The mortal world shook as Sorin took a step through the void, using the sheer might of his body to ignore the rampaging restrictions of space and time. He crossed half the human portion of Olympia in a fraction of a second without the use of skills or flexing his nascent authority.

  He appeared above the Riss Clan like a furious deity pondering how to mete out judgement. Five demigods flew up to greet him alongside their host of Flesh-Sanctification cultivators in military uniform.

  Sorin felt a faint probe from the direction of the Kepler Clan, but it pulled back as he lashed out in irritation. The Kepler Clan’s judgement would wait. The Riss Clan came first.

  “Sorin Abberjay Kepler,” said Benjamin Riss as he flew up from the compound alongside Andre Phoenix, his loyal God Seed of Phobos. The two were much strengthened, and Benjamin Riss had unsurprisingly broken through to the demigod realm through the many conflicts he’d sparked during Sorin’s seclusion.

  “I was willing to turn a blind eye to certain things,” Sorin said softly as he scanned Riss Clan’s ancestral manor. His eyes pierced through the earth to reveal nine mausoleums, each one containing a hundred soldiers in uniform. They’d been puppetized in life so that they retained much of their former capabilities even after their minds had been extinguished.

  “The stoking of conflict, the paving of your path to ascension. Even your contribution to the array that kept me confined in Universitas Phantasia while the Wise One tried to possess me. These things I could forgive. This, however, has crossed the line.

  A tenth mausoleum had just been erected. The centurions were being prepared for puppetization. They were barbarian slaves, bought recently at Daphne’s newly established black market, something he’d warned her against doing. A specific individual had been chosen as the leader of the hundred: Fenrig.

  Sorin’s hand reached out and pierced through the many layers of protection around the mausoleum. A hole opened up in the either, from which flew Fenrig and his companions. No traces of their captors or the puppet artisans remained.

  “You think you can just waltz up to our manor and pass judgement?” inquired a calm Andre Phoenix. “You might be an unusually powerful God Seed, but in the end, that’s all you are. Before an Olympian God Seed, you are nothing. The only reason you weren’t instantly annihilated by Michael for insubordination is that he had other things to worry about. Now, I suggest you beg for mercy before—”

  A sharp movement from Benjamin Riss cut him off. “Go ahead, Sorin. Tell me what mistakes I made.”

  “The first mistake was to target Fenrig,” said Sorin. “He’s a dear companion of mine, and I wouldn’t let anyone bully him for any reason.”

  His eyes then pierced into the forges and workshops of the Riss Clan and picked out a specific section of the workshop reserved for prisoners. Their shackles melted with a single thought on Sorin’s part. A second thought whisked them through space and brought them to his side.

  Old Man Sanderson was included in the group, as was his son. “People say its my talent for leatherworking that’s kept me independent for so long,” said the old man, “but I’ve always maintained that it’s my eye for talent and people of good characters.”

  “Don’t let him off easily,” said the old man’s son. “Many talented craftsmen have been worked to death by his fell hands.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Sorin. He turned back to the frowning Benjamin Riss. “The second mistake was of course to target Mr. Sanderson. He and his sons have been instrumental in my development. I gave them my word that I would protect them, and you just had to capture them during my absence. Our conflict was unavoidable at this point.

  “As for the third mistake, it’s naturally this whole slave trade business. Karma leads back to the Phoenix Clan, but a more subtle thread leads back to you and the Riss Clan.

  “While I must admit that it makes for good synergy—Your people fight on the front lines and capture slaves and you ensure some of your allies ‘fall in battle’—the trade is utterly repulsive. It’s a tumor on Pandora’s face that should be excised.

  The smile on Benjamin Riss’s face didn’t slip. “That’s an odd sentiment, especially coming form a Kepler,” said the God Seed of Ares. “Especially given how many slaves your clan has bought from the Golden Circle over the past four centuries.

  “I dare say that when it comes to high potential cultivators in the Flesh-Sanctification Realm, the Kepler Clan has been by far my biggest customer. Only the Hyde Clan can compare in that regard, and they’ve crafted thousands of Flesh-Sanctification puppets from our wares.”

  “I’m now very much aware of the transactions between my clan and your own,” interrupted Sorin. “And rest assured that they will not be spared from judgement. But first, let’s settle the matter here.”

