A Shadow's Dance (Anthology)

[Gog]

The sea lazily rolled in and out, as if inviting Cristobal to enter. The soft blue waves held a certain draw for him as a sailor, but the will to disappear beyond the horizon began to evaporate since he arrived in Palos. A vague tinge of fear held his attention whenever he imagined himself setting sail, as he surely would have to soon.

Cristobal knew that he had chosen to come back, despite his fears. The allure of riches, glory, and the hope that he would perhaps not run into the same problems as before kept him going. His return also gave him the opportunity to persuade the Spanish crown to fund his second expedition. At least now, he knew what awaited him beyond.

Night had fallen hours ago, and with only few days until he set sail west, Cristobal decided to head in to the boarding house where he had been staying.

The town of Palos was fairly loud at night at night despite its small population, the racket coming from sailors departing for Guinea. The boardinghouse too had some sailors about, including some of the men Cristobal would be sailing with soon. They were talking, trading stories, rumors, and of course drinking.

Cristobal sat down at the bar and motioned for some wine. As he stared down into the red wine, he imagined the dark seas when he set sail in search of the same trade route to the Indies. Unlike this time, a private family business in Spain funded the venture, and luckily for Cristabol, they were Jews who were forced out of the country, unable to relay to any monarch his failure.

Somewhere past the Canary Islands, great storms engulfed the sky and sea. Suddenly what seemed to be flying serpents or dragons circled the ships and tore at them. Cristabol and a few other men escaped on a smaller boat, and barely managed to arrive on shore. The other survivors scattered to the winds, but Cristabol decided not to give up. He kept on petitioning the Spanish court, and eventually got his funding. Now his fate was in God's hands, for all the good that would do.

Downing another cup of wine, Cristabol continued in deep contemplation of the terrible fate that could await him beyond the horizon. He was in such deep thought that he didn't notice a woman sit down next to him.

Cristabol was jarred out of his worrying when she ordered a Greek wine that the bartender didn't have. She was dressed in a simple leather jerkin, befitting more a sellsword than a lady, had intense green eyes, and tightly coiffed black hair. Rolling her eyes at the lack of her preferred wine, she turned to Cristabol. "Can you get anything good in this place?"

He shrugged. "I just ordered wine, it's fine enough for me." He shifted in his chair. "Have we met?"

"I'm afraid not." Her expression brightened up. "You're the captain who wants to travel west to the Indies!"

Somewhat taken aback by the woman's knowledge, Cristabol took a few seconds to compose himself. "Yes, but how would you know such a thing?"

"I know of a fair few things myself." She leaned towards him. "Including why your first try didn't work."

All Cristabol managed to get out was a shaky, "I...don't know what you're talking about."

The woman stood up and walked next to Cristabol, "Look, I'm here to help. If you want to avoid having your ships torn apart by storms and your men eaten by flying serpents, then I think we can have business."

Cristabol looked around before standing up himself. "Can we talk in a private setting?"

The woman nodded, and they left for Cristabol's room. He closed the door behind them softly, making sure no one saw them.

"So, what's your proposal?"

The woman cleared her throat. "I have, shall we say, certain talents, that could benefit your expedition. These flying serpents and great storms, they're all preventing you from reaching further west, and I can help. In return, I hope to reach the Indies and a find a certain object there."

Cristabol scoffed. "And how exactly will you do that? A demonstration might be in order."

For the slightest moment the woman seemed annoyed, but the emotion quickly faded into her earnest grin once more. "Certainly, but perhaps in a more secluded location. There are certain trade secrets I would be loath to let others potentially witness."

Cristabol cocked his head. "Do you have some type of weapon? Nautical equipment?"

The woman merely smirked. "You'll see."

Reluctantly, Cristabol agreed to follow the woman out of Palos. He had a sinking feeling this woman was a charlatan, or worse, an assassin sent by the Jewish family, but the faint possibility she could offer something valuable was enough for him. A chance of surviving was better than none, after all.

They were quite aways from the town now, the dim lantern and candle lights fading from view. The woman finally settled on a ruined stone building off the road, the facade long since broken up and roof fallen. Shuffling around the floor of the building, she rubbed her hands together and seemed to prepare herself.

"Alright here comes the demonstration. Probably should take a few steps back, and please don't run away."

Cristabol was somewhat confused. He came for weapons or devices, not parlor tricks.

Suddenly the woman outstretched a palm and began to concentrate. In a few seconds large pillars of flame began to shoot out of her right hand, much to the surprise of Cristabol.

After half a minute of flames, she put up her left hand, this time spitting cackling streaks of lightning at the wall. It took a few sustained hits before crumbling before his eyes.

"And just in case you thought that was it!" She bent down and jumped, catapulting herself clean in the air. Now flying well above Cristabol, she held her right hand out as if grasping something, and a ghostly blade appeared. Just as abruptly, she dove down and plunged the blade into the floor, sending Cristabol flying back and against the wall.

Spitting out dust and a little blood, Cristabol could hardly think, let alone comprehend what just happened. After straightening himself up, he noticed the woman floating in the air, legs crossed and spinning ghostly blades around her hands.

"Who are you? Are you a witch of some sort?"

The woman chuckled. "I am no witch, though some followed me from time to time. I am so, so, much more."

As if to illustrate her point she touched down to the ground and spun her hand in a circle. Suddenly her simple garb disappeared, and an opulent black and dark blue robe enveloped her. She stepped forward, her skin now covered in tattooed letters and words that glowed green intermittently. "If you really want some ordinary sorcerer or witch to aid your expedition, by all means, do so. But if you really want to reach the west, defeat all that oppose you, and gain riches that most men couldn't even fathom."

She outstretched a hand for Cristabol. He considered the offer before grinning. He wouldn't merely have discovered new trade routes, or even become "Admiral of the Ocean Sea." He could become a great man, echoed in history. He would show them all what he could do, and if it took this woman and her magic to do it, so be it.

Cristabol grabbed her outstretched palm and upon doing so a green miasma engulfed his hand, smoldering it like a smith's fire. He retracted the hand as soon as could and the burning sensation stopped immediately, but a name was emblazoned across it in Greek.

Cristabol studied it. "Hecate?" He said aloud.

"That's me!" Hecate smiled. "I'm a demigod, of course. Who else could practice magic like that? I think we're going to have a successful partnership, Cristabol."

She grabbed Cristabol's arm, walking back to Palos. Cristabol had a twinge of regret, glancing at the markings on his hand, but what's done is done. At least now he would have a good chance at travelling west and the glory he craved.

 

[Gog]

The Niña cut across the sea at a hurried pace as the crew gathered to see the intense storm ahead. Cristabol had anticipated this, and warned the crew that demonic forces gathered to prevent them from reaching the trade routes, for they were godly men. He also told them that he brought aboard help to deal with the demonic threat, a woman who he addressed as Sofia. It had been at Hecate's insistence her true name be hidden. Enemies of hers supposedly lurked at every corner, and she couldn't count out the possibility some were on the ship.

They were sitting in the captain's cabin, planning out their next moves when a sailor barged in. "Uh, captain? There's something flying in the storm."

Cristabol briefly glanced at Hecate before answering. "Those are demons sent to thwart our mission. Have no fear, we will deal with them."

He looked worried and unconvinced, and returned to the deck.

"So," Cristabol turned to Hecate, "How are we going to deal with the storms?"

Getting out of her chair, she walked to the back of the cabin and picked up a locked metal chest. Slamming it on the table, she shot a small blast of lightning on the lock and it opened, revealing a large bronze torch. "This can dispel any weather, natural or magical. Once I use this, we can get through the storm."
Cristabol leaned in, "And the serpents?"

Hecate only smiled. "That will be the fun part, no?" She rubbed her hands together in excitement. "It's been a few centuries since I last fought giant beasts, but I've practiced a bit since I got out."

"Got out?"

Hecate looked somewhat confused for the first time since Cristabol met her. "Oh yeah, about that. I was until recently rather unjustly incarcerated by some very terrible people." She rested her hand on her temple, as if troubled by something. "Damn Covenant, you borrow one tome of 'forbidden knowledge' and they throw you away into a prison world. They weren't even using it!"

Realizing Cristabol was in the room, Hecate stopped talking and started to organizing her items in the chest. He could see a dagger, the aforementioned torch, a few small scrolls, and a key of red steel.

"Don't touch that." It was in such an authoritative voice that it seemed to push Cristabol back a couple feet.

"I'm just going to check on the crew." Cristabol backed out of the room and left. Hecate didn't seem want any interruptions anyway, and better to leave her to her magic and trinkets.

When Cristabol stepped on deck, he saw a large gathering of sailors waiting for him. Some still went about their duties, but the vast majority of them didn't exactly seem happy with him.

One of them stepped forward, and turned to face the gathering. "I don't know about you lot, but I don't fancy dying today by no demons or storms!" There was a general agreement, some shouted and others murmured. "So, Captain, either turn us around, or we'll turn the ship around."

Cristabol was surprised but not shocked. Not many people want to head into a giant storm, but he had to coerce them into falling in line. "Look, we have help against all this. Trust me, and we'll all be rich men at the end! Think of the spoils we'll find! The Indies are just waiting for us at the other side!"

The man in front just spat. "There's no gold to be found at the bottom of the ocean! Now, last chance."

Cristabol was eyeing a small boat in the corner of the deck when Hecate emerged, looking very angry.

"Everyone back to your posts! The storm and demons will be destroyed, that I can guarantee you." Sparks of lightning began to form in her clenched fists.

