The ocean water was both cold and warm. Qatir’s tentacles enjoyed both. Burn marks and other scars dotted its leathery skin, coloured green now but it could change to suit its moods. Several weeks had passed since the Primordial Spawn returned to this plane, though it had a brief foray last year.

In truth, time rolled differently for it, where every passing moment in the Abyss stretched out to infinity, only to snap back and then centuries passed in the blink of an eye. Delgora, the Primordial of Curiosity and Vengeance, a beast driven by the passage of time, yet was ultimately aloof from it, received little feedback from Qatir. And the spawn received the same.

If it was human, or of a similar tier of life, Qatir would be as a hair, a single strand, of Delgora. Crucial for receiving certain information, such as when an ant crawled upon a human’s leg, letting the being know that he had to slap the ant off. So was Qatir to Delgora. A minor sensing organ that had little direct input to Delgora’s senses. It was a part of the Primordial, but was ultimately an inconsequential part of it and could be discarded with little consequence. Of course, the fact that it possessed sentience and sapience, as well as a plethora of skill and power, was another thing entirely.

Qatir let its mind wander as it absorbed the meagre Chaos of this plane, along with other things.

Blood and death, freed Anima, and ill will coalesced and lingered in the very air, in every current of the water. Mortals lived their lives only a few longstrides from the water’s edge. And Qatir sent its tentacles wriggling forth. Not its physical ones, but the ones created by its dominion.

Its entry to the plane had been ill-timed. It should have avoided doing so during the Celestial Refraction, but it had been surprised by the sudden breadth of it. The answer to why it was caught was because of the nascent Ancient, of course. If it had ventured closer to the planes held by those other monsters, the same would have happened. It was because neither it nor any of its ilk, thought that this puny plane had someone like her.

And now that it was looking closely, it discovered that it wasn’t only the Ancient that made this piddling place so interesting. There were many powers vying for supremacy, and from what it read from the minds of the common fool, many agents were unwilling and unknowing dupes.

It tasted the winds. The waves. The anger. The despair. Ambition.

Qatir’s multitude of eyes saw through many layers of reality, and it honed in, on vengeful remnants. They who drift in the natural flows of the plane, waiting to dissolve into darkness and decay. Fall down into the Pure Lands for a chance, but more often than not, are burned to empower others. There were many drifting in the flows of this plane, and it spotted one particular clump, that was both potent, yet wretchedly clinging to its old vessel. No longer alive, but not quite dead. Yet.

And what was this? A thread? A connection that led to something familiar. Wretched Spirit.

Qatir’s upper left tentacle eye gazed upon the remnant Anima. Little was left of the body, save for a skull with a crystal within. The Wretched Spirit clung to the bone, but that was all for the better. Qatir’s tentacle eye fixed on the crystal, and it shared a fragment of its malevolent Will.

“Rise. Bind. Obey. Become my vassal of vengeance and begin the cycle anew.”

Electric sparks leapt from tentacle to tentacle, joining each of Qatir’s ten minor eyes. Its central eye, wider than a pace across, focused on the Wretched Spirit. Care must be used, lest the threads that bound the spirit to its quarry snap.

What’s this? The spirit flails and buckles.

“You deny me?” Qatir hissed. “You think that you’re better than the thousands I’ve already risen?”

The spirit pulsed its defiance. It clung to the skull, to the crystal, and would not be bereaved of its vessel.

“I offer you a better one.”

Defiance.

“Think you are qualified to bargain with me?”

The misty cloud quivered in fear, but the kernel of resistance would not bend.

Good.

Defy me! Show me you are worthy of more than a husk! Come! Growl, bite, rip, and tear!

The electric chains dove into the remnant spirit. It burrowed into the crystal trapped in the skull, it dug into the bone, and it shocked through the remnant.

The lightning covered the skull like a cocoon, and it sank to the depths of the ocean. The water current tried to move it past the shelf, to let it drip down into the depths of the plane. The underground rivers reached all corners of Rumiga, and brought life, and death, to all its denizens.

The cocoon drifted all the way to the shelf, settling amongst the sand, the rocks, and the other bodies.

For a long time, nothing else changed. More cocoons drifted down. Some broke open and out crawled creatures that could only be loosely described as humanoid. Two arms, two legs, a head. Bipedal. Eyes of burning flame, but the fires were colder than ice. Each of the creatures, the revenants, shook off the filth of their metamorphosis, and then stood still, staring upwards. The current pushed against each body, but other than a slight shifting of balance, none of them moved a step. Several hundred paces above, Qatir watched them, glowing with pride as its army grew.

And finally, that one cocoon shifted. Pale blue claws poked through the strands, then a thick singular horn.

Riiiiip!

Out came a creature several folds bigger than the other revenants, different in physique and aura. Muscles rippled under thick leathery skin, and then twisted and contracted. The humongous thing shrank down on itself, returning to a more human form. Its grasping paw reached up to the horn sticking out of its forehead and wrenched it off. The ivory burned with darklight, and twisted until it formed into the shape of a blade. A great bicorn bisecting sword.

It slammed the horn into one of the nearby revenants, whose soundless scream nevertheless sent ripples all the way to the shore, though hidden by the waves. The revenant disintegrated, revealing the Wretched Spirit writhing with the blade sticking into its centre mass. Then, it compacted, as if a great force pulled it inwards. It melded into the blade, and the only thing left was the visage of a screaming face rippling across its side.

