority into this command as possible, and it worked.

With that the singer retreated into himself, showing him his belly in the most pathetic of ways with his gesture to open the hatch.

"I'll be just a minute, don't you worry Joseph."

Cossack as good as threw himself down the shaft his grip was so weak. He slipped the last rung and hit his head off of the ladder, staggering back towards one of the small pigeon coups.

The coup was a rickety wee location fastened to the bottom of the ship not long before they left the Vanilla Craft. Held together by an already dented steel frame and a series of small bronze meshes. There was also some poorly treated wood fastened to the frame for the coups and to block out some of the high winds. At either end of the bay was a great open entrance, with no attempts made at placing doors over them. Instead they acted as a great gaping maw of the sky, ready to swallow any who stepped too near.

Lining the walls were nesting houses filled to the brim with specially trained messenger pigeons. No one really knew how these worked. Just that they did work and that not even the author of this bloody world was able to come up with a semi-logical conclusion as to why this was.

But, as Cossack tied his note to the leg of a pigeon, ready to send his message to Tejmin, another figure emerged.

"Hello Cossack." Oozed Gracey. "Who're you sending that to."

"Gracey, just the man I needed." Cossack smiled. "I need your word on a matter."

"Is this matter in any way incriminating?" Gracey asked enthusiastically.

"Undeniably so."

"My attention is undivided."

"I need you to help carry out vengeance against the Brotherhood."

He'd put this bluntly, but he new this was the best way to enlist Gracey. Not to play games, just come out and state your purpose. He was a foul creature, but he still had some twisted sense of fair play. A bad habit he'd picked up under Brit. Taking the use of a person for confiding as a sign of trustworthiness.

"I'm in." He chuckled, but his visible eye told the stout man that he was dead serious. "What's in the letter."

"It's contacting Tejmin." Cossack said distractedly. "Attempting to renegotiate a target with a young assassin called Nek Minnet. We got the details of the situation wrong and are cancelling the hit. But we're still interested in his services for the near future."

"Minnet huh." Gracey scoffed in his usual manner. "Right psychopath that one is. I suppose you're wondering why I'm out here?"

"Not really."

The skeletal man ambled up to the gateway, staring out into the clouds. Off in the distance he saw a little jagged flash of blue, and heard a discontented murmur from the heavens.

"I come out here for that." His mouth hung open in child-like splendour. "The beauty of it. Of the clouds and the sky. Of the miniscule nature of the world below. To see the fields pass by. To feel the adrenaline a rogue wind gives me as it tries to wrench this little death trap from the bottom of the tub."

With that one such wind immediately struck a blow on the ship and the coup lurched. Cossack, about to pull out the bird fell against the sodden wood of the aviary, cursing as he did so. Gracey lost balance, falling backwards towards the open sky, as the blanket of clouds drew closer. But at the last moment he caught a handle and managed to regain his balance, before breaking into laughter. They were ascending now.

"Best get back up." Cossack thought, grabbing the bird once more and throwing it into the wind, where it flapped frantically before being blown away.

"I come up here to think as well." Gracey said, his face hardening a he glared into a ma of dark grey fock that grew ever closer. "To contemplate. To ponder. To reflect. To yearn. To yearn for the bloody end."

Cossack hobbled towards the ladder once more, halting himself on the ladder. But before he ascended he decided to human this strange man. "The end of what?"

"Life. Provided it ends in that moment. I'll be damned if I die down these in the dirt among the filth I work with and against. Minnet, Glibby, Cow, even your Hamish bloke. I know I'm basically one of them, but, I suppose I always wanted to stand out." He spat. "I wish I could just die here in a storm. Give myself to it. Die assaulting the realm of the gods, getting struck down when I come too close. Somehow I feel that would be better. I know where the gods will send me after I die, just want to die giving them a final "screw you"." He'd abandoned the handle and was now just leaning against the frame, head half out in the air.

"So you're a god-hating pagan?" Cossack allowed himself a moment of amusement.

"Yeah, call me a savage, call me a heretic. But there's nothing godly about the Divines. A bunch of immortal snobs who are no better than the rest of us. I may hate my gods and they hate me but at least I have some vague inkling that they are real. If only because they're smart enough to not bother trying to save us mortals."

"Why don't you just jump then?" Cossack asked a little more callously than he intended.

"Believe me, I've pondered it. But in the end, it just feels like I'm giving in. Letting those asshole in the sky win." Gracey leaned back in a little. "Suppose that's why I started working with Brit. Putting my talents to some higher purpose, one beyond the wishes of the gods in the process. That goal of besting the un-best-able."

The dark mass of cloud was closer, and the flashes of lightning too crept across the clouds faster and faster. Like an inverted dolphin it would swim through the clouds, leaping out for air and striking the earth as it did so, before receding back into its melancholy ocean.

"We'd best head back in." Cossack said, smiling sadly.

Perhaps he'd misjudged Gracey a little. He was a foul beggar without real manners or principles. But he could relate to his ambition. His determination to make his life meaningful. He'd be useful to the cause. Might have to do something about these tendencies though. He might get himself killed while he's still useful.

"Yeah," Gracey murmured, still deep in thought.

And with that, the banker and the pauper left, united by their pledge. As the hatch screw itself shut, the growling clouds flooded through the coup, consuming all it touched.

Bokane's PerspectiveOn that night there was of course more than one figure wandering the airship's claustrophobically lonely halls. One such forlornly cramped being was the mage Bokane, a look of deep concern upon his face. He was debating himself on whether or not to visit her or not.

Sure, there was the principle of chivalry. Of wanting to comfort one whom had been his friend and was now in deep grief. Of perhaps helping her come to terms with her grief and repent for her sins. While she had tried to reduce his friend's arm and ribcage is powder, it could still be argued that he was just a compassionate individual on this line of reasoning.

Well, he said friend. But in truth Aaron was probably his closest friend now that Mini was dead.

Key was a good lad plain and simple. However, he still viewed him as little more than a drinking companion, too slow to confide in and too sharp to use as a verbal punching bag. Less callously reasoned was the fact that he one of the "loyalists" who wouldn't hear a word against Kay no matter what happened. His view of Key might change with time, but for now he was still sticking to the crowd he'd known since before Kay got sucked up in his war as the close ones.