The man, unfazed, walked right up to Hecate. "And what if I don't believe you? Maybe we should just throw the both of you lunatics off and sail back to the mainland?"

"Well," Hecate flatly intoned. "I did give you a chance."

Suddenly she slammed a massive bolt of lightning at the sailor, sending him flying onto the deck in a lifeless heap. The rest of the sailors moved back, their eyes wide and jaws dropped.

Hecate then summoned some kind of green energy and flung it over the dead man's body. It quickly seeped into his agape mouth, causing his limbs to twitch and shake. Suddenly his body stood up, rigid and straight. His eyes disintegrated, replaced with a pair of sickly green orbs.

"Any other brave men?" Hecate mocked.

The sailors quickly returned to their posts, a certain fear transfixing their faces. They now worked with far more haste, sometimes looking over their shoulder at Hecate and their fallen comrade, who returned to duty after a few movements of her hand.

Cristabol put up a tough face, but worriedly whispered to Hecate. "Won't they mention this sort of thing back in Spain?"

She just shrugged. "We can deal with it. If all this goes well they'll be more concerned with their piles of gold and land than some common necromancy."

"Right." Cristabol was far less convinced. "And if they talk?"

"Dead men tell no tales, and as you can see they steer a ship well enough."
Cristabol merely returned to his duties as captain. The storm was fast approaching, and they had scant time to prepare. He spent ten minutes or so making sure the crew knew what to do, and hoped that his orders to the captains of the other ships were solid enough. They were still sailing in the same direction, which was good enough for him.

Once the clouds, lightning strikes, and occasional sights of large feathered wings came close enough, Hecate emerged once more from the cabin. Wearing her elaborate robes, she held the lit metal torch and stared directly at the storm.
She yelled at the helmsman, "Full speed ahead! We stop for nothing!"

The man could only give a beleaguered yes, and they stayed on course. When the bow of the ship hit the raging storm, Hecate flew into the air with the lit torch and triggered an explosion, sending a force in all directions.

The storm was now gone, the sea as calm and clear as it could ever be, but he could see over a dozen feathered serpents flying in the air. They possessed neither leg nor arm, but had long slithering tails that glided them through the air along with their colorful wings. Their mouths were covered in sharp, white teeth, and their heads sported a lucious red mane. The very same mysterious creatures that assailed his earlier expedition were now revealed in totality to him

All of these fascinating details were lost in the fact that the serpents were careening towards the ships, roaring and snarling on their way down. The men cried out and ran below deck, a few grabbing long guns and crossbows. Cristabol had a distinct feeling that these would be of little use against the beasts, and he took a position under cover. Hecate sprung into action in the meantime, dropping the torch onto the deck, where it made a sizable hole.

As the serpents prepared to loose their fangs on the ships, bolts of thunder streaked from Hecate's left hand as she summoned a sword in her right hand. Distracting one from its descent, it charged at her, letting her arc a powerful blast at it. Stunned, it had no way to counter as the blade plunged promptly in its throat, and the serpent fell into the sea. The great crash of waves almost reached the deck of the ship, and the sea ran red.

The other serpents, seeing their fallen brethren, launched into a furious cry of anguish and rage. They completely ignored the ships, and now focused solely on the flying demigod. At one of the lead serpents she threw a spike of ice that impaled it, leaving it writhing in the air before falling down. As they reached Hecate she artfully dodged their charges and bites, slicing another's throat open with her ghostly sword.

Soon the sky became a blur as dozens of serpents flew in and Hecate danced in the sky, intermittently evading their strikes and adding her own into the mix. The sea had become a graveyard of serpents and in enough time, the water was swirling with dark blood. The Niña and her sister ships rocked back and forth in the water as the sailors watched, equally in awe and horror as the battle unfolded. Sometimes they tried to aim for the serpents with small arms, but Cristabol had dissuaded them from it out of fear of drawing their attention back below.

One by one, the serpents fell by magic or blade to Hecate. After waves and waves, their reinforcements seemed to dwindle to Cristabol. A last charge of about 20 serpents dove at her, each slayn over time. Finally, it seemed to be the end, and Hecate surveyed the graveyard of beasts below her. Some of the less fearful sailors even came out onto the deck.

However, the triumph was pierced by an roar so loud that it began to shake and vibrate the ships. Heads turned towards the horizon, where a serpent far larger, fearsome and terrifying flew to the demigod at an unfathomable speed. It had wings so large that they could almost blot out the sun, and it spewed fire from its nostrils.

In a strange and foreign tongue it bellowed, but the serpent had no intention of any sort of conversation. Hecate only barely avoided its first charge and her blasts of thunder only rolled off of the back of this serpent. Even fire and ice couldn't rip through its feathered hide.

Flying up to the clouds above, Hecate collected a green energy in her hands. Dispelling the green energy towards the dead serpents into the sea, the same kind of reanimation that she inflicted on the sailor affected the beasts.

While Hecate dodged the massive serpent's bites and flame, the smaller serpents rose once more to attack the larger one. Occupied by its dead kindred's attacks, Hecate channeled a yellow energy in her right hand. It didn't take long for the large serpent to dispatch the dead in quick order, but by then the yellow energy exploded with a blinding light.

When the serpent turned once more towards her, there were hundreds of Hecates hovering around it. The serpent lunged at one, and the others attacked it from behind. It lashed out, swinging its jaws and spitting fire in all directions. Suddenly the copies of Hecate collapsed and the true version, floating above, dove onto the head of the serpent, plunging ghostly blades into each eye. The creature cried out, but to no avail, as Hecate withdrew the blades and plunged a massive blast of fire into each eye.

The serpent careened down from the heavens, landing almost onto the Niña and swamping it's deck, carrying a couple sailors into the tide. The corpse smouldered from the inside, a great fire raging in its once fearsome head.

Gracefully, Hecate descended onto the ship. Her robes, once richly decorated in dyes and ink were now covered in the deep red of serpent blood and gore. The sailors now just stared at her, a range of emotions on each face. She halted right in front of Cristabol and for a moment he was afraid of what would happen next.

The fear evaporated once she started laughing, "Man, were you scared! A few flying snakes here and an 'ancient guardian of the west' there, it was nothing."

Hecate began to rearrange her messy hair into her signature coiffed style. "If you think they were bad, I should take you out to the frozen north some time. The dragons out there would eat these guys for a snack."

Cristabol weakly smiled and gave a signal to the helmsman. The ships began to careen ahead at full speed once more, and the Indies were within his grasp.

 

[Gog]

The ashes of straw, wood, and men rose above the village as it blazed below. Cristabol looked on as a couple dozen Spaniards roamed the ruins, taking anything they thought valuable, human and material alike. Even after years of conquest these rebellious savages would be taught that shipments of gold would have to be paid in full, and on time.

As he stepped over the remnants of a few huts, three hunters emerged from the treeline. They must have been away when his men arrived at the village, and after taking the scene in they began to rush at Cristabol. The Spaniards rose their weapons, but great blasts of lightning smashed into the attackers before they could make another move.

Cristabol and his men turned to see a very annoyed Hecate come from behind. "How many times do I have to say this? Don't you remember our deal?"

Cristabol could only get out couple words before Hecate slapped him.

"The terms were that I would help you find your damn gold and secure your islands, and you'd provide me with material!" She gestured to the burnt bodies. "How exactly do these bodies fit the definition of 'usable'?"

Not waiting for a reply, she continued, "I am very....cross with you." Hecate rested her head in her palm.

"Now, how should this be rectified? If I'm to find the original Key of Solomon, I need unburnt soldiers."

Cristabol looked on in terror as Hecate killed each one his soldiers and surviving Indians with blasts of lightning, and slew a couple that fled with ice spikes. Then she methodically sent out green energy to posses the bodies of Spaniard and Indian alike. They stood up once more and formed a line behind Hecate.

"Why?" Cristabol asked. "Why do you do this?"

"Actions have consequences. Did you really think you could play 'God' here and pretend no one would oversee you? That no one would be watching over your shoulder? I knew real Gods, was born from a real God. They'd throw you away like the pathetic little man you are."

Cristabol didn't respond. In the years since he'd landed on Hispaniola and taken over the island, his relationship with Hecate was full of friction. Although he did his best to give her the dead bodies of Indians and keep her away from any prying clergymen, she constantly demanded more in her search for the Key of Solomon.

Hecate said she didn't know exactly where the book, a tome for conjuring the greatest spirits of them all, was hidden, but that it was somewhere in the western region of the world. She said that 500 years ago another demigod, a Nordic one, brought it to the west to aid in conquest. That demigod failed, returning to Europe, and the book was lost.

Now Cristabol just felt trapped. Hecate would keep demanding greater and greater sacrifices, ones that he would eventually be unable to fulfill. If he tried to betray her to the church, they would likely cast him in irons, or worse, for aiding in black magic rituals. All he could do was continue to play his role and hope that she would leave out of frustration or finding the book.

As they trudged their way back to Santo Domingo, Cristobal couldn't help but wonder what would happen if she actually found the book. Would she actually leave? Or use it to begin a conquest of her own? Perhaps something completely different. Hecate never explained why she wanted it or what she would use it for, but perhaps it would just add to her seemingly endless knowledge of magic. The act of finding it could be its own reward.

It took a few hours but eventually they made it back to the capital of the fledgling colony. His colony, as he would frequently remind Spaniard and Indian alike. It had taken time and blood, but the island was firmly his. Yet more worrying was how fast the Indians were dying. He didn't think that in just under ten years, so many would be dead. Although he wouldn't normally care if savages lived or died, they provided important labor for the colony.

