The sound of clamoring tools echoed around Slate as he focused on retrofitting his Peacekeepers. The golems forming a line all the way out of the basement workshop and up winding through the temple above.

  You should add on something with barbs, really enhance the pain, his Passenger thought to him.

  Good idea. Perhaps the crossbow augmentation should use barbed bolts, Slate thought back. He smirked and continued to pound away and use molten metal cupped with his hands to adjust the long line of constructs. You do know me pretty well. Perhaps on a second round of constructs… These ones can be for permanent defense at the gates, and I make a different batch of more friendly looking Peacekeepers for the city interior.

  Lots of busy work. I don’t envy you for that.

  What do you do when you’re not talking to me? Just watching silently?

  The Passenger chuckled, I can choose to enter a dormant state with a set trigger to be awakened. If I had to be a silent observer all the time, I would definitely be bugging you more. But since you’re a god I don’t want to piss you off.

  Smart decision. Slate stood and stretched as he glanced at the doorways at the back of the workshop. What race do you want your body to be? Since I just have the basic components, I can really customize at this point.

  I get to pick? Well...Female would be preferred. And I like being cunning, so I think Ogo would be my choice.

  You’re female? I thought you were male.

  I’m a Demon. I can be whatever I want - if I wasn’t trapped that is.

  Slate resumed his work and within a few hours had finished retrofitting all of the Peacekeepers, sending them to occupy the space in front of the gates; one-thousand strong. Covered in articulated metal plates, outfitted with integrated weaponry. A force to be reckoned with.

  True, but how will they stand up to a god of war?

  I’m not sure. Slate walked over to his chemistry lab and began to mix various chemicals. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out what I could do to prevent him from using my own blood against me. The best I’ve come up with is a concoction that, when ingested, stops blood flow entirely. He slammed his palms on the table and sighed in exasperation, But that doesn’t fix the issue that I need blood to pump to stay conscious.

  ...I have an idea. It’s a stretch, but it’s worth a try.

  Slate stared at the mirror above the workstation, Let’s hear it then.

  Isaac can project his consciousness to an afterlife, yes? Why couldn’t you do the same to one of your constructs?

  This wouldn’t be a ploy to take over my body now would it?

  Oh come now, I thought we were past that. You’re getting me a tailor made body to my specifications - why would I risk that?

  Well, I suppose it's worth a shot. Slate went to a nearby stool and sat down, concentrating his mind to the task of transporting his consciousness to one of his Peacekeepers. He channeled the heat within and felt it course up his body and into his mind, feeling a searing headache as his vision went white.

  Slate’s vision adjusted; everything was in black and white - no shades of color. He looked to his left and saw a row of Peacekeepers outside of the city wall, standing resolute. He looked down and raised an arm - the integrated Morningstar rising as he did so. He willed himself to return to his body. He gasped as he came back to, leaning over and retching on the floor for a moment before wiping the sick from his mouth. By The Void, you’re right.

  There’s your answer then. When the god of war comes, go into your Titansteel Defender and use it to fight. No blood, and as you said it is nearly indestructible save for other Divine Metals.

  Did you get a good look at his sword? I was too far away to determine what the composition was.

  The Passenger paused for a moment, No. Sorry.

  Well, I think we are about as prepared as we can be. Slate flicked a hand as a mop and bucket nearby came to life and cleaned up the mess on the floor. He went to the back-left door of his workshop and opened the complicated lock, spending a few hours tinkering with the composition and adding ingredients to the tube filled with bubbling liquid - an infant form beginning to take shape from the raw materials. Slate channeled his heat into the tube as the creature changed slightly, accommodating his Passenger’s desires of design. Satisfied with his progress, he closed the door and left his workshop locking it up behind. Exiting his temple he saw Isaac sitting on a bench, slouched over, in the center of the district. He must be visiting Willow.

  It can’t be healthy leaving one’s body for long periods.