Small was sharper no doubt, but he reached the point of jaggedness. He was often opposed to Kay and had a strong bond with Secret, but still stayed loyal to him out of the sentiment the nobility feels that compels them to uphold a monarchy when faced with outside opposition, despite the fact that he longs for the same end result in his mind. He supposed he couldn't blame him, but he couldn't risk his name coming up as a potential threat. Atreidon had alerted him to the overtness of his discontentment in Mojang. He had to be more careful about how he expressed his discontent.

Tejmin was a fanatic.

Birt and Gracey were a sociopath and a psychopath respectively.

Secret, whilst opposed to Kay seemed like he was going to break at any moment since Astro was abducted. Bokane didn't want to have to deal with a nervous breakdown and so was distancing himself.

And of course he couldn't stand Cossack and thought he was total scum.

Aaron was the only sane option left from the original seven to confide in.

But yes, whislt chivalry would likely be allowed to slide, Aaron knew of his unhappy situation, of his gripes with Kay. He was willing to confront Kay with the best of intentions, hoping to convince his friend that he was in the wrong instead of gain power. He was witty, smart and charismatic. And Bokane trusted him entirely.

However, he knew deep down that his reason for wanting to visit Abby was far less noble. He was still somehow hoping that he would be able to win her over through helping her out of her sorry state. By providing a reassuring hand, supporting her, perhaps even being able to talk Kay and Aaron out of pressing charges. It was a naïve and somewhat cruel goal, but he just couldn't stop himself. At the very least he had to see what shape she was in.

He then came to the steel brig of the ship. They called it a brig. In truth it was just a spare store-room with a heavy door and a substantial amount of room. They'd tie the people to the central post (made of cast iron) and just leave them there until they landed. In an emergency they could actually use it as a store, and just heighten the security measures.

Stationed outside the room was stationed a single guard, Joseph, one of the guards who nearly discovered Atreidon during their meeting.

"Evening Joseph." Bokane murmured, nodding to the guard.

"Likewise Boke." Replied the man. "I'm sorry but I can't let you in."

"Why's that?"

"The archangel and Walt are in there. Gave specific instructions not to interfere."

It was at this moment that they heard shouting from within and the door swung open, the archangel fell out, holding a red hot brand in his right, clasping a bloodied nose in the other.

Following swiftly after him was Walt, dressed in his usual formal attire, a short cloak and a suit.

"What are you doing?" Snarled Atreidon.

"We agreed no branding. Trials will be held to determine her guilt, then punishment will be administered. We were here to give her a stern talking to and nothing more. I'm honestly amazed you managed to light that thing."

"Champaign liberal shite." Atreidon spat, storming off and continuing. "Liberal in nothing but delivering their nonsensical platitudes for the rest of us to carry out! Never for yourselves." (#realtalk #****youRusselBrand)

Bokane glared at the slouching form of Atreidon and he staggered away. "What's up with him?" Said he to Walt.

"He's been drinking heavily since we left. Absolutely shattered about Amaerin. I do pity him." But then his face hardened. "But I cannot allow him to harm her without due proceeds."

Bokane nodded. Perhaps there was someone he could trust in Walt. "How is she?"

"She's alive. Physically perfectly fine. They've fed her well and she hasn't been injured too severely Which is impressive considering Kay's record with prisoners." He allowed himself a brief smile. "Mentally she's about as stable as a broken see-saw. Can't get anything from her but insults and ramblings about him." Walt's eyes flared with anger at the thought of the aforementioned nameless man.

"Think I might be able to get through?" Bokane offered.

"Little chance, but you're welcome to try. I'd best be off Bokane. Goodnight."

Bokane sighed and marched in.

Waiting there for him was the bruised and frail-looking shell of the woman he had once known as strong and intelligent. Her skin was pale. Her hair was tangled and messy. She had been stripped of her armour, just leaving her in a tattered grey tunic eaten at by moths. Her eyes were buried deep into her brow by the rings of sleep, and that which was visible was an archipelago of white, separated by rivers of blood.

She was kneeling, head propped against the pillar which held her prisoner. Her wrists were held above her head by rusted shackles which suffocated and ate into her wrists at the same time. The face which he had once coveted for its freshness was soured, the mouth forced linear, but twitched with flecks of repressed rage.

"Abby?" Bokane asked, inching around her and resting himself on a box which would have left him facing her were it not for the post blocking half of her form. He struggled to keep the concern from his face. "You okay?"

"As far from it as possible." Abby scoffed. "Nether, life's full of so much **** anyone who feels they are okay is deluded."

"I'm sorry about what happened to Linx Abby." Bokane said, coming down from his perch and walking towards the girl in a sympathetic crouch. "But there's nothing that could have been done."

"Rubbish." She snapped, visible eye darting at Bokane. "He had a clear shot on the helmsman. Aaron could have stopped them then and there. Then we could have taken them in and dealt with them justly. Instead he took justice into his own hands. And now we'll never know why he did it. Whether or not he was innocent. I too took justice into my own hands," A tear ran down Abby's cheek. "And now look at me." She rattled her chains. "The hypocrite imprisons me for doing no more than he did, and now I face undeniable punishment from the banker." With that the half of her face that could be seen vanished into shadows.

Bokane struggled for words.

"A," Said the mage, clasping her wrist firmly. "I will see justice done. I will see you freed with due recompense. Mark my words."

But there was no response, and Bokane marched out of the room, angered with the world. No thought was given to the contract he had signed, and I doubt there ever was in all truth.

For the seeds were truly sown on this night by these two men. The banker and the mage. The man of reason and facts and the man of superstition and impulse. The land had been tilled and tended before them, but this was the night it began. And soon the seeds would sprout and strangle them all. Their judgement had begun, and man was the jury, the barrister, the prosecutor and in the end, the executioner. And all the while, I was high judge, watching them struggle against their own triumphs.

The pier looked cheap and poorly maintained, but in truth was mere groggy and an unpleasant fellow, with every step triggering yet another hollow threat to give way. However, the pier was also lonely. It was so sparing that someone actually walked along it or docked at it that perhaps the mere hope offered by company kept the pier standing. Some
vague sense of duty on the part of the object. Like an old guard dog whose master checked on it just often enough to remember its cause.