When Cristobal and Hecate reached the center of the town, she tapped him on the shoulder. "Come, I need you to see something. It's time I show you my full power."

Cristobal meekly followed her, looking over periodically to make sure no one was trailing them. The tough demeanor he showed to others always dissipated whenever he was with her, and he didn't want anyone to see that.

She lead him through out of town and into the countryside beyond, pockmarked with the ruins of the Indians; bones, ashes, and scattered items. Finally they reached a great dead tree with some kind of sickly hue on it, foul liquid covering it. The stench was so unbearable that Cristobal stopped to vomit out his supper. When he recovered, he slowly went around the back and was horrified to find the most monstrous thing in all of Christendom.

It was a kind of apparatus, with an structure resembling something one would find in a professional smithy or craft shop, but covered in black fluid. It oozed out small black specks, invisible from afar, pumping them out through tendrils wrapped tightly around the dead tree. Various protrusions sucked in what looked like ghostly white liquid. But a liquid that almost screamed out towards him in some deep, primal anguish. Cristobal was paralyzed in equal parts disgust and horror.

Hecate just smiled, a constant and unnerving presence. "A beauty, isn't she? The Covenant and Mysterium called it a 'Black Engine,' a kind of plague machine. I was so curious after they destroyed the last one after the Bubonic Plague that I decided to research it. That's what they tried to throw me in prison for, a simple foray for knowledge's sake, but when I got out, it didn't take long at all to re-engineer it."

She was fascinated with it, crouching to examine every aspect. "With the right magical ability, anyone could turn it off or on, change how many spores it releases, what kind of plague, and who it affects. I'm not sure who originally built it or why, but it is just perfect. A fascinating new accomplishment in the study of disease."

Noticing Cristobal was just not moving, she continued to speak. "I am leaving soon, I have a feeling my pursuers are near. Divination helps in figuring that out. Once I gather enough of these corpses the engine made for me, I'll strike for the gilded empires of west and south, where the book likely is hidden. With their secrets and my dead in hand I can avenge the Gods, bring ruin to the apostates of the Mysterium and the murderers of the Covenant! Eris may be dead, but I am her daughter all the same, and I owe her the heads of her killers at the very least."

She turned once more to Cristobal. "You may go now. I have no more use for you."

Cristobal wasted no time in leaving. He had been desensitized to all the killing, destruction, and black magic, but seeing it look at him in the face was startling. He trudged back to Santo Domingo, observing his domain. Hecate had left, but comfort was far from the feeling instilled. Dread of the future was more like it.

 

[Gog]

Cristobal had a night of restless sleep, tossing and turning in the knowledge of Hecate's machines and plans. It was one thing to accept the off and on help of a black magic practitioner, and see the dire effects, it was another to see her wield such a terrifying and grotesque weapon.

He was shaken from these dark contemplations by a servant. Groggily, he asked what had happened. "Governor, the dead are gone! And there are armed men outside asking for you!"

"What? Explain!"

The servant took a step back while Cristobal climbed out of bed. "The graves have been opened, and the bodies lying in preparation for burial are gone. Many here see it as a bad omen, a sign of demons."

Hecate's parting price, Cristobal thought. "What of the armed men?"

"They arrived on a ship from Spain, seeking your audience. They bear seals from the church and crown as well, and the guards have let them in."

Cristobal could vaguely hear the clattering of footsteps down the hall. These must have been the pursuers Hecate spoke of as well. Cristobal stumbled out of his chambers, deciding to find other guards and have some protection against these men. He had barely turned the corner when they saw him.

Clad in steel breastplate and wielding weapons, they shouted at him. "Governor Colon! You are under arrest by the order of the King and Queen of Spain under the authority of his Holiness."

There was no way Cristobal was going to outrun them, so he just turned around and surrendered. At least he could have a chance at retaining his honor, if nothing else.

The men carried him off out of his palace and luckily there weren't that many citizens about to see his ignominious removal. However, instead of returning to their ship, the men took him to a decrepit house, placed him in a chair, barred the door, and left. Cristobal was now more perplexed than he was ashamed, perhaps a interrogator was to arrive?

Indeed, two other men entered the house and barred the door once more. They looked to be a soldier, wearing the same armor as the others but with the image of an Ark painted over his breastplate, and a clergyman carrying the same symbol instead of a cross.

The two sat down in front of Cristobal and the clergyman pulled out a small notebook and quill from his satchel. There was no exchanging of pleasantries or greetings, just silence. Then the soldier leaned in, "When was the first time you met the 'woman' who calls herself Hecate?"

Cristobal stammered out a quick denial of any knowledge of Hecate. Without looking up from his notes, the clergyman responded. "We have multiple witnesses describing Hecate to us, and that she was in your company. We know she raised the dead under your order, that she committed human sacrifice, and essentially every act of maleficium classified under Covenant laws. We know everything, Governor Colon. The best thing you can do is confess before we render judgement."

Cristobal was stunned, and he knew there was no way out now. "I...will start from the beginning."

And he did. Over what seemed like hours, Cristobal explained everything from that first fateful night in Palos through the years in Hispaniola to yesterday, when she absconded with Santo Domingo's dead. Anxiously coming to an end, he waited for the clergyman to finish writing.

"So, Hecate was a witch to you?" Cristobal was almost hopeful that they would say she was not as powerful as she claimed.

The soldier, restless, spoke instead. "Hecate, as she calls herself, is no common malefica. She is the offspring of an archdevil, a cambion, and cursed by the hand of God. It is the duty of all Kana'im to purify the worlds of such filth."

"Kana'im?"

The clergyman closed his book, content with his writings it seemed. "My associate here is a zealot, ready to put his life on the line in His service. I am but a Judge, but held responsible for sentencing those who have transgressed as you have."

The judge put away his book and whispered to the soldier. He nodded, and walked to Cristobal and placed manacles on his wrists. Cristobal couldn't help but sweat.

"While I am thankful for your cooperation, and the information you gave will be important in tracking down Hecate, punishment must be given. You, Governor Cristobal Colon, will be sentenced to incarceration in Gehenna, until He calls you for final judgement. A replacement 'Cristobal Colon' shall be sent to Spain for lesser crimes so that a personage such as yourself will not be missed."

Cristobal stood up, confused and angry. "What! What are you talking about?"

The judge just walked out of the building, and the soldier carried him out of the door. They now walked to the ship, and Cristobal tried yelling out to his guards, friends, anyone who could hear him. Scanning the streets, he saw there was now no one except the small contingent of soldiers that went with him. His efforts were in vain.

After almost screaming himself hoarse, the soldier spoke.

"Dayan Ephraim, permission to shut him up?"

