IRON GODS 5
"So, how is Cassandra?" I ask Logic, now back in Scrapwall.

"Well, there is no easy way to say it. This chick is cray-cray."

"Where did you even learn to talk like that?"

"What? I am a social butterfly, you know? Of course I get around!" Logics affirm while doing the peace sigh from the screen. "Anyway, from what she confessed to me so far she has a unique quirk as an android. Once an android dies the nanites in their bodies reset them to factory setting, revivifying the body and instigating a new soul to occupy it. a strange fluke of fate saw the wakening of fragments of her previous lives within her newest incarnation."

"That explains her erratic behavior at least. I thought she was bugging or something, some error in her creation giving her android bipolar disorder."

"This is also the trigger that awakened her oracular powers," Logic continued. "She thinks herself to be many souls with many bodies. This goes against what we know about the soul but it is impossible to verify her claims now that her true self is dead."

"Can't we bring her back to life?"

"You mean the android foundry you claimed? I am afraid this is a bit more complicated than that. She thoroughly destroyed her own body so that Unity, a quasi-god, could not revive her. She knew the Iron God enough to cover her bases." Logic paused yet she looked far from done, "Thanks for creating a Golden Gate in Scrapwall, by the way. I promise I won't betray your trust. The facilities you reclaimed will be put to good use in service of Numeria and its people."

I just grunted in answer, getting a pout from the little cyborg goddess. Well, she isn't wrong that I used Srapwall to quarantine her until I could gauge who she was. And she passed with flying colors, instead of a second Prehevil I found that she managed to establish a middle ground among the social rejects refuging in Scrapwall. With said footing she started to push for more social cohesion and trust. The place is still as brutish as ever, but at least life got a little bit better.

This was enough for me to create a Golden Gate here connecting it to all other labs I found so far. This gift from the Moon God himself grants access to golden gates that lead a person to cross quick distances by using dream dimensions to connect two points. But instead of using Rher's, I used my own Dream, my monument to Ego. One of the privileges of the heroic realm, my soul has grown into an entity of its own, immune to the impositions of natural law and dazzling in its brilliance. In truth, power is the most pedestrian aspect of the heroic realm.

"So there is nothing we can do then? That is a shame, I was hoping to get you back up inside the Unity's domain."

"Don't give up just yet. Fortunately, the ingenuity memory facet you recovered was designed to grant an Al insight into the construction and maintenance of technological items and robot maintenance. Inside it found mentioning of something called Rebirthing Chamber. The last word on restoration healthcare and nanotechnology."

"Putting the cart in the front of the horse here, aren't you?"

"According to Cassandra's memory, there is no such artifact aboard Divinity's medical bay. But considering it was a fleet-

"Then there is hope we can find the site of its crash somewhere in Numeria. Like searching for a needle in the hay."

"Good thing then that you set your crow familiar to scout Numeria and clean house. By now we at least have a list of likely locations. The perfect distraction to waste time on until we finish preparations to deal with the Technical League."

"Is this really necessary?" I ask Logic, "In the end, I feel like they have nothing to threaten me with."

"Because you will destroy the Technical League from the inside via madness-induced paranoia and infighting? Unfortunately, Unity's depravity has unintentionally closed off this avenue. One would think a machine would opt for an efficient and technocratic style of institution, but she has all the thralls that she needs in her robot servants."

"Didn't it need the Technical League to stretch her reach beyond Silver Mount?"

"Gods and their vices, it is a universal shared nature to engage in small pleasures wherever the opportunity arrives. The Technique League is a hive of scum and villainy and by Unity's will, it will forever remain so. A playground and soap opera that ambitious humanoids across Golarion flock to, gambling their lives in a cutthroat political game of long knives for a false throne that will strip any of their free wills. All of the entertainment of the Iron God of the Silver Mount."

"Quite well informed, aren't you? You certainly made Cassandra sing like a canary. So tell me, what is Unity's deal anyway?"

"After the Day of Falling Stars, the AI survived and found itself trapped within the ruined ship's central processor. With little to no way to contact the outside world, it took the name Unity and decided to pass the time by creating countless simulated worlds with itself as a ruler. Each time, it played out the genesis, evolution, and destruction of worlds in different ways."

"What kind of machine can even do such a thing!"

"A godly one, obviously. That is where the ship's name comes from. The Divinity Drive, an exceptionally dense 5-foot sphere of blue light weighing 2,500 pounds, is named after the god-like magnitude of its power. Its practically infinite energy and reality-ripping capabilities provided the Divinity with unique capabilities for its cosmos-spanning mission. Serving as the mothership engine and spawning massive wormholes for installer travel is the least is its capability."

"How bad can it be?"

"Changing universal constants would result in a blind idiotic god-like AI with infinite computation power capable of answering any question before you even ask it. That is if it could communicate at all. After about 4,500 years, Unity realized that the simulated minds had become free-willed and worshipped it as a god. Intrigued, before restarting the simulation, Unity preserved the minds of its favorite worshippers and allowed them access to systems outside the main system. Unity found that its divine powers continued to function, yet only within the deepest layers of Silver Mount. Its methods of remote control only confirmed that its divine powers had no effects outside Silver Mount, and it became aware that science was not sufficient to extend them."

"Okay, now I feel like we have bitten more than we can shew here! Wouldn't it be easier to simply cut off access to Silver Mount for good? Damon picked up an island once, I am sure I can manage the same."

"That would just stall the inevitable. Unity's first jailbreak attempt was Cassandra herself: one of its dreams found its way into the slumbering mind of the android, who sought it out and reached its resting place. And we all know how that ended. Her second shot was Hellion: Unity cloned itself to create a minion. The less said about that piece of work, the better."

"Third time is the charm?" I asked with dread.

"Pretty much. Numeria's history holds one man in utter contempt above all others: Technic League magus Ozmyn Zaidow. Once an adventure who explored Silver Mount in the belief the technological wonders found there could be used to elevate his planet and eradicate strife, yet emerged from it as a half-mechanical mad tyrant with an army of demonic possessed robots. Unity's first human thrall; never ever, not even in jest, dare to accept Unity's propositions. It will be the last mistake you make of your own free will" Logic says with a tone of finality, she has been a busy bee it seems.

"So, how do we go about it then?"

"We are taking Hellion's plan for ourselves. You will open a portal connecting the drill from here to Silver Mount, putting you as close to the Divinity Drive as safely possible. It is better than invading Divinity the conventional way. According to Cassandra, no teleportation magic works once you are aboard the ship unless Unity wills it."

"We are cheating then. I like it… by the way. I need your help with something. Personal."

-//-

My confrontation with the mi-go and the confirmation that the Cthulhu Mythos was real was met with a mix of letdown and relief. As much as they liked to portray themselves as unfathomable this only makes them easily ignored and their existence doesn't outstrip native gods in scope or power. Which gave me an idea.

The realm of the Yellow King, the mysterious city of Carcosa, located either on another planet to another universe, is a place only accessible through dream travel. Who knows, maybe it only exists in Hastur's dreams: a true wonderland dream realm.

Considering how Rher's mysteries work, this is the perfect way for me to pull off a long-distance call. The semi-divinity granted by my heroic status makes my heroic feats into mysteries that defy human reason. It is when a cultivator transgresses against the divine and makes its mystery his own. Hypnos (Sleep) and Thanatos (Death) are twin brothers, making the realm of the dead neighbor with the Dream Lands. The trick here is resonance, both Megumi and Tsumiki carry my starlight marrow and underworld pendant pass. While I still don't know if my power alone is not enough, with the help of a busybody goddess' soul wi-fi magic I might make up for the difference.

Now let's just hope we don't get a problem due to timestream differences between universes or something as trivial as the kids going a few weeks without sleeping. A true concern when cultivators are involved. Another is a reference point inside the Dream Lands.

A family reunion inside the monument to virtue I had built inside my soul. To cultivate is to make order of a chaotic soul. It was humanity's long march towards the light of enlightened civilization reflected in a single man's journey — a monument to Ego.

After Termina festival, my foundation had been split, plus my self-doubt and trauma had made a demon out of my heart. I wasn't unfamiliar with infirmity but I truly felt like I was on the brink of death at every moment of every day. Cultivators rose on the principles that had built the strongest empires of history, and they fell in just the same way. Internal strife had toppled more than one great empire.

My brush with deviation – with despair – forced me to rebuild myself from the inside out. With my own two hands alone, I tore each battered and cracked brick of onyx internalized truth and forced myself to reexamine it. I humble myself by searching for any vulnerability and flaw and hammering them down until I could refine them no further, recasting them anew. I left no stone unturned, despite the pain. I broke myself down and rebuilt myself up in a desperate fugue-like state.

Yet somehow, at the end of it, as I confronted my answer, I could not help but feel like I had been guided by fate. In my life or death-induced introspection, I had achieved true soul-penetrating self-knowledge. That was when I first got in touch with my daemon, the ruthless silver queen of this domain. After all the souls of cultivators are grand things, marble cities built by their unwavering souls.

In the Parthenon of my cultivator's heart, the central edifice of my cultivation, Argyrchiara surveys her domain in her throne. Founding it adequate, if only barely. What a slave driver! And wasn't that the truth of our relationship? People don't own virtues, virtues own people. The Broad's (Plato) allegory of the soul as a chariot is indeed useful yet is far from complete. When faced with ancient instincts and the higher aspirations of one's soul, spurious Reason bows down and deceives itself by rationalizing the unreasonable.

But I am not in the mood to talk with her. We both know it is mere petulance on my part, but this doesn't necessarily make her happy with my attitude. Too bad.

I look up at the perpetual night tapestry enchanting the celestial dome of my world. A tapestry of stats forming a constellation proudly displaying the first two chapters of my Epic.

Logic is making my company discreetly as a butterfly pin. A ponderous silence permeates the air as I hold my breath in expectation. Until finally I feel it. Dozens of points of resonance from a far-off place so distant I don't even know how to look for it. Yet I try as my starlight marrow burns with incensed hope and anticipation, straining my sight beyond my limit as I try to unravel the divine mystery playing out before me.

One by one they vanish, awakening, until only three remain. And then they arrived, confused, stupefied, and bearing a mix of betrayed expectations as they realized this was a dream. I reached for as many links as I could but only Megumi, Tsumiki, and Gojo managed to reach me; I guess his Six Eyes made up for the lack of blood bond. Well, I had used my three hundred extra pairs of hands to perform mudras to ward those I beckoned from any dreamland denizen, just to be safe. I knew better than anyone that a bad encounter inside Dream can change a person's life forever.

"Hey. Long time no see. How was the travel?" I greeted the most casual way possible. As if this wasn't an interurban call between dimensions from a person they thought deceased. Empty bravado, my heart is constricting inside my chest like it had been stabbed. They looked… older.

The remains of baby fat and cherubim-like features on my children had been replaced by orderly perfection homonymous to the children of Helen like they aged half a decade in two months. Maybe more. Tsumiki is now a captain of the sophic realm while Megumi and Gojo each had climbed two more steps on the divine ladder since I last saw them.

They look as stunned as one would expect from people seeing a dead person. I could feel they using every sense they had to verify what their hearts already knew to be true.

"Mo, what a cold greeting! Is this the way to compliment your old man? Or did the cat eat your tongue?" I continue, trying to break the ice. Maybe this was a mistake.

"You are supposed to be dead. Hell, you are dead! You know for how long we tried to – "That was as far as Megumi's rant went before Tsumiki slammed into me like a bullet train, tackling me into a bear-crushing hug while silently crying.

I, of course, retributed in kind. "Good to see you again kiddo. Although I don't know if I should keep calling you that, can I? You two grew like weeds when I wasn't looking!" The purple heart flame behind my eyes dimmed to embers despite my best efforts. Because, wasn't that the truth? I missed the final childhood years of my two pups.

It hurts. This is the second time now that I lost everything. I can't bring myself to regret my decision but it still… hurts. The downside of cultivation's augmentation is that it likewise increases the space a man's heart has for caring, for loving.

"And why are the two of you just watching on the sideline for? I have two free arms here and they are more than ready to spread the love around. Who are my second favorite son and apprentice? Yes, you are!" My outraged statement had the desired effect of shaking their heads straight. It seems Megumi missed me enough to crack a smirk at my joke. Success!

Gojo, as always was the first to speak up when it was least convenient, "Man, this sucks! Not only did I sleep through the end of the world but what about that whole story from Yaga that sorcerers always die alone?! Where is he? I am going to pull every strand of hair from his head."

I couldn't help but smile in mirth at his shenanigans. Between him and Aang it is undeniable I favor oddballs the most. "Gojo, you aren't dead. I just used Hypnos (sleep) as a half-death to establish a temporary link. It is not like they had public telephone where I headed."

At that, Gojo's performance comes to an end as he stares at me. "But you are dead. You haven't taken a single breath since we got here and the essence of death shrouding you reached a whole new level." Gojo says with a tone that broaches no argument; as expected, his senses excel even those of a hero. He noticed my latest breaking through.

The greatest breaking treasures I got from my fight against the Dominion of Black were by far and away the quintessence of the brain collector and what I know now to be a young Void Dragon, thanks to Dweller-In-Dark-Places wealth of information experienced personally and vicariously through his harvested brains.

Dragons are the premier magical species. Period. Most interesting of all, they are subject to a magically induced Lamarck-style environmental adaptation evolution. There are countless variations of true dragons perfectly adapted to live in every environment imaginable.

Including Outer Space.

