The icy seal was cold and hard, and while Sorin could melt it, he did so at a glacial pace. The ice defied conventions by forming a nigh-perfect lattice based on the tiny specs of titanic authority squirreled away inside it.

  The stability of the ice only increased as Sorin progressed. Similarly to how the River Styx and had cleansed Sorin’s body during his descent into the Underworld, his powers removed the few imperfections that had wormed their way into the lattice, gradually upgrading the level of the seal’s existence.

  Eventually, Sorin managed to melt away ten percent of the massive ice seal, at which point his progress stopped entirely. Not only was the seal strengthened, but it also shifted to patch up the weaknesses Sorin had painfully introduced.

  Only one thing remained unchanged: the tiny hole leading from the surface to the Underworld Bident.

  ”Hypnos, I’m afraid Hades’s request is impossible to fulfill,” said Sorin after studying the seal for an entire hour. “This crystal is uncorruptible. It’s practically a divine entity now that I’ve washed away its imperfections.”

  Hypnos seemed unsurprised by Sorin’s lack of progress. “I’m not really sure what young master Hades expected; the one who laid this seal did so with a large portion of his essence. A mere elevated human like you won’t be able to scratch it.”

  “And who was it who laid the seal in the first place?” asked Sorin. “It had to be one of the original titans if it’s endured until now.” He didn’t expect an answer to his question and was therefore surprised when Hypnos answered it.

  “Chronos,” whispered Hypnos. “The seal was laid by Chronos, the all-father, before he was slain by his disloyal sons.”

  Sorin whistled as he recalled the family tree that he’d seen at Universitas Phantasia. “Are you saying this seal was laid by the progenitor of most of the Olympian gods? The father of Zeus and Hades, who once ruled Mount Olympus and the Underworld?”

  “The very same,” answered Hypnos. “It was also he who placed a compulsion upon my soul and affixed it to this frustrating chunk of ice.”

  Hypnos’s answer would have been irrelevant if it pertained to mortal matters, but it was quite important since gods were involved. From what he’d gleaned in Universitas Phantasia, authority, like bloodlines, could be inherited. In most cases, this authority would be diluted with each instance of inheritance.

  The River Styx was a prime example of how powerful senior deities could be. As one of the eldest children of an original titan, the river’s powers had endured the fall of the gods. The river had faithfully continued to fulfill its role in ferrying souls and maintaining oaths. Death’s choice to spare the river might have been less a matter of convenience and more a matter of impotence.

  Sorin traced fingers across the icy seal as he pondered this revelation, paying special attention to the tiny tunnel leading to the Underworld Bident. “Hades was able to melt away this tiny tunnel by reclaiming control over a portion of Chronos’s Authority,” he thought out loud. “This tiny tunnel does not ‘belong’ to the seal any longer; it belongs to Hades instead. Maybe I can use my connection to Chronos through Asclepius as an avenue of attack?”

  Sorin’s nine-thousand poison was well-rounded and excellent at exploiting weaknesses. Even so, it was unable to encroach upon the solid structure of the iceberg. It wasn’t that the iceberg didn’t contain weaknesses; instead, it was more like the iceberg refused to move despite Sorin’s attack on its weaknesses.

  Wait. It’s not that it refuses to move, he realized. It’s that nothing can move in proximity of the seal. This applies even to Hades’s tunnel. This is a seal, so its nature isn’t to destroy or defend but to inhibit. In this case, it’s inhibiting time itself.

  Thousands of calculations ran through Sorin’s mind as he considered the implications. The main reason for Hades’s success became obvious: Death was an important aspect of Time. These authorities had considerable overlap, enough for Hades to take advantage of.

  In theory, Sorin could do the same given that he was a descendent of Asclepius. Unfortunately, this was only a small portion of his current identity. The nine corruptions that formed his power base originated from the Nine Evils, which had come after the titans chronologically to fill the power vacuum created by their exile, prior to their return to Pandora.

  There’s also the problem of definition. My authority still doesn’t have a name, and thus far, I’ve been unable to concentrate all my power on a single point.

  To melt the seal, he would have to figure out who he was. It was an issue that his bath in the River Styx could not solve, and arguably the single largest imperfection that plagued Sorin’s person.

  Who am I?

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  Sorin was a physician and an adventurer. He was a son to dead parents. He was an inheritor of Asclepius’s legacy.

  Who am I?

  He was a hero in many ways, but a tyrant in others. Arrogance and Hubris had seeped into his bones, providing him the unyielding core that had shielded him from his treacherous relatives.

  Who am I?

  He was a healer, but also a killer. A physician was slayer of disease and affliction. He was the villain that staved off death, the heretic that murdered convention.

  He was a breaker of chains, a slayer of inhibition.

  He was the embodiment of Nine Evils, an endless font of guided corruption.

  But who am I, really?

  It was this thought that finally brought his attention back to his hands.

  Hands that healed. Hands that killed. The hands of a surgeon that removed what wasn’t needed.

  In these same hands appeared a needle. It morphed into a scalpel, then gloves, and finally, a golden fire that could burn whatever he wished.

  He was multifarious and pointed in his ministrations.

