Blood soaked the streets of First Rite.

  Edmar marched down the alleyways of the winding city, a sprawling cloak of deep maroon disguising his appearance. It rustled in the chill of a gusty morning, and Edmar could see the thin vapour of his breath cling to the frozen air. It sailed upwards, far above the raucous screams and shrieks, before finally dispersing out of sight.

  Try as it might, the cold couldn’t quite penetrate Edmar’s golden fingers. Enos’ gifted form had taken some getting used to, sure, but passive insulation was a handy feature. If not for the cracks denting his metallic skin – the leftovers of a messy ordeal with Remus – traversing the underbelly of First Rite’s dying corpse could have been almost comfortable. The air brushed against the cuts, lowering his body temperature just enough to be an irritant.

  Regardless, the memory brought a smile blossoming on Edmar’s covered face. He could have killed Remus. He’d been only seconds away from tearing the boy limb from limb. Yet leaving him alive was certainly the greater punishment; a more wicked degree of cruelty. Waking up amongst a dead and routed army: Edmar had to suppress a chuckle at the thought. Remus’ mind would splinter under the guilt.

  These days, Edmar didn’t tend to leave the palace chambers unless absolutely necessary. His drugging of Damosh was near completion, and the tension in the city had come to a breaking point. You didn’t need to feel the dread hanging over the looming towers, you could see it in each drop of Ichor paving the roads golden.

  This was, largely, the fault of Divine Ground. One loophole in the mechanism behind that holy protection, meant that the Wealth Clan possessed immense freedom. Freedom they used to cut down and slaughter anyone who deviated from their laws. Or, in how this actually played out, anyone who was accused of going against them. Laws Damosh had amended to be as vague as possible. Effectively, Damosh and his lackeys had the ability to attack anyone, anywhere, at any time – real crime committed or not – and be safe from others doing the same. Self-defence was the only silver lining to this terrible storm. The gods’ had been anxious to add that detail to the pact when writing their ancient codes millenia ago, ignorant still of how the entire thing would be manipulated. Alas, there wasn’t much you could do, after a gang of guards landed the first strike. The system had been rigged against the denizens of First Rite since the very beginning.

  Resistance was impossible. For a full attack on the capital to be unleashed, the Divine Ground under all of their feet would have to be undone. An authority Damosh had possessed since the very beginning of his reign: longer than most people’s parents had been alive. In other words, the sky was more likely to turn purple, than for a siege to ever take place. With the non-real threat of Gold’s Bane stepped on like a bug intruding on their path, Edmar knew the downfall of the city wouldn’t come from the outside, but from within.

  Edmar sighed. All too often, he had to wonder whether his plans were too effective. While his revenge had been completed, any hope for ruling the city as King was long gone.

  First Rite was a casket waiting to be buried. A monarch of skeletons was not a monarch at all. Edmar would find no glory in ruling over a scrapyard.

  Regardless of the hundreds of gallons of blood he’d spilled, and the minor collateral damage of devastating Descent’s capital, Edmar had done it. He had finally reaped revenge from the tender flesh of fate. The last descendant of Maso, his forefather’s betrayer, had been reduced into a shambling, ignorant fool. Edmar’s own lineage may have been slaves to Maso and his offspring for the longest time, but Damosh was now a slave to something much worse: himself.

  Edmar doubted he would even have to worry about killing the man. Sooner or later, the ruined tyrant would stumble into his own grave. That somehow made the victory ever the more sweet. In his wake, Damosh would leave behind a city gutted to the bone. The denizens of the great capital, having endured an age of biting terror, would soon fall upon each other like ravenous dogs.

  And First Rite, in any civilised sense, would cease to be.

  Once his thoughts grew bored of dwelling on his triumph, Edmar found himself feeling void. All he had focused on his entire life, since discovering the truth of his family’s history, was undermining Damosh. Now he had done just that, and, with the help of Enos, acquired unfathomable power in the process.

  All of those elixirs had been in preparation to kill Damosh in combat, if the need ever arose. Now, with each passing day, the mad king was drawing a proverbial blade closer to his own neck. Madness was a poison of its own, and soon enough, it would cause the Godling’s heart to beat for the final time.

  Edmar paused in the shadowy alcove of a doorway.

  Not many people could tempt Edmar into meeting them outside of the Wealth tower. So it was a very special occasion indeed when he waited for that . . . entity to arrive.

  He heard the lock of the door become undone. Taking this as invitation to enter, Edmar readied himself. Caution when dealing with the likes of that man was always needed: there was no telling how quickly a servant of Enos could change his mind – how fast friendship could blur into fury. Edmar would be no better off than Damosh if he threw away his victory here. So, with everything at stake in mind, Edmar entered.

  The room was draped in darkness. Any hope of finding respite from the chill breeze soon perished, and in its stead, only gnawing cold followed Edmar inside. Judging by the clogging smell of dust, the place was in a total state of disrepair. For reasons beyond Edmar, Ash had decided that an abandoned building, of all places, was fit for their rendezvous.