On this night it did in fact have company, and it moaned affectionately as its new tenants marched upon it. There were roughly twenty of them. All seemed military types. But seven of them were different. Instead of the heavy, disciplined, uniform steps of their followers, they walked lightly and proudly, careless of where they stepped, unabashed of their status.

The one who walked with a brisk but unsure pace, with feet not always leave the ground entirely, was called Hamish. He stood leaning against the bow of his ship, shakily holding a pipe from his teeth, cupping the embers as he tried desperately to light it. It was his lighter that was the trouble. The flint had worn down in parts and he hadn’t had time to replace it. Now he struggle to find that one isolated patch that hadn’t yet totally eroded.
Then, after some minutes of fumbling in the pitch black, the flame surged up into the air and then quickly withered back to a normal tiny flicker. In the brief, unnatural moment wherein the flame had tower, the ship had been vaguely outlined.

It was an airship in truth, but both of the might balloons had been cut down and rolled up, disguised as tarpaulin over the life boats. The seals of ownership marked on the wooden hull and metal frames were scratched off, a few scraps of blue and white and gold still clinging on. However, these were few and far between. It was no military vessel. It was some wealthy citizen’s pleasure vessel, used for his debauchery, both private and public. Now commandeered by the lawless, and yet it somehow ended up more moral in its practices.

A few meters in deck was a wall which ran the full way around, creating a small building of wood which sloped down towards the end. On the top of this building the pilots deck stood, allowing the individual carrying out the ask to get a clear view of the whole ship.

On the right was the one who never moved slower than a light jog. He whose footsteps crackled with echoes of tainted energy. He called himself Beat. Dressed in a spotless suit of deepest black, he stood back from the dusty railings, instead preferring to stand behind his comrades with a smug grin and ominous aura.

On the left was the one who always pranced along behind Beat, his footsteps actively humming with a poisonous edge. He was known by his the demon-bearers that were his parents as Mini. The others simply called him Muffin due to the commonness of his name. His clothes were dusty and dirty. He wore almost normal attire, a baggy “white” shirt with cheap cufflinks and black trousers. But on his shoulders were a number of bizarre items. First was a purple waistcoat that clung to him tightly, causing his shirt to billow out around his armpits. On his shoulders were two heavy satchels which weighed him into a fixed crouch from which he could never quite emerge.

Unlike his usual companion he had no reservations about leaning against the wooden rail, twitching every few seconds as he did so but never leaving its surface.

Then the two-faced man turned to Beat, pulling his pipe from his mouth.
“Is he always this frivolous?” He gestured to the soot now coating the tip of his pipe and his face; the latter was only visible because a few stray splodges had touched that which still vaguely identified him as human.

“Oh you can count on it.”

“And you too?”

“I like my life the same way I like my alcohol. Laced with dangers; both foreseen and unforeseen. Muffs brings me with more than I might encounter without him. I provide him with a mutual. Mutual benefit.” He grinned liked a mischievous schoolboy.

Hamish turned to inquire of Muffin.

“How true is that statement? That you’re the spawn of the Mojang Devils and that Beat’s one of your cultists?”

Muffin burst out laughing much harder than he should, his head falling to the wood, the rest of him contorting with hysterics.

“Sir I’d like to think we were created to stand or fall by choice. I merely give Beat the choice between a pit full of snakes and the staircase towards a cushy gentlemen’s club and the same choice is made every time. Just as was foreseen. He’s predictable but in the same way as a farce is. You can’t help but enjoy watching it play out.”
“Huh.” Hamish remarked quite insightfully. “Fancy yourself some sort of oracle do you?”

“Nah,” Beat interjected, boyishly grinning at his friend. “Oracles are boring. Aren’t they Mini!” He yelled these last two parts particularly loudly, shooting a glance at Huskers; who was standing as a statue on the deck above. Muffin shared his glance and Hamish lagged behind in joining them.

Seeing no change in the individual Muffin piped up.

“Nah, it’s all about probability. A far more exact science than you’d think.” Muffin relished the chance to explain himself. “With sufficient understanding of the world, one can predict anything.

“He’s an idiot Hamish. It’s all about skill. And some, like myself, have that on our side.” Beat parried.

“It was never about skill for you Beat.” Muffin jabbed playfully. “It was about what latest loophole you could exploit-”

Beat rushed for his friend, only to find the Endling slamming his head into the heavy wood before discarding him on the floor. Hamish put a hand over the mouth of the twitchy man, and craned his head out over the bow of the boat. When the pristine man attempted to rise once more he found a boot pressing him back down.

Approaching were three figures. Two of whom mattered nought to Hamish, but the other he was familiar with. Seeing him present filled the corrupt officer was such a sense of fulfilment.

A smile curled on Hamish’s lips, and the second these three mysterious figures ascended the gangway he relinquished the mouth and nose of Muffin.

The three approached the doorway to the inner workings of the ship, which lead to their quarters, the hold, the navigation room and the ship’s restaurant (in which Unknown served as cook). At the door they were met by one of Hamish’s remaining followers, and the ghostly pale Linx. They exchanged a brief, barely audible discourse and then all but Linx slipped inside.

As Muffin rasped and coughed, he saw his strangler remove a gold-trimmed wooden watch from his pocket. The quartz face was just visible in the half-light of the full moon above. The angle it was held at rendered the glass opaque to Muffin as he straightened. There was a picture in the other frame but he couldn’t make it out.

“They’re desperate. That’s twenty minutes early. I have to give Huskers and Unknown credit. They’re much more articulate than I thought they’d be.” Hamish chuckled.

His boot relinquished itself from the still dazed Beat and the watch snapped shut.

As the man in the suit straightened himself up and beat to offer his challenge the officer Muffin interjected. He’d caught just the faintest glimpse of the picture. And it was all he needed.

“Who’s the girl?”