  Benjamin smile faded. “What do you want, Sorin?”

  Sorin raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m here to extort you? Far from it, Ares. And yes, I can see through your cleverly concealed lie. It wasn’t just Aaron and Ratten who retained your memories. Underworld Clans aside, there were three others, all Olympians. Poseidon and Appollo also survived by passing on their consciousness through their inheritors. The Athena almost managed to awaken, but alas, her faith in her son was misplaced, and a key fragment of her authority was whisked away before she could make a proper comeback.”

  Benjamin shrugged. “We were smart enough to endure when the other gods weren’t. Who can blame us for escaping when gods were being slaughtered wholesale.”

  “On that, I am in agreement,” said Sorin. “It’s why I don’t care that Madeline is currently fusing with Hope, and Michael is currently slaying the Heralds of Death and Disease to pave his path to ascension.”

  Sorin took a step forward, and the Flesh-Sanctification cultivators from the Riss Clan and their vassals melted without warning. The demigods of the Riss and Phobos, and Payne Clans saw their strength plummet with the loss of their supporting troops.

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  Tarnished needles manifested around Sorin and shot out towards these weakened individuals, but an Aegis manifested around them, belonging the lethal attack. It was naturally Athena’s Aegis, which Benjamin had plundered.

  A poisonous aura rose up from Sorin and was met by an aura of Strife and War. Past, present, and future conflicts instigated by the former deity converged to form an intricate web of karma that empowered him across time and space.

  “I understand that you’re upset, young man, but you need to understand that individuals have limits,” said Benjamin—no, Ares, in a much older voice. “War and conflict, on the other hand, are limitless. Life and Death are in balance, but the pile of body and fell karma grows, as does my legend. A legend that has endured the Cataclysmic Emergence and continues to this day.”

  His words provoked a reaction from the nine completed mausoleums. A golden light poured into the puppet soldiers, which in turn activated and returned a much stronger stream of golden light. The God of War and his armies were one.

  With those nine groups as the core, the web further expanded to encompass the common foot soldiers of the Riss Clan and every military group the God of War had ever commanded.

  It was the same for Andre Phoenix. The God Seed’s eyes lost their luster as his power joined with Ares’s. A similar phenomenon started to happen when Ares reached out to Messa Payne, but surprisingly, the connection was severed for it could be properly established.

  “I should have known she’d find a way out of our bargain,” muttered Ares. “No matter. This should be more than enough to cut down a welp who hasn’t ignited his God Fire.”

  Sorin snorted as he sent a wave of poison to batter the Aegis. Most of it scattered, but a few spots of corruption took root in the legendary item and worked their way into its weak points via karma.

  Ares immediately noticed what was happening decisively cut off his connection to the artifact. He frowned, however, when the corruption continued to invade him and his host.

  “It’s like you said,” said Sorin, his strength mounting as life force was leached out of these individuals and poured into his enhanced flesh. “Individuals are limited. Groups are limitless. This, of course, includes the weaknesses they introduce. The karmic defences you’ve enacted to hide these weaknesses are impressive, but in the end, all it takes is one tiny deficiency for rot and poison to take hold.”

  Ares brought his hand up to his mouth and let out a wet cough. He pulled it back to reveal a small puddle of black blood. “This shouldn’t be possible. Poison is a limited domain, one that is completely inferior to War and Conflict.” The soldiers around him, the enslaved God Seed of Phobos, and the demigods of the Riss Clan let out similar wet coughs.

  “My domain is currently influx, so I cannot yet name it,” said Sorin. “Just know that my Hubris knows no bounds, and isn’t limited by the common definition of poison.” A flick of Sorin’s sleeve revealed his true nature. Ares’s eyes widened when the realized what he’d done.

  “Uniting the nine?!” spat Ares. “That’s a dead path that countless gods once pursued. Even the most powerful among us, @#($*#& and @##($*^&% failed to incorporate these ancient forces. Their nature is naturally unstable and incompatible. It can only be inherited form a pure source.”

  “Unstable it may be, but weak it is not,” said Sorin. “And just because no one has succeeded before, it doesn’t mean I won’t.”

  “I see Hubris has gotten the better of you,” said Ares wryly. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to spare a few of my descendants?”