The judge nodded, and the soldier hit Cristobal in the head, hard. Everything went black.

~~~~

Cristobal woke up in a strange place, all alone. It looked to be a large chamber made of elegantly carved marble. Large statues protruded from the walls, some wearing robes and others armor. They all had their heads removed, and were otherwise defaced thoroughly. There was one carved out of the front center of the chamber, broken chunks of marble remaining from when it was torn down.

Moving beyond that, between each statue were what seemed to be gateways, covered in sheets of metal that looked retractable. Each had a console next to it, buttons and symbols inscribed, and large lettering above in many languages. He could make out a few, "Auqakuh," "Nibiru," "Muspelheim," and "Svartalfarheim." There were a few that were crossed out and he could see the remnents of, "Olympus" and "Vanaheim." One that crossed out "Tartarus," and rewritten something else held special meaning for him though, "Gehenna."

He had scant time to analyze this though, as the door behind him began to open. He thought of running, but his hands were tied behind his back and he had no idea how these gateways worked. A few soldiers and an old man emerged.

"This is the Cristobal Colon you spoke of, kana'im?"

Cristobal recognized the soldier from Santo Domingo. "What am I doing here? What is this place?" Cristobal could barely groan out.

They just ignored him. "Yes, great Nasi, this is the man who conspired with the cambion known as Hecate. We have tracked her to the isle known as Cuba, and have dispatched thousands of men of God. The Mysterium has not responded to our messages on this, so we are alone."

The Nasi nodded. "In time, all enemies of God shall have their punishment. He wills it. Today, we punish this one."

"No...no. I did nothing wrong! I brought the glory of God west! I civilized the savages! Please, don't do this!"

The Nasi bended down, and looked him in the eyes. "It's time to face His judgement, Colon."

With that the Nasi left, and the soldiers lifted Cristobal up. His last protests were met by silence, and the plates on the gateway to Gehenna began to open. A black swirling mass began to form, and the vague image of some landscape formed. The soldiers untied Cristobal and unceremoniously threw him into the portal, his vision blinded for a moment.

When he regained his sight, he was somewhere completely different. A bleak, grey landscape faced him. The howling of wild animals could be heard in the distance, and he could see giant geysers dot the landscape. Looking behind him, there was no trace of a gateway or anything but more grey wasteland. Cristobal gulped and began walking, and then with the howling intensifying, running. Soon the howls were upon him, and he could only scream.

 

[Gog]

Hot. That was the first thing Halogi felt when he stumbled out of the gate. Losing his balance, he fell onto the hard, rocky floor. Slowly pulling himself up, dazed for a moment, he could hardly believe what he was seeing. The entire land as far as he could see was dark black, covered in soot. There was some plant life, but not much. Halogi kneeled down to see footprints by some unknown animal. This place was clearly lived in.

The most shocking sight was on the horizon. Massive volcanoes spewing fire crowned the landscape. He could see massive rivers of near boiling water streaking down next to actual lava flows as long as the rivers. Halogi almost couldn't speak, overcome by the nightmarish atmosphere and grief from his father's death.

He was woken from his paralysis when a warrior tugged his arm. "Halogi! Where is the King?"

A few other disheveled warriors gathered around him. Wordlessly, they understood what had happened.

"May Ymir guide his soul into the next life. We must go." The warriors and Halogi walked away from the broken gate and over a large hill, where the Jotunar had gathered. Most of them had survived, and Halogi could hardly see all of them. They were huddled together and fearful.

Looking over the crowd, he tried to find Kraa, Sinmara, or even Suttung. Many warriors had not made it, slaughtered by the Selenites and Thor. If they had gone, then who was left? Halogi, distraught, walked into the wasteland that this world seemed to be. Ash colored foliage covered the soil, and a few small creatures darted around. This world was no less alien to them than the frozen Jotunheim to Halogi.

Travelling further into the wilds, he began to see ash clouds fall from the volcanoes onto the ground. It seemed strange that any life could survive in this place, but perhaps they could find a home here. Had the sacrifice of so many innocents been worth this flame drenched husk? At the very least, it would be safe from the 'Gods' and the Hivemasters.

As Halogi stepped further, he saw a black outline approach. He drew his sword, but the figure seemed less alien and more like a Jotun. Letting the person approach, it seemed to be a male body, clutching its head in his hands. The man was clothed in simple robes, and he seemed to be old, a grey beard extending from his decapitated head. Halogi, after seeing so many strange and horrifying sights today, was less shocked and more numb.

"Who are you?" Halogi said with a hint of the sorrow that was plaguing him.

The man's head spoke, "The Rememberer. I am here to give you a piece of the future."

Intrigued by this headless man, Halogi just nodded.

"Do not lose your hope that the killers of Olympus will be brought to justice. You must rally your people against them, and in time, you and the Jotunar will rejoin the battle for freedom."

Before Halogi could ask him to explain more, the man dissipated. It must have been some sort of astral projection, visiting from some far off place to speak to him, he concluded.

Trudging back to where all the Jotunar were, Halogi's despair began to slip away. His father had sacrificed himself so others could live. So had the other warriors and all the other brave souls that had been standing up for the past 15 years. These 'Gods' did this. They had exterminated his people, wiped them from the face of a world and forced the ragged survivors to eke out an existence on a blazing ruin. They deserved to suffer here more than the honest folk that the Jotunar were.

They deserved to burn. Their palaces, armies, servants, children, realms, followers. All as tainted as the fruit that conceived them. Anger now consumed Halogi, anger at the 'Gods,' the Selenites, and anyone else who had been responsible for the downfall of his people. He now arrived back at the makeshift camp that the Jotunar had set up, and spied Sinmara from the corner of his eye.

"Halogi! Where have you been?"

Halogi just looked sternly at her. "I know what I must do."

Sinmara just looked confused as Halogi began to stand aboard a abandoned cart, and surveyed the sea of Jotunar scattered about. He then began to raise his voice sharply.

"Quiet!"

The sudden scream jolted many next to him, and others further out had taken the hint of their attentiveness to stop talking as well.

"I am Halogi, son of Fornjot, and I come to you not as a prince of the fallen kingdom, but as a Jotun. Today has seen loss. Loss of our relatives, loss of our friends, loss of our kinsmen, and loss of our homeland. Let us take a moment to remember their sacrifice."

An eerie, awkward silence blanketed the Jotunar.

"But we must do so much more than simply mourn them. We must honor their lives, and do what they would have wanted. Fight back."

"Can we simply allow the demon-gods of Olympus to win again and again, with no consequences for the slaughter of our fathers, mothers, sons and daughters? No!"

Halogi could hear people yelling in agreement and even people further back were cramming to listen.

"We will rise up, we will be reborn! We shall take this wreck of a world, this Muspelheim, and make it anew. We will rain vengeance and fury upon those who thought they could wipe us out!"

By now the Jotunar were cheering, banging things, screaming when he was talking. No longer did despair have hold here.

"We shall embrace the fire, the rage, and meet it out on them ten times over! I will no longer be Halogi the prince, but Surtr the king, for I shall burn the so-called gods into cinders! I swear an oath on the graves of all the fallen, the slaughtered, the cowardly slain that I will destroy the Sovereign and her precious Olympus, even if it is with my dying breath!"

By now warriors lifted their weapons, declaring similar oaths, many dedicated specifically to Thor and his 'godly' compatriots. The din of the crowd conquered all the sound, and Surtr could hardly even hear himself think. Yet he raised his hands and the crowd quieted down for a few seconds.

"Let the worlds know that the Jotunar are not dead! Let them know that we are now Eldjotnar, giants of fire. Let them know that we will be the torch of freedom, the blaze setting the demons alight, the scathe of branches!"

Surtr would have his revenge. They all would. The Jotunar would bring the end to the 'Gods' and their precious world. Years, decades, centuries, milenium, Surtr would wait as long as he had to, use every opportunity. The dead would have their peace, Fornjot would have his peace. A peace bought by divine blood.

 

[Gog]

Halogi awoke as the camp began to slowly move from its stationary position and into a caravan. As he gathered his armor and weapons, Halogi noticed that his father was already barking commands to various lieutenants and officers around. Emerging from the tent, he realized this would be his last day on Jotunheim. Either in Ymir's embrace or in a new world, tomorrow would be spent differently.

"I see you've wasted no time getting ready."

Fornjot barely turned. "Time is wasting. The sooner we make it to the gate, the fewer deaths."

Halogi curtly nodded, leaving his father to rally the warriors. He helped pull up tents and gather the group of soldiers under his command in the meantime. Sinmara joined him, and he could see Kraa fly overhead with his renegades. Sinmara didn't talk, she just seemed tense. Halogi couldn't blame her.

In only an hour the Jotunar were moving once more, down the craggy, meandering valley that led to the gate. There was about as close to silence as you can get from a horde of soldiers and civilians trudging in snow, aside from whispered prayers and worries. Halogi joined Fornjot and the other elite warriors at the front of the mass, prepared to confront whatever may come.

They moved down the ice covered valley, and at a point it began to thin. With the Jotunar forced to congregate even closer together, Halogi gripped his sword tight and looked to the air. An attack would be ripe. Apparently Fornjot thought this too, motionioning to Kraa's Selenites to scan the sky for threats.

They flew up in the air, patrolling the upper edges of the valley without totally exposing their positions. For a few moments they stayed up there and observed their surroundings before flying back down to the ground.

"All clear, but I wouldn't trust it to stay that way for long."

Fornjot and Halogi agreed, and they readied their sorcerers to put up protective wards. Fornjot ordered everyone to go faster, and soon most of the Jotunar were at a jogging pace, towards the next turn in the valley.

Suddenly, Halogi could hear a faint sound from above. Growing louder by the second, the renegade Selenites were sent up before it grew deafening, and everyone knew what it was.

The fluttering of wings.

The renegade Selenites retreated down, although the concentration of magefire coming from beyond the valley killed a few of them. Soon the entire roof the valley was covered by Hivemaster troops. Once renegades were amidst the Jotunar, the sorcerers threw a massive ward above them all. If the Hivemaster troops were going to attack, they would have to mount an assault on the valley floor.

As the sorcerers were too busy maintaining the ward, the warriors quickly hardened the front and back of the host with their shields. Pushing his way to the front, Fornjot stood beyond the shields. Wearing a simple brown robe with a hood, he stared at the descending Selenites with the pulsating staff Hævateinn in hand.

The Selenites were wielding melee weapons and magics, and cast some fire and lightning on the shield wall before charging in. They made a two pronged attack, with some of their forces flying at an incline towards the shield wall, while others went for a frontal assault on the ground. As they both charged, Fornjot slammed Hævateinn into the ground, creating an explosion of fire that incinerated the Selenite's vanguard.

Retreating to a more defensible position, Fornjot continued to fire blasts of flame from Hævateinn while the Jotunar slowly advanced towards the gate. Halogi held up his shield in the line, marching carefully in step with the rest. He spied Sinmara holding out her shield as well. It became vaguely visible in the distance, a great metal portal that was the size of four men stacked on top each other.

There would have been hoots and hollers at the sight of their long awaited reprieve at any other time, but all that could be heard was the clashing of bodies against shields, the collision of magefire, and the screams of civilians. Getting ever closer to the gate, the valley widened, and it grew harder and harder for the sorcerers to maintain the ward. Realizing this, the Selenites began to focus more of their attacks on the ward.

As the ward weakened, Fornjot called over Kraa and a few of his fellow renegades to help him. Together, they lifted the king off the ground and put him in view of the aerial Selenite force. Channelling a great amount of fire and taking advantage of their distraction, he threw a fireball at the Selenites, burning up many and forcing more to flee.

As the assault crumpled, the Jotunar were ever closer to the gate. The elite advanced under cover of other wards and their shields, securing the gate. Eventually the larger ward encompassed the whole host of Jotunar and the gate itself.

Fornjot wasted no time, tapping the sole symbol on a iron slab in front of the console. A red glow began to streak across lines connecting the slab to the gate, bathing its edges in a bright light. The gate then began to slowly open, and a inky blackness lay in its middle.

"Go! Don't look back, and don't come back!" Fornjot bellowed. "Warriors! Protect the people as they cross through, and then file in after them!"