  Slowly, Edmar’s eyes adjusted to the cloying dark. Two faintly glowing eyes illuminated the place ever so slightly, and the brooding form of Ash stood with his arms crossed.

  “You’re late.”

  He scoffed. “I arrive whenever I damn feel like it.” Edmar raised an eyebrow. “And what was that appalling performance – you fleeing from Gold’s Bane like a madman? We didn’t plan that!”

  Ash flinched, as if he’d struck a nerve. For a long second, he didn’t reply, instead blinking like an idiot who didn’t recognise their surroundings. Before Edmar could insult him again, the boy steeled himself. His posture improved, and all childish mannerisms dispersed as Ash gained the air of a man. Something else too – something distinctly monstrous, and utterly alien.

  “Look Ash, I don’t need you anymore – I never did.” Edmar spat. “You promised me the throne, but look around us! I’d rather rule over a sandpit than this cesspool. It’s a wonder we even deign to call First Rite a city any long-”

  “Kill him.”

  Edmar was taken aback.

  “Why do you hesitate? Kill Damosh.”

  Edmar didn’t sweat anymore, but he wiped his hands together anyway.

  “Look, Ash, there really would be no point, you see. Soon enough, he’ll bring on his own-”

  A mock smile brightened Ash’s face. “Don’t tell me you’re scared, Edmar. You talk a big game about not desiring the throne, but that’s not really true is it? Your resolve has faltered. Face it, you’re a coward.”

  The fiend took a few steps closer. In that tight chamber, Ash’s immense presence was suffocating.

  “Don’t lie to me, or yourself Edmar. Only one motivation compelled you so utterly, so absolutely, that you committed your life seeking to fulfil it: to butcher the last slave-master that imprisoned your bloodline. Do not pretend that desire doesn’t remain there still. Try as you might to pretend it doesn't exist, I can see it deep inside you. The need to feel that Godling’s Ichor slip between your fingers.”

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  Despite his metallic body, Edmar shuddered. “How do you-”

  “The song of fate reveals all, my Paladin. Really now, let’s speak candidly. Would you have downed so many elixirs, enough to risk dying of overdose, if you knew Damosh would simply kill himself?That he would strip the fruits of your labour of their juice? There is only one outcome that can satisfy: it should be you who does it. It should be personal – your hand twisting the knife deeper into his heart.”

  Edmar raised an eyebrow. He was steaming, fists balled tightly, but intrigue got the better of him. “Why? Why do you care so much?”

  “With the threat of Gold’s Bane neutralised, Enos and I see a clear future ahead of us. A bright sunrise for all of our beautiful Paladins.” Ash looked longingly at a nearby wall, seemingly far, far away from the room his body occupied. “The last energy of the Time god provided Enos all the insight he needed to claim Descent as his own. Soon, every city, every man-made invention that stands on this burning planet, will be wiped off the earth. In their place, we will erect a utopia, free of the plagues that are godly whims.”

  He lifted both hands theatrically. “But First Rite! What better mockery of the gods is there, than to turn their birthplace into the capital of the Paladins? The only city left standing as we set the world on fire. And you! You can sit on its throne not as King – but as Emperor. Just say the word, and all of this planet could be yours for the taking.”

  Edmar moved backwards to protest, before pausing. He disregarded the big-talk about world domination – any fanatic cult or organisation thought they were going to rule the universe one day. Big deal. But First Rite was practically sitting there for the taking. Assuming the whole place didn’t collapse under the weight of itself in the next few days, it wasn’t a question of if the Paladins could claim the city – only a matter of when.

  “There'll be nothing left to rule.” Edmar put it carefully, feeling as Enos probed against his mental defences. A mind was all a man had, and he was not willing to give it up. “The city will fall by its own undoing.”

  “The city as it stands will fall. The human city.” A fiery excitement illuminated Ash’s speech, granting it an electrifying quality. “A new Kingdom of the Paladins awaits us. I’ve seen it – a great change is coming to First Rite. That, I can assure you.”

  Slowly, Edmar worked out the logistics of this, very comfortable with making Ash wait for a response. If Edmar were to become emperor of the Paladins . . . that would leave Ash as their – what, surrogate god? No, that wasn’t quite right. The term left a sour taste in Edmar’s mouth, and he couldn’t deny his loathing for the divine beings. After all, it was their very Celestial War that had spurred his ancestors' rivalry. Yet he wouldn’t be alive or breathing without their intervention either. This messy conundrum was precisely why Edmar loathed philosophy.

  There was one part in all of this that Edmar couldn’t quite wrap his head around. If he was emperor, and Enos the serving deity of the Paladins – not to mention spearheading the Unbounded – what spot did that leave open for Ash? Enos was far closer to godhood than Ash could ever hope to be. Acting emperor of the only populated planet in the cosmos sounded like a pretty great trade-off, however – a near second. Not something you bargained away so easily.

