Hans rattled a metal rod against the cage, scorching under the swelter of the arid shithole someone had decided to settle in the far flung past. He didn't like the feeling the deuritium it was constructed of gave him, none of them did. It made them sweat even more aggressively. Feverish and shaking, like they'd gone overlong without eating and been dropped in a sauna. But he enjoyed this, and doubted that would ever stop. “Not so tough now, are you? And here I was, hearing all these stories about the legendary White Wolf, savior of Lyra. Cursed King, or I suppose the northerners call it one-eye as if that makes sense.”

“Hans.” Rommel growled, but the 'boy' never listened. His power, contextually, was only second to Pattoli. Against a mage, Hans was practically untouchable and had a record to prove it. To drain energy, whether it be biological or magical in nature, to feed on it and grow stronger. That was him, and he was terrifying not only by ability. He was an uncouth, violent boy, Rommel's greatest regret – a product of the times and a childhood that she'd never been able to provide him with. Nor had his father, he'd only ever fostered that viciousness of spirit as if Hans were nothing more than a weapon.

“Best to leave it alone.” Tyr replied softly from within the cage. Looking at him made them all uncomfortable, bound with a thousand wires piercing his flesh. Deuritium all around, and yet he still managed to stare at them with those cold eyes. Completely calm even as the threads slid through him, flaying flesh and cutting bone every time he breathed. The smallest movement and they'd slice through him like razors, the blood... In an endless torrent, the blood kept coming until they'd carved a dry red road through the wasteland to mark their passage. “He is a small man with even smaller dreams. If I wanted you dead, I'd simply kill you. But I won't, you're all playing directly into my master plan, trust me.”

Hans stopped laughing, pursing his lips and staring at Tyr with bloodshot eyes. He was a truly ugly man in Tyr's opinion, an exception in a world where most capable mages were beautiful.

“You think too highly of yourself.” Hans said. “You're nothing but a boy, an unawakened primus. You were never our match.”

“You're wrong.” Tyr said with an preternatural calmness to him, the gentle and almost friendly grin on his face unnerving them yet further. “I am not a primus. And I've been awake for my entire life, from birth – unto a death that'll never come for me. But I'll get you, little man, believe that – my teeth are sharp and your manhood is mighty biteable.”

“Not a primus. Then what are you?” Rommel raised an eyebrow, inserting herself again. It had been the second time she had seen him, the only brother she'd ever have. Well... Not if rumor was true that Jartor had been sire to another, she wasn't sure. Over thirty years younger and twenty times more disturbing than she'd expected, plenty of rumors about Tyr as well. Despite her youthful appearance due to the gifts of Cortus, and now the haemonculi, she was over fifty years old in the body of a woman in her mid to late 20's.

“A god.” Tyr smirked back at her. He had no body in this current moment, only a face, two eyes hung about the wires and a toothy grin, all canines. His entire body elevated on hooks buried into his skin to keep him still and impotent. He'd have been incredibly handsome if not for that psychotic twisting to his mein that appeared when he was away from the others. His so called 'friends'. “The strongest god. One thought and I could erase you all from existence, Hastur's gifts or not. Ask for it. Ask for release and I shall grant it to you in my divine benevolence. For I am nothingness incarnate. I am the omega, the end of all things. Little human--”

CRACK. Hans ignored the pain once again to reach through the bars and grab at the boys skull, turning it to wet, scarlet wax. Grimacing all the while. “I really can't stand this guy, what does Cortus see in him?”

“But what if he's right?” Raj shivered uncomfortably. What was a primus, truly? Those of Ind considered them gods, same as any other celestial. Simply constrained by earthly bonds that kept them low, but they'd all ascend one day. That is what the Sutra claimed, the scriptures from their interpretation of religion.

“Oh yeah. Valid point.” Klaus said sarcastically, slapping the back of the half-skull that had begun to materialize, ignoring the scratching pain of the deuritium. As if to say 'See? He's harmless.'. “What if he really is a god descended to walk amongst man? What if this is some part of his grand design? Give me a break. I'm not saying the kid isn't dangerous, but come on. He's stuck in his eighth grader phase, that's all it is, too edgy for his own good.”

“I wouldn't, if I were you.” Pattoli cautioned. “You did not feel what we felt, and you did not see what we saw. Better to leave the little wolf be, it is not Cortus' plan to abuse and anger him in any way. What we've done is already going too far after our last lecture, and the box wouldn't even hold him. Let him deal with the aftermath, no matter how weak you perceive the prince to be.”

“Still...” Rommel shaded her eyes from the sun. It was strange how the snow in Amistad was cut off in a near perfect arc as soon as they'd reached Baccian land. It was cold there, pleasantly so, just like Haran – and now it was hot and arid again, mirages flickering in the distance. “I wish he'd avoid getting us involved in his schizophrenic delusions.”

“You'll see.” Tyr suddenly said.