The sorcerers began to direct all of their attentions towards maintaining the ward, and the warriors linked their shields on the flanks and behind of the mass. The first Jotunar went in, and they seemed to simply dissipate into the blackness within. Halogi could only hope they were safe.

As the gate shuttled more and more Jotunar into a new world, the Selenites began their attack again, approaching from all sides and above in even larger numbers than before. They were lead by some of the most elite Hivemasters, who wore distinctive paint and the plumes of rare birds. With tens of thousands of Selenites focusing fire on the ward, it would only be a short time they could hold it for, so Halogi decided that they had to distract them.

Rallying his companions, Halogi marched against the brunt of the Selenite assault. Sinmara charged with him, her shield up as they plunged their swords into the front ranks. In a flurry of blows and hits, Halogi's chain mail only barely held up against the jabs and blows of the Selenite's weapons, but they still pushed as far as they could while maintaining formation.

By now a significant portion of the Jotunar made it through the gate, and it was a mad dash for many to get to the other side. Despite Fornjot's best efforts, the people were scared and simply wanted to survive. Dozens were trampled, and there was no time to retrieve the fallen.

Fornjot went to the battle lines and deployed Hævateinn, sending a wave of fire that devastated the ranks of the Selenites. He could only keep it up for so long before yelling out another order to the troops.

"Reserves, enter the gate! Front lines, walk back towards the gate and cover their retreat!"

Halogi slowly took steps back, careful to maintain his balance in the face of the almost endless onslaught. He couldn't see Sinmara any longer, although Kraa was in the air countering the aerial assaults of the Hivemasters. Halogi didn't even glance backward any longer to see how many had made it past the gate, although by this point the majority likely would have.

He could only hold up his shield and make the occasional jab to stop the blows from raining down. It was a good thing he'd taken a reinforced shield to the battle like most of the elite warriors.

By now even some of the elites were retreating to the portal, and Fornjot needed to hold the line for one last surge. Running towards the front lines, he shot fire balls into the Selenite's formations, messing up their advance. These random attacks enabled the remaining warriors to form a line around the gate and protect the few stragglers running.

There were now only a couple hundred Jotunar stampeding into the new world, and Halogi heard a loud crack of thunder.

Thor had arrived.

The sound terrified the remaining civilians, and they ran even faster into the gate. Out of the corner of his eye, Halogi thought he saw Kraa fall to the ground. Even more were trampled, and in a short moment the battlefield was only shared by soldiers.

"Halogi, we must seal the gate!" Hearing his father speak to him shook Halogi out of his focus on the enemy.

"How?" he worriedly shouted.

"Together, we must direct an ice spell at the lines going from the console and into the rim of the gate. Over a few moments it will freeze the passages and the gate will collapse."

Quickly nodding, Halogi sheathed his sword and used his free hand to cast an ice spell. He wasn't as learned in the arcane arts as his father, but he summoned all the concentration and knowledge he had to try. The spikes of ice they fired began to shoot through the lines as the steel clad Thor flew right at the ward.

With a great hammer, Thor slammed the ward, shattering it into innumerable pieces. The warriors, elite as they may have been, fled. Some were struck down by Thor's lightning, and others made it to the gate in time. Now it was just Halogi and Fornjot, with Hævateinn in hand. Thor merely floated in the air as they glared.

Thor's head was encased in a monstrous mask, but Halogi could see a glimmer from his eye slits as he turned his head towards the freezing gate.

"Smart, but not smart enough. We made a deal with the Selenites," he gestured to the enemies licking their wounds a hundred meters off or so, "and we intend to keep it. I offer no quarter, only death. A reprieve from your miserable existence."

Halogi just sneered. "Demon! Go back to the hole you crawled from!"

Thor, enraged, raised his hammer. He charged an immense bolt of thunder and let it loose, streaking towards Halogi.

Halogi lifted his shield, knowing that a 'divine' weapon would easily destroy his metal-wood protection. Closing his eyes briefly, he was startled by Fornjot releasing the full power of Hævateinn on Thor's weapon. The cone of fire that erupted rose to meet the blast of lightning and they stood in remarkable explosion. Neither could budge the other more than a few inches.

Thor grew even angrier, trying to force his way towards Fornjot, but Fornjot merely stared at the 'God-son.' After a minute of this magical shoving match, Grimnir , father of Thor, arrived. Wearing a mix of unknown furs and iron, Grimnir seemed much less formidable than the metallic Thor, but as an actual 'God,' he was much more powerful.

"What did I tell you, boy, about starting things you couldn't finish?" Grimnir merely floated above Thor, who was still concentrating on Fornjot.

"The Sovereign will hear about this, and you won't like it. I'm not going to 'save' you every time you fight someone with a magical stick!"

Thor ignored his father, and Halogi braced for whatever might come. Grimnir eventually just sighed, and out of his hands came a terrible white ray that hit the spot where Thor's hammer and Fornjot's staff magically collided.

The white light began to force its way down Fornjot's flame and both Fornjot and Halogi crept back towards the gate. The staff began to shake in Fornjot's hands, and a pained expression grew across Halogi's face.

The white light consumed Hævateinn, breaking it in two and igniting Fornjot's hands on fire. Thor and Grimnir now landed on the ground, and began to approach Fornjot.

Fornjot turned his head towards Halogi. "Go! Now!"

Halogi merely stood frozen. How could he abandon his father in the time he needed him most? Even if his weapons were useless against the attackers, he could at least try to distract them.

Grimnir extended another tendril of light, one that streaked across the air and wrapped its way across Fornjot's neck. Grimnir threw his had in the air, and Fornjot was elevated, still clutching at his throat. Halogi could read words from his lips, even in this state. Go.

Halogi looked around and saw the Selenites enclose again, and Thor advanced once more. The gate was almost completely frozen. Tears streaking down his face, Halogi ran towards the gate, and in one last glance, saw his father limp in the snow. His next sight was one of being bathed in light.

 

[Gog]

There was ice as far as Halogi's eyes could see. Years ago, Jotunheim was graced with a variety of habitats, lush forests, high mountains, verdant grasslands, arid deserts, and deep oceans. Halogi was but a child when he saw the great trees that were cut down for hearths. He saw the fringes of the western deserts, full of prickly plants and boiling temperatures. He even saw the seas, practically bursting with delicious and dangerous fish. All that richness and beauty was destroyed by the war.

At that time, the Jotunar were divided into many kingdoms, fighting among each other and the Selenites, the insectoid race of the planet. His father, King Fornjot, was but one of these rulers when the war came, but now he was the only one left. Cold, hunger, battle, and ruthless slaughter thinned out their kind. Fornjot rallied all of the remaining Jotunar with a message of hope. He knew a way to save their species, an ancient and untouched world-gate. It would take great effort to get there, but the possibility put fire in the bellies of the desperate people. He gathered over the past year some one hundred thousand Jotunar, and now they made a mad dash for the gate before the Selenites and the 'Gods' they followed destroyed them.

Halogi turned back from his mount to look at the sea of Jotunar marching across the glacial remains of their homeland. Some called themselves soldiers, others were farmers, craftsmen, blacksmiths, hunters. Now they were all united in their fight for survival. All had seen the effects of war, and it scarred even the toughest of warriors.

Alongside the King and Halogi rode Sinmara, the finest swordswoman of the Jotunar, and Kraa, one of the renegade Selenites who fought against their Hivemasters, absolute rulers of the Selenites. Both were close companions of Halogi, having fought shoulder to shoulder in many battles. Halogi had known Sinmara since they were small, and both of them had almost always known the roar of battle in their lives. He could trust her with anything. Kraa had defected during the war, a member of the priest class that rejected the Selenites' deal with the so-called Gods. Although some Jotunar still didn't trust him, he had more than proven his worth in Halogi's eyes with his battlefield prowess.

When they had reached a valley, King Fornjot held up his hand. Slowly, the masses came to a stop. He began to yell out commands to his lieutenants. "We shall encamp here for the night. There is not enough daylight to make it to the gate, but we shall reach it tomorrow, Ymir willing!"

This message made its way down the ranks, as Fornjot's lieutenants communicated it to their ranks. Over the next few hours before dark, tens of thousands of tents and fireplaces sprung up around the entrance to the valley. Halogi helped set up the command tent which housed the leadership of Fornjot's host. There were no longer any servants working for the royalty as in the old days, everyone had to pull some of their own weight now.

As the glow of Mona rose over the last of the Jotunar, Halogi retreated into the tent for warmth. Few Jotunar could sit out at night, lest they perish of exposure. Just another reason why this land had become so foreign to the people it once birthed. Almost by the day, the climate grew more oppressive, the landscape more alien, and the attacks more vicious. He had to plan the final stage of their strategy to escape into the gate.

Inside the large tent, Fornjot was taking off his armor alongside a few lieutenants who were present for the meeting. He handed one the great staff Hævateinn, and the lieutenant placed it with great care in a locked chest. Halogi was with Fornjot when they travelled to faraway realms to try gathering support for the war. The 'Gods' who the Jotunar fought seemed to rule all the realms, and so hindered them at every point. In Midgard the humans were trampled under a red banner, puppets of their idols, in Tiu the Shudun were too busy at war, and in Gnogleiksstjarna they only barely escaped the wrath of these 'Gods'.

Only in Svartalfheim did they find aid. The mountain-fortresses of the Dveger held many secrets from the 'Gods,' and resentment to their tyranny festered. In the great underforge of the Ivaldi, a powerful staff, Hævateinn, was crafted for Fornjot. Hævateinn, gnarled wood wrapped around an iron core and capped with a glowing magical essence, acted as a conduit for Fornjot's magic, amplifying and concentrating whatever spell he had in mind. In countless battles, Fornjot been a crucial factor with this weapon and his martial ability. His talent in crushing the enemy had been the only thing standing in the way of their extinction, and now they could have a chance of cheating it for good.

In the center of the tent, a large old map depicting the canyon and the passages to the gate commanded the attention of all. It seemed to be huge on paper, but none save Fornjot had seen it in person, and ever since he had gathered this host to reach it once more. It would take hours for everyone to go through, and then they'd need to seal the gate somehow. There'd be no use of an escape if the Hivemasters and their 'Gods' followed them in.

Fornjot began to illustrate his plan for tomorrow. "We must expect an attack tomorrow. The enemy may not know the purpose of our journey here, but they have followed us nonetheless. Suttung, how do you expect they will launch their assault?"

The stout warrior pulled out a piece of chalk and marked up the map, drawing shapes and lines all about. "The vanguard of the attack will aim to soften us up, perhaps to punch a few holes in our lines. Then the Selenites will send waves and waves of soldiers to brute force their way through. Hivemasters do not value their swords, and will dispose of them in immense numbers. The good news is that flanking is unlikely, but the Selenites will strike will full force. With Hyrrokkin's men dead in the northern wastes, we are the only independent group of Jotunar known. There might also be an aerial attack led by Thor-"

The very name caused shudders in the room. The son of Grimnir had taken his role of general of the Selenites to heart, and not only smashed many armies in battle, but set up massacres and exterminations that killed millions of Jotunar. His hammer was stained with the blood of too many of their kind. Every Jotun warrior had sworn at one point to claim his head.

Suttung resumed his tactical assessment. "Grimnir might also join him later, and if he does we will need to make a run for the gate sooner than planned. We do not have the capability to hold him off for long, the so-called Gods are more powerful than even our strongest wizards. I think that if we start running from sunrise, we can make it to the gate before the brunt of their attack hits us."

When Suttung finished mapping out his predictions, Fornjot made various notes, and some changes. After this was done, he had rubbings done of the map and distributed to the lieutenants so they could understand the plan and their surroundings tomorrow.

"Bring these back to your soldiers and your groups, and prepare them for the day ahead. It will not be an easy one." Halogi saw his father betray weary eyes for a moment before snapping back. "May Ymir guide us to salvation."

As the lieutenants dispersed, Halogi and Fornjot were the only ones left in the tent. Fornjot lay down by the fire, warming his hands and staring into the dancing flames. Halogi was about to sit down when his father spoke first.

"Halogi, what do you think of our chances?"

Halogi reverently answered his father's question. "We will win, and live to build a new Jotunheim on the other side of the gate. Your leadership and strength is beyond parallel, and I don't have high hopes for any enemies that cross us tomorrow."