The image was plainly an old one. The photograph was even more brown and mottled than the modern ones. But he’d still been able to make out three faces. The first was Hamish, young and fully formed, roughly 18 years old. The second was to his right. A small boy about six years younger, wearing a pair of old aviator's goggles and a red scarf. The third and final was a dark-skinned girl, with thick and wild hair that could be assumed to black or dark brown. Her features were soft and her eyes wide and inquisitive. She was evidently of an upper class background from her elegant gown and upright poise. However she seemed more welcoming and open than her peers.

Hamish’s smile faded. Linx was glancing over to them, eyebrows perked inquisitively.

“Listen. Muffin.” He turned out to sea and pointed. “See that gull out there? On the wooden pole?”

“Of course.”

“Kindly explode it for me.”

The thaumaturge was now routed in his curiosity. Involving in him in anything destructive was usually a good start. Now for a challenge to distract them both. That would free him of this tangled rope of conversation.

“Now, you two debate the merits of probability against skill.” The two both cocked their heads in mutual interest. “First one to bring me back that gull’s liver wins my ever-lasting respect.”

No real reward needed to be offered, just the opportunity for these two strangers made siblings to find a way to one-up each other. They abandoned the heaviest of their garments (or in Beat’s case the most expensive), and leapt in.
Hamish, chuckling gave Linx an exaggerated salute and approached him.

Across the gaunt man’s back were strapped two rifles. Both loaded. Both stolen from his previous employers.
“I’ll be honest; I can’t say I’ve seen anyone figure out how to control them quite that easily since Ray started offering treats for killing barbarians.”

Hamish laughed, but this one was genuine. Not some pleasantry. He liked Linx. He was a thoroughly tolerable human.

Business-minded and better yet, he had no delusions of grandeur. He accepted what he was; a cheat and a liar. Hamish could respect that. However, in a tight spot he had a tongue with just enough silver laced in it to convince an oaf like Kay that he shared his deluded outlook.

“Glad to hear it. Wouldn’t want to be bested by the same man who once declared tomatoes to be a form of dolphin, and that Dinner Bone was secretly a chicken in disguise. Anyway, how are you this evening my little ghost?”

“I’m holding up well. Being dead isn’t as bad as you might think.” He rubbed his chest mockingly.

It had been a week since the Gaians attacked them. Linx was in fact hit, and it had been by no machination of theirs that he survived. All three incidents were complete accidents.

“Glad to hear that. How do you think the missus will react?”
“Honestly, a fine young bachelor just received a whole new life and you think he’d be worried about past engagements?”

Another laugh.

“She seemed pretty angry at your shooter.”

“If I’m lucky they’ve both cancelled each other out. Abby was bipolar and Aaron was a naïve oaf. May they both rot in peace. Same goes for the rest of those fools.”

“Wow.” Hamish was genuinely taken aback. “Any pups you wish to step on your cruelness?”

“Of course.” Linx smirked a while, then shook his head, brow lowering itself and his smile fading. “Walk with me Hamish.”

And so the two hopped down onto the creaking pier and began to walk towards the hollowed out city of Arcadia.
It had once been a proud city. A strong merchant city, wealthy beyond even Mojang. But then the Onslaught had come, and the Divines set up a military garrison. In the last year Herobrine came to Arcadia, attempting to cut off the vital supply lines that Notch and the Eastern Thaums might use. His army marched on the city without any semblance of resistance. They were in fact welcome by the populace, who had grown tired of merciless taxes and harsh laws under Divine wartime rule. Then they were met by a ruthless guerrilla war that nearly destroyed the city. Herobrine wasn’t able to crush all of their forces though, receiving word of an Endling army marching upon the Zine Craft. After he left the True Court took the city back swiftly, and Grumm was appointed governor.

For the first four months, things seemed to be recovering. No mention was made of the “treachery” of the city. Grumm actually spoke of greater autonomy and reform. Made a big show of being rejected by Jeb when speaking of the matter. So he sent around letters, to all of the city’s wealthy figures. All those who had collaborated with Herobrine, and all those who might have harboured sympathies towards him. And he held banquets, wherein he would whisper sweet dreams of independence from Jeb into the ears of these men. And then, when he had all he thought would come, he had them sign a letter. A declaration of independence from Jeb; a denunciation of the True Court and all their laws. Even the commander of the Divines was swayed to Grumm’s side. But nowhere upon the declaration was Grumm’s name to be found. And in their pride-drunken bravado they noticed not.

The next day Grumm struck. All were rounded up and arrested, tried and executed in the space of a week. Their property was repossessed; their families driven away. Then Grumm left. He was still governor of course. But he never returned to Arcadia. But his absence was not enough to stem the hatred. To that very day the people of Arcadia spit at the very mention of Grumm’s name, and weep at the celebration of his treachery. Every year the “Week of Glorious Retribution” becomes a festival of frowns and tears.

But now, the two who approached it from the sea turned. Instead of marching towards the centre of town, they went down a side street. Changing course from the sodden and slippery pier, and instead walking upon the hard and empty pier.

Then the gaunt man stopped in his formal manner, holding out a hand to his fellow’s chest, stopping him.

“I want you to be utterly honest with me Hamish.” He began coldly. “Who killed Mini? Was it us, The Silhouette or the Realm?”

“The Half-breed?” Hamish probed carefully.

He paused a moment upon seeing a stiff nod. He observed Linx, and he him reaching into his pocket for something.

“Yes Linx.” Hamish answered. “We did kill him.”

Silence.
Then life sprang back into Linx and he turned to his peer. “Thank you Hamish. I will ask no more of you.”
“Then I assume you already know who did it?”
“Of course. Unknown isn’t subtle when speaking about it. Besides, Falcon told me.”

“And why did you ask me?” Hamish pried, genuinely curious.

“Because you’re the only one I trust Hamish.” Linx’s face fell greatly. “Muffin and the others, they would say they did just out of meanness. Worse yet some might even claim that we had no part in this at all. Attempt to deceive me. You Hamish,” He halted and walked over to the edge of the pier. “I think I can understand you. I think I understand your principles, and I respect them. And I know the feeling is mutual.”
Hamish haltingly wandered up behind Linx and sat down beside him.

The ocean was wide and sweeping, with not a wave upon it. The air was bitter but windless. One of those crisp nights where no force fell upon you, but you instead walked through a sea of needles. And the moon sat in the sky proudly gazing at the tranquillity, set against a sky so beautiful it looked to be a watercolour. It was devoid of dimensions; just the blank canvas of creation.