“He's still alive!” The newly returned Bergen cried. Not so punished after all, the master having gifted even further, lifting him to new heights. “Er... Well I guess...”

“Of course he is, you idiot.” Rommel muttered, wondering just how she'd gotten saddled with this motley crew of theirs. All talented, surely, but the personalities of the self-named 'black hand' left a lot to be desired. “Yes, yes. I'm sure we will. The great Tyr Faeron, the only spawn of Jartor he ever spent any time with. The Wolf, son of the Great Lion. How novel he is, how handsome and talented and brave, the incumbent primus himself to lead the mediocre into a similar era of mediocrity.”

“We all got problems, grandma, don't project yours onto me.” Tyr said, humming an irritating melody that stuck in the back of their minds, same as all that damn sand. Yellow wasteland all around and the buzzing pressure coming from the earth that forced people onto specific paths lest they fall ill from it. “You think my relationship with my father is a good one? If I were strong enough, I'd headbutt him in the back of the knee.”

“The back of the knee...?” Raj asked, genuinely curious.

“It's the only weak spot on the a primus' body. Like the heel of Achilles, you know?” Tyr squinted at them, trying to glean a little amusement given the situation. Pattoli had already promised that the 'important' ones were alive, and would remain so. Thus, Tyr cared very little about what they did to him personally. His first spot of selflessness, perhaps. But then again, he wanted to keep his pawns in one piece, so there was that. Becoming the ideal man or picture of heroism was become less important as time went on – Tyr would always be himself. The villain, if there ever was one, but maybe that's what the world needed.

“Achilles?” Caspian raised an eyebrow. “I do not understand that reference, is that a Harani saying?”

“It's not.” Rommel said. “I am Harani, and Achilles is not a name I've ever heard. Sounds like a Telurian name to me.”

“He was an invincible and well famed warrior from another world that ended up dying because someone shot him with an arrow in the tendon that connects your heel to your leg.” Tyr replied. “A god told me that story.”

“Oh really?” Hans scoffed. “And which god was that?”

“Myself.” Tyr said simply.

“So... Does that mean you just made it up?” Bergen asked, mystified as Raj was.

“Of course not.” Tyr said. “I've already told you that I'm basically an inter-dimensional horror of the void. The other half of the balance that governs your universe. There are an almost infinite number of me's running around the universe. We're all over the place and always will be. There are voices in my head constantly babbling away and sometimes they stop screaming and one of them talks to me like a normal person.”

“Must be nice.” Yucca laughed for the first time. She wasn't so bad. Most of them weren't, as he'd observed, but Tyr had already promised to eat Hans' liver the last time they'd gagged him. Eating the gag, too. Turns out even metal dissolved in his stomach if he could manage to swallow it. He thought. If not, since he didn't defecate anymore, all of the things he'd shoved into his mouth went somewhere else. It amused him to think of some tribal man collecting the refuse of his stomach and perhaps worshiping the artifacts as gifts from an actual god. Borne through some sort of bottomless dimensional rift that served as his digestive tract. “To be an eternal menace to all society. Forever.”

“You might be.” Tyr couldn't move his body enough to shrug, but he tried nonetheless. Right now, he couldn't feel real pain. It was more of a dull buzzing. A wonder, almost equal to the fact that these men and women – some of them – offered him such a reverent respect as to take everything he said at face value. Raj in particular simply nodded sagely at every word Tyr said. He didn't lie to them in any case, he told the truth as it appeared to him. But to do so and have people believe it so readily was strange. They had faith in him, for whatever reason, and it served him the same as anything else. “A lot of people come from the fragments of dead gods, older than those that our people worship on this plane. Higher gods responsible for the creation of the nephilim can't die, though, so the correct term would be sundered. Shattered. I dunno. Raj, for example, is definitely a god. I think Pattoli might be one as well, but it's harder to tell since he's got more dao than normal inside of him. Still don't even know what dao is, though... So maybe I'm wrong, but I'm telling myself that too. They whisper in my ear.”

“A god?” Raj chuckled, shaking his head with a flash of whimsy in his eye. “I appreciate the compliment young primus, but I'd never claim myself the equal to a divine, nor yourself and your kin.”

“Being a piece of one, which you definitely are, makes you a god.” Tyr said. “Nature spirits are everywhere and they all come from the same place. By the way, Rommel. You're Harani, but you'd serve a Baccian? Have you no sense of nationalistic pride?”

Rommel glared at him in annoyance. Wishing they had a gag that would stay in the intended position, but the monster had already swallowed five of them. “My family was expelled from Haran some years before you were born. For reason that I care not explain to you.”