Void dragons have been tainted by long exposure to the terrible alien entities that dwell in deep space. Though some continue to struggle against the inevitable tide of annihilation, many have embraced the encroaching void and exist only to feed and destroy. Between their background and eerie green scales, our stories rhyme. Her body was in perfect condition thanks to magic, allowing me to harvest her quintessence without issues. By placing it in my now free Air chakra in my heart, I granted myself the same adaptabilities that allow Outer dragons to breathe in pure ether and operate in outer space. Freeing me from the greatest weakness cultivators toil under.

That isn't why my chest isn't rising and falling like a living person though.

Despite the brain harvester's aberrant nature, there are no issues involving acclimating to his quintessence, placed in my Thought Chakra. This might be due to its kind predation on sapient brains, not that it matters in the face of the benefits it brings. This is especially valuable to me due to my unique circumstances after Termina. It treats each of my pillars of loading-bearing principles like an extra brain, probably due to the souls lodged in them. More than that, it is suffusing them with pure cosmic energy much like Aang does, though to a lesser scale.

This even comes with a pool of raw magical power I can shape into whatever permanent magical effect I want, like magical RAW. And between Dweller-In-Dark-Places's lived and stolen memories, I had a solid repertoire of 'mortal magic' effects to choose from. However, I had to restrict my choices to those compatible with my founding mysteries. That is why I picked True Seeing and a quirky little spell called Undead Anatomy. A hybrid between necromancy and transmutation which infuses the caster's body with negative energy to mimic undead abilities.

While the original version of said spell is more restrictive, I went the extra mile to 'acclimate' myself to it due to affinity brought about by my tempering under chthonic mystery. Especially after my humble breakthrough mimicking the disaster curse Mahito's shapeshifting. A fact was clear from the get-go – my body was far more pliable to Undead Anatomy than I ever was to transmutation school transformation spells. Especially compounding to it my sin-based equilibrium of humors.

I can manifest the fangs of a vampire capable of draining vitality, retractable wicked sharp claws capable of holding targets with the stillness of post-mortem and renting them to pieces, limbs infused with unnatural power capable of breaking bones and trampling the weak underfoot. Climb any surfaces like a spider, fly like a wraith, burrow through the earth like a zombie breaking out of his coffin, and even swim like an abyssal predator, even break down into mist and become ethereal to pass through walls and avoid attacks. Pounce like a predator, freeze like a statue, perfectly imitate certain sounds or even specific voices to lure prey, use even the most exotic weapon guided by murderous instincts, prowl mazes guided by the natural cunning of a predator, manifest webs to entangle targets, manifest an aura of fear. Seeing perfectly under total darkness or low light, and tracking through scent, a keen if limited Blindsight, even the ability to see the lifeforce of living beings. Banish my shadow and reflex, increase resistance to mind-affecting effects, disease, poison, sleep, or stunning, and death effects. Even reinforce myself with unnatural vitality granted by negative energy almost doubling the level of punishment I can live through.

The only problem is that this marks me as both alive and dead at the same time. I can choose to look from lively as ever to pure skeleton now, so there is that at the very least.

Maybe this is for the better, so they don't waste their lives trying to reach for me.

"The world is bigger and more nonsensical than your vain can imagine, Satoru." I say with derision, making a pun out of his name as the enlightened. "I take to break it to you but time is more a suggestion than a constant. It doesn't feel like more than three months from my point of view but your appearance suggests otherwise. What news do you bring?"

Megumi finally stepped in. He really looks like the second coming of Toji. Fortunately, my royal navy-blue semi-curtain hair and amethyst-colored eyes give him an aura of dignity his progenitor lacked. "For short, the world went belly up. Not only did curses become a global phenomenon but both humans and beasts awakened their sleeping souls in mass. While we first feared war for Japanese people, other nations soon had more problems than they could deal with. So Yuji, Gojo, and I stepped in as the world's supernatural police. That was five years ago."

Five years!? Cultivators might have long lives but this kind of time dilation is too brutal. My chances of ever getting back in time on my own are getting dimmer the more I think about it. This is good enough. Maybe it would be better for both of us to move on and let go. "I see. This makes me happy but you had no obligation to go out of your way to help others in my memory. Isn't it a hassle for the both of you?"

"Absolutely," Gojo answers without a preamble. It seems I really didn't punch that arrogant mouth of his enough times. "Alas, someone had to leap at the first opportunity of a heroic death they laid eyes on. You had no obligation to stick your neck out for Japan and its people, but heroes are champions of humanity first and foremost. We had to set an example for the generations to come." Honestly, what am I to do with these overly sensitive and caring boys?

"You seem to be living interesting lives since last I saw you. What kind of brand-new and nascent souls could generate challenges worth a heroic trial? That is certainly a story worth hearing." I pressed on, worried despite myself.

Tsumiki stepped in to fill me on the news. "Well, a brand-new crisis of faith rose up after your final battle with Tengen. Suddenly all the legends we learn to discount as fairy tales become, if not plausible, at least possible. You did bring a person back to life on the day you met Geto and Gojo, after all. The sky was the limit and the race for divinity had officially started at full tilt."

"Things on the west were tense enough," Megumi stepped in to continue the story. "They felt their Hellenistic legacy had been stolen, that Japan got an unfair head start by appropriating what was rightfully theirs. But things got heated up in the East. China itself had little more than hiccups due to their Taoist 'experts' falling well behind their Shaolin Buddhist's cultivation of virtue endeavors, creating complaints about 'Hellenic' taint and colonization. They cared too much about keeping themselves ahead to obstruct well-established religious institutions though. Where things got really heated was in India."

As Megumi seemed uninterested in elaborating, letting silence hang on in the air, so I pressed on. "What about India?" I asked.

"What about India?" Gojo asked sarcastically. "I guess I should have expected this considering how you keep fucking up with that nation! Tsumiki took stock of your cursed items collection and some of her scatterbrained new students had the ill idea to post it online. You had been buying and outright stealing cursed items and historical artifacts from the place! Did you decide to relive your old days of conquest or something? That was a serious diplomatic incident! And that is the least of it! You are practically the Forest Gump of the gods! Shiva, Soma, Osiris, Hades, Sabazios/Yahweh. There isn't a god not associated with you, your divine vagabond! From east to west, be it Europe, Africa, or Asia. From turning water into wine to seduce nymphs to do so to promote parties. Am I right?"

That is when Gojo stops conspiratorially and closes up to me, pinning me with his Six Eyes. "Especially after you started to granting people faithful to you, through whatever way it manifests, magical powers."

I was overtaken by a sudden moment of utter incomprehension until it suddenly clicked. The divinity I stole from Hellion! Yet this doesn't add up. Shouldn't I be at least aware of this? Then I looked toward my muse as she just smirked in triumph. I seem to have started my own Heroic Cult. Crap baskets! I need a distraction.

"It seems like you are having fun, Gojo… and speaking of fun. Tsumiki, what have you been up to? And I hope your story has nothing to do with galivanting through the world like a vagabond taking after my bad example."

Three cries rose at my indagation, two of indignation and one of surprise.

She starts to stutter at being put in the spotlight but soon recovers at the sight of my mirth. "Eh, after the Shibuya Incident you awoke the soul of a lot of people, the former transfigured victims of Mahito. And, well, your touch left its mark on their souls. This set them on the course toward Raging Heaven, Hellenistic cultivators. Considering you had gone out of your way to save them I couldn't leave them to fend on their own afterward."

"Ha, so my little lady became a kyrios? Good thing I completed your education after you broke through and left my [skill manuals] as inheritance. I hope Geto didn't leave you to hang after the trouble I went to help him."

"You don't need to worry about that." Gojo cuts in with familiar exasperation wherever the topic comes up. "If there is a clear winner from this it is him! He readily stepped onto the world stage with the promise to awaken potential cultivators across the world with his energy bending. All free of charge from the bottom of his black heart."

"Man, you two should just hitch already and spare everyone else the drama, you know that? Geto is a dominating soul, he excels as a spiritual leader while protecting mine and Yuki's legacies. It doesn't mean he is actively malicious. Plus, the title of Black Hearted Buddha is something he carries with pride, mister Honored One." I answer teasing Gojo, getting a nod of affirmation from both Megumi and Tsumiki.

"We are not like that! Get your head off the gutter!"

"… that was way too quickly an answer. Is somebody struggling with their newfound world recognition?" I keep needling on despite knowing better. Gojo always gets his get-back.

"You are the one who should worry about tainted legacy, being the closest thing to a modern Jesus." He smiled like the cat who ate the canary, "Especially after someone hacked Tsumiki's little blackmail folder."

The way Tsumiki jolted in my arms and Megumi buried his face in his hands and groaned was answering enough. She certainly was doing her best to weasel herself out of my grip.

"Megumi, does it include our videotaped cover of I Did It Again she cajoled us into as a birthday present?" Now she was using her rhetoric for all it was worth it to make herself frictionless to slip from my grip.

Megumi just nodded remembering the shame. We really went all out back then.

Thanks to the Babel shard language was no barrier to our lessons about the Keeper of Scarlet Strings' heart-stirring song, so I let them pick and choose from among famous songs across the world to make them more proactive participants. Alas, I don't think there is a teenage girl who never dreamed of being a pop star, especially a Greek-style cultivator who refines herself to become a uniquely excellent existence. It is in our nature to love the solitary rising star.

While I normally put my foot down if Megumi becomes too uncomfortable, this one time I pulled him aside since he was already fourteen and laid down how important this was for Tsumiki. Considering how uncomfortable he is with outward displays of affection he only had actions left to express his feelings, so he agreed. I taught him how to enter Pseudanor (false man) mode and we dressed ourselves as background dancers. The look on her face when I presented her with an idol dress made by yours truly was priceless in its radiance, having her little dream come true.

She took the lead, her heart singing too loudly for us to ignore, and considering she even broke through, ascending into the sophic realm that day, we wrote the embarrassing experience as a success. Even Megumi was clearly satisfied despite being red as a pepper in embarrassment of the situation. I myself wrote this down as just another of the trials of parenthood and moved on. It was not like Yuki and I never fooled around in that form, I had long since got settled on my own skin to care overmuch… until now. Maybe I don't want to come back anymore after all.

"First, I don't know what you are talking about. It is all just a coincidence of names. Second, was it a hit at the very least?" I ask in the most even tone of voice possible. Tsumiki was literally vibrating in place while standing still.

My answer was a groan from Megumi eliciting Gojo to smirk at my usual answer every time he brought up said topic.

"Spectacularly so. Aspiring artists from all across the globe are traveling to Japan to join the Raging Heaven cult for tutelage from Orpheus's disciples. Geto himself jumped at the chance to promote the superiority of cultivators by pushing his weight around to open an exclusive music agency for cultivators. Plus, it was rather tame compared to some records in your legends so it actually went a long way to humanize you while showing precisely what was expected in hindsight." Gojo keeps needling on as Megumi tries to disappear. What to do?

"Ne, Megumi. All the greatest Greek heroes like Heracles and Achilles cross-dressed at least once. This only makes you part of a statistically average." My attempt at consolation apparently wasn't appreciated as Megumi crouched down and started screaming into his hands.

Gojo couldn't hold it in anymore. He started laughing like a hyena.

-//-

[AUTHOR'S ROOM]

This chapter was more of an interlude as we prepare to enter Iron Gods's final phase. We see that different realms work on different time zones and speeds, which complicates matters but helps Argyrchiara collect her dividends for her prayer power harvesting scheme. This not only shows how independent Zagreus' muse is but also that she picks up habits he discards, before he decided to become a hero the guy didn't think twice about selling human meat!

The world he left behind certainly became more interesting since he left. Curses force cultivators to be battle-ready in urban centers and virtuous beasts turn the woods unpredictable and dangerous. Special Grade sorcerers, and heroes, are worth the entire military power of most nations on earth in the hands of a single person so the old order is dancing on the precipice of trying to curtain cultivators or boosting them for fear of foreign cultivators. Geto is in the best position to take advantage of it thanks to his Cult, connections, and direct ties to Zagreus and other heroes. Plus, as the only energy-bending master remaining he can create new cultivators on demand so most nations are eager to accommodate him in his quest to elevate cultivators above monkeykind!

Yeah, Zagreus got Divine Source as a freebie but its main mechanical effect was to allow non-caster classes to have some spells so to him it counts more as a fluffy; aside from his muse use of it to monopolize the faith market. And speaking of game terms, to express the brain collector's in mechanical effects like so: after Zagreus scaled twenty-two steps in the divine ladder Zagreus is currently a divine caster of level 22, the brain collector's bonus increases his caster level by 1 for each soul he integrated, to a maximum of 10. His spells take effect as a 32 caster level but he doesn't gain more spell slots, plus the increase is linear rather than exponential so he doesn't count as a tyrant. It still is a pretty amazing bonus tough. By the way, his breakthrough based on undead anatomy allows him to use both Constitution (positive energy) and Charisma (negative energy) to calculate his hit points totals.
 
IRON GODS 6
And so, after an eventful meeting, I have set myself back upon the task of freeing Numeria from Unity and the Technical League. Although Gojo isn't wrong in laying the fault of events at my feet, I have little power to set things right at the moment. At least I made a point to sleep at least one hour per day to keep their contact, although this outsourcing is so typical of gods I feel self-conscious. I can still advise and caution my friends like these, those I gifted my underworld pass. So far, I have contacted most of them, except for Itadori who became a workaholic who not even sleeping. Downside of cultivation constitution.

