Lady Fulvion raised an eyebrow as she observed my bare chest and unconventional choice of clothes improvised from a banner of the Dominium.

“You have… a certainly interesting sense of fashion, Adrias. I can’t say I’ve ever seen quite its like.” She said.

“He’s a Heraklion, even if he doesn’t share the family name. Savagery is as much in their blood as nobility.” Persias said.

“We’ll get you a more dignified form of attire.” Lady Fulvion promised me.

The dining table that Persias Fulvion invited me to sit at with a sweep of his arm was one big chunk of diamond, more grown into shape by scientists than carved from some immense room sized uncut gem. Silver traceries and curling patterns danced across the surface and tiny Thaekyrian runes and Latin words littered the material. In the center of the table was an engraved and enameled crest, the blue and white insignia of House Fulvion: a white lion set in sapphire blue that held a bleeding heart in its paws.

Persias rang a bell, and the Copper Imperator servants came out with platters of food. Rather than going by many successive courses, one after another, all the food was brought out at once. I dug in, barely remembering which utensils I was supposed to use first in polite society.

“As I understand it, you were there when my Lucias died.” Lady Fulvion said.

“He fought valiantly. I was glad to stand next to him.” I said, though I did not really remember how well he had fought, only recalling the moments of his bleeding out from the flight attendant’s poisoned claws forestalling his regeneration and blood’s coagulation.

“You don’t have to lie, Adrias.” She said. “My Lucie was not much of a fighter and Quartias told me he died ‘like a dog’ in that vile creature’s own words.”

There was such a palpable coldness on her face when she mentioned Quartias’s name and his callous words about the death of his clone brother.

“I don’t remember much of that flight and the Servi’s suicidal attack beyond my own engagement and role in it. I didn’t mean to lie, I just thought to give you peace.” I said.

She waved a hand. “It’s alright. I just wish it was one of the others.”

Persias looked a little uncomfortable hearing that.

“You don’t like the other clones very much.” I deduced from the obvious implication.

Lady Fulvion took a sip of wine. “You could say that. They were inhuman brutes and beasts at best, wastes of cloning tanks and growth accelerants at worst.”

“They have their finer qualities.” Lord Fulvion argued.

“Perhaps.” She said skeptically. “Still, I would give my life to spare my Lucias the Pit and give that suffering fate to one of the abominations.”

“The Pit?” I asked. Why would Lucias go to the deepest and darkest part of the Underworld, Tartaros itself, where the Olympians had cast down their father Kronos to suffer for all of eternity?

“The gods of Heaven’s Peak have decreed it so. Cloning is base sedition against the laws of nature and all replicated humans are condemned to Tartaros for all time after their souls leave their mortal bodies.” Lady Fulvion said.

“That’s horrible!” I said, aghast.

“Indeed.” Persias said.

“But why would you make four clones if you knew what fate would await them?” I said.

“My wife and I are unable to have children even with the most advanced of fertility treatments and reproductive technologies, everything from in vitro fertilization to alchemy to invocations to Aphrodite and Cupid and Demeter.” Lord Fulvion explained.

He clearly did not fear speaking aloud the names of gods.

“Still though, that doesn't explain why you would condemn Lucias, Caias, Andarias and Quartias to the Pit through their artificial creation.” I said.

“With the life extension measures available to our House they would not have to worry about that for a long time.” He said.

“But they still would eventually have to face that destiny.” I said.

“Yes, but its not like the lives of most people are much better.” Persias said.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“But you, Achilles, there’s not a man in the world more blest than you—there never has been, never will be one. Time was, when you were alive, we Argives honored you as a god, and now down here, I see, you lord it over the dead in all your power. So grieve no more at dying, great Achilles.” Persias recited.

“What’s that from?” I asked.

“The Odyssey.” He replied and continued. “I reassured the ghost, but he broke out, protesting, ‘No winning words about death to me, shining Odysseus! By the gods, I’d rather slave on earth for another man—some dirt-poor tenant farmer who scrapes to keep alive— than rule down here over all the breathless dead.’”

“Grim.” I commented.

“Yes. If even great Achilles despises his eternal fate, the rest of us have little to look forward to in the Fields of Asphodel. Is the fate of a clone terrible? Yes. Do we all have a nightmare to look forward to? Also, yes. All we can ask for is some brief joys in the physical world and by that measure my clones have lived and will continued to live in the lap of luxury and with the hand of glory resting on their shoulders compared to the vast totality of humanity alive today.” He said.

“I suppose that makes sense.” I said.