  Sorin chuckled. “I don’t think I’ll be leaving behind any whelps of your bloodline for you to possess. Attune and Expand!”

  The bulk of the Riss, Phoenix, and Payne clans forces were now infected by Sorin’s poisons, but this was insufficient to prevent Ares’s resurrection. Karma was a force to be reckoned with, and Ares’s mastery of it was such that any direct bloodline descendent could serve as a potential staging point.

  To that end, Sorin attuned his poisons to be effective only against those containing a smidgeon of the God of War’s bloodline. He used karmic entanglements to spread the poison throughout pandora like a plague. Millions of mortals and cultivators bearing the Ares bloodline perished in only a few seconds. This included no small number of myths.

  “You’re a monster, Sorin,” said Ares coldly. “You condemn me for the slave trade, but you just killed millions of mortals without blinking.”

  “Perhaps,” said Sorin with a shrug. “But I think that indirectly, you’re the far greater monster. Tens of billions have died due to your most recent machinations and would continue to do so. It’s not for the slave trade that you need to die, Ares, but for your harmful and counterproductive nature.”

  Sorin summoned Nemesis in scalpel form and sliced the air around Ares, cutting him off from his karmic web. “You think this means anything?” spoke Ares. “Strife and War are necessary. I might perish, but a God of War will eventually return.”

  “This, I admit,” said Sorin as his poisons continued attacking the soldiers of the mausoleum, Andre Phoenix, and the demigods from the Riss, Phoenix, and Payne clans. “But this power is too dangerous in experienced and ambitious hands. War and conflict encompass change, and that includes changes in leadership. You managed to skirt this matter by playing general and nominating figureheads as leaders, but in the end, you can’t fool karma. This moment was thousands of years in the making.”

  Sorin reached out and touched a finger on the God of War, injecting a tiny stream of his most potent corruption into the man’s. He immediately recognized the suit as ancient regalia. The armor Mr. Sanderson and his son had been forging were merely for the puppet soldiers in the mausoleum to facilitate the activation of the power artifact.

  Ares’s body contorted as his regalia was invaded and denatured. The armor, a representation of his nature and authority, turned against him, effectively becoming a potent poison that ate away at the once-deity from the inside out.

  The damage went beyond physical and even corrupted the karmic web he’d so carefully weaved. The flames of war he’d fanned winked out. Tens of thousands of groups suddenly realized the extent of his manipulation and took a step back.

  The powerhouses of the Riss, Messa, and Payne Clans perished. Fenrig, whom Sorin had let down onto the ground alongside his clansmen, fell to his knees, weeping with joy.

  The God of War faded from memory as he lost the last of his karmic supports, crushed by the weight of his own Authority like a beached whale.

  There would be a power vacuum. There would be conflict and war just the same. But Sorin hoped that for a short while, Pandora would be just a little more peaceful. Just a little more right.

  His gruesome business finished, Sorin let out a sigh and turned towards a pocket of void not far away from the main battlefield. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” From the void pocket stepped out Daphne and Messa Payne, evidently business partners. “Daphne, given our past relationship, I can turn a blind eye to your most recent transactions. In exchange, all our past debts are wiped free. If you continue such dealings, however, I’ll be forced to act. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” said Daphne. “Our cooperation is over. Our debts are cleared.”

  “As for you, Messa Payne, your situation is quite dire,” said Sorin. “Your last-minute betrayal doesn’t wipe out all the harm you’ve done and the harm you intend to do.”

  Messa smiled despite the tarnished needles arrayed against her. “Fighting isn’t the only way to solve problems, Sorin. Why don’t we make a deal instead?”

  “Oh?” said Sorin, stepping through space until he was right in front of Mesa. “And what exactly do you intend to bargain with? I don’t imagine you are in possession of anything that would be useful to me.”

  “Oh well,” said Messa with a fake sigh. “It was worth a shot. It was na?ve of me to think that you cared to know the origin of that special ingredient in the Death Tinctures and how it relates Gabriella Michka.”

  Sorin’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.” His murderous aura mounted as her words all but confirmed his suspicions.

  “Not without a contract, I won’t,” said Messa, procuring a golden document. “And by the way, I suggest that you hurry. Gabriella is doubtless exhausted from all her hard work. It won’t be long now before she passes on. Just like her predecessors.”