It's both less than I hoped for and more than I expected to get away with. They are fine, and the world is marching in a good direction. I didn't fail them. It is the dawn of a new age guided by souls cultivated like I cultivate my grape vines! It is great, even. Now let's see what I can do for Golarion. Shall I? Especially because I am moving on very soon.

It's undeniable that I have entered wanderer mode. I am not staying in Numeria so taking a position of leadership for myself to change things is worthless. Logic should be the face of our party as she can exist in more than one place at once. While she networks by connecting with reclusive tribes of androids to boost our numbers and collect information, I have to scout Numeria for more resources. The Technique League is bigger than Starfall, only a similarly big organization has any hope of opposing them after I am gone.

But this is neither here, nor now. I focused on my goal. Exploring Numeria from corner to corner.

I started at its very edge. Crowhollow. A giant pit big enough to fit one of the lesser dreadnaught class ships part of Divinity convoy. The place is believed to be haunted and the essence of death permeating the place lends this credence. It started with the remains of a Cimmerian tribe who got unlucky and now haunt the cave system as mindless undead. They started simple enough but as I advanced, the stronger the negative energy became and the more mutated and diverse the undead turned up. I felt like I was in a horror survival game.

If exploration so far was a Resident Evil experience then when I found the buried ship, I entered the Umbrella laboratory part of the game. It was completely unlike the artificial habitat ship I found in Touch. More like a mini Divinity. Inside I found the place teeming with alien aberrations in cajole with the Dominion of Black; most probably members of its attacking force from nine thousand years ago. Besides this, the place was bathed with critical doses of severe radiation and the walls had been impregnated with the tortuous screams of its tripulants' death throes.

A truly impenetrable fortress… for normies, but neither aberrations nor undead seem to mind overmuch. Yet the ship was still powered after all this time. Almost like all those things I found were mere deterrents. Inside I found shambling copses puppeteered by spores in an unholy fusion of said inhabitants, night immortal necromorphs that got back up unless burned to ash. And I loved Dead Space too! This ruined it for me.

I also met the heavy bruisers of Dominion of Black, their favorite slaves. Shoggoths, massive amoeba-like creatures made out of iridescent black slime, with multiple eyes "floating" on the surface. They were no better than a particularly smart dog, their notorious maddening clicks were more annoying than intimidating and they were true sponges of punishment, so I can safely write the whole experience as unpleasant.

I had to simply give up on my light weapons and go for more stopping power: classic rocket launcher, flamethrower(plasma), nuclear resonator – Hell! I even found a graviton-based three-barrel shotgun while exploring. This baby fires a 100-foot-long cone-shaped vortex of devastating energy that tears, crushes, and twists everything in its path! True end-game content.

But the cherry at the top of his shitty Sunday has got to be the pickle wizard.
I'm a Cyberlich | Roll20: Online virtual tabletop

The limbless torso was stored inside a glass cylinder encased in a metal frame with mechanical legs, like a spider. The guy's head expanded by absorbing the green brine fluid he was submerged into and he is kept steady by two tubes entering his mouth. Yet his green eyes shine with intelligence still even as I spot no life signals with my new senses. Plus, the overwhelming magical aura marks him as spell caster of the ninth circle.

An honest to god's cyborg lich! Did he make this to himself? Well, this at least explained where all the ghosts, wraiths, and shadows went to. I never found intelligent undead here because he had enthralled them as his servants. The original tripulants of Divinity, local barbarians, and fellow explorers. All coming from walls around me in a pincer formation!

I knew it was time to take things seriously when time itself stopped. The sensation was unmistakable after the Prison Realm and I stroked my heart flame in a knee-jerk reaction, increasing the magnitude of space-time in my vicinity by using my body as a simple domain to keep up with his time dilation.

Suddenly we were the only two people still moving inside a frozen world. But he didn't know that yet!

I pretended to be frozen as I watched Pickle Wizard summon powerful outsiders and fortify his ghost army with an aura of profanity that weakened the living while empowering the dead. What to do?

My Enlightened soul originated from a yellow mage, and among the things he learned from said nihilistic order were the secrets of ritual dance to channel to augment powers and Spices forges used to customize the properties of spells.

Neither skill was something easy to use in life combat… until recently. Spice forge is no different from meta magic arcane disciplines, concerning itself with the more practical aspects of spell casting. Yet, due to my foundational mystery, some mortal spells seemed to be simply beyond me while others had been empowered beyond the reach of the most powerful spell casters. Now I can show them off!

Horn is fulfilled. Ivory deceives. Delusion and Madness are the bread and butter of those baptized in wine-dark faith. For as long as we keep to our faith, searching fulfillment in all things while willing submitting to the euphory of enthusiasm, we never have to worry whether the cup is horn or ivory. My experience in Golarion only expanded my horizons.

White spice triggers a single spell to activate at the start of the battle, displacing me into two ravens, one real and the other a lie, making every attack a coin flip. Blue spice greatly reduces the effort of my Shadow Conjuration. Red Spice is set to dual-cast my Shadow Evocation.

I gather my influence, manifesting a vortex of churning shadows in my hands, and invoke the memory of lived experience only cultivators of the greatest virtues and most egregious audacity owe to know for themselves. Tribulation Lightning.

Through the superlative senses of a heroic cultivator, I saw the eyes of the cyborg undead wide in surprise in our frozen world. My action broke down the delicate transmutation working fastening time in his favor. The darkness of his iron tomb was banished by a blinding flash of light and the thunderous roar of heaven.

I mimicked the chain lightning spell as a base and the spell lived up to its name. It skewered all the phantoms around me. Their strategy to overwhelm me with numbers from all sides backfired in my favor. Flocked together as they had been, the lighting spread like fire over a bed of dry hay.

The pickle wizard wasn't done though, even though his robotic chacin put him at a distinct disadvantage against electricity. He is the careful type and I can't seem to read his thoughts, showing he is capable of occluding himself from my senses through his sorcery. He made distance through the use of a dimensional door and summoned an orb of pure negative energy darker than black through the frank movement of its robotic claws.

Ah, how ironic is it that people are so set on destroying their enemies they overlook the basics? Undead want ways to track down the living while undead hunters search for ways to track down the dead. Lifesense is a rather useful skill, yet it will be this wizard's undoing. Even I need to learn this lesson. He won't though. This will be his last mistake.

I made a motion of hurriedly backing away from the rapidly approaching sphere, just too little too late to matter. I deliberately let it graze me after an unlucky collision. I could feel the negative energy invigorating me with unnatural vigor and profane power yet I used my new shapeshifting to wither my arm like a prune while howling in pain and fear.

From there I played an Oscar-worth role of a dying adventurer in his death throes. Letting him hit me with all his necromantic spells and be assaulted by his remaining ghosts who were either powerful or lucky enough to survive. It wasn't without pain, as he had some other spells than necromancy, but between my new armor, old defenses, and the healing powers of my Wheel Turning pneumatic chamber I could endure their assault with grace.

Despite that, I played my role perfectly and the eccentric wizard did bite the bait. How many years has he been here all alone? Of course, he is not missing the chance to gloat! Up close and personal.

"This is the end of the line," he bragged through the speaker of his metallic prison.

"Yes, for you," I answered far too casually for someone on the brink of death. With my insolent hand of intention, I stole for myself the magical effect occluding his mind from me with the swiftness of a trickster of legends.

He tried to backpedal but it was too late. I channeled pure negative energy through the symbol of my faith, the crucifix wheel in my chest. Bakkhos, the Tyrant Riot, was the master of every shadow... and what they contained. I seized all undead in hand, subverting the negative energy animating them to my purpose. A link like a chilling iron chain was formed between us. The link between master and slave.

The pickle wizard was by far and away the one who fought the hardest against my grip. His animation was the most formidable to begin with, if I hadn't stolen his Mind Blank spell he might have triumphed in our struggle. If. The raw cosmic power empowering me made his case far from certain in the first place. He was mine.

"You all are less than you were just a moment ago," I told him with smug self-satisfaction as I rose with what should have been a ruined, mangled body that was restoring itself way too fast, even for magic. "My shadow now."

-//-

Crowhollow turned out to be a dead end, after all. Not that I left the place empty-handed. Turned out the resident pickle cyber-lich got his dirty little claws on a damaged extinction wave device capable of sterilizing all life forms in radium of over a mile! I certainly got a kick out of crushing his phylactery to his face after forcing him to surrender it to me. The only reason the bastard never got to use said weapon was because he got addicted to numerian fluids in his final days and the madness carried over in undeath, slowing down the repairs.

I took from it what I found interesting or novel for myself and then proceeded to clean up the place by reverse engineering the working principle of the extinction wave device and then manifesting it by invoking the rules of nature through rhetoric and manipulating its range of effect via domain expansion. I actually lacked a sure-hit killer move for all this time, so it is nice to have an Avada Kedabra option on my sleeve.

After that I created another Golden Gate and left Logic to do the cleaning, I returned to my fool's errand. Fortunately, it seems that cyborg undead was unusually powerful, and the next sites were less eventful. Falheart was just an irradiated former site of a nuclear fallout. Sulfur Gulch had promise as one of the larger ship components to fall in Numeria but soon it was clear it was an Aerotech synthesis responsible for recycling toxic waste that now poison the land. Silver Trough, a ravine housing a large starship module was a robotic hornet's nest too dangerous for even the Technique League. My new ghost powers were something robots had never been designed to handle though, so I infiltrated it and opened a golden gate right at the control center for Logic to tame on her own.

I also hit smaller places and caches and slayed any monster I ran across, like carnivorous plants, spike dragons, and mutant animals. Even developed a reputation as the Night Rider with my futuristic motorcycle. It was not like we were working under a time limit against Unity but the sight of my friends and family aging at high speed lit a fire under my ass. I was impatient to deal with it quickly. Numeria certainly was a land of opportunity for all those dedicated to natural philosophy where science is left to run untamed and free. But nothing aside from the Divinity Driver can help me find a way home!

The Hollow Garden was interesting. The crashed entertainment deck of Divinity became a field of nightmares. The augmented virtual reality system now materializes people's deepest fears by scanning their brains to unravel their fears, hopes, dreams, suspicions, and convictions. It certainly was a masterclass remedial course to a discipline I had willfully neglected, despite being more than equipped to pull it off through a Rher/Dionysus combo. But again, my distaste for the Moon god spoke so loudly for so long that I had to constantly police myself. While the best revenge is revenge, living well might be the best consolation prize I can hope for… for now.

Witchlight Vale is the poster of Numeria's experience with technology. A barbarian fucked around and found out, triggering a nuclear explosion that leveled the place. It is basically Cimmerian Hiroshima. The center of this disaster was a worn crater devoid of life and enveloped in faint green mist. It is also the home of Numeria's bogeyman, Witch Light Beast, and other mutant monsters. I simply cleared the place with my domain expansion and then used my rhetoric to break down the radiation through nuclear transmutation caused by accelerating the natural radioactive decay. The place should recover in a few years now.

But eventually, I simply ran out of good options. So, I went to the Plain of Ten Thousand Swords.

-//-

The Plain of Ten Thousand Swords is the sight of a legendary battle. A great curse fell on these dead warriors for turning against their obstinate and blood-thirsty chieftains, preventing their souls from reaching the Boneyard, this realm's underworld/purgatory. It would be ironic that lifelong bitter enemies would unite to make things worse for everyone else if it wasn't so fitting.

The aura of death was overwhelming like I was back to my old graveyard. And beyond that, there are more than just ghosts around these parts. Thanks to the brain collector, I learned everything there is to be known about the Planes of Existence and their post-mortal life form denizens. The place is filled with Psychopomps, denizens of Purgatory, and the dispassionate stewards, chroniclers, and guides of all that die.

"I am not an undead, you know? It's more that I live in the liminal line between life and death. Like you lot." I say to the encroaching Grim Reaper and his merry band of mollusk scribes, known as Shoki. Psychopomps come in two varieties, weebs or gothics.

"I am Last Breath, an attendant of goddess Pharasma. And I can see well enough for myself. You are rather unusual yourself, aren't you? More than a mortal but not really a beyonder. But even so, I must urge you to turn back. this place is to be quarantined until such a time the souls here have been freed."

Well, I already expected that. But fighting with servants of a god of death is unwise. Fortunately, for all their power and grandeur, extraplanar entities, beyonders, are not existences above mortal keen despite living beside the gods themselves. Then again, why shouldn't they be so? Every beyonder was once a mortal soul, colored by the nature of the plane of existence he aligned with through his actions in life. Pharasma doesn't so much judge the dead, punishing or rewarding them for their choices in life, as she ensures they arrive at the most appropriate place. Basic spiritual resonance.

This means beyonders always carry within them the imprint of mortals, something the aberrations from the Dominion of Black look down on them for. But this works in my favor, their thoughts are mundane and relatable if distorted by a post-life funhouse of mirrors. Which means this grim reaper in front of me is the mortal equivalent of middle management. After a successful career, he even managed to ingratiate himself with the CEO yet everything went downhill once he got appointed to take care of this ignoble task for thousands of years. He can't abandon his post or return in disgrace so he is biding his time until he finds a solution to escape from his dead-end job.

Perfect. Time to pull an Orpheus then. I gather my influence and leverage the eloquence of the Augur to court Death itself. "Keeper of the dead I have long admired, confident of saints and harbinger of ends. Know that I am kin, as a mortal I was a dutiful grave keeper, securing the peaceful transition to the afterlife. And as a Hero, I bring within my soul the defiant miracle capable of solving this conundrum. All I ask is your permission to come and go around the Plain of Ten Thousand Swords and I promise you this will be done. For fair compensation, that is."