For the remainder of the meal Persias and I talked about the upcoming campaign, Lady Fulvion finishing her food and leaving once we began discussing the war effort. Lord Fulvion conveyed to me how we would leave tomorrow on House Fulvion’s flagship along with the rest of his personal army and proceed to Amatius. The travel would take about a week and a half, far quicker than the speed that the pleasure cruise liner that my friends and I had taken from Sunburst Station to Iulius had gone.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, a storm of preparation and surgery.

I followed the instructions of the servants to my guest room and laid down. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

“Good night, Adrias.” Alsig said, having gotten her new casing and been reinstalled in my head earlier.

I shut my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

…

…

…

My dreamless sleep was interrupted by the feeling of a harpoon in my gut dragging me across time and space. I opened my eyes in the dream to see a man standing before me. Augustas.

He was not in the form I had grown accustomed to seeing him, he did not look at all like Tavias, the tanned beggar in rags. Instead, he was a gigantic Imperator, twelve feet tall, wild and barbaric in his visage with his beard and hair messy and untamed. The only similarity between his Tavias identity and his true form were his golden irises and white sclera.

“Grandfather.” I said, a bit annoyed. I had a bone to pick with him. “Why did you ignore me when I called?”

“I’ve been busy as of late.” The Regent replied.

“I got demoted by Apollonian Solar Guard and put on inactive duty.” I said.

I felt a buzz in my head as master of the Dominium drew my memories from me through our bloodline connection.

“And you solved that by making a new alliance.” He said dismissively.

“Only because Persias Fulvion reached out to me.” I said. “I would be screwed without him.”

“You’re a Heraklion more than a Lucion now, you would have figured it out.” Augustas said, waving a massive hand.

“They don’t give a damn about my blood out here.” I said.

“Then make them care.” Augustas said. “Even if you had been left behind when the Governor and Apollo system’s Guard had mobilized for Amatius, you had paths to victory in front of you.”

“What could I have done without the fire of the Divine Champion?” I asked him.

“Imperator society respects strength and violence. Even without Heracles’s power, you are stronger and more determined than most Bronzes. If you challenged the leadership remaining on Iulius to duels, you could have restored your rank through dominance.” Augustas said.

“That would only hold until the Governor returned and enforced my demotion again.” I said.

“I wouldn’t have worried about that if I were you.” The Regent replied. “I have petitioned the Fates for foreknowledge of the future of my empire in these uncertain times and foresaw that Subgovernor Marias Maxion of Amatius would have slew Theseas Claudion in one-on-one combat.”

I shook my head in surprise. “The Subgovernor is really more powerful than Theseas?”

“Not normally. They’re both Silver Imperators but the Governor is better trained and older.” He said.

“Then how then?” I said.

“Maxion has acquired a very limited store of a variant of bioenhancers modified for Imperator use.” Augustas said.

“Why is it that only the Servi have this dark alchemical technology?” I asked.

“Because it has been formulated specifically for their Path and them alone.” He said.

“Who made it? What is going on in the Dominium that there is this widespread chaos and revolt?” I said.

“This uprising has been incited by two of my kinsmen, fellow Golden demigods. Akhillos Alastorides, son of Zeus and a Servus woman, and Orpheas Phoebides, son of Apollo and a Hetaira. Both of them chafe against my rule and have been plotting to destroy my influence and either take over the Dominium or fracture it into innumerable pieces that they can carve their own domains out of. Akhillos has been empowering his Servi kin by creating these elixirs and pills to mutate the Slaves into something more fearsome.” Augustas said.

“What are you going to do about the usage? How are you going to maintain order with this alchemy floating around?” I said.

“To a certain extent, the proverbial djinn is out of the lamp and he’s granting cursed wishes that can’t be contained or restrained. On the other hand, many of the important reagents originated solely from Akhillos’s expert knowledge in alchemy and chemistry and involve the use of his semidivine power and blood to create. Killing these two renegade upstart demigods will solve many of our problems. I also suspect that the fury of the Slave subspecies will cool as knowledge of the horrific costs of the substances become clear to the general population and the hardliners most willing to take that risk kill themselves off either from what they take or from facing our imperial forces.” The Regent said.

“When will you execute this Akhillos and Orpheas?” I said.

“That remains unclear. I cannot scry the outcomes of our future battles due to their partial divinity and I cannot face them in the Cognitosphere as I would do to deal with the Nine Golden Imperators.” Augustas replied.

“The Cognitosphere?” I said.

“A realm of thought and dreams through which I punish and dominate the greatest of my servants. Though the Cognitosphere’s existence is generated and maintained by the minds of humanity, only Gold Imperators can enter it or be attacked through it, leaving the Golden demigods free from my mental assault. I will need to beat them in person with my bare fists and they hide from me. Fear not, Grandson, I will draw these vipers out of hiding and strangle them as my father in his infant’s crib killed the twin serpents sent by Hera to murder him as a child.” Augustas said.