  “Why not be emperor yourself?” He posed the question, intending to thwart Ash’s pyramid of lies like blowing down a house of cards. “Why me? Why not gut Damosh on your own accord? I’m sure you can envision yourself as a fine ruler.”

  Ash wrinkled his nose. “You must think so little of me, to suggest I’d ever accept such a lowly position. Descent will be one grain of dust in a sandstorm once this is all over.

  “The Paladins have an entire universe of Infinity to spread across, to paint a beautiful artwork upon the blank canvas of existence. One that will expand and expand and expand, like wet paint seeping through a page. I don’t know about you Edmar, but I consider myself an artist. The Mortal Realms are a mere drop of ink, in the masterpiece Enos has revealed to me. I am no measly emperor Edmar – I fear you have me mistaken. I am a god. And I will change the face of reality.”

  He stabbed Edmar’s chest with a finger, sharply. “You are a little lowsome creature so intent on your revenge that nothing else seems to matter. But you’re no pushover either – and I like that about you. Enos and I both know you’ll lead well, and grant no quarter to any enemies who dare encroach upon our dominion. So I hold no qualms with you possessing the leadership position. I’ll be preoccupied elsewhere, an architect of the heavens.”

  Edmar was stunned into silence. It was at times like this that he usually fell deep into a well of bubbling emotion. Those roiling waves would sweep him up, and the gods so help the poor soul that had pestered Edmar enough to invoke his wrath. In that moment, however, the turbulent tides were as still as could be. Only one repeating thought rippled across those psychic waters.

  He’s a lunatic. A complete and utter lunatic.

  But he also read Edmar like a book.

  He’s right. Emdar abhorred to face the truth that now confronted him, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn away from its ugly face. I've become complacent with just a taste of victory.

  In his mind’s eye, a clouded image of the Wealth tower arose. He swore he could hear the mad babbling of its main occupant, so thin did the walls of the room that encased him appear. A thousand babies screaming would have been a sweeter sound.

  Who was he kidding? Edmar had been entertaining a delusion. Until his clothes were soaked in that bastard’s blood, contentment would always be a thing out of his grasp.

  “Without humanity working for them, a wrench will be thrown into the gods’ schemes.” Ash said quietly, all the rising passion of his speech passing. Nothing was left but a quiet certainty. “With enough of them together, they’ll disregard and abandon the Divine Oath, and soon revert to their very nature as creatures of violence. Infighting will spark amongst them, and with the endless legions of Unbounded now guided by the newfound leadership of the Paladins, they’ll perish. A dark chapter in the endless storybook of Infinity will have finally passed, heralding the dawn of a new age. An undying golden era will be upon us.

  “The Paladins will abandon any last shred of humanity anchoring them still, being as malleable as metal to Enos' will. Without the gods’ interference, even I’ll be able to spread my wings as a pure Unbounded, unhindered by any touch of humanity. All to become a true patriot of the Paladin’s cause. A true peace awaits us yet.”

  “You speak like this is a certainty. Like something that has already transpired.”

  Ash’s glare shot daggers into Edmar. “Do I look like a man of speculation to you?”

  “No.” Edmar now realised "You don’t look like a man at all.”

  “Think this over Edmar. What I offer you is not a demand, or an inconvenient task for you to complete. It is merely a reward, and a reminder, for what you were already fated to do. Revenge your family, reclaim your destiny, and Enos and I will grant you riches beyond even the Wealth Clan’s wildest dreams. You can enjoy your triumph over evil for the rest of your days. And I can get as far away from this floating rock as possible, never having to set foot on it again. With you taking on your grand task, I can take comfort in the knowledge that things are under steady leadership down here.”

  Finally, Ash said nothing more. Like a broker showing off his assets, he laid it all out on the table.

  The ball was in Edmar’s court now.

  Ash didn’t blink once, staring Edmar dead in the eye as he awaited a response.

  “Not yet. Soon, but not yet.” He exhaled, suddenly noting how tense his body was. “Damosh may be a maniac as of now, but he isn’t completely lost from sanity yet. A glimmer of his past self remains. Only when that spark has dimmed out, can I be sure that no risk is involved if we found ourselves in mortal combat.”

  Ash sniffed the air theatrically. “Is that cowardice I smell?”

  Edmar slammed a fist against the wall. Emboldened by his new sense of purpose, not even Ash’s eerie presence could unnerve him. “Avenging my bloodline is not something that can hinge on possibility – I cannot play with chance. Damosh dying by my hands must be as inevitable as the sun rising anew.”

  Ash waited a few seconds longer, as if expecting Edmar to give in. When he did not, the fiend scowled. “Do not dawdle much longer.” His form seemed to grow transparent, as if Edmar had been conversing with a ghost all along. “A great reckoning shall befall us all soon. You would do well to be ready.”

  Ash disappeared, and Edmar found himself alone in the derelict building. He stood there for a moment, lost in thought, listening to the creepy whistling of the passing breeze.

  A little longer. Edmar breathed quickly. Just a little longer, and he’s a dead man.