“Are you my sister?” Tyr suddenly asked. He had known, in a way. A simple sniff of her was all it had taken to divine their relationship, he just didn't care. Odd, that. Tyr had wondered what it'd be like to meet any of his sisters in his adulthood. As far as he knew, Signe and Jartor had only ever had the one child, so they were all much older than him. Unless Charlotte wanted to give birth more than once, he guessed he'd have no chance at a younger one. Perhaps unsurprisingly he felt little despite their half relation. Bashing her head in with a brick wouldn't trouble him in the slightest if there was benefit in it.

But what a shame that'd be, she was a very handsome woman. Faeron blooded people tended to look quite nice.

“I am.” Rommel nodded. “And as your elder sister I'd very much like you to shut the hell up. But I'd also like to ask how you found out, for curiosities sake.”

“Considering your attractiveness...” Tyr answered flatly. “My loins do not quiver with passion when I gaze upon your nubile body. Meanwhile, when I look at Hans, I feel my mast rising to catch the headwind – to quote a sailor I once met. I'm not saying that I'm not down for it, though. Just let me know when and where – there are pills for it – and I hear royal blooded fellows on other worlds get along quite well with their siblings. You and I are only half, after all. What do you say to some Game of Thrones type shit?”

“What the hell?” Bergen had a disgusted look on his face, looking like he wanted to say something more than that, but he didn't. The two fingers missing from his left hand the last time he'd tried to give Tyr some ale by request was excuse enough. He was a nice guy, but that didn't mean Tyr wasn't willing to do as much damage as he could. They were the enemy, and he'd one day parade their skinless cadavers through the streets for nothing but the fulfillment of a promise made.

“Game of Thrones...?” Yucca turned her head towards him. She was by far the youngest member of their group, still in her late teens at most. “What's that?”

“A book. A series of them, I think.”

“Oh? I love books, who wrote it?”

“Joe.”

“Joe who?”

“Joe Mama.”

“Excellent, I will be searching for this 'Joe Mama' at the library on my next visit.”

“...Alright.” Tyr squinted, mystified, wondering if he'd just gotten one janitor in particular into a great deal of trouble.

“You have odd tastes.” Klaus grunted with a sideways look at Hans. The man had turned his attentions away from the conversation with pursed lips... Is he blushing? “I had not taken you for a boy lover. Best to keep that to yourself while we're in Baccia. It's illegal.”

“I'm not.” Tyr said. “I do not feel sexual attraction to most males, but I would gladly take Han's delicate pelvis in my hands. Well, that's not true, I feel a great deal of sexual attraction for Prince Iscari, it's confusing – so maybe I am gay. In any case, imagine Hans, right? His feminine, hairless body, covered in sweat as he groans beneath my firm touch. My giant dinner plate sized, primus, godly hands wrapped around him. And I'd--”

Yucca's umbramancy covered Tyr's head. Nobody argued with that, only one or two of them might've wanted to hear the profanity that was sure to leave his mouth.

“Keep that up, just for a few more minutes. We could all use some peace and quiet, I think.” Rommel was exhausted with his constant talking. Always chatting, saying ridiculous things. And she'd heard that Tyr was the quiet type, even in his youth. He wasn't anything like she'd heard him described, all she saw was a talkative young man quick to say wild things, filth and drivel fast to his lips. Making wild claims.

Little did they know that he was near the point of insanity, trapped like that in their net. Trying to keep his mind off of it. It wasn't out of fear of being captured, that was what it was. It was staying still that bothered Tyr so much. He would rather die.

“He'll suffocate.” Yucca said anxiously. Umbramancy was the freedom to willingly move shadows, darkness mana in its state as a spectrum of light. In any case, it expelled other forms of mana and was as potent a gas as any other. It could kill in the same method, or be made more dense and used as a blade or bludgeon.

“Not likely.” Tyr said, making a popping sound with his lips. In reality, this bondage of his was a great way to see what he could do should he not have use of his hands. His... Versatility. It was all so great – giving him all sorts of new ideas.

That, and the literal voices babbling away in his head. For a long time he'd coped by using the 'soft as a human' approach. That was to say, if he was a bit harder – a bit more durable – he'd be a lot stronger. Not that he was literally as soft as a human, but these mages were. And they had beaten him. Outnumbered, too, they were smart and talented opponents worthy of respect.

“Alright, so... I'm going to break out of this cage of yours. Right? I'm going to shatter it with a pretty significant combustion of mana that is going to lay you clean out. Or... Alternatively... You could let me go. I'll follow you – but no more shackles. I really feel uncomfortable like this, genuinely. I am going to go insane long before we reach Baccia. It's my greatest fear, I am claustrophobic. Please?”

“You'll shut up.” Hans said pointedly. “And that's all you'll do.”

“Last chance, tiny effeminate, submissive and breedable man-thing.” Tyr offered, he didn't often give people so many of those.

“Fuck the gags.” Hans snarled, stuffing a water skin into Tyr's mouth. Treated leather would be hard to chew, at least for a little while.

“Werhnedjuh.” Tyr's muffled voice came, the last warning they'd receive before the air began to crackle.