Fornjot's sullen expression did not change. "When the enemy sees the gate, they will know our intentions and strike with all the force they have. Many will die." He turned away from the fire and towards Halogi.

"If I die, do not mourn me. Keep fighting, and lead the people to the new world. Promise me this, Halogi."

Halogi was somewhat shaken, but quickly affirmed his father's wishes. It seemed absurd that he would fall in battle to the Selenites and their murderous 'Gods.'

"Don't think of such absurdities, father. We must press on!"

Fornjot turned back to the fire silently. Halogi thought he must be contemplating fellow warriors who fell to the blades and magics of the enemy.

"You should check on the warriors, Halogi. Make sure they are prepared."

Halogi nodded, although now he seemed somewhat concerned for his father. He wasn't like this in the past, but maybe it was just the pressure of the day ahead. Nevertheless, he grabbed a lantern and headed to the tent of the elite Jotun warriors.

The camp was a mostly desolate place now, with all having retreated inside for warmth. It did not take long for Halogi to reach the tent he needed to find, but still the crushing cold framed his body. The winter grew progressively worse, and at night it was only more frigid.

Finding his way in, he could see the warriors cleaning their armor and weapons, practicing, and light drinking. Halogi spied Sinmara practicing her sword arm and called out to her.

"Sinmara! How goes?"

The warrior merely smiled and sheathed her sword. "The battle awaits, are you here to give a speech?"

"I'm usually not one for speeches. Just here checking in on everyone."

Sinmara nodded and went back to her practicing, and Halogi shuffled around to check in on everyone. A couple dozen warriors were in this tent, some who fought with sword, others with axe, spear, bow, and magic. They were the strongest fighters of the Jotunar, and could take down many Selenites on their own. Tomorrow they would be tested beyond anything they had seen before, but Halogi was confident that these mighty men and women could fend off their enemies.

Sitting down by a few other warriors, Halogi was only able to take it all in for a moment before Kraa came in from his guard shift. The cold had affected the Selenites differently, and they could endure it much better than the Jotunar. It was for this reason that renegade Selenites in the camp made up the nightwatch.

"If it isn't Halogi! Have anything to drink? My wings are practically freezing off."

It was hard to know a Selenite's emotions by looking at them as one would a Jotun, but spend enough time around one and you could learn to understand how they felt by examining the contours of their face. Most Jotunar never even had much contact with them before the war, let alone when almost all of their species was locked in a war for Jotun extinction. So it took Halogi and some of the others time to adjust to living with the renegades. Many more of the Jotunar were still suspicious of them, thinking they could be spies, but Halogi knew better.

Halogi pointed towards a barrel in the back of the tent. "There's the Hnitborg mead you like."

Kraa walked over to the barrel, turning the spigot to release the vicious yellow alcohol the Selenites in the camp enjoyed. They all grew up in the same general culture, the now fallen priest class, so it made sense that they enjoyed similar tastes.

After filling a goblet, Kraa ambled with his four legs to where Halogi was sitting when a drunken man interrupted him.

"You! Get the fuck out! I don't want to see any filthy bugs after you all killed my Gunlod!"

Kraa seemed more amused than angered by the man. "I've slain more Hivemaster puppets than most of this host. I think you have the wrong Selenite, pal."

Strangely, this did not seem to calm the man down, and his fists clenched. Blows were about to be cast when Sinmara stepped in and separated the two. Kraa went to where Halogi was sitting while the man just sneered and kept walking. Sinmara joined them at the cot with goblets for both of them.

Kraa spoke before the others, in his usual mirthful voice. "Glad that didn't get messy. I need to save my tricks for the big day. How's the night treating all of you?"

Sinmara was a bit tired from practicing for hours, but managed a curt reply. "I can't wait any longer, honestly. I couldn't manage a hundred paces without frostbite all over, but if I could I'd be at that gate before dawn."

Halogi gave a lighthearted chuckle. "You and everyone else here. It'd be a stampede."

"A stampede for freedom!"

They toasted and drank to the new world.

"I wonder," Kraa mused. "What will this new world look like? Has anyone ever been on the other side of that gate?"

Halogi merely shook his head. "When my father found the gate years ago, he deciphered that it led to a place that was simply marked as 'new.' It doesn't have any links to other gates that are known, and he didn't open it. So it's anyone's guess."

"Well, I hope it doesn't have as much ice."

On that, everyone could agree.

Kraa downed his goblet, looking at the bottom. "I know there's bad blood between the Jotunar and the Selenites from before this. However I wonder if any of the people like that man stopped to consider that the Selenites aren't willing participants."

Sinmara cocked her head. "How so?"

"I was there for some of those negotiations as a priest to Hivemaster Yagg. The Sovereign

was there, along with Thor and Grimnir . The Hivemasters, overtaken by a lust for power, promised what amounted to slavery to the 'Gods.' An entire species on a silver platter is not something that they pass up easily.

He took another forlorn look into his goblet. "The agreement was that the Hivemasters would bind themselves in perpetuity to them, and that the Selenite hives would renounce all other Gods. In return, the Sovereign would grant them advanced magics to control the Selenites and Grimnir would cause the extinction of the Jotunar race."

"So," Sinmara leaned in, "This winter was caused by Grimnir ?"

"Yes, he has powerful ice elemental magics that even the Sovereign doesn't posses. I don't know all the details, but it took a lot of dark energy. Must have pulled in a whole ice age from the Realm of Possibilities. Thor was their greatest general, he fought every enemy of theirs. As we know too well, he doesn't leave a heart beating when he leaves a settlement or battlefield."

A awkward second or two of silence proceeded as everyone within earshot had a pained look on their face. Thor had taken someone from everyone.

"Then, uh, I stuck around. I supported the deal so I could keep passing intel to Fornjot. Even when they started killing priests. Eventually they cleaned house and killed anyone with a religious education. The few hundred that escaped with me are here with us now."

"Does any opposition remain to the Hivemasters?" Halogi asked somewhat plaintively.

"When the war ends, there could be some uprisings by craftsmen and warriors, but with their magics I think it would be a quick battle. Not until this universe is emptied of these damn Gods will we all be free."

Kraa went to get some more mead for his goblet, and the warriors relaxed a bit. As much as one could in the tense atmosphere. Some drank lightly, commiserated with their comrades in arms, prayed at small shrines, or just took an early rest.

Eventually they had to get ready to rest. No good warrior could be caught with a hangover on the eve of battle, especially not with these high stakes. So Halogi waved goodbye to his comrades and trekked back to the command tent to lie in his cot. He could hardly relax from anticipation, and only after a while of tossing and turning did sleep claim him.

 

[Gog]

Chapter 1​

The low light of dusk glanced the buildings on Syracuse Way, the distant sun setting over the shimmering sea. A passerby might notice the monolithic buildings common to Atlantis were more adorned here, as the residents, mostly merchants, had the means to make their homes more akin to their old Greek abodes. Usually this street was quiet, with the merchants coming home to their families after a long day selling their assorted wares in the Agora. Anticlides' home, however, had few inhabitants during the day, with only a young servant who kept watch. However, the servant was gone on some errand, and only the slow metal clicks of a safe being broken into could be heard throughout the home.

Tonight, Anticlides was being robbed. A young woman, named Kynthia, held a small lockpick, tinkering with the keyhole of the safe. Two other youths stood about, one standing guard and the other trying to lend help to Kynthia, or at least his idea of help.

"No, no! Kynthia, give me the pick! The merchant will be back here any moment with his guard, we need to move faster!"

"Give me one second, Artaxes, we'll have the gold and the fool will be none the wiser. He'll be thinking a ghost must have relieved him of his earnings with how well this job's been going." Kynthia tilted her head slightly and gave Artaxes a sly look. "Anyway, do you really think you could open this lock without breaking the pick?"

Kynthia took Artaxes' seething silence as a confirmation. She didn't have the time to engage in the kind of argument this would have become if they were lounging about. This robbery could net them all a neat pile of coin if they were careful enough, and Artaxes knew that too, even if he didn't show it. All it would take would be a moment more and they'd run off with their tunics jingling.

From downstairs, Kynthia could hear a key fitting into the door. Machon, their watch, blurted out a worried whisper. "He's come back! Hurry up Kynthia!"

Kynthia tried the lock a few more times, but the merchant and his burly guard had walked through the door now. The safe was on the second story of the house, so the robbers had scant time before they would be noticed.

"I've got it!" Kynthia had broken the lock, and she quickly pulled the door of the small safe open. The opening of the safe had made a sharp noise nevertheless, and it could be heard from downstairs.

Anticlides, paranoid as all merchants were in the city, barked out a command. "Farhad, check out that noise!" The guard gave a weary shrug and made his way towards the stairs as the youths threw all the denarii they could into their pockets. By the time he had gotten to the top of the stairs, Kynthia was climbing into the window they had come from.

The shocked guard yelled out furiously to her, "Stop!" He was too late, and Kynthia gave him a wink before she jumped onto the roof of the next house and began running like the others.

Kynthia ran along the roofs of the street, luckily they were jammed tightly together like all the buildings of Atlantis, so she did not have to jump far to get across each one. The heavy set guard was more energetic than she had thought, running behind her. Eventually Kynthia had enough space to quickly drop down from the roofs and make her way into the thin alleyways, hoping to lose her pursuer there.

Kynthia's comrades already made their way into the sewers below, where no guardsman would follow for fear of sewage and rats. Kynthia had no such compunctions about her, and aimed to get to the opening nearest to the house. Surprisingly, the guard was catching up, though he seemed to be at least ten or twenty years her senior.

Running to the sewers, Kynthia found herself in an alley and ran to climb up a wall. The guard was hot on her heels, and at this rate she wouldn't be able to scale the wall fast enough.

Thus it was a relief for her that he suddenly fell flat on his face, knocked out stone cold on the pavement. Kynthia turned her head around to see an old man who had put out his staff for the guard to fall on, and now seemed to be laughing at the unconscious man as if it were the most amusing thing he had ever seen.

Kynthia, leaving nothing to chance, finished scaling the wall and ran across the roofs once again until she reached the large grate which was the most used access point to the sewers in this neighborhood. She lifted up the heavy metal plate and stepped inside, closing it behind her for good measure.

Befitting all sewers, Atlantis' sewers were grotesque but given its massive size, accommodating well over a million people, and its cramped nature, the systems were extensive and deep. The purification systems also cleaned any watery waste, recycling it for future use. The downside for the city's assembly was there was no way to secure the system, and the sewers became a world of their own, housing those pushed off the streets for homelessness and begging as well as every outlaw, rogue, thief, and criminal who wished to remain undisturbed in the whole city. However, this was very much a positive for Kynthia. This was the place she called home, or at least the closest thing to a home.

Kynthia moved carefully in the shadows, staying out of the way of everyone. With all the coin in her pockets, she was a ripe target for her fellow thieves, and in this place there was little honor among them. That is, unless you count the Fat Cyclops.

The Fat Cyclops, named for its owner, Acamas, was on its face a boardinghouse where various sewer dwellers with little coin to live on rented bedrolls for as long as they could pay. However, the real attraction to the robbers of Atlantis to this humble building was that Acamas himself was perhaps one of the most talented fences of all the city. He had the connections to sell whatever was put in front of him. An Amazon's shield, a priest's incense, the laurel of an Archon, a half torn tome, even the Eye of Grimnir, Acamas could give you an estimate for anything you brought to his bar. It was also where Kynthia rented the bedroll she slept in, and where she bought her food and drink.

Walking into the inn, Kynthia spied two dozen outlaws about and her two compatriots drinking at the bar. Acamas spotted Kynthia with his one eye and let out a hearty yell. "Kynthia! These two young men tell me they broke the strongest safe in the world and carted off a horde of gold! Is that true?"

Kynthia shrugged. "It is, except all they did was stand around while I did the work! Now, anything on the house for the deed?"

Acamas laughed. "Nothing is ever on the house here, except the air, and I'd charge for that if I could!"

Kynthia grinned, although Acamas had bellowed that line as long as she could remember. She walked towards the bar and sat down next to Artaxes and Machon, signalling for Acamas to bring her a cup. Nothing felt better than the Cyclops' cheap ale after a perfect robbery.