“I understand.” Hamish looked at the bent back of Linx.

Then he heard a whimpering from beside him.

“I shouldn’t have left them Hamish. Not like this.”

Hamish sighed and wrapped an arm around the gaunt man now made a child.

“I know.” He paused. “We all make mistakes Linx. We all have regrets.”

And now Hamish’s mind drifted back years and years. Back to a young girl and a boy so vivid in his memory and yet so forcedly faded. Back to dreams and jests. Back to ambition. Back to his shame. Back to a wrong that Hamish needed to right… Back to a little boy now grown to a man. And how their stories relied so greatly upon each other. And back that damned girl. That virtuous being who tied them to each other. An anchor upon both of their necks, ever pulling.

Sorry parts are taking a while guys, I've been working on another extra-special project in secret and controlled assessment at school has been hectic. Hopefully the next one will be out sooner but no promises.

It had been five weeks of flying when it should have taken but 10 days. Two weeks of these had been spent pursuing those who had framed us. Then when the trail was broken we had to backtrack across half of the Old Continent,
desperately avoiding the patrols of the True Court. We had encountered a few close encounters, but had thankfully gotten away with but one actual skirmish. By the luck of whatever forces besides the Divines there are at work in the world it had just been a scouting ship. We’d grounded it quickly and scavenged the wreckage for some valuable weapons and materials.

What we’d found had been exceptionally useful. A few smelters were left intact, one of which Key had claimed for himself. There were a few crates of Divine armour and their mysterious weapons. It was eventually decided after much debate that those that would benefit most from such devices were the Blue Alliance, due to the large number of True Court veterans among their ranks. This was all agreed amicably and without much conflict. It was a deal of logic and common sense, with the Brotherhood, the Gaians and the Arcation Priesthood all willing to cooperate. The winds of change had left us weakened in one aspect, and stronger than ever in the other.

But now we were on the verge of meeting once more with the bulk of our forces. Our hardships were about to be met with a few weeks of peace before our enemies began to rally. These would be spent readying for the aforementioned event, but I couldn’t deny that training and establishing defences with a full army at our heels would be much easier than stealthily slipping past Divine patrols in heavy storms, and remaining aboard an airship with a half put together crew and barely enough food to last us the journey.

But then I stood upon the bow of the ship, wind lifting small tufts of raven hair from my head. The chill upon my skin was vibrant, striking life through my very bones. Squinting against the harshness I turned to the pilot’s deck, upon which Secret stood proudly.

The two of us locked gazes; I smiled and I nodded, and Secret followed suit. He called to our pilot, Wolves Glare of Vangaard, startling him and causing him to drop whatever it was he had been sniffing off of his wrist. The two exchanged some heated words, ending in Viral coming up and scolding our pilot, eventually offering the Vangaardian lord a share of his own stash of glowing dust. He then collapsed I’ll be honest I was completely caught off guard as to where the last of these people had come from. I hadn’t seen him the entire time we were on board up to this point.
Wasn’t he supposed to be some sort of important character? Where on earth had he been throughout the events of Chapter thre- I mean what happened in Mojang! Hadn’t he volunteered to help us in our quest for the Falcon? What a lazy *******… And why on earth was he in Dominus’ mansion the night we were there? That was especially pointless. Phew! That was close. Almost broke the fourth wall there!

Following this debate the Vangaardian was placated and began to bring the ship down into the white soup beneath us.
We hit the cloud, and then it took us all. For a few moments nothing was visible. There was just a feeling of dampness in the eyes of all men and then we emerged, the mighty fields of Acrisius lain out before us.

They were rolling, unspoilt wilderness covered by a great blanket of sprawling white snow, upon which none had settled for over a thousand years, and even then the brave handful of settlers had been few and far between.
The planes were like this all year round, but in the winter the snow would fall thick and many mountain paths would become impassable, leaving the land untouchable.

Then my eyes panned up across the fields and I saw others following the same path. Here and there you would see a pack of travellers trying to reach the borders of the Craft. Then you would glance elsewhere and there would be a grand military column pushing towards the same destination as us, some administrator with their full army in tow.

Then, I saw the greatest of all these things. First the hills began to slope up at a ramp-like angle. Then I saw hints of jagged rock. Then fleeting tufts of grass and dirt gave way to a fully-fledged cliff-face climbing to the air. Forming a great ring were walls of untamed rock which had only been hardened and grizzled by time.

At the top of the ring was a great blanket of storm clouds. All the clouds embodied a dark greyness and were indistinguishable from a cloud of smog. Through them crackled electricity and great, pulsing blue veins. Then, if one were to look at it from the right angle they could see the entrance to this mighty place.

Built out of the cliff face was a mighty city of ancient stone, which had long lain dormant. However, now the sparks of life had once again enkindled a light glow of activity within the land. It stretched for a good several miles to the right and to the left, and was a formidable presence in itself. The walls were thick and sloped, with battlements like teeth.
The city had three main gates, one to the east, one to the west and one in the centre. From all of these were paved great roads, which led up through the three layers of the city to the titanic gates of the inner Craft. What lay beyond was to me was a mystery. I had of course heard rumours; floating temples and jungle for miles; forests; deserts; swamps; a few icy planes and perhaps an ocean or two. It was by the sound of it quite evenly distributed; not much different to the landscape of the previous location for the Craft. It was utterly self-reliant due to its variety - a nation within a fortress.

Now we were sailing over the walls, people staring up at the as they did so. I looked down and beneath me were a number of people, with a salt and pepper mixture of morality accompanying them. There were of course the people of the Vanilla Craft. These largely dominated the city. However, one could see a few unfamiliar banners within it, and even more encamped on the horizon. Within the walls, back from the walls one could see the banner of Halberdson and the Alarm Craft. Within a cave upon the great cliff glowed lanterns, and the flags surrounding its mouth clearly identified it as home to the rebels of the Zine Craft.

“So Carsey is here.” I noted, bile rising in my throat.