  ...If it becomes a problem we’ll address it. For now let him have his time with his lost lover. Slate began walking towards the residential district, I don’t think he is fully gone when he does that. He reacted to me when I shook him out of it the first time. It’s more of a projection rather than a full transfer.

  I wonder...could you extract a consciousness like you will be extracting me, and put it into an artificial form?

  Slate frowned as he ran a hand through his beard in contemplation, That’s a question for Kalinor. I’ve heard of mages trapping the soul of a victim to siphon Quintessence from for using spells. But it’s outlawed.

  Think of it Slate, you could take the sick, the dying, and forever deny them afterlife, instead constantly reincarnating them into a new body.

  I’m sure the upper class would pay handsomely for it. Effective immortality, if it could be done. Slate shook his head, But so many of the ills of this world come from the love of wealth and older generations falling out of touch. Just look at what’s happening in the Essence Isles - the older ministers are dying and younger citizens are stepping into their roles. It’s becoming even more of a utopia…all things should die, in time.

  Even gods?

  Slate didn't respond, arriving at the ivy covered building and going inside, instantly being hit with the smell of freshly prepared food; a warm, inviting meal. Yvilli was sitting at the table eating with the children. She waved as he entered, and the children ran over and hugged his legs.

  "Professor, we missed you!" Mary said.

  "I learned how to make spells!" Matthew said.

  Slate chuckled and knelt down to hug them, "So you liked having Kalinor showing you some new things?"

  Both of the children nodded, "But he wouldn’t show us the big flashy spells, and we still had to do numbers stuff," Matthew said with a pouting expression.

  Slate grinned, "You have to know the basics. And arithmetic is important also."

  Mary went back to the table and continued eating.

  "Kalinor told them that in mage college they only learn refined spellcraft. I think that’s what Matthew is referring to; a lack of regular schooling in favor of spell tutelage," Yvilli said.

  Slate picked the boy up and put him back at the table, taking a seat himself as Yvilli poured him a bowl of a delicious smelling soup, "Is that so?" He looked at Matthew, "That might be what normal mages do. But you and Mary are my students. And I want the best of both worlds for you." He tussled Matthew’s hair as the boy nodded sullenly and slurped his soup.

  The meal finished in short order and Slate took the children upstairs to their bedroom, telling them a story about Amalayn the Tactician - who commanded the Imperial Legions before the reforming to The Holy Empire - combining history into the tales of the legendary warrior.

  "...And then, when The Empire changed, Amalayn retired. He made The Adventurer’s Guild and even talked to the Artificial Gods!"

  "What’s an Adventurer?" Mary asked. "Is it like a smith?"

  "Well, an Adventurer is someone who is brave, talented, or even foolish - who risks their life and safety to make a living."

  "How do you become one?" Matthew asked.

  Slate ran a hand through his beard, "Technically anyone can become one. It’s dangerous. However…" Slate grinned, "It will be your choice"

  Mary and Matthew looked at each other before looking at Slate. Slate smiled, "You two are destined for great things. You’re being taught by a god!" He knelt down so his head was at their level as they lay curled up in their blankets, "You are going to do great things in Heimfold. You’re going to be the smartest people around, able to use spells, and I plan on getting a friend to teach you how to fight as well." He smiled and stood, "And when you turn twelve, you can decide if you want to become an Adventurer, go to an academy, or even attend a mage college." He stood and tucked them both in, "You could even decide to become a crafter! Like a smith." He waved his hand over the lantern hanging from the wall as it dimmed to a dull orange.

  "Professor, I want to be a pirate!" Matthew said.

  "Now where did you learn about pirates?" Slate asked.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Mr. Goldy told us a story about them." Matthew replied.

  Slate chuckled, "Piracy is dangerous. So you better pay attention to all of your lessons. But, when you’re old enough, you can decide your own future."

  He closed the door gently behind him to find Yvilli standing in the hallway with an eyebrow raised. "You’re going to let them become whatever they want?" She asked.