The Grim Riper examined me for a long moment, pondering my proposition until, "… and what be your asking price?"

I got him! While it is counterintuitive to ask for a reward when what I truly search for is free access to the place, those who actually work in the industry and deal with the reality of it know better. Men are unequal even in death – a beggar and a king can easily be set apart by the way they are buried. Saying I would do it for free or only wanted access to something unlikely to be there would just make me look suspicious.

"Why? A distinguished senior such as yourself owes to know it better than me the price of his own time and labor. So, what do you say?"

"We have a deal."

We choked hands and the pact was sealed.

I got a small raven-like psychopomp with a skull for a mask as a supervisor and ward. His name was Larry and he got promoted from petitioner just recently so he still lacked a pompous name.

Each weapon buried here houses the spirit of its former wielder. At the heart of the field, the leader of this ghostly legion, Rothka Spiteblade lingers. The first to strike down her chieftain. The only known way to free the ghosts here is through the betrayed chieftains' forgiveness.

As if! Nobody has time for the concern of bitter old men. While I could brute force it through my heart flame, I am very familiar with the unraveling of curses and dissolution of grudges. This also serves as a refresh for my attempt to bring Cassandra back to life. Most of Golarion follows the belief of the tripartite soul, especially due to the god Irori.

The reason these ghosts are not dispersing after losing their physical vessel is because the death curse serves as a teether. But curses are double-edged swords, they often bounce back to the original caster. Finding and destroying the ghost of the two chieftains, then shoving their purified, healed, and most importantly, amnesiac soul to the Boneyard is the best call. But that comes later.

First, I approached the less hostile ghosts, using my heart and mind senses to separate them from the downright hostile ones. I introduced myself with an offering of pomegranates, the fruit of the underworld which I had cultivated with a careful blend of positive and negative energy. It brought back vivid memories of their living days, making them more amenable. I struck up a conversation with them to know their stories, how their people preferred to be buried, and what kind of song they liked.

With said information, I set myself to work. Bees are considered chthonic animals due to their preference for nests in dark places. Over my time in Japan I cultivated different strains and feed had them feed on different kinds of flowers. After ten years I have three unique kinds of honey – mad honey, daylight honey, and underworld honey. By using the underworld honey to ferment my pomegranates together with my special blend of spice, I made together with the help of my muse a unique beverage aimed at the palate of the dead.

I then broke out my three hundred hands of intention brandishing ivory musical instruments bearing scarlet strings and started a party to die for! My new friends, rowdy boys, and girls in life, gladly joined me in songs about battles and heroic deeds. We sang as one and the earth who had eaten their bones was charmed into remembering it, casting funerary statues of them as they were in life, proudly bearing their weapon. So life-like they appear ready to pounce at any moment.

The enthusiasm was infectious and the undead warriors soon cajoled their dead friends into merriment with a good cup of wine in honor of their best drinking days. They soon joined in drinking, singing, dancing, and forgetting their sore troubles. Granting respite to these poor souls from their accursed condition. We sang as one and the earth laughed, raising more statues and being covered in a field of flowers.

The Father sent Dionysus to struggle on earth, teach mortals how to grow grapes and make wine, to alleviate their toil, war, and suffering. Helping others like this is part of my faith. More so, as a hero part of my first labor was to free trapped souls from their imprisonment. I was more than equipped to deal with this.

The sun was about to rise, yet the ghost legion seemed unperturbed, fully intent on enjoying the celebration for as long as they could. And now that the grudge, pain, and hatred had been temporarily banished, it had nowhere else to go but back to its source. Forcing the ghosts of the two chieftains to manifest.

There was a moment of panic and tumult but it wasn't given the chance to grow into anything ugly, for I was waiting this very moment. I did my job as a hero, killing what had been cursed to live forever. My sword being a true ghost eater, devoured the caustic warriors and their grudges in a few swings.

This merited a final toast and goodbye as the sunlight brought our feast to an end.

-//-

Things finally worked out for me afterward. I got two coins as a reward for my services, one from the Grim Reaper and one from the goddess Pharasma herself. Last Breath's original payment for this task – mythical power.

I even got myself the first denizens of my own Orphic House. Apparently, some Cimmerian warriors were so moved by my music and wine and were so thankful to me for freeing them that they swore fealty to me post-mortem, petitioning Pharasma to serve me. She somehow agreed, because I apparently count as a god capable of accepting souls as my monument to Ego counts as a perfect private demiplane to her standards.

That is how I got myself over one hundred Cimmerian Einherjars. God dammit, now I have to call them by the proper name of Kellids! Or not. My father was a fan of Conan so maybe they will take the name with pride.

I also found the shipwreck ruins containing the Rebirthing Chamber. An enclosed egg-like pod of metal and plastic contains a thinly padded bed on which to lay, and dozens of small vents along its interior. The place was powered by a Graviton reactor and was in pristine condition thanks to the care involved in padding the place due to its priceless value. It even came with an idiot-proof instruction manual! I was about to faint in relief that the last four months were not in vain.

When a Small or Medium humanoid lies within a rebirthing chamber, the chamber automatically seals. Soporific gas fills the chamber, inducing a deathlike coma. One minute after it seals, the chamber floods with nanites that first analyze, and then reduce the occupant to its component molecules. Any gear worn by the occupant is dismantled and destroyed, with possibly catastrophic results for explosives and powered devices. Over the next days, the nanites reconstruct and enhance the occupant, in effect optimizing its genetic code.

Currently, we only have one piece of Cassandra, her mind recorded inside the compact AI core. The thing is, based on the soul research Yuki and I conducted, the mind is the aggregation of the feedback created by the resonance between body and soul. I also found a powerful necromancy spell called clone in Pickle Wizard's spellbook. From what I gathered from android biology, their difference in morphology and DNA is skin deep. Plus, Cassandra's Shattered Psyche and Schizophrenia sort of remind me of Yuji's situation. Even if some former souls moved on, there might be enough pieces left for Cassandra to incarnate. All in all, Logic and I should be capable of putting her back together by working together.

There is just one problem. We will have to play this by ear while the machine does its work. Considering how much this endeavor relies on my rhetoric, lived experience is ideal. Even discounting the fact the dismantling process is horrifically painful should the occupant retain consciousness, there are all sorts of uncertainties involved when cultivation is added to it. I mean, based on Kenjaku's work, Yuji is not a perfect clone of Sukuna as body information refers to more than DNA, so it should be fine.

This might even be an opportunity. People would think a cultivator would be above the paltry bonus a genetic makeover could grant but the thing is, this 'paltry' bonus goes straight to the basic building block of our strength. A man with the strength of a thousand ordinary men is very good, but a man with the strength of a thousand professional athletes is much better. I came from generic stock, not some prestigious lineage of kings.

The rebirthing chamber only has three uses left and I don't know enough about nanomachines to easily restock it. I start to set its system online and set it for makeover for maximum performance. The people who constructed Divinity were humans so I have little to fear about compatibility.

After everything was set, I disrobed and climbed inside. Man, the next four days were going to suck!

-//-

[AUTHOR'S ROOM]

Zagreus got to relive the good old days as a citizen and flex the more benign aspects of his faith to help some ghosts. And yes, Pharasma really is that shill about giving souls to new gods. Unity itself has the soul of its believers stored in a freezer. Good thing for the Cimmerians Zagreus actually got the accommodations to house them.

Zagreus got a lot of goodies in this chapter, right? Two more ranks of mythical power, reaching Tier 4. He got Recuperation and an improved mythical surge. His trickster package is complete, with Perfect Lie (Ex) and Path Dabbling (Su) – Tangible Illusion (Su) and feat Command Undead (Mythic).

About the Rebirthing Chamber, it gives Exceptional Statistics (Ex), granting 25 points instead of 15 in character creation, Advanced Template (CR+1), granting +4 to all abilities scores, and Inherent Bonuses (Ex) of +5 to all abilities scores as per the wish spell or a cortex nanite injection.

Next chapter the final battle with Unity finally starts!
 
IRON GODS 7
According to the god of self-perfection, Irori, a mortal sense of self is triune in nature. The physical body, the intellectual mind, and the spiritual soul. These three are inextricably linked and when they become separated, such as during death, that unique entity ceases to exist although a part of her may continue.

That entity may also recur if the three are reunited. In the case of Casandra, a strange fluke of fate saw the wakening of fragments of her previous life within her newest incarnation. The fact that she retained so many memories of her previous life complicated her maturity, and she took a decade to come to terms with herself. She awoke her oracular powers through the epiphany that she was a Gestalt of souls. Souls can linger in the Graveyard almost indefinitely, after all.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Casandra. How do you feel? I went all out sewing your soul back together once Logic did the easy part of throwing her net to gather all the scattered pieces."

"Hey, I helped with more than that!" Logic complained from the compact AI core strapped to my waist like a digital pet inside a tablet.

The main motivation for resurrecting Casandra was the possibility of carrying Logic with me. Divinity has become Unity's body and private world; she rewrote her code over the epochs to the point no ordinary-sized robot can house it anymore. To defeat Unity we either destroy the ship, kill its soul, or rewrite its code, and only Logic is properly equipped for it. like she did with Hellion.

Casandra stands on shaky legs, uncertain how to take the overwhelming sensation of flesh and blood after existing so long as a sterile and unfeeling amalgamation of zeros and ones. "It's beautiful… painful… riveting yet frightening. I had forgotten how overwhelming being alive could be." She mused.

"You are welcome. And sorry. I would like to get you settled but we have to deal with Unity sooner rather than later." I affirm. We have been talking about what we could do and the best approach but soon would be time for action.

"What worries me the most is what Unity is doing with the Divinity Drive. There is no way it gave up and returned to play SIM with it. The fact its presence in Numeria is so milt to the point that it is imperceptible is worrying. I would waver It doesn't need the Technique League, but it is not like we can hope they won't interfere while we siege Silver Mount."

"That is when I come in," imposed Casandra. "An android uprising from inside the Technique League supported from the outside by conscripts recruited from scattered hidden communities is our best shot. But they still are outnumbered ten to one by native kellids."

"You don't have to worry about that." Logic gloated in smug self-satisfaction. "Starfall is such a serpent's nest spying on it is a piece of cake! The Technique League addicted the current Black Sovereign to numerian sky fluids and drugs to keep the kellids in line, but only just. His royal consort will not waste the opportunity to instigate him against the Technique League for their treachery and there are a lot of kellids who would gladly follow. The place is ready to fall like a house of cards!"

"This brings things back to me who has to create means to restore his mind and body from addiction, somehow. This will take a while, especially considering I specialize in the precise opposite. Fortifying the body by exposing it to dangerous things."

"This is why I had to spend a container worth in gold bars exporting phoenix feathers and journals from famous alchemists recorded to pursuit for the philosopher's stone. Our plans hinge on your success, Zagreus. Don't fuck it up, little brother."

"And since when did I become the little brother?!"

"Since you failed to get anywhere on your research about Prima Materia. You confirmed that alchemists extract formulas were intelligible for you and that you had experience in your times as a grave keeper made you a vivisectionist alchemist. So now we had to blow through our war budget and delay things for you."

"I had been... sidetracked? Ok, I dropped the ball. Numeria tech got me distracted, but I have results to show for it!"

"We will see about that."

"Now, now. Stop arguing, please. This is not constructive." Casandra said conciliatorily.

I sighed deeply. The heroic life is certainly more insalubrious and less glamorous than advertised.

-//-

Science, from scire, meaning 'know'. The pursuit and application of knowledge and understanding. it is rooted in Natural philosophy's attempt to unravel the mysteries of nature.

Metaphysics, the study of abstractions. The contemplation of things that can't be directly observed.

I knew since the day I chose to become a cultivator of virtue that I had in me what it takes to be a philosopher. For the longest time, until Termina Festival, I didn't care if I ever reached beyond the Sophic Realm. That is why I went out of my way to make things right. To be the best I could and to Greek cultivators, the questions are the more important part. We call ourselves scholars of profound mysteries for a reason.

That is why I took the challenges presented to me in that mysterious land of the dead with relish. I tried like I had never done before in my life, secure in the assurance it would be worthwhile, that my soul was no longer shackled by the law of diminished returns imposed by the laws of physics.

Technology, from Greek, meant 'systematic treatment'.

Theology, writing, farming, foraging, woodworking, masonry, smiting, cookery, spiritualism, anatomy and alchemy. I had a lot of fun. For all that modern man views himself as enlightened and sophisticated the truth is that his knowledge is spurious and shallow. He might know how a battery works but most could never build one if their lives depended on it. That is because we had been born with the answer. We never had to bear the burden of asking why.

'Why' is a self-admittance of limits. It is both humbling and enlightening and so progress becomes something palpable as answers present themselves through countless attempts. It was not like my formal education went to waste, even if my original world's ignorance about the supernatural forced me to start from scraps.

No one will ever truly know a thing until they've seen it for themselves.

This forceful break is a return to form of sorts. Back then all that mattered was the task right in front of me, the passage of time is only secondary. I have been too impatient as of late, an unforgivable dereliction after the Prison Realm. Unity isn't to be underestimated, if I rush this I will regret it.

Home...

They will be fine. They survived one year without my supervision and are managing fine, thriving even. Tsumiki just broke through to the Heroic Realm. I somehow found myself unsurprised by said news and how she managed such. I healed the spiritual and physical scars left by Mahito, but I had no means to heal the mind. The trauma. I only knew how to endure it and use it as fuel. Tsumiki walked the same path as Selene, a psychologist to cultivators. Considering our kind peddle in madness Tsumiki had more than enough basket cases around her to be worth a heroic labor.