Carsey had been one of the members of Worth’s conspiracy in the Zine Craft. Whilst Ghostly had withdrawn to training wizards such as Astro, a number of his Moderators had grown discontented with how things were run. Then, as luck would have it the Zine Craft came under attack by a long forgotten undead kingdom which had decided to try and expand its borders. The retaliation had been brutal and Ghostly was away for a long time. Then, after he came back he devoted all his time to searching for a cure for the undead, sadly finding no hope of success.

However, at some point during his withdrawn state Worth, Carsey and a large number of the other moderators had decided to run the Craft to their benefit, terrorising villagers in the dead of night and making those who challenged him vanish. I myself had lost my home and clock-making business to Carsey himself.

Eventually Kay, a young knight called Peter Gam (“Gammy”), Secret and Small had begun a counter-conspiracy of sorts, enlisting the help of a number of important figures. However, someone had been too loose with their lips and the four of them were captured and imprisoned.

Over the next few months of their sentence Kay and Gammy became huge Herobrine cultists; Small took up painting again and good ol’ Secret inspired confidence in everyone around him by starting a prison gang and having a mental breakdown. Then Kay started fancying himself a prophet of Herobrine, the Onslaught started and one of the first actions of Herobrine was to send a team to crush the prison Kay was in.

The rest is history. Kay was immediately met with prestige among the Horde, Secret and Small left to join Jeb’s own legion and Gammy was captured and executed by Endlings.

After three years of the Onslaught he battle came to Zine Craft and a whole load of nonsense happened. First Herobrine defeated Ghostly. Then Notch attacked Herobrine. Then Herobrine explained to Ghostly what was going on and he decided to help Herobrine. Then the Endlings attacked. Then some nonsense happened about Hamish and Shadow. Then Astro, Secret, Cossack, Small and I all fled the city for five minutes and Kay blew the place up! Then apparently Herobrine and Jeb are best mates; Israphel is a crippled traitor; Worth was apparently working with Israphel; half the Endlings are dead; Shadows is dead; Notch is dead; Hamish is slightly battier than normal and Kay decided it would be fun to bury himself under half of Mojang. It was a total mess and it was months before I understood fully what happened.

Where does Carsey fit in with this? Well he was accused of conspiring with the Endlings alongside Worth. Ghostly defended him and in response Jeb stripped him of office (and action he later professed to have been rash and foolish). Ghostly became a hermit and Carsey became a revolutionary. He’d long since attempted to further his own power by leaping on any cause against Jeb. When Vechs attacked from the east, he was there to run weapons past the Divine blockade. The Flux were feeling angry at Jeb, and within a few days one of Carsey’s boys showed up to stoke up the fire.

I could be perfectly honest and say that Carsey was one of the few men I hated utterly in all this world. It was not because he was more terrible than someone such as Hamish, Dominus or Vechs. It was that I could find no good in him whatsoever.

Hamish was a strong strategist and admittedly able to be quite charming when he wanted to be. He was also once a fierce patriot who genuinely cared for his cause and actively aided civilians in warzones. Dominus frequently acted cruelly and stupidly, but one could generally assume he was trying to better his people. Vechs at the very least had a good sense of humour and irony – writing much of his own anti-Mojang propaganda – and I could honestly confess to laughing at a few of his twisted jokes.

Carsey was opportunistic, but he wasn’t even good at it. With Worth he leapt in without thought and never questioned his comrade’s completely unsubtle sympathies to the Court of Whispers. When the Flux were angry he sent in someone with a big mouth and he ended up being lynched by the end of the week. And when Vechs attacked his smugglers were caught within three shipments. Evil I could at least understand and possibly make a stab at justifying, as there are two sides to everything, but incompetence I couldn’t stand for.

“But at the very least he was keeping to himself up in that cave.” Thought I.

At that moment we reached the ancient airship dock which was currently undergoing some obvious renovations. The testificate slaves were spread out all over it, polishing; hammering and sawing various things in their usual rather gormless way.

Kay told him the little vegetables were getting smarter, but I didn’t see it myself.

Out on the pier were a number of people.

Of the Brotherhood Ubi stood attentively, with posture forced out of his usual animalistic slouch and his hands held behind his back. With him were a small host of initiates. Wolves’ Vangaardians were waiting dutifully, wearing ceremonial suits of red and gold. Some of the few remaining Ghosts were waiting for Viral with a strait-jacket. Because fate’s a stand-up comedian Carsey was of course waiting there, waving frenetically at the ship, alone and unarmed.

And of course Ryan and the moderators stood dutifully, like the ever-watching sentinels of the sky. All were armoured thickly. No more silken robes and outfits and attempts to keep the situation calm through feigned apathy. Now there were only the needs for solidarity and victory. And by Notch the people needed a solid base to lean on.

Ryan stepped forward, grinning and looking particularly pleased with himself. Gone was the bureaucrat we had seen not long ago. All that remained was the power that had stopped the Gaians and Brotherhood from killing each other within the halls on the eve of the Overlord’s fall.

“Hail friend.” He called as the gang-plank fell down. “Where is our fair Administrator?”

“He’s down below deck speaking to our poorly king.” Secret interjected, appearing at my side.

“How fares he.”

“He holds well Moderator. He gave us a nasty fright but it seems he’ll recover thanks to Cossack’s efforts.”

“That’s good to hear. Thank you General.”

“Actually sir, I have forfeited that title. I deemed myself unfit and gave it to my compatriot here.” The copper-haired man gestured to me.

“Really now?” Ryan seemed to hold a mixture of elation and surprise. “My utmost congratulations Aaron. I trust your tenure will be long and prosperous.”

“And yours.” I said accidentally.

“What do you-“ Ryan started but was interrupted.

From below the deck Void emerged with an honour guard. Following him closely were Komplex, Vacar and Atreidon, all armed to the teeth and wearing the same armour they’d worn on the night they’d fought Herobrine. These men took no shame in the scars of their armour, for they had fought Jeb’s mightiest general and they had survived. Nothing else that could prise itself out of the pits of the Nether could provide any greater threat. They were the immortal. The indestructable.

Void stepped out and stared around at those assembled. And then he held his staff firmly. Before him appeared a great shimmering of the air and in all reflective surfaces in the city his likeness rippled.