  Slate nodded, "Of course. I had the choice of following in my family’s footsteps, or going to an academy." He walked past her and down the stairs, "I want them to have every option open to them. No limits to what they decide to do."

  Yvilli followed him down the stairs and into the main room, sitting on a couch as Slate took a seat across from her. "You are really going to let them decide?" She asked.

  "Why not?" Slate leaned back and kicked his feet up on the small table. "I think that every creature across Heimfold should be placed on an equal footing. I mean - the mage thing is a crapshoot. But the rest?" He paused and looked at Yvilli, "A person should not be limited by the circumstances of their birth. Money shouldn’t matter to a child; give them all the exact same chances to succeed in the world in the manner they choose...that’s my philosophy on it, at least."

  Yvilli frowned, "So you would eliminate class structure? A novel idea, but one I don’t think many would agree to."

  Slate ran a hand through his hair, "I don’t expect to enforce that desire on all of Heimfold. But here, in Bastion, I plan on employing teachers, mages, crafters, mercenaries...every child in the city should have the same curriculum."

  "So you’re going to enforce a social contract among the populace? That won’t be popular with parents."

  Slate shrugged, "I’m a god. And this is my city also. If they don’t like it, they can leave."

  She looked at him sternly, "You know I consider these children as if they are my own...for now. I don’t view them as just things to be taken care of."

  Slate frowned, "I didn’t know that… But it is comforting to know that you feel that way. Are you going to resist my plans for them?"

  She nodded, "I will push them towards something safer than piracy."

  Slate smiled and stood, "I was expecting that. Hoping for it, in fact. Goodnight, Yvilli. And thank you." He ascended the stairs and went to his room, closing the door and disrobing before going to sleep.

  The next morning came swiftly - the days growing longer as Thawing Season continued. Slate went downstairs, sat down and was joined by Isaac who grunted as he sat heavily in the chair adjacent.

  "I did the thing with the space around Bastion like you asked. I’m still tired from it," Isaac said.

  "That is good. The Peacekeepers are ready to go as well. I also found a way to participate in the fighting without risking my body."

  Isaac nodded, "That is good to hear. When do you anticipate their arrival?"

  Slate stroked his beard, "If they have mounts, they could arrive within five days. Maybe faster depending on what Hanslow can do."

  Isaac nodded, "Any other preparations you can think of?"

  Slate smiled, "I’ve been meaning to descend into the mine for a while now. Care to join me?"

  "What for?" Isaac asked.

  "I used up all the Titansteel that Vythin had acquired previously, but I think there’s more down there. Not just Titansteel...I don’t know, but I just have a feeling that there’s something more under Bastion."

  Isaac kicked his legs up on the table, "I don’t think we should go spelunking. What if Hanslow somehow arrives here earlier? I don’t want to risk warping into an army."

  Slate sighed, "I suppose you’re right. So, we wait then?"

  Isaac nodded, "Yes. We wait."

  The next few days passed uneventfully. Slate continued his lessons with the children in the morning, oversaw their mage practice from Kalinor’s beginner primers, and then in the afternoon they did some light physical training with Isaac. Life fell into a routine. And for the first time in a long time, he felt quite content.

  The peace was not to last though, as on the third day of their arriving back in Bastion, a Peacekeeper ran up to Slate and notified him of a force on the horizon and approaching with speed. Slate grabbed Isaac and ushered Yvilli to take the children to his workshop should the worst happen. The two gods climbed the stairs above the gate to look out. The area where space was distorted was filled with a small force - Hanslow picked up extra men somewhere along the way - as one hundred sat mounted on horses that cantered just out of longbow range. Hanslow could be seen at the front riding a massive warhorse covered in spiked metal barding, his behemoth sword unsheathed as he held it alongside him.

  "Think you’d get away that easily didn’t you?" Hanslow yelled out, his voice echoing across the open field.