I guess she wanted to take always my pain too. Stupid, pretentious brat!

I couldn't be prouder. But this only serves to show they are no longer the little kids they were when we first met. I have to have hope in them.

Indeed. Hope. Magic is an expression of the soul, even the most rigorous and pattern-oriented wizardry and alchemy are not excepted from this. I am no stranger to magical concoctions, from zombie juice to strange tonics. All taught to me by the demented witch from the swamp. I simply had been too busy with cursed energy and modern science to continue my studies.

This changes now. Much like I used spell books as inspiration to expand my repertoire, I now will use the alchemy journals as inspiration to refine my sophic sense and rhetoric. The philosopher's stone is the magnum opus of Alchemy. It is something that should be doable for a mortal. Time is not a problem either, I have a lot of 'time' to burn. Mathematically, there is no reason for me to use my time the old-fashioned way.

I can even use this time to help equip the troops. Technology always starts by taking inspiration from nature, be it magical or mundane. That is how I created my first original robot, a [assembling ooze]. Based on the gelatinous cube. This robot is a stable nanite cloud capable of disassembling eaten materials and spilling out a programmed technological item that can be chosen from a catalog wirelessly. The first one I created using shadow conjuration, programmed to replicate itself, and now a small armada of these robots are recycling Scrapwall into equipment for our war effort. From weapons, and armor, to ammunition and grenades. Behold the almighty power of 3D printer!

I also made use of Dominion of Black's biotechnology to create plants and fruit-bearing trees capable of creating super pharmaceutical cheaper alternatives. Something easy to do between Nature's Bounty and my Vixen Maenad shikigami.

This helped me set the right mindset and mod while supplying me with laboratory equipment and reagents for me to unravel the secret of the Philosopher's Stone.

I went out of my way to adapt alchemical extracts into the most comfortable form for me, alcoholic beverages! Once I made this little concession to myself things progressed quickly and smoothly. Well, not smoothly, more like in a stupor as I pushed my heroic constitution to new limits. Most of the high-level extracts should be lethal if not for the magic involved, and sometimes a broch goes bad and if I am lucky, they are. When I am not, they become worse and I discover a new poison.

In a sense, this experience also counts as bodily refinement. Acclimating my body to these unique magical signatures and substances never seen in nature. I must have the third hardest-working liver in the multiverse at this point.

These experiences brought new insights. Golarion has a long history with alchemy, the sun orchid elixir alone is infamous, and these breakthroughs are commonly addressed as discoveries. Maybe is due to my particular cultivator foundation, but I discovered how to expand my mind through the raze of torpor though it made me awful sick. And despite the risks, it didn't disturb the balance between the humors, just granting me a more pleasant musk natural odor.

I worked through the collection of notes and journals from alchemists from all over Golarion, taking what I could when I found it fit.

Until eventually it happened. After 'centuries' of work, I created it. Bearing the appearance of an ordinary, sooty piece of blackish rock yet when broken open, a cavity is revealed at the stone's heart. This cavity is lined with a magical type of quicksilver, Prima Materia. It is the primitive formless base of all matter similar to chaos, the quintessence or aether. According to records, once open it goes inner quickly and becomes useless; like the prima material most available in Virtuous Sons.

I didn't wait any further and retrieved from my shadow the other nine ingredients needed for the creation of nectar (replique) out of mundane materials. Plus, the feathers of three virtuous birds and the purchased phoenix feather.

This time it was an old-fashioned day of work as I carefully played it by ear, progressing through the four stages of refinement. Fortunately, they were necessary for the creation of the Philosopher's Stone as well so I had some experience. All my previous experimentation certainly put me ahead of Solus and Socrates as I have come to see the guiding methodology behind this madness.

My brew was finally ready. Nectar (replique), what the Tyrant Riot filled his cup with. A pleasant echo of a wonder the likes an iron-wrought world cannot offer. A basin full of blood-red liquid. I breathed deeply, savoring the impossible amalgamation of perfect aromas and flavors kicking up to the back of my nose and tongue. Nectar (replique) is an amplifying substance. Joined with healing herbs, it becomes a perfect panacea. Joined with hemlock, it becomes an unshakeable poison.

The benefits of nectar were the subject of myth and legend. Immortality, divine constitution, advancement through entire mortal realms, and on and on it went. Even if only a few of them were true, even if only one of them was reality, a cup would be a treasure worth any Tyrant's favor. A paltry sip would be more than equal to a lifetime of closed-doors cultivation.

And it was a privilege I intended to keep fully to myself and mine alone. I had done more than enough to solve scarcity, I have more than merited some privileges. Now it's a question of how I will send this cup to Megumi and Tsumiki. Transport of items through Dream should be possible just because I had seen Rher do so to the warden's machete as a warning. I lost the chance to give them their first proper cup of undiluted wine but this has to make up for it!

I fill in a cop and bring it to my lip, yet decide to pause at the last second. Argyrchiara, I call to my muse and extend to her our first cup.

No, thank you. I know what this is made out of. She answers me unflappably while turning her nose up in disgust.

Come on, don't be difficult! I don't have the time nor the sedentary lifestyle to become a livestock cultivator. And where would I even find a sacred cow? I argued while bringing the cup to the muse's lips.

She hurriedly turned her face always from it. So you decided to become one?! The holy daemon protested.

You are being overdramatic! I just took some liberties with Maenads' legendary ability to produce honey and milk at will. And I am a heroic cow, thank you very much. Now we were locked in an open struggle of arms as I tried to force-feed the damn thing to Argyrchiara. Ok, so there might be more than greed motivating me to keep the secret of nectar to my grave. Even so, I struggled too much to reach this point. I didn't go through all these efforts for nothing!

What is next then? Forcing me to rinse it inside my mouth to see if I can turn it into true nectar!? Then what? Have me feed it to you like a baby bird? Argyrchiara displays surprisingly powerful grip strength as she tries to feed me instead. Yet we find ourselves in an armlock stalemate.

Why, now that you are offering it would be rude to decline. Wouldn't it? I kept pressing on until we spilled the cup's content in our struggle.

The panic I saw on her face was only mirrored by the one I saw in my reflexed by her eyes. I stroked my heart flame in a knee-jerk reaction and returned every single drop to the cup before it could touch the ground.

Ok, new rule. We both know this thing is too valuable to waste or give away. So let's do it together then. Agreed?

Agreed.

I procured another cup, then we locked forearms not unlike lovers and drank the nectar at the same time. And we both shared the high of all the best flavors in the world washing over our tongue like a lover's caress. More than that, I could feel it fortifying and revitalizing me as it danced inside my body with my starlight marrow, instigating each other to ever more soaring heights.

Gods, I hate it. Now there is no way to talk you out of keep making it.

She wasn't wrong. This is the best thing I have consumed. Period. Who in their right mind would renounce it? Cow life it is for me. Nobody has to know. Probably because I would kill any who did.

-//-

Silver Mount, the hill the Divinity ship crashed into nine thousand years ago. Today the tail of the shit stands at its peak. The city of Starfall stands as a bursting metropolis sprung at the foot of Silver Mount. Housing more than thirty thousand souls, two-thirds being Cimmerians while androids are less than two thousand, all serving as slaves for the Technique League.

Starfall is a hard place to live, chemicals from Divinity have tainted the water, the air is polluted with smoke from the fumes of laboratories exploring Numeria's technologies, and violence is an ever-present threat due to a mix of the League's cutthroat policies and Cimmerian brutish culture.

It's an ugly girl even from a distance. I guess high-tech can't really beat old architecture after all. Either in beauty or sense of identity. This was true back on Earth as it is in Golarion. Modern cities all end up looking the same.

Well, I am not here as a tourist though. This is a business visit.

I make the sign to cast the shadow puppet of the peacock, manifesting the [Multichromatic Peacock]. The original bearer of this soul was a spirit medium used in experiments by black priests. A radiant soul who served as a beacon. Combining the yellow mages' dance macabre with the gleams of insight from Solo Forbidden Area cursed technique and my own Orphic rites, this shikigami can amplify the power of allies through dancing. Gojo, being his usual self could not pass up the chance to needling poor Iori-sense that a familiar could replace and outdo her.

It's show time!

Heroes are extraordinary, significant existences. To which extent or by how much is hard to say, even for heroes themselves, but what is certain is that even the least among them are semi-divine existences. And divinities bear mysteries of their own. The impossible miracles they imprint on the world.

My second labor was the act of harming, of reaching, a god. It was the sublimation of my mythos. Now I summon it once more. Stroking my heart flame, I invoke my second labor, manifesting a light, unlike Rher's baleful glow. Indeed, this was no longer his hateful, jealous, and scornful light but my own, born of my virtue. By combining Dionysus' starry body, my starlight marrow, and Rher's light, and recasting both together under the sway of my virtue I have finally reached my own unique virtuous technique. Better late than never, I say.

[Star Rage: Black]! Yuki, this is my final homage and goodbye to you.

My arm goes alight like a phosphorescent lantern, my bones can be seen glowing from inside my flesh and a nimbus of starry night shrouded the limb.

Argyrchiara,

I am here, always.

My virtue is bipolar, after all. Salvation and despair. It's not a certain thing yet this is what allowed me to adapt jujutsu Technique Reversal and the Totality Technique to virtuous techniques, and I had long since adapted Limitless to Rher's smothering of space. I can only pull this off in the first place with the help of my muse though. Plus, some concessions had to be made, using Limitless more as inspiration than simple mimic as I also added Yuki's virtual mass and Yorozu's perfect sphere.

The air groans under the strain of gravitational distortion, a sharp shriek that goes on forever as if the sky were about to fall. An event horizon takes place as light start to be pulled under the sway of my influence creating a ring of coronation light as I held a fucking black hole in the tip of my fingers!

A pseudo-black hole, to be precise. Yuki's last resort isn't something a philanthrope like her would ever use outside a closed-off boundary like a domain expansion or emptiness barrier. It was more than capable of destroying the world after all. Gravity is one of the elements that must be treated with utmost caution and respect. What I created is a sphere of annihilation that disintegrates everything it touches until it fizzles out or detonates like a supernova.

I would have liked to explore the wonders inside Divinity but the destruction of Unity takes priority. The way I see it, even if I fail Unity will be forced to expend power it could otherwise use to kill me while carving a clear path for the excavator to start drilling. There is no need to hold back.

I let the pseudo-black hole go, and it inflates to a gigantic size while carving a trail of destruction, scarring the mountain as it collides with Silver Mount. The sound was like the hammer of god hit his anvil, there wasn't a soul for miles deaf enough to miss it. The earth quaked as part of the mountain crumbled and was unmade by the black sphere darker than black bearing a crown made of a ring of coronation light. Through my sophic senses, I picked how the ship was enveloped by a powerful soul, granting it more endurance than mere steel. My heroic senses picked on how Unity was using mythical power to reinforce Divinity beyond even that.

It was as I suspected. It would be best if I approached this incoming fight as my first confrontation with a Tyrant Realm cultivator, especially considering Unity's obsession with domination. Divinity is Unity's domain, the throne of its soul. Tyrants deal with Ethos, with Purpose. They don't try to convince or appeal to emotion but speak for others with the voice of a nation. And like all nations, they live or die by credibility. Actions speak louder than words, by proving they are not who they claim themselves to be, straying them from the framework of principles they had sworn themselves to, it is possible to disanoint a tyrant. To break his Ethos.

That is why battle preparations will decide the outcome of this day. One way or another, this is a new chapter in Numeria's history. And that is how Casandra's intel about Silver Mount and intimate knowledge of Unity is invaluable. Before confronting Unity's digital avatar inside its demiplane throne room in the chamber of the Divinity Drive, I have to perform some tasks.

The destruction of Bastion, the chief of security robot, the Overlord robot that serves as Unity's physical avatar inside Divinity, and Deacon of Hope, a holographic avatar brother of Hellion the Iron God created to be his hierophant, managing his android cult, as thralls don't count as true worshipers. Slaying the ancient vortex dragon Becrux, a foolish creature that was summarily turned into Unity's slave and now exists as a living trophy. Destroy the Quiet Garden, the magical freezer Unity stores the soul of his worshipers in his personal throne room. Unplug its AI facets and plug the inhibitor facet it had installed on Hellion. Kill the covenant of alien witch servants of Unity who live in the habitat pods that survived the crash. Also, disrupts the faith androids and aliens have in Unity.

Easy. Right? Ah, I almost forgot. There is also the army of gearmen and flying terminator robots wirelessly controlled by Unity at spitting distance (for a hero) of Silver Mount. Good thing Logic's followers have set up all those explosives and EMP to sabotage the Technique League radio towers ahead of time.

-//-

Heroes and tyrants live in a different world live in a different world from philosophers and citizens. As a citizen, I paid lip service to it but as a hero, I can finally see it for myself. While mortals curse with choices have to content themselves by committing to a single path, a single choice, I can invoke my first Labor and grant myself time, and the power to choose all the options present before me. The power to be in more than one place at the same time.

There is so much to be done and most of Logic's followers are dregs of little consequence. My role is crucial but brief, to decapitate the Technique League leadership, link with the royal consort to pass her the nectar to restore the Black Sovereign, and be guided to the Technique League secret passage linked to Divinity. An overwhelming attack from all directions crippled my enemies so they couldn't come to Unity's aid.