“Gaians; men of the Brotherhood; Priests of Arcation; Selvans; Librarians of Woobly; Legionnaires; Vangaardians; Ghosts; all those who I speak not of and may not even know, but still gather under our banner… I thank you. You sacrifice much by coming here. We face our own gods in this war. We sacrifice all we know in the name of truth and justice. Though times shall grow hard, and it may seem hope is only a delusion, take the example of these men on this ship.
“Behind me stand the three men who thought Herobrine himself and lived. They duelled him and lost, but yet they stand here before you stronger than ever. Or take the king of the Gaians who own this very ship I stand upon. He has come back from an incurable condition. I just spoke to him there and he lives, and breaths, and by Jeb within two months he’ll be back and ready to fight our foes tooth and nail. No failure is fatal. We can all recover, and by God we shall. Stand strong my brothers, and ready for war.”

And with that the men broke out in raucous applause, but before anyone could stop him to congratulate him he had swept off the ship with his guard and was conversing with Ryan, formulating their strategies and discussing the state of affairs. Seeing that Vacar was among them Gogyst followed suit.

“Isn’t he talkative?” Pi remarked, joining myself after Secret departed to look for Small.

“He’s a busy man.” I excused.

“I know, but you’d think he could halt a minute to thank us for our hospitality or some treacle like that.”

“He could, but he didn’t. He has more pressing issues to attend to. For all we know Dom could be just on the horizon now.”

“Fair enough.”

And so the pair of us abandoned this course of conversation and began to jest as the various important characters left. Tauto and his Brothers were the first to leave, doing so courteously and with genuine warmth. Then Wolves and Viral descended from their bickering at the steering wheel and the pair departed too. Viral inserted himself into a strait-jacket and trolley and Wolves into a wheel-chair as he began to smoke from a large pipe. Bird and Thomas emerged, the former withdrawn and quiet, whilst the latter seemed bubbly and enthusiastic. I had taken some time to get to know them, and while Bird was a closed book, Thomas was friendly and outgoing. Pi and I had grown quite fond of the young man and already counted him as a close friend. Secret and Small decided to leave with Bokane for a drink, leaving ourselves, Cossack, Key and Kay the only major officers left on the ship.

Then Brit and Gracey emerged, looking determined.

“What has you two looking so energetic?” Pi probed.

“Kay wants us searching the city for the Silhouette.” Brit responded proudly. “I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I discovered the existence of some sort of network, and this is the first time I’ve been given the leeway to do so uninterrupted without starving to death.”

This was without mentioning that Brit had known of the Silhouette’s existence for approximately two months at most.

“It’s a bit of a dream of his to hunt a massive enigmatic crime boss who wears a mask and may or may not exist for a living since he was a boy. It was an oddly specific dream then and it’s even more bizarre now.” Gracey prodded with levity.

“Well, we wish you the best of luck. Hopefully you’ll finish in time to make it to the front lines so that you can die with the rest of us.” I retorted.

The four laughed and the duo departed, and then at last something of note happened.

Carsey had been pulled away from the ship beforehand by Void’s crowd, likely wanting to make his presence known. Now, he was bumbling rather awkwardly up the gangplank towards them, waving rigidly.

He was a man of medium stature and build, with shoulders sloped slightly inwards. His hair was blond and his face moderately youthful. His clothes were no longer those of a nobleman, and were instead exchanged for the rags of a peasant.

“Hello Aaron.” He nervously laughed. “I’m here to pay my respects to your King. It’s good to see you after so long.”
I eyed him warily but completely silently. Pi looked like he was about to say something but then remembered some of my reminiscing and stopped. Then, I decided that I might as well bring him down, and the three of us descended in dead silence.

Cossack’s Perspective

In fact, scratch that. Cossack was bloody amazed that he was able to get around as easily as he did.

But, nonetheless he’d managed to sneak off of the boat without Aaron or the others noticing, and from there he’d followed Walt to a local bar where he was due to meet with Tejmin and was readying to enlist some more men to his cause.

The two were sitting bantering rather uncomfortably in the busy pub, occasionally taking a small sip of their tankards. The two were not a usual pairing in their circles. Usually Tejmin would hang around with Key and a few of their old lot from the days when they were hiding from the Brotherhood. However, he was also very devoted to his job and incredibly ambitious, seeking to work his way on to the council through grit and determination.

Walt was something of a workaholic most of the time, treating his business (and it’s duties to Gaia’s domain) with the same devotion and care he might his own child. When he was prised away from his work he became almost recklessly adventurous, overachieving and some might even say prone to sporadic bursts of eccentricity. As such people were ignored by him when he was busy, and they were almost terrified by him when he was without work. One moment he would be calm, subdued and not have much to say; the next he would devise a plan for just about every eventuality with shocking zeal.

Cossack then marched forward as genially and as laxly as possible walked up to the two and announced himself.

“Hello gents.” Cossack was grinning almost uncharacteristically.

The captain of the guard picked up on his cue, stood up and made a show of seeing and greeting him, as if the two were incredibly close friends who hadn’t seen each other in months as opposed to 5 weeks. Give the impression that this was just a friendly reunion in a crowded bar in which few people seemed to know them.

Walt took a few seconds to catch on but also made a huge show of asking him where he’d been to, what he’d been up to, and finally gesturing for him to sit beside him.

Within the space of a few minutes the three of them had resolved to ask for a private room upstairs, gotten thrown out when complaining about the price and were forced to stand out in a secluded alleyway as the snow bore down around them, standing within the doorway of a soup kitchen, sipping carefully from their bowls.

“So Coss, what do you want us for.” Tejmin inquired, he and Walt both grinning like schoolboys at the antics of the past few minutes.

“Kay feels that he let the Brotherhood off too easy after the Nether Highway. He’s contemplating seeking some sort of retribution considering the Brotherhood’s distinct lack of human casualties compared to the cost to Gaian life. He’s assembling a special… let’s call it a think tank to figure out an amicable resolution.”

Walt and Tejmin looked at each other, faces somewhat more dour.

“I assume you want a permanent solution to the problem.” Walt pried.

“Naturally.”

“I have no objections to this think tank whatsoever Cossack. The issue of the Brotherhood was never quite resolved to me. Reparations ought to be sought.” Tejmin added after a small pause.