~~~

Welcome to "A Shadow's Dance"! This anthology is part of an original fantasy-historic setting inspired from various mythologies, religions, and legends. I plan to release about 7 chapters of the titular web novella, each of which will be posted in parts. There will also be short stories that serve as intermissions between chapters, shedding light on different parts of this world. I hope you enjoy!

 

[Gog]

Kynthia downed the rusty cup of ale and wiped her lips. "Another! You need to make this stuff stronger, Acamas!"

The cyclops moved from his stool and got out a bottle to pour. "It's only getting weaker, Kynthia! Haven't you noticed that I've been watering it down more and more over the years?"

Kynthia let out a chuckle and began sipping on her new cup. She had a bit left over from dividing up most the day's gains between her stash and her rent, and was using it to her pleasure. Artaxes went off to spend some of his coin elsewhere, and Machon was drinking a few stools down.

Kynthia laid on a few of the stools, eyes up towards the ceiling of the bar. Although she was pretty drunk, there was time before she went all out to contemplate a few things. She had a few dozen denarii left to illicitly acquire before she could pay for the boat ride out of Atlantis and to the mainland, where she could be free of the tight corners and cramped spaces of the city. Of course she'd still be a thief, but one who didn't have to sleep in a sewer.

When Kynthia was small, she thought of all sorts of ways to avoid paying the exorbitant fee out. She had a brief flirtation with joining the Amazons, but they were too proud an order to accept a street urchin. The Mithrists were too regimented and religious, and she found herself creeped out by the underground sorcerer groups. Dark rituals just weren't her thing, and magic as a discipline required too much concentration and patience for her hot blood.

By the time Artaxes came back into the Cyclops, Kynthia finished ruminating on her exit plans, drank the rest of the ale, and gestured for more.

Artaxes seemed to be a little on the peppy side, which might have been from his excursion. "Well if it isn't the locksmith! How have you been spending your denarii?"

Kynthia stood up, somewhat clumsily. "I've been patronizing the good services of our one eyed friend here. And wondering if you found a reason why you were entitled to your share of that coin? Certainly Machon and I would have found a better way to use it than you, who seemed to have contributed fairly little to our humble robbery."

It didn't take much to get Artaxes upset, and Kynthia knew it. "By Lady Laverna! What confidence you seem to have! Do you really think you are the best thief in all the world?"

"As a matter of fact, I am." Kynthia had by now attracted the attention of Machon, who hadn't held down his liquor as well as her. "Name it, and I will steal it!"

Artaxes was about to issue some other sarcastic retort, but he caught himself and a grin grew across his thin face. "Even the Golden Apple of Eris? Truly the greatest of thieves could steal that heavenly artifact without a moment's hesitation?"

"Indeed I can!" Kynthia straightened herself to the best degree that she could. "I can do it in a day and night, give me only my wits and guile and I'll have that old piece sitting on Acamas' bar!"

"Very well, what shall you swear by?"

"All I own, all my coin, and the clothes off my back! And if I succeed, you and everyone in this establishment will have to acknowledge that I, Kynthia of Atlantis, am the greatest thief in existence!"

Artaxes nodded his head, and as Kynthia looked around she could see that her loud boasting had attracted the attention of many. Some were laughing, others were merely interested in what would happen. Even Acamas had glanced towards the exchange.

Artaxes sat down at the bar and asked for a cup of wine. "You'll be quite the woman if you pull this off, you know that?"

Kynthia rolled her eyes. "And you were quite the man to make such a stupid bet. When you're bowing before the Queen of Knaves in a day's time, you'll realize that."

Artaxes huffed and kept to himself for the rest of the night. Kynthia kept at drinking before she was signalled to the corner of the bar by Acamas, who seemed uncharacteristically worried.

"This is the kind of bet that gets your pockets emptied, Kynthia! No thief I've met here could've stolen that apple. It's locked away in the Archive, which by the way is the most secure building this side of Jerusalem! I'm not exactly the sentimental type, but I'd like to keep you as a paying customer, and I can't have that if you're run out of the sewers with nary a coin to your name."

Kynthia lost her footing for a second before waving off Acamas' concerns. "Oh Acamas, I appreciate it, but I'll be fine, don't worry about me. There's no way I could lose at this, and what's the Archive to hands as skilled as these? I could use the coin I'd get from selling the Apple too. How much would it fetch for?"