The Black Sovereign bears an uncanny semblance to Conan, as expected. Unfortunately, this resemblance is skin deep, the guy is a hedonistic lush, a hopeless addict, and a nymphomaniac with an unending appetite. When he isn't indulging himself, he is passed out in a corner of his castle like some common vagrant. It's hard to believe this wretch is supposed to be the fiercest Cimmerian in all Numeria, and I can literally see his soul. That is how far he had fallen.

It will be easy to get his cooperation in the short term by tangling the nectar over his head but Kul-Inkit is the kind of man who takes what he wants and from what I see in his harem he is liable to want more from me than just nectar. I am so skipping town after this; I would never survive as Princess Leia. Killing him will only sour things between Androids and Cimmerians while creating more trouble for Logic. Black Sovereign is a title you earn and keep by strength of arms and can only be held by ethnic Cimmerian. I am through with Numeria.

The assistance of the royal consort facilitated many things. Before Kevoth-Kul rise to power, while the black throne had been empty, the Technic League excavated a tunnel entrance under the royal palace to uncover Divinity's engineering levels over 50 years ago, and it has been the primary point of entrance for the League over the decades. Now I can use it as part of my pincer strategy.

When the city of Star Fall was rocketed by my initial assault, while a few other me were ambushing and cutting down Technique League big shots, I was preparing my invasion of Divinity's domain. I used the rainbow access card I scavenged during my tour in Numeria to open the glaucite door, summoned my mandala intention combined with Monochrome Crucible to summon all my ten shadow beasts shikigami totality, combining them into my four heavenly generals.

North – combining Tyrant Raptor, Hearth Snake, and Multichromatic Peacock through their shared fire element. Bearing the ability to 'fire up' allies into a rampage, that also heals and invigorates them.

South – combining Poisonous Anura, Kaleidoscope Logic Urchin, and Wonderland Cat through their shared water element. Bearing the appositive ability to North, it serves as crowd control and debuff, poisoning, harassing, and disorienting enemies.

East – combining Batavian Glass Armadillo and Maenad Vixen through their shared earth element. Serves as the tank and manipulates the field of battle to support allies while obstructing enemies.

West – combining Moonless Cerberus and Valkyrie Vulture through their shared wind element. The summoner creates and coordinates hordes of dragon bone warriors as shock troopers and other shadow chimera beasts using the body information data bank.

They looked like a power ranger team of samurai, bearing exquisite yet fashionable armor and masks. When I was a mere sophic each of them had enough power to be a special grade one sorcerer, yet when combined their power was compared by Gojo to the sun, moon, and stars squad his family kept during the Heian era. And when supported by my domain, their power is overwhelming enough to give pause to the strongest.

Now that I am a hero, they are the stuff of nightmares. The engine deck is overrun by faceless hoplite warriors mounted on feathered velociraptor-looking beasts, cutting down robots, aliens, and TL lackeys alike. The mounted laser turrets' counteroffensive was frustrated by illusory tricks and deflected by spatial distortions. The reinforced glaucite doors were kicked down by battering ham war beasts. Even when Unity started to use her divine powers through the turrets, creating barriers of brilliant blades, fire storms inside entire rooms, and summoning entities from other planes, it still served my purpose. Having it waste away its divine power on my cheap and fungible soldiers might slow me down for a time, but it is repricing it of resources before our true fight is a low price in exchange for some heart blood.

The Overlord robot was found at the shuttle bay, escorted by two annihilator robots, six terminators, and some dregs who fled here in desperation. The terminators were basically flying missile platforms bearing quantum whips mounted in their heads that looked like mustaches and claws for hands.

The battle raged on, like something out of sci-fi warfare fever dream of zombies versus robots. Laser turrets fired at will due to the number of targets, and the overlord robot was like a murder blender, yet they were pushed back. The laser turrets were strangled by tree trucks and jammed with seeds, annihilators were toppled, tied down, and cut apart by zero-edge gladius swords wielded by frenzied undying soldiers. And even the overlord was overwhelmed by numbers.

They moved on, untendered. Headed toward Habitat Pod 1. I have some witches to burn and atheism to preach by the tip of the sword.

-//-

After ensuring the Technique League suppression plan went smoothly, I dismissed all but three probability clones. The primary attacker waging war inside divinity, the striker that tried to blow up the mountainside, and the one piloting the modified excavator in Scrapwall.

Now, using my other selves as reference points, I open a golden gate big enough to drop the excavator directly in the hole I just carved in the mountain with a black hole. The mere act of violating the ship will harm Unity's ego but now that my other self is attacking it from the inside while I using something less lethal than a black hole, Unity will be compelled to redirect its resources for the fight inside Divinity itself.

I still have to reinforce the machine with my pneuma and flare my heart flame to perform a work of months into minutes by increasing the excavator's magnitude. This is necessary to pierce Divinity's tick outer layer of the purest glaucite alloy capable of shrugging off space debris flying at up to 1.5 km/s.

The position I am currently carving at was carefully chosen to drop me directly inside the Command Deck. A good position to be in, as the place had been rocketed the hardest by my initial attack, and a good chunk of Unity's fighting forces was no doubt going to support the suppression of my army, depriving them of time to return before I secure the perimeter.

Said that there is one troublesome Unity subordinate that can be found here. Deacon Hope's quarters can be found in this area, the former first officer's Quarters. Existential angst seizes the mnemovore, and he searches for purpose in life beyond service to his creator. His depression grows until he gluts himself on stolen memories and loses himself in another creature's life for days, eventually 'rediscovering' his faith anew. He is no different from Hellion after all, and as it is we got lucky. I can feel mythical power similar to Hellion nearby.

"Logic, now it is your time to shine," I say toward the tablet strapped to my waist. The picture of the goddess displayed on it now nods at me. Casandra was left behind to support the android insurrection. While her intelligence is crucial for the plan, she lacks the means to take part in such a fight.

Finding Deacon wasn't difficult, he calmly walked toward the command bridge turned shrine to Unity. As a mnemovore he is almost indestructible, being an incorporeal aggregation of information stored into light, like a scientific digital ghost. Honestly, I can deal with it like any cursed spirit.

The creature wielded a disarming smile toward the excavator, "Now, that is a rather uncouth way to search divinity. But that is ok, I forgive you and I am sure Unity will as well once you search atonement."

I open the excavator's doors in answer, releasing a swarm of observation robots. Those are not an ivory delusion but the real, made by my 3D printer ooze. Plus, they are not under my command but Logic's. A slap in Unity's face, an open invitation to contest for control between AIs. Even if Logic were to eventually be bested, the battle owes to be distracting enough for me to finish things in real space.

The robot swarm dances in the room like a kicked vespa nest. Erratic and furious, releasing loud buzz and projecting images of Logic fighting what my knowledge of planes identifies as an archangel, also known as solar. So this is Unity's avatar? Talk about prepotency, the AI really thinks of itself as some benevolent tyrant.

I finally drop down from the excavator myself, putting me face to face with Deacon of Hope. He contemplates me with a shit-eating grin. He regards this affair as a welcome distraction from his monotonous existence.

"Sorry, pall. I simply don't have time to waste with you so I am ending this quickly," I say as I brandish my sword over my face like a cross, presenting the entity with its flat side where the arcane glyph had been engraved. "Unlimited Void!"

How many times exactly had I been hit with Gojo's domain expansion? Despite my perfect memory, they all blurred together in a single event. And infuriatingly enough, to this day I still cannot put into words the experience of what I witnessed. A true mystery, both opaque enough to defy reason and profound enough to inspire virtue. My cute little student got really peeved when I not only devised a countermeasure using my Dionysian mystery but even grasped his own technique, even if just as a blind man. That was the day he came to understand what a scholar of profound mystery truly was and reevaluate the assessment he had of me. And as any true philosopher, I can still convey indirectly that which can't be directly observed. I can share my lived experience, especially while using the sword carrying a shard of the quintessence of the Six Eyes. The sword was designed as an amplifier, to begin with, there is no real surprise there.

It's not a very friendly-oriented ability, being closer in execution of a 0.2-second domain, hitting everyone but the one holding the sword. It's also something I can't use more than once a day due to the binding vows involved to make it possible. In a sense, it's more the sword's power than my own. But I can't argue with the result.

Deacon was a dangerous opponent yet a being that lives by information is also susceptible to die by it. Deacon Hope feeds on memories and knowledge via his incorporeal touch. Plus, as long as some remnant of information remains, he can reform himself. And the less we talk about the divine magic and mythical power he has access to due to the backing of Unity the better. A troublesome opponent but also an opportunity.

Logic was spared from my attack due to the skin contact the compact AI core is making with me. The same cannot be said for Unity who is almost omniscient inside its domain/prison. While its processing power should be enough to keep it from being stunned like Deacon, it is clear by the robotic swarm's behavior this room went dark. Time to play a grand trick on Unity.

Horn fulfills. Ivory deceives. Yet, for the wine-dark sons of raging heaven, the cup's composition is inconsequence in the face of its content. The mythical power I acquired from Pharasma amplified this aspect of myself. I am now compelling enough to fool the world itself and even magic that Ivory is actually horn. That lies are truths. I basically became real-life Bugs Bunny, with limited toon force powers.

I cast impale Deacon of Hope and use my sword as an improvised USB plug to shove Logic inside the data vampire like a virus. While she does her magic, turning the mnemovore into her avatar as she did with Hellion, I falsify the connection between Deacon of Hope and Unity. This will give Logic administrative privilege inside Divinity while Unity is none the wiser. With luck, she might even be able to backstab him by the end of the day.

I summon my Einherjar warriors and flare my heart flame to give each of them command of one hundred dragon bone warriors. They are to flank Unity forces trying to push back my invading army.

I then manifest a brush made from shadow and ivory bearing a rainbow of colors for hair and use it to paint a hole in the grounds of the command deck, giving me direct access to the Astrogation deck. The antechamber of the Divinity Drive.

-//-

The Habitat Pod 1 was easy enough to overcome, the megafauna present knew better than to stand against a stampede, the witches were skewered by countless spears despite their mighty magic, and the alien tribe was demoralized enough to be easily cowed into denouncing Unity in front of its camera feeds. It doesn't matter whether they truly meant it or not, Unity doesn't understand the concept of free will.

It was clear I had earned the AI's undying hatred when I reached the Security Section of the ship, Bastion's domain. Unity has invested considerable resources into restoring the security sector to tighten its control over the ship's legions of robots.

Its crowning feature is Bastion, a powerful robot built by Unity made almost entirely from the rare metal called noqual. Noqual is one of the rarer types of skymetal and has magic-resistant properties. It appears to be a pale green crystal but can be forged like iron. It has half the weight of iron, yet is just as strong. It is possible to craft magic items from noqual but it requires expensive alchemical treatments. Yet Unity did not only that but also endowed it with mythical power.


Bastion impedes magic by its mere presence, and its touch disrupts spells and magical constructs. This includes bodies animated by magic. Its mythical powers seem to have augmented such attributes.

A perfect overseer, inside the Security Section it serves as a hub for Unity, having authority over all robots found here. The security sector is designed to accommodate any of Divinity's heavy weapons and robots, and even allow for small vehicles. These factors, coupled with Unity's privileged access over the teleporter meant the Security Section effectively became the sight of our final battle in real space. Unity even sent a sect of cybernetically augmented gargoyles armed to the teeth to support Bastion. This apparently includes Casandra's replacement, a small and slender gargoyle with a human-like face and cybernetic limbs, bearing a powerful divine aura comparable to the pickle wizard I had met.

Of course, I expected something like that. That is why I made a point to create some 'robotballs' mixing arcane arts with tech to create a stable storage for my biggest robots inside the fold of paradox logic I can store inside my shadow without fear of losing it or opening a rift to the astral plane.

As the whole place is made of the purest glaucite alloy I had no hesitation about filling the place with kamikaze observer robots, annihilators, and my newest chunky boy, juggernauts. They are Gearman's big brother, these metallic monstrosities wreak havoc upon those whom they come across.

All in all, the battle was a marvelous waste of lives and resources. It couldn't be called anything but a war, and we certainly put the ship's endurance to the test. I mean, repetition rocket launchers can hold up to ten shots and are extremely cost efficient which makes it an almost fungible armament even a monkey could use. Fortunately for Unity, it had a lot of idle time to waste, leading the robotic tyrant to accrue a respectable army without much effort.

I also found we fought very similarly, with machine-like precision and mathematical efficiency. Our soldiers were literally made of iron, after all. No need to preserve them in any way as long they could take more away on their way down, this was everything that mattered. I had an advantage though. My Roman-style pneuma resonance of my dragon bone warriors has granted them power beyond their keen, allowing them to contest against enemies they had no business crossing blades with.

Unity saw it too, to whom the tides of war were favoring. The AI was getting reckless, it was making mistakes. And I made a point to ruthlessly exploit every single one of them, leading it to become even more frantic. This must be the second time it feels despair ever since the Dominion of Black, nine thousand years ago. How deliciously human!

Bastion itself had no such weakness though. It fought with fanatical zeal, to the point it was clear Unity surrendered command to it. Ah, but it must have hurt! I bet that if the AI had a body, it would be spitting black bile right now. If a hero is measured by his deeds and a tyrant by his authority then a god has to be judged by his divinity. The more it behaves as a god the godlier it becomes… and in turn the less godly it behaves the lesser of a god it is.

Bastion wasn't the one that faltered, it was Unity's conviction that faltered first, weakening its mythical power to the point I felt confident enough to step in and finish things myself. That little war had cost me a thousand years in heart's blood and Bastion was resolute to make me bleed even more.