The creature grunted even as the water stilled around him. By some instinct, he looked upwards and met the gaze of Qatir’s central eye.

“Knight of the Abyss.”

__________

Izna woke with a gasp, his hands scrambling towards the opposite wrist while simultaneously tugging hard towards his chest. Only the lack of restraint, and manacles, prevented him from going into a panicked hysteria. He was soaked with sweat though, and a glance out the small window showed him the sky was slowly lighting up with the false dawn.

He was free. He wasn’t chained. He wasn’t going to die, or worse, become subsumed into something he didn’t want to be. But his heart still raced, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his body trembled. He kicked off his blankets and let the cold desert night chill his body. His breath now came in puffs of steam as he staggered out of the village dwelling he’d been assigned to.

Nearly a week of captivity, though it felt far longer. While he hadn’t been mistreated, he had not been given anything special either. For which he was thankful for. Even if he was an Intermediate Binder, in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter to his captors. The majority of the people being transported were actually unawakened vagrants, though they were only that due to Haveena City government’s shenanigans.

He stared towards the east while he struggled to control his body. He shivered as he leaned back against the door. He trembled as he considered his fate and the fact that he was incredibly lucky to have escaped it.

He had always advocated for a better life for the commons. Too many think that awakened humans were intrinsically better than those not. It didn’t help though, that to awaken was to literally transform. They lived longer, were healthier, and were simply more capable. But what most forget was that everyone had the capability to awaken.

It wasn’t just Haveena that treated the commons that way. One could arguably say that they were rather lenient and forgiving. At least prior to recent events.

Ivala City used their commons as swarm fodder, sometimes literally to hold off swarmlings. Ekelus City, driven as they were with non-Animatech improvement, was a meritocracy that only the awakened had any chance to advance. Jugen City was a sick mirror of Haveena, as all of their business ventures pertained to vices. A city of gamblers and indentured servants who failed to pay their debts.

Garamus City was a martial meritocracy and of course, only those who were awakened could compete. Uaran City, the state closest to the Chaos Channel, was arguably the luckiest state. Their agricultural treasures included a rare fruit that created an interplanar luxury. As such, every member of that small city-state was wealthier than the average citizen. Kadrac was a hardy city that survived along the borders of the desert and whose cattle were notorious for being incredibly delicious. And Haveena had flourished simply through trade with the Empire.

And now their leaders had thrown it all away for a ruinous war that burned through the fields and left nothing but ashes. What did they hope to gain in the end? Rulership of the plane? There were far too many dangers and mysteries in this plane than the three rulers who managed to reach Grandmaster could hope to handle.

Some madness must have overcome the leaders. That or the Chaos Courts did something to them.

The sun rose in the east, casting its rays from beyond the Zarek Mountains. The air slowly warmed, but his shivers had not subsided. In fact, he felt his mind begin to break down. He…what was he to do? His family, his life, was back in Haveena, and there was no way he could return there without risking recapture. Now, he was in the desert, with a handful of fellow ex-captives, and ironically, with an equal number of former guards. All of them following behind a girl younger than he was.

Yes, he knew her true age after speaking with his friends, the Foster twins. She was only fifteen, though in a few weeks she would be sixteen. She was tall, beautiful, and powerful, so nobody really thought she was so young. Her features were fresh and nubile, but as anyone knew, advancing to her Anima level slowed the effects of ageing. He just thought that she had advanced early in her career.

Doubts filled his mind, and he wondered if he was better off drowning himself. At least he wouldn’t be turned into an unwilling weapon that way. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about his family…

Warmth suffused the air. It came from the sun in the east, and it also came from the west. Subconsciously, he turned to look and found her jumping on top of a roof only to sit in a meditative pose.

The warmth came from her, and everything he had been worried about, the fears and despair, melted away and the feeling of security replaced it. He was protected. Nothing would come to harm him as long as he stood beneath that light.

Slowly, the trembling stilled and he sighed in relief. The memories of painful incarceration, the drowning feeling of despair, was gone. From the surface, at least. He felt that it was still there underneath, waiting for a weak moment to strike, waiting for him to succumb. But today, this morning, those feelings were gone, and he once again felt hope.

He sighed and squared his shoulders. A council had been formed between their saviours, the former guard, and the refugees. A decision had been made yesterday. For now, they would stay here in this abandoned village and make what life they could off it. It was too dangerous to press deeper into the desert without adequate supplies after all.

So a temporary camp, it would be, but one that could last for a Season or two. No signs of reprisal from the Federation and he was sure why. Lady Yuriko was a Master in power, and the entire Federation had only a double handful of people who’d reached that level. She’d already killed one.

A Master could destroy an army if they chose to, and she was their guardian. Lady Yuriko. Oh, no she wasn’t just that. Braden Foster revealed that she was betrothed to a Verdanian prince, though from how sour his face was when he mentioned it, it was clear he sought her hand, too.

A princess she was then. A peerless swordswoman, too. And from her rank, pretty much invincible.

And that, more than anything, eased the burdens of his mind. So, he didn’t waste his time now. He had work to do.