Acamas seemed lost in thought for a brief moment, doing quick calculations in his head. "I reckon about ten thousand denarii, if I can get it verified as the genuine piece. Keep in mind the Apple was forged by Eris herself, and it's kept in a vault so tight no tool can break it. The consequences for losing a bet like the one you made far outweigh any tiny chance you could steal the Apple!"

Kynthia merely shrugged. "The Gods are all dead anyway, so no one is coming for that silly old apple. Worst comes to worst, I can squeeze my way out of this like anything else."

Acamas seemed unconvinced, but let Kynthia go to finish drinking. She stumbled back to the stool, and finished her cup. Deciding to call it a night, Kynthia made her way upstairs to her bedroll. Snuffing out a candle nearby, she forgot about the bet, the robbery, and just looked up at the holes in the ceiling, where the stone edifice of the sewer lay.

It might have been a stinking, messy, disgusting, dangerous place, but it was her stinking, messy, disgusting, dangerous place. Even if just for a little while longer.

 

[Gog]

Kynthia woke from bed groggily. Her hangovers weren't that bad, but she wouldn't be doing much for a couple hours. Climbing out of her well-worn bedroll, she walked to the small window on the wall. The sewers were more brightly lit during the day, with torches lining various walls and buildings being set alight by their owners, or those who professed to be. Most people who lived in the sewers were squatters, taking over buildings and half-enclosed areas to live in. Those who had some coin to their name lived in boarding houses, or even what passed for homes down here.

Kynthia stared into a discarded bottle on the window sill to see her reflection for a moment. She was still wearing her plain tunic, now more quilt than clothes, with a belt carrying a few tight pockets around it. Her black curly hair was everywhere, completely messy, and she smelled of the sewer she lived in. No one down here really cared much about their appearance, and any disgust or repulsion that Kynthia would have had to her mangy look died out years ago.

Wanting to put some food in her belly, she set down the stairs to greet Acamas before planning out her next robbery. Kynthia thought maybe one more good heist could net enough coin to get out of here. Reaching the bar, Kynthia found it to be mostly empty except Artaxes and Machon, who perked with her arrival. Artaxes seemed smug. Smugger than she'd ever seen, in fact.

"Well, well, if it isn't the 'Queen of Knaves.' Ready to start your grand theft?"

Kynthia stared for a good moment, unsure what he was referring to. Then it hit her, the Golden Apple bet. A lump in her throat began to grow as she realized what she had promised.

"Uh, yeah, the whole Apple thing?"

Artaxes sarcastically nodded. "Yep, the one and only. Care to share how you plan on lifting it? Or was that all just empty boast?"

Shuffling her feet on the floor awkwardly, Kynthia thought of ways to get out of this. Maybe Machon could back her up and she could make Artaxes forget about this? A bitter defeat in their sizzling feud, but a necessary one to keep her name and denarii.

Before she could think this plan out further, Machon indeed chimed in. "A bet's a bet, Kynthia. You swore on your coin, after all. No helping that."

Kynthia realized that this was about as big a mistake as Acamas had warned. Even if she could escape this area of the sewers and try to start a new career in another section, word would spread about this idiotic wager. Quite a few people seemed to take notice at the bar last night, and they might be interested in squeezing some coin out of her now that she let it out that she had at least a few in her possession.

Kynthia feigned a confident look. "Don't worry boys, that Apple will be sitting on the bar come dawn tomorrow and you know it."

Artaxes and Machon saw easily through this, but they merely grinned at each other. Watching her try to squeeze out of this or attempt the impossible by breaking into the Archive, really either would be entertaining to watch they must have thought. Kynthia then excused herself and left the bar. Maybe some fresher air up above could be beneficial.

Walking through the now somewhat lit sewers, she spied the usual rogues about. Skjor the pickpocket, who helped Kynthia steal a wedding band off an unsuspecting bride, Constantine the assassin, who nearly killed Kynthia and got drunk with her in the same day, Maia the witch, who Kynthia grew up with but later became distant from, and Stavros the con man, who was rumored to have once been a king of giants in Hyperborea before being overthrown. People watching was a good sport down here if you could keep your pocket from being picked and your throat from being slit.

Going through her usual access point, Kynthia decided to walk to the Agora. In some vain hope, she thought that perhaps she could find a way to forge the piece. There were a few dishonest merchants who owed her some favors there.

Walking through the winding alleyways and the narrow streets, Kynthia glanced up at the buildings she passed by. The structures were quite different from how travelers related the great cities of Constantinople, Rome, Baghdad, and Alexandria. Even those of the most fantastical worlds, which Kynthia thought were made up anyway. The sleek, simple stone edifices were unique in style and construction. The consensus among Atlanteans themselves was the Gods built it all long ago, but given they also built most of the other cities, this seemed suspect to her. Then again, who else could have constructed the forcefield, air locks, air supply chambers, sewers, and water purification systems that kept the city from becoming a watery grave? Historical theory wasn't really Kynthia's strong suit.

Somewhat lost in thought, Kynthia jumped at the tap on her shoulder. She was near the same alleyway where the guard fell yesterday. It was the same old man who leaned against the wall. This time he seemed a bit less crazed and more focused.

He was no less misshapen than she, with various pockets, satchels, bandoliers, and bags covering his body. His tattered coat betrayed years of travel and use. He looked more like walking storage than a human.

Kynthia glared suspiciously at him. "You looking for something?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. I believe I saw you yesterday chased by that brutish man after you took something from him."

Kynthia tensed up and narrowed her eyes at the man. "And what's it to you?"

The old man chuckled for a second. "Oh, I'm an observer of sorts. I merely watch those around me. However, your daring feats yesterday impressed me. Clearly, a thief with such a bold life as yours requires no assistance, but as a kindly elder, I feel a generous action or two could go a long way."

Kynthia quickly surmised that this man was either insane or a recruiter for an organization she wanted no part of. "And I assume the generous action was your whack yesterday?"

"Indeed, but possibly a gift worth more than a timely placement of my staff would be beneficial. Perhaps it would aid you in some important task. Would you be interested in having it?"

Scrutinizing the old man, it became clear to Kynthia this was some sort of trick he was presenting. If she accepted, he might give her a cursed object or worse. Although the old man didn't seem like a sorcerer, looks could be deceiving. On the other hand, what did she have to lose, honestly? There was no way she could steal the Apple, and returning empty handed would mean she'd have to start from square one on her escape plans. Even getting to where she was now would take years, if possible. Plus, if this old man turned out to grant her something, anything, she might be able to use it to get out of this mess.

"Well, I'd like to see it before I'd accept it."

"Alright then, here it is." He rummaged in a bag of his for a few moments, searching for something very particular. Suddenly finding it, he appeared very pleased with himself and presented it to Kynthia.

It was a steel dagger, covered in a sheath. It had a mix of religious iconography, displaying a cross and a Star of David, along with some other designs Kynthia couldn't make out. Grabbing the sheath from the old man's hands, she examined it for weight and size, finding it small but surprisingly powerful in thrust and swing. Deciding not to brandish it yet, she pinned the sheathed blade to her belt.

It was not as though Kynthia had never wielded a blade before, but it wasn't really her style. Muggings and armed robberies were more the domain of other thieves. Kynthia preferred to decrease the chance a job got messy, and a weapon could make a target desperate.

"It's, uh, nice. Thanks?"

The old man was grinning widely, in a way that seemed kinda off to Kynthia. "I hope you will use it well, and not just sell it. True, it could fetch quite a few denarii, but I think it would be more useful in your hands, rather than another's. Good day, and good luck!"

With that, he took off, and after a few sharp turns blended into the crowd. Left with many questions, Kynthia decided to just roll with it and see if this dagger was as much as the old man was making it out to be.

First looking around to see if anyone was near, she decided to unsheath the blade. When she grabbed the handle, it made a very low metal ringing noise, which was mildly concerning. Once it was completely out of its scabbard, a black mass instantaneously shot up from the dagger to cover her entire body.

It happened so fast that Kynthia's only reaction was an almost paralyzing shock. Taking a second to compose herself, she looked down at her body and only saw a black, shadow-like, silhouette where she thought she was. It was almost as if she was covered in darkness. Taking a few steps, she glanced behind herself to make sure no one saw anything. What she did see is that even though she was in the bright sun of high noon, she no longer had a shadow. It seemed that she had become it.

Kynthia had no idea how long this could last, and if this was a curse placed upon her by the old man. Travelling sorcerers who caused trouble were common stories, but she never put much stock in them. Who would waste their time messing with the lives of random townsfolk and villagers for no apparent gain or reason? Hoping that sheathing the dagger could end it, she attempted to do so. As fast as the shadow had claimed her body, it retreated back into the hilt.

Now free from the dagger's powers, Kynthia sat down to take a breather. It wasn't every day that one saw an enchanted item, let alone wielded one. These were powerful, often ancient objects, coveted by treasure hunters from all over. If she gave the dagger to Acamas, the coin might as well just fall into her lap and her ticket out of this dump would be assured.

Yet, an idea creeped its way into Kynthia's head. To virtually become a shadow is the goal of any thief who wishes to remain undetected. Now, Kynthia could make that into a reality. She could steal anything in this city from anyone, right from under their noses.

Even the Apple of Eris.

This could end up quite the day, she thought. An enchanted dagger, a golden apple, the respect of every outlaw in Atlantis. All she had to do was take the plunge. With that, Kynthia walked on towards the Archive. The world was her oyster now, and it was time to crack it open.