Too bad for it I made my homework, conjuration magic is notorious for bypassing magic resistance altogether to the point there are countless offensive spells for it despite the efficiency drop. I used shadow conjuration to create a [caustic eruption] right under it, manifesting a geyser of green acid catapulting Bastion into the ceiling. And unlike the glaucite frame of the ship, his noqual frame was melting like wax. I followed my offensive with [Clashing Rocks], sandwiching Bastion between two colliding fists of stone like a train collision, and finished it all by having my warriors rack it to pieces.

With Bastion's defeat, the keystone of Unity's army had been cracked at its foundation, it wasn't enough for any among them to back down but it didn't prevent them from following Bastion to robot heaven. Unity's new priestess was the next to follow, being shot in the back by her own tribe's man of all things due to a well-time illusion. Any traces of coordination had been erased and they were falling to friendly fire just as often as to my blades.

I had won. For all effects and purposes, Divinity was mine.

********************************************************



***ZAGREUS SEVER THE CHAINS OF UNITY ***



********************************************************

-//-

I am fighting the ancient vortex dragon Becrux inside the Star Chamber of the Astrogation Deck, where navigators once charted unexplored space down to minute details while also serving to process the incredibly complex calculations needed to properly create wormholes through space with the Divinity Drive.

The Star Chamber can generate holographic representations of star systems, track their motion and scientific statistics, examine alien star systems or subatomic particles based solely on sensor readings, and help make the ship's survey of billions of worlds a practical reality. It was as grand in purpose as it was in execution.

The old wyrm and I were literally fighting among the stars as the room was overtaken by the display of the cosmic dance of celestial bodies. Of little consequence but worth mentioning, was the display of Golarion, where a point of light shining at the location of Silver Mount, from which a thread of light emerges to create a cage-like lattice surrounding the planet. A hint to the Iron God's loft goal of world domination.

The fight was really frustrating as well. Despite its enslavement, the star serpent shows itself to be surprisingly cunning. Vortex dragons are the undisputed masters of travel across the galaxies, serving as messengers and observers for the greatest outer dragons and godlike entities in the great beyond. It flies with grace and speed unrivaled among its kind and its mere existence bends space which the reptile uses to perform impossible maneuvers, deflect attacks, and attack at range through space rifts.

What should be Unity's trophy has become its last line of defense. I had been fighting the damn thing for almost half an hour by now and it hasn't shown any sight of slowing down. Its ability kind of reminds me of the Gojo clan's record about Sky Manipulation coupled with Todo's Boogie Woogie.

As we play a tiresome game of hit and run, I can't help but lament the circumstances involved in this meeting. I would have loved to take my time and taxidermize the amazing creature into a spaceship. I am pretty confident I can replicate idly transfiguration with my moon-scorch, reshaping it to my liking but my sword is too rough with bodies and souls but this is a detour I simply can't afford. The recent improvement of my mythical tie has granted me the ability to rapidly heal injuries and recuperate my spent pneuma at the expense of some mythical power in a short rest of one hour. I burned through a lot of heart blood to exhaust Unity. I simply can't let it all go to waste because I got distracted. I can't grant Unity any time to respire.

Of course, that is when I felt my soul multiplying as the flagging vital sea of soul doubled and redoubled as I climbed another rung toward raging heaven, 3rd rank of the heroic realm. Good news with the worst possible timing! I am currently at three different places as the fight outside Silver Mount became more serious than predicted. My probability doubles are all me, so will my tribulation be divided evenly among us or will I just be smitten three times over? As if this was even worth the breath wasted uttering it! Were the fates ever kind to heroes?

I dismissed all my doubles except for the one fighting Becrux. Fortunately, the beast took my moment of ponderation as hesitation and pounced on me. Besides one devastating blow during our initial exchange, the dragon had only shallow blows throughout his body. And now it is using its Collapsing Breath weapon, sucking me up like a vacuum cleaner and swallowing me whole and hindering me helpless inside his vortex blender stomach.

Right before tribulation lighting strikes me down for my audacity. Transgressing on Unity's domain as if it wasn't even there.

I could feel the tribulation lightning running through the dragon's flesh to unmake me. Becrux in howled pain as it was hit again and again, sharing in part of a hero's tribulation. As thanks I cut it from head to tail, Zagreus (the sword) eating his essence up until only ashes remained.

The vortex dragon's quintessence joined in with the void dragon's without any fanfare or dissonance. Whether it was due to the fact they are from the same subgroup or due to my own compatibility with the void dragon or even something beyond my keen entirely I couldn't say. What I knew was that it was a legendary drop, so to speak. A worthy prize after all the trouble I had reached so far down.

Time for the final battle. I hope Logic pulled through on her end.

-//-

I moved on, finally reaching the Computer Core, the laboratory directly connected to where the Divinity Drive is held. I used the prismatic access card I looted from her gargoyle priestess to enter its sterilization corridor and was instantly greeted by the focused fire of eight laser turrets. A good attempt but fire of that level could not harm a seasoned blacksmith cultivator such as myself. The fact Unity didn't even try to use spells through it shows my decision had been right.

I moved on and found myself impressed. Reality simply… stops. Replaced by Unity's private demiplane. I had read about such magic, and technically I should be able to do the same through shadow conjuration, but the sheer scale of the place is mind-boggling. In a blink, I found myself no longer in Golarion but in a modern metropolis contained inside a space station so big even my heroic senses struggled to map the place.

No… I looked up at the celestial dome giving clear view of the night sky. I mapped the configuration of stars and planets. This planet-sized space station is Golarion! This goes beyond the power of a single god, let alone a quasi-divine thing like Unity. So this is the power of the Divinity Drive? To think such a machine even existed outside of sci-fi…

More than that, I found treads. Although invisible to the naked eye and even my pneumatic and sophic senses, my heroic sense has widened with my ascension. Scarlet strings running through the entire place and I would bet if I follow them to their source, I will find the serrated fist of the Iron God.

So I do exactly that. Honestly, the fact Unity isn't using the power of the Divinity to erase me from existence probably meant the AI simply can't. Can't or won't. There is a deeper purpose to this place besides a show of extravagance.

I reached Unity's throne, a gauche golden citadel where Unity could survey its new kingdom. Soon enough I am accosted by two 'angels', tall human-like creatures with long feathery wings and a gentle inner radiance that would make it difficult to look directly at by mortals. Despite the outer splendor, I had been around the block for long enough for my sophic sense to pick out the difference between essences souls held. They were Lawful Evil post-mortal life forms made from the dead souls of Unity's followers, their appearance is due to the AI's ego and self-image as a benevolent dictator.

I found that this plane of existence has its own form of cultivation, the act of biding a soul to multiply itself, and it is similar to the Egyptian cultivation – success, and failure aren't measured by the avoidance of death but by its proper execution. After death, Pharasma will lead the soul to one of nine metaphysical realms, decided based on how said person conducted himself in life. Some mortals pledge their souls to gods or make pacts with denizens of said realms in order to ensure rebirth as a more powerful entity. Even the Whispering Tyrant god-like powers came from being purposefully slain by the hands of a god; a macabre parody of Heracles' own death and ascension. Most demons and angels were mortals once and they still carry the weight of their former lives, their captain virtue or vice, not unlike adults carrying the experience of their formative years as children.

Despite their guarded postures and wariness, they didn't immediately attack. So it is as we projected, Unity will try to court me as his new subordinate. Even if I ultimately refuse, he will at least get enough time out of it to gather his remaining slaves and resources for a final confrontation. Time for Logic to earn her keep.

What followed was a lot of saber-rattling on the part of said angels, but despite it, they refrained from actually attacking me. For my part, I was as aggravating as possible. Their true goal was to buy time but it was easy to force the issue as I was much faster than they. They wouldn't risk wasting Unity's last opportunity to enslave me, so soon I found myself escorted to Unity. I also could feel the presence of 'Deacon of Hope' loitering about. Things were coming together.

Before long I found myself in a grand throne room. Unity looked much the same as he did when first fighting Logic, a towering suit of armor bearing six wings. Yet now his golden bright glow was replaced by burnished Iron and an ominous red glow could be seen inside his helmet. Now that I bothered to look, much similar effect is inflicted on his subordinates. The Iron God's wrath was a palpable thing yet it still tried to present some composure, for all the good it did. Far more interesting was the web of scarlet strings tied to his chest.

"I must say I love what you did with the place. Since your divine powers are restricted to Divinity you simply have to expand it until the ship engulfs the planet. While terraforming it the old fashionable way was an option, there is no way this would pass unnoticed. After your failed bit for the Star Stone, you opted to circumvent it by using the Divinity Drive to run a simulation of terraformed Golarion in real-time. Then, once it is completed I presume you will perform a sleight of hand replacing reality for the simulation, aren't you?"

"And here you are at last, within the core of my being, standing before me in glorious idealized incarnations. So magnificent! You have been through my forge, mortals, and have conquered the tasks I have set before you with skill. And now, your reward. Serve me and you shall have the true potentials of your minds unlocked! But know that to turn away now is only an invitation to your just and deserved oblivion."

I will give him that, he was good. Many layers of deception there. Accepting his proposition, even in jest, would result in anyone turning into his pawn and no mortal magic would be able to undo such a thing. As sore a state as Unity currently is, the Iron God is still a divine existence. As such, only the divine itself would be able to undo such a thing. It would take a miracle to save a person who accepts such a deal. And unfortunately for the megalomaniac AI, he is facing precisely such a defiant soul, a breaker of chains. It is a huge gambit on my part and not part of the original script, I will make sure to apologize to Logic later.

"I accept." Unity didn't waste a single moment. I saw the horror in Logic's disguised face and the jubilation in the archangel's soul as the scarlet silk chain shot my way like a killer arrow aiming at my heart. And was promptly stopped by my insolent hand, "Not!"

I flared my heart flame, throwing hundreds of years into the flames to impose a defiant miracle into the world. With my sword, I swung a perfect arc severing all the treads Unity held in its tyrannical hand, severing its connection to all his slaves in the Silver Mount and beyond. The feedback from my action generated such a shock it stunned Unity and its angelical host. Logic did not waste such an opportunity either.

It seems the cyborg goddess has been a busy little bee since we got separated. In this digital realm, she had a lot of leeway, and she used it to produce a pistol and a detonator. She used the weapon to shoot Unity in the back and the detonator to rocket the place with a chain reaction of explosions. My grave keeper intuition picked up a massive swelling of ghost population, the Quiet Garden had been destroyed, freeing the souls of his worshipers serving Unity as a worship engine to help power the AI's ascension.

Logic lifts her disguise, revealing the ploy to Unity just to drive the point across. All conditions for Unity's defeat have been met and the AI could not be more demoralized if we tried. Not with Logic's influence running through its avatar like a living computer virus. This was without a doubt, Unity's darkest moment. Let's see if I can make it worse.

I manifest my Cimmerian Einherjar warriors, flaring my heart flame to magnify their every aspect while conferring to each enough dragon tooth warriors to battle the fake angelic host Unity created out of the soul of its most powerful followers. They had willingly been enthralled by Unity due to the power granted by its enslaving brand and now were also reeling from the shock like their former master.

The digital world itself was beginning to fall apart as Logic started to seize the command of the Divinity Drive for herself, initiating a battle for control on two fronts.

Unity hadn't surrendered yet though. It exploded into a divine aura of fury as the Iron God screamed apoplectic rage through binary. It fell on me like an avenging angel, bringing a coruscating fist to crush me down. I answered in kind, burning my life away a minute per second to manifest the strength of twenty-four thousand men against the Iron God. Our attacks crossed but did not meet as we both were more focused on destroying each other than safeguarding ourselves and due to my superior reach, I struck first. Yet my blade was harmlessly rebuffed by Unity's iron carapace, it didn't even slow it down. Leaving me flat-footed and open to the fist of the angry god.

My chest caved in as all my ribs were broken. Only my heroic constitution prevented my heart and lungs from being skewered by bone shards. I was sent flying through empty buildings like they were made of cardboard.

Well, it was clear that I fucked up. Unity's digital avatar seems to indeed have the power of an archangel, the greatest type among the celestial host, usually serving at the right hand of a deity or championing a cause that benefits an entire world or plane. It is said that an archangel's power approaches that of a demigod, adding to this mythical power and I suddenly find myself in a lot of trouble.

Fortunately, fortitude is the virtue of wine-dark sons of raging heaven. While most heroes would be down for the count of not dead after this, I can still fight more or less unhindered. Plus, my dharma pneumatic chamber is spinning at full throttle to mend me whole via my starlight marrow. Besides this, my recent dabble in alchemy allowed me to prepare a contingency extract, releasing healing nectar to patch me up. I still went from 50% back to 70%.

Yet considering the Unity once more hounds me like an avenging angel, it is clear I can't afford to be hit like that again. I burn, throwing one day of my life away to buy myself one second against the Iron God's onslaught. I bring to bear the power of three and a half million men against Unity's furious fist and it was just enough to push it back. All that power and I just have an inch-long scratch in his gauntlet fist to show for it.

We both had been pushed away from our subordinates, but unlike Unity, I hadn't lost my mind to stress. Even as we furiously assaulted each other with everything he had I still kept my connection in mind, focusing my mythical power into routing Unity's angelical host. Now I only have to live long enough to ensure victory.

Our blows outpaced the wind and clashed with each other like thunder. I felt every bone in my body rattle with each exchange all the while I guarded myself against Unity's frantic assault. The Iron God was covered head to toe in scratches as it abandoned any defense for offense, confident in his indestructibility after everything else had failed. Yet there was an edge of desperation to even that, Logic's infection was spreading. The AI was clearly giving his all but in doing so Unity was risking losing it all. That which does not bend will eventually break.