  Slate ducked down behind the crenellation, "My body will be here, but my mind will be in a construct. Stay up here and provide supporting fire." Isaac nodded and manifested his bow as he flashed green - several spectral green ballista showing up atop the wall, loaded and primed to fire. Slate focused his heat within and projected his consciousness to the Titansteel Defender; the splitting headache coming on as his vision went white.

  Slate found himself inside of a construct. His vision was once again in shades of black, white, and grey. He stood in the tree portal-hub. Looking down he saw the body of his construct; the dark brown metal streaked with veins of white. He lifted his arms and felt the somewhat rigid range of motion. Excellent. Time to crush a god. Slate turned his new form out and crouched down, squeezing his way out of the tree hub. Arrayed before him was the line of Peacekeepers, all armed and equipped to defend Bastion. He strode to the front of the arrayed forces and spoke, the voice a deep, rumbling series of clicks that roughly formed words.

  "You shall go no further."

  Hanslow rode forward, "Metal contraptions eh? You cheeky bugger. Slate! Get down here! Fight me man to man!"

  "I am here, Hanslow. Right in front of you," The voice was cold, soulless. No emotion came through as he slammed his fists into the ground leaving deep indents. "I am not foolish enough to fight a god that can control my very life essence. You will leave this place or die."

  Hanslow laughed, a mad cackle that echoed across the open ground. His men laughed alongside him as his horse pranced around - eager for battle. "The Red Sparrows never fail a contract! Your head is mine," He pointed his sword up at the wall, "And that of your archer friend, too."

  "Protocol Phalanx. Activate," Slate said. The Peacekeepers arrayed behind him formed a wedge with shields interlocked. Their spiked maces distorted and elongated, becoming long lances which poked out from the interlocked shields. Slate took up a position at the front of the wedge, standing resolutely.

  "If you want my head, come and get it!" Slate said, the voice still monotone but much louder.

  Hanslow raised his sword and a pulse of crimson light went out from him. The men behind him seemed to swell in size, their muscles growing as their armor expanded. Their horses, as well, appeared to become stronger, more muscled - and with thicker hides. That could be problematic, he thought as the line began to charge. Slate felt satisfaction as the horses seemed to gallop forwards but make very limited gain on movement, appearing to run in slow motion.

  Isaac’s miracle worked. Excellent. He looked up and saw the god of projectiles nocking and drawing a green shaft, but was also curious as he saw his own body standing there, holding a heavy crossbow. I suppose as long as it’s not doing harm. He reached down and turned a hidden dial on his right arm; the knob clicking into place as a large blade made of the same Divine Metal popped out from the forearms of his construct form. He heard thuds from behind him as the bolts let loose, the green energy racing outwards and towards the charging line. Several found their mark, but the horses seemed to be supernaturally quick as they dodged the falling barrage. Hanslow deflected one of the bolts aimed at him, raising his arm and bellowing a war cry as he exited the distorted space and approached Slate.

  Slate ran forward to meet him; the constructs behind him flanked and maintained their formation. Hanslow bore down and swung his sword in a long, overhead arc as his steed barreled into the shield wall; the barding taking most of the spear blows. Slate caught the blade on his own as it scraped by and Hanslow cantered around for another charge at the back of the line.

  Slate felt dismay as Hanslow's sword barely dented. Damn. It’s Tempeststeel. That explains why he can wield it with such ease. He moved back to engage and prevent Hanslow from charging the back of his line as his Peacekeepers clashed with the riders - the screams of injured horses and the cries of men in conflict mingling with the crash of steel against steel. Hanslow dismounted his horse seeing Slate approaching, slapping the creature as it began to charge away before a green shaft pierced it through the eye, the beast tumbling to the ground. Hanslow looked up, roaring in anger at Isaac. The god continuing to fire into the main conflict.