  “If regalia are a manifestation of authority, and you remain unchanged all this time,” muttered Sorin as he looked at his soul-bound treasure, Nemesis, “it’s because you’re that immutable core of my being.

  “You are—we—are Nemesis.”

  Sorin’s acknowledgement of this aspect of his self birthed a spark in the core of his being. It spread like wildfire to every blood cell in his body, followed by every inch of bone and muscle on his body.

  That simple truth fanned the flames of transformation and repurposed the corruption inhabiting Sorin. It gave his corruption—his poisons—the purpose they needed to generate the remaining thousand poisons until finally, ten thousand poisons inhabited his body. A lock shattered, and the poisons collapsed upon themselves to form Nine Evils, and finally, One Authority.

  Now, only a single substance made up Sorin’s body. He was physically perfect and ready to take the next step.

  At the center of his perfect being lay a spark and a pile of kindling in the form of karma. It was the karma he’d sewn with all of humanity by breaking the shackles that bound them.

  A subtle presence descended and urged that spark to ignite the flame within him. It egged him on with promises of power and an important role in the cosmos.

  But Sorin ignored the voice and firmly clamped down on his breakthrough. “Whether or not I ignite my God Fire is up to me to decide,” said Sorin, lashing out at the invisible framework of Pandora. “I am Nemesis. I shall not be bound the whims of this realm.”

  His words provoked a powerful reaction from the realm around him. A pressure descended upon him, locking down his strength. These were the laws of Pandora, useable only by only those it approved of.

  Acceptance was fine. Rejection was also fine.

  “You—what are you?” muttered the spectral guardian of the ice seal.

  “I am Nemesis,” repeated Sorin as he looked upon Hypnos, the elusive core of the ice seal he’d neglected all along. “And I have come to free you.”

  Hypnos froze, but quickly relaxed. “Finally, an end to this nightmarish existence.” A single thought on Sorin’s part severed its connection to the ice seal. The icy mountain cracked as the frozen time on the mountain, no longer tied to Hypnos’s frozen soul, resumed its relentless advance.

  With the loophole closed, Sorin was able to melt away the ice with unprecedented ease. The bident struggled as its connection to its owner was restored.

  As the bident surfaced, so too did a feeling in the core of Sorin’s being. He was Nemesis. An antagonist to all things.

  He was not some puppet to be played with.

  He would decide his own destiny.

  The contract with Hades stated that I free the bident, thought Sorin the bident struggled to free itself. It said nothing about delivery.

  The bident shivered as the last of the ice encasing it fell away and made to fly off to rejoin its owner. Yet before it could pierce the void, Sorin’s hand sliced at the air above the bident, weakening its connection. Sorin touched the object and infused it with pure, untainted Nemesis.

  The bident of Underworld Steel cracked as a power it could not withstand entered its core. A hazy figured appeared above the bident making sharp gestures of warning. Are you sure you want to do this? spoke Ratten’s voice in Sorin’s mind. Such heavy karma isn’t healthy for an up-and-coming god.

  “Whatever deal we might have struck to sever our karma is unrelated to the grudge I bear,” spoke Sorin to the bident.” to the Bident. “If you want to obtain your bident, you’ll have to pay an additional fee.”

  You’re bluffing, said the hazy figure, crossing its arms. He dared Sorin to follow up on his threat.

  “Very well,” said Sorin. Nemesis stirred, and the Bident of the Underworld shattered. Potent Underworld Authority oozed out onto the sea of souls. It no longer bore any connection to Hades.

  That was when he realized that he’d been tricked. By Hades who’d arranged the scenario. By Hypnos, who’d manipulated his emotions. By Gabriella, who was currently picking herself up from the shallow Sea of Souls.

  “You don’t look happy to see me, Sorin,” said Gabriella as she rose out of the water.

  “Why would I be happy to see you when you so clearly colluded with Hades by trapping yourself in this ice seal?” asked Sorin.

  A complicated expression appeared on Gabriella’s face. “You knew?”

  “There were no signs of struggle, no remnant clashes of authority,” answered Sorin. “What’s more, your appearance in the Bloodwood Outpost was too coincidental. It reeks of orchestration and manipulation.” He sighed as he gazed upon Hypnos. “Unfortunately, I didn’t quite understand the depths Hades would go through to be rid of his identity. Tell me, Hypnos, was it worth it? With the Bident gone and your anchor crumbling, you aren’t long for this world.”

  The specter chuckled as he flickered and faded. “I’ve been dead for over four centuries. The only reason I maintained my sanity was to accomplish the final task my true master gave me.”

  “Then go in peace,” said Sorin, flicking his sleeve. The fading phantom of Hypnos dispersed before it could be whisked away by the River Styx.

  He then turned to Gabriella, who had likely always been Persephone. “You owe me an explanation.”

  “I do,” admitted Persephone. “But first, will you allow me to claim the Underworld Authority you just released? The cycle of reincarnation can only endure so long without a vessel to stabilize it.”

  Sorin pondered this for a moment before nodding. “I will allow it. But in exchange, you will tell me everything. Swear it upon the river.”

  “I swear it,” said Gabriella, provoking a response from the slumbering Oceanid. Sorin released his hold on the seeping Underworld Authority and allowed it to enter the perfect host that had been prepared for it.