Cossack had had been fairly certain that this one would be easy to convince. He hated the Brotherhood just as much as Kay or Gogyst, the same went for Key. However, he was certain he’d have had to bring up the involvement of Tejmin’s friend; he’d recruited Key several weeks ago with complete ease. Cossack had thought Tejmin, despite his ambition, to be something of a lackey, awaiting orders from a higher power before he made decisions.

This decisiveness displayed a good deal of initiative on the part of the new captain. He was willing to seize onto opportunities outside his usual duties in order to better himself. Cossack noted that well.

“Well, who else is involved?” Walt asked.

“There’s a small circle of us. I’ll say that with you it would bring our numbers into the double digits.” Lied the banker.

Walt deliberated for a minute. He had only quite recently immigrated to the Vanilla Craft at the time of the Nether Highway, and it was only a few days before the aforementioned battle that he settled and established Walthampton. He’d never had the chance to know those who died and he had only been half-aware of the Kingdom of Gaia’s existence.

As such he had absolutely no feud with the Brotherhood beyond a third party objection to their activities as described by Kay. However, he was still loyal to the Gaians, viewing them as family more than employers.
And so Walt silently nodded his assent, with a look that told Cossack all he needed to know.

The banker smirked, ingratiated. “I’ll be in touch fellows. Until then.”

And with that grabbed an umbrella from within the doorway of the soup kitchen, and ran off through the increasingly thick storm. Within a few seconds, all that there was to hint at his being there was a vague greyish spectre gliding away from them. Then that was consumed by the growing sea of flakes and all that remaining were the footprints of the banker. Then before they could be registered, his foosteps filled in as they had formed, as if nature had decided to revoke its claim upon their tainted purpose and erase them from being.

Kay’s Perspective

Before the attack Dominus had declared war after sending Raven and a number of others into The Brotherhood’s territory (jokingly called THP-land by all) to slaughter their Testificate slave force. One of the first actions I disagreed with him on. To make matters worse he did this without the approval of his Kings, and only told them about it very publicly the next day whilst formally declaring war.

Why had he done this? A number of fairly justifiable reasons. The contract of protection they had with The Brotherhood was bleeding the Realm dry and soon poverty would have become widespread. Also, the Brotherhood seemed to have grown bored of their position of importance and were being rather selective about those raids they showed up in time to stop, as well as accidentally butchering the occasional caravan from the Kingdom of Britain. War was becoming inevitable.

What I couldn’t explain was why Dominus started it at the worst possible time. His Imperial Guard had grown complacent and slovenly and he’d made no effort to raise them out of this slumber. The Kings were told little to nothing beforehand, and the only ones with a standing army were Jiibrael and the (then-king of Rome) Bebe. And Bebe only had any form of army because he’d killed his predecessor quite recently and was still hunting down those loyal to him. Anything else was either informal (such as Epsilon and his hunting party), or down to individuals (such as Legend, who was the sole guardian of his kingdom at the time). In fact, the only ones Dominus seemed to have told were Raven, his bodyguards, Trivius, Fedwin and Astro (whom he had gathering gunpowder for him).
The Brotherhood’s soldiers were all within the capitol of the Realm within 24 hours of the attack on their villages. None were in uniform and were spread out across the city in various small groups.

When Dominus made his declaration of war, Komplex retaliated quite slowly by Brotherhood standards. He sent Ubi to the White Tower, where Dominus had retreated to with a small group of his advisors. Ubi defeated Dominus swiftly along with his advisors and the Brotherhood packs across the Capitol shattered the lax defences of the Realm with complete ease, sustaining minimal casualties (only 10 deaths, six of which were not permanent). They then seized control of the Citadel for the next 24 hours until Beat (before he joined the Brotherhood) arrived with Epsilon, Astro and a small force of others to drive them off.

And so that war had begun. So similarly to the current predicament, with Dominus striking long before he had prepared. And hopefully unlike the previous war, this would end with Dominus losing outright.

Then the door opened and in stepped Aaron, Key, Pi and a face he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Hello Carsey.” Said I suspiciously, analysing the moderator.

“Hello Kay.” He responded with an awkward and stilted manner, pausing bizarrely between words. “I just came over from my encampment… to say hello. I heard you ran into some difficulty since we last met, so I rushed to help an old friend and…”

I was already tired of his nonsense and he hadn’t even gotten 6 sentences in.

“I’ll stop you there Carsey. Firstly, we never were friends. You burned down Aaron’s house, helped to imprison me in a Divine prison and last time I saw you I tried to behead you and you tried to break my neck. In fact, as they carried you away you swore that you “would never let this pass”. This is without mentioning that even before that you constantly brushed me off as a nuisance and I made it plain that I thought you were a pompous oaf.”

It was blunt, brutal and effective. I allowed it to sink in a moment, relishing the dumbfounded look on Carsey’s face and Aaron’s desperate attempts to choke back his laughter.

“The reason you came is that you want payback against Jeb for his stripping of your freedom. And perhaps if we’re right and Dominus is exposed for the treasonous coward he is you’ll be pardoned for killing as many Divines as you could.” I paused again. “And I’m perfectly fine with that. While I have a gripe with profiteering desperate times call for unlikely allies. Welcome to the cause and thank you for your concern.”

And with that Carsey offered his thanks before Key and Pi escorted him from the room. Only Aaron remained.
“So, you seem to be back on form.” Asked my friend.

“All I needed were a few weeks of being semi-comatose and some poetry!”

“Ha!” Aaron made to clap me on the shoulder but reconsidered at the last minute. “It’ll be good to have you back. With any luck you’ll be back before Dominus shows his face.”

“Here’s hoping. I honestly feel fine now, and could probably be done in another two weeks. but Cossack is insistent that I remain in bed for at least ten weeks.”

“He only means the best.” Aaron allowed, in a rare concession to Cossack.

“I know that Aaron. I just feel he’s being somewhat over-cautious here.”

The two of us ceased talking in an awkward but contented silence.

“Anyway, I’d best make sure everyone’s arrived okay.” Aaron grinned. “Glad to see that you’re sane again.”

And with that Aaron left, and under my breath I muttered, “Don’t you worry. I’m saner than I’ve ever been.”