  Slate saw his own body on the wall, firing crossbow bolts in a slow methodical fashion as well, but refocused his attention on Hanslow as he flashed with crimson light, his own form swelling in size to rival that of Slate’s construct. Isaac’s arrows pierced into him and some bounced off his armor, but he did not seem to notice or care as he sprinted at Slate, the point of his sword driving forward in a thrust. Slate couldn’t dodge, so he pulled one of his blades in front of him, barely parrying the blow as it skated by. Blood poured out of the swordsman’s wounds and began to pool on the ground, following his footwork in a gory trail of ichor.

  Hanslow used the momentum to spin around and come back at Slate, scoring a large cut along the front of the construct, the weight of the blow forcing Slate to step back. He brought his right arm up and slashed at Hanslow, who deflected the blow with a bracer before he stabbed forward, impaling Slate. Gotcha. Slate hugged Hanslow and pulled him in close, crushing him and feeling ribs snapping. The man screamed and more bolts thudded into his back.

  "I warned you what would happen. Now you will die," The voice once more emotionless, but Slate felt an immense sense of satisfaction at knowing a threat would be gone.

  Hanslow reared his head back and smashed it forward into the construct. The force was so great Slate reeled back and fell over, providing just enough room for Hanslow to slip from his grasp and roll away from the barrage that arced into the ground after him. He was cascading blood which formed a pool under him. He struggled to his feet and smiled as the bolts continued to pierce him, a wild smile of insanity.

  "I’ll be back for you. And that archer!" Hanslow flashed crimson and sank into the pool of blood, vanishing from sight.

  Slate stood up and looked around, seeing Hanslow emerge on the far side of the battlefield from the bloodied corpse of a horse slain during the charge as he ran further north. Looking around Slate saw several of his constructs had been destroyed; torn to bits or hacked into oblivion - but a thousand constructs stood against a force of fifty men. Power can only do so much until numbers overwhelm. He looked up to the wall to see Isaac frowning as he picked off the last few stragglers who were overwhelmed by the Peacekeepers.

  Slate focused on returning to his body and felt himself on the walls once more as he breathed deeply. He glanced over at Isaac, "It would seem we won."

  Isaac, still frowning, waved a hand as the phantom ballista and his own bow disappeared, "We did. But Hanslow got away. He’s a durable son of a bitch."

  Slate nodded, "Yes. and his blade is Tempeststeel. I’ll need to make significant repairs to my constructs."

  Isaac nodded, "Your body kept acting while you were in the Titansteel thing down there. How’d you pull that trick off?"

  "Ah...my Passenger...er, my Demon took control."

  Isaac looked at Slate with concern, "Isn’t that dangerous?"

  Slate shook his head, "He can’t access my heat to perform miracles. I don’t know where he got a crossbow from though."

  Isaac smirked, "I thought it was you asking nicely." Isaac waved his hand and the crossbow disappeared as well.

  I know I agreed not to take over your body without your permission, but I figured I should keep you safe since we both are in here.

  We did agree to that. And whilst I’m not happy you chose to break that agreement, I am grateful to you for doing it. If a situation like this arises again, you have my permission to do that.

  Isaac sighed, "He said something about coming back, didn’t he?"

  Slate nodded and began to descend the stairs yelling out as he did, "Protocol: Repair," as the constructs began to pick up their fallen companions and make their way into the city, the gates closing behind them as they headed towards Slate’s temple.

  The two walked alongside the column. "If he does come back, he’ll bring a larger force. The Red Sparrows are a big mercenary company - the largest in the Siltar Republic. It could take some time for him to marshal a large force, but we should expect it."

  Isaac shook his head in disbelief, "I can’t believe how resilient he is. I sank thirty shots into him and he kept going after you."

  Slate shrugged, "The thrill of battle can drive one to feats of endurance. The drive to survive can force the body beyond limits. Amplify that with the power of a god…" he trailed off and shook his head. "We did learn one thing from him though."

  "What’s that?" Isaac asked.

  "We can use miracles to augment creatures," Slate said with a smile. "This should be fun. Come, you can help me repair the Peacekeepers. And if you have some heat remaining, we can try something." The two continued to Slate’s temple, descending into the workshop, and began a new task.