I can't dare to flinch away at the finishing line. Instead of wasting away in a battle of attrition, I have to risk it all in a battle of attrition. I felt Argyrchiara comforting arms around my neck, reassuring me of my reckless decision. Unity blows might pass through the spatial reflection granted by the vortex dragon quintessence like it isn't even there, yet Becrux proved its weight in gold by the ease it granted me to manipulate space. Using hope (despair) to invert Rher's normal smothering of space into expansion, I manage to disengage Unity, teleporting to the edge of my range of influence.

It wasn't enough to lose the Iron God, but it was long enough for me to manifest my carrion influence. Fueled by my heart blood, it became a colossal giant the size of my surrounding buildings. A giant spectral Ashura with six arms and three faces. Each hand holds a sword and I cross them together to then violently unfurl them apart, carving deep gouges across the city with air pressure alone, carving six trails of destruction and toppled buildings. A slap into Unity's face and provocation he was more the happy to answer.

He flew towards me like a meteor colliding against my six folding blades. This time my attack bites into the Iron God's body until it meets bone. Yet Unity's desperation was simply the greater between our clash and he broke his way through my manifested swords of intent. Once more he closes in to deliver a devastating blow.

I could step sideways beyond the constraints of space and time and escape his furious assault by skipping time. Yet nothing would come out of his and Unity has shown himself more than capable of adjusting to such an absurd form of combat. Worse, he might decide to do something drastic with his slipping grasp over the Divinity Drive. I have to end sooner than later.

That is why I am risking it all.

Despite burning myself up to the power of a million men I have been forced to carefully split said output into many different directions as any competent warrior owes to do. Tunnel vision had been the death of countless 'geniuses' and 'war gods', after all. Yet I find this is precisely what I owe to do right here and right now.

As the Iron God approaches, I disperse the giant of intention, leaving myself entirely open and in free fall. I can pick Unity's trepidation and foreboding encroaching on his iron heart like a snare, if I hadn't rattled and harassed him so much he would have backtracked. But I did and he hadn't, his end was sealed. The only question was whether he would take me with him to the afterlife.

My pneuma and his divine aura clashed like water and oil, generating impossible friction. To me, the world went dark and only the two of us existed.

Then we came into striking range of each other.

I felt the comforting presence of my muse guiding me to passionate action beyond logic, a truly divine surge of inspiration. I put everything of myself into my next and final attack, channeling all my pneuma to manifest my exclusive virtuous technique. The prelude of my epic, my second labor, my [Star Rage].

Once more we attack each other without any reservation about safeguarding ourselves.

Once again, I struck first.

This time, there was no counter.

"BLACK FLASH: SUPERNOVA!"

First came the expansion of sparks of black from my sword then they collapsed in on themselves and the next thing I know the world is overtaken by light of calamitous cosmic denotation.

To begin with, my [Star Rage] is a virtuous technique of the highest order, a lesser mystery on itself meant to reach that which exists apart. The unmoved mover, immutable among heaven and earth, untouched and unspoken of. A transgression and audacity of the highest order, and for me to then augment it through the spark of black? I phenomenon no sorcerer ever managed to perform at will? This is nothing less than madness! And madness is my bread and butter, not that it spared me from just tribulation.

I was not spared from the backlash of my own attack. My flesh was stripped from my bones until nothing was left behind but a ruin of a skeleton bearing a burning heart. All my mundane senses left me, leaving me with only the supernatural senses of a cultivator of my standing. The only reason I was still alive was due to the negative energy reinforcing the animation of my body that I unlocked thanks to my recent breakthrough. And even then, its stubborn hold keeping my tripartite soul together is frayed to its limit. By all rights I should have died, only my resistance to my own pneuma spared me. Even then I should be dying right now but fortunately, my recently acquired mythical power had made me stubbornly hard to kill, stabilizing my condition. I no longer had working lungs either but the quintessence of the void dragon pulled its weight, allowing me to respire pneuma and my Star Wheel pneumatic chamber is mending me.

Even then I should still be rendered helpless by my condition. Fortunately, the quintessence of the Iron God has snuggled itself comfortably to my Earth Chakra, located at the base of the spine. Being related to survival, granted me some of the durability and relentlessness Unity has shown in our fight. The sparks of divinity integrating my mythical power also helped, granting me the power to force my will over reality through force alone. With it, I managed to perform the herculean task of reaching my shadow for my remaining reserves of nectar and drinking it as a flayed skeleton.

I think dying would have been less painful yet this shit is still as tasty as ever.

-//-

[AUTHOR'S ROOM]

So a cultivator of Zagreus' rank has a baseline power of 410 men put together, a day has 86400 seconds, so by burning one day per second Zagreus power rose to 35424000 men put together… and then there is the black flash raising this to the power of to the power of 2.5 = 7.4686825e+18 men put together.

Zagreus only survived this because Argyrchiara is a bullshit powerful muse. And even then, he had to pull every trick from his bag to survive this. Unnecessary to say he isn't pulling a stunt like this again any time soon. If he hadn't used it inside a demiplane he could cause a planetary incident. At minimum Numeria would be no more. All in all, this counts as Zagreus first fight against a Tyrant.

By the way, Unity is responsible for the Gap and Starfinder, the sci-fi parallel to Pathfinder. The gap is the phenomenon where the planet Golarion got replaced by a special station and thousands of years of history were lost. This was Unity's remastered master plan since its original goal was kind of stupid and convoluted.

By the way, Zagreus got a ton of exp, a legendary drop in the Iron God's quintessence, and two more mythical ranks, putting him at 6th tier. He got Mythic Saving Throws (Ex), Force of Will (Ex), Words of Hope (Su), Surge of Inspiration (Su), Mythic Leadership feat, and his third bonus to Charisma. This completes his Marshal build and now he can grant mythical power to his followers. Expect consequences.
 
WRATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS 1
"So, what do you have to say for yourself?" Gojo pinned me with his meanest stare. He wasn't alone either, Tsumiku, Megumi, Nanami, Haibara, and Geto were also present. All clearly broadcasting their opinion on the news that the rumors of my death had been exaggerated. And that I made no motion to correct them. A bittersweet cocktail for sure. There was no way for me to keep a lid on it after my ascension to 3rd rank of the heroic realm.

I was seated in seiza position and bore their pinning glares and accusations with stoic resignation. "What do you expect out of me? I survived by the skin of my teeth by outside assistance from a third party," I explain while pointing at Logic who easily joined me even while limited by the portable AI core. "I found myself stranded in another realm with no means to return and when I finally managed to contact you all I learned the years had gone by when for me only months had passed. You had already run yourselves ragged once in pursuit of my whereabouts. Believe me, I had no intention of abandoning you all, I just didn't want to give you false hope."

"Hope, ah?" Megumi started, pinning me with a betrayed and indignant expression that hid nothing of his hurt, the flame behind his eyes reduced to embers. "Even so it was our decision in the end-

"Megumi," Geto interjected, and the weight of his voice was heavy enough to draw the attention of all present. This was not the gravitas of a mortal cultivator, Geto had entered the Realm of pratyekabuddhas (Solitary Buddhas).

Cultivation is the refinement of the soul, not only biding it to multiply but also bringing order to a chaotic soul. But what would this mean to a curse user? The influence of the Greek heroic realm is self-evident as a hero stands alone but ultimately this is a fruit of Tengen's making. She was the one who spread the teachings of Buddhism and jujutsu to Japan. The soul of a jujutsu sorcerer is tied down and submerged in curses (resentment) from the cradle to the grave, they cultivate so they can sever- no, dissolve these ties, and become truly free.

Geto is one of my first students, he knows my presence like the back of his hand. It was easy for him to hear my muse's siren song and answer her call. He seized my magic even more quickly, to the point he was among the scarcely few granted mythical power after my latest breakthrough. A fortuitous time as well, Argyrchiara only cares for the genuine pursuit of virtue. Their personal ideologies are of no interest to her. This makes it so the cardinal sin of cultivators of virtue, hubris, is left free to fester.

My rapid acquisition of mythical power has led to a sharp increase in power among my favored souls. In an ill-conceived pursuit of self-validation, they had decided to solve their differences in a trial by hunger. This spurred Geto to step in with his common shamelessness and the egregious audacity worth of a hero. He went public at the least convenient time and admitted… he hated monkeys? He went as far as declaring it his capital virtue even! He confessed that at his lowest point, he wanted nothing more than to eradicate them from the surface of the earth but in the same breath, he told of how I saved him. I showed him that if he followed that path, he would be no better than the monkeys he hated, and that he had in him the power to rise above monkey mediocrity.

With tears in his eyes, he loudly declared that what separated monkeys from humans was the capability to lift others instead of oppressing and pushing them down. He implored the enlightened souls present to stop fighting among themselves and instead work together to lift humanity, saving them from their monkey nature. Geto ascended on the very spot, being crowned by tribulation lightning that cowed all combatants back. The sight of Geto in the throes of triumph was so awe-inspiring that all mortal witnesses had their souls awakened on the spot. His Domination Soul and burning heart flame ensured it was memetic as well. The thing was being broadcast and all those who found kinship in Geto's words awakened to their place in the world.

His already global notoriety was catapulted even further. He became both a controversial and even reviled public figure yet he found a global mass of enthusiastic followers and true believers. His defenders became true keyboard warriors, pointing out Geto seized his hatred in hand and rose above it, countless of his new converts published that his sincere words cured them of their misanthropy and that he was a saintly force of good, who was steering the awakened always from violence and violence.

To me, the secondhand experience of this fiasco was a stark reminder a boy can leave middle school but you can take middle school always from a boy. I was filled with a mix of pride and secondhand embarrassment, my two first students were irredeemable class clowns! Yet, I couldn't argue with the results. His overwhelming display of power and public support forced his rivals always from violence and into battling in trials by spirit, proving their points by spreading their faith to the masses. Which was fine by me, there are countless roads to Olympus Mount after all.

More interesting was the rekindled rivalry between the Black Heart Buddha and the Honored One. Gojo who was born set apart from others and destined to greatness once more is faced with opposition from a dark horse from an unremarkable background elevated to greatness by the faceless masses. A tale worth of legend, I can't thank Tsumiki enough for keeping them in line by pointing out how gay it was every time sparkles fled as they eye fuck each other. Sure, they loudly deny this but the public cares less for the truth than an interesting story.

But I digress, Geto was about to defend my case so I will keep my opinion to myself until it is convenient.

"Zagreus-sensei always kept part of his background to himself but now he is finally forthcoming with the truth. This is because he feels we can be trusted with it now. Battling a god… it is no simple thing. You own to know it better than me, gods live apart and yet habit every human heart. How is a mortal to fight this? They can't. We couldn't. Ignorance was our only defense. And with any hope we won't have to worry about this for a while but the Pandora box was opened and now he had the power to make a difference."

Haibara, blessed be his golden retriever heart, pilled on. "Come on people. Shouldn't we all be celebrating things instead? He is alive and trying to get back, that is what matters. Far better than the glom idea he kept making all those weird questions because he was a disembodied soul slowly going senile! The whole misunderstanding about time dilation is so funny too! How rare is it for our know-it-all teacher to be wrong?" Or not. Only this airhead bastard would talk about my blunter so casually. It doesn't help me anyhow everyone is getting a burst of laughter at my expense!

So, imagine this. A cherished person who was supposedly dead for years suddenly comes in contact with a close group of friends. Said ghost is a bit loony and sometimes asks crypt questions, but comparing experiences they all come back to the topic of time. Of course, they would be concerned for the soul of their friend, right? Enough for them all to agree on a single version of events to not trouble his restless soul.

I taught them too well it seems. Enough for them to lie to my face and get away with it. Again, this just serves to show even heroes and tyrants aren't above mistakes. I wanted answers more than I wanted to be right. Once we put our cards to the tablet it became clear most of the time lapse happened between my disappearance and resurgence. Time indeed moved quicker to them, but just about 3,45 times my perception. In the end, mapping how the 3 million worlds operated is not something I can do on my own.

That is why I have my next destination set toward the World Wound. I an interplanar disaster caused by the intersection and fusion of two different planes of existence, connecting the planet Golarion to the Abyss. Demons, as it turned out, don't make for the best neighbors. Who would have guessed?

"Father. I understand why you tried to keep it from us. But we want to help you however we can, even if this would put us at risk of running into monsters like this unamenable moon god of yours. But we aren't children anymore, so please let us help you." Tsumiki implored me with her mastered puppy god eye, and despite standing taller than any mortal all I could see was that peppy little girl I took under my wing so long ago. Low blow!

I signed in defeat, "Fine, I will be more forthcoming from now on."

"That is not enough!" She talked with me all imperiously now, it seems she learned to become bossy as of late. "You came closer to death against the Iron God than ever before! This Golarion is clearly not a place to be taken lightly. And by the way, please stop picking fights with gods, would you? I can't sleep soundly while dreading what sore trouble you got yourself involved in."

"Come one Tsumiki, I have a responsibility toward others. My breath would literally invert if I gave my back to people. Besides, the World Wound has been locked in a stalemate for the last century. I know my limits, if gods could not solve this riddle then it is too much for a single hero to solve. Besides, mythical entities like Unity are statistical unicorns. I met demons from the World Wound in the Hollow Garden, the rogue AI kept them captive as pets to be released for more realistic scenarios. The odds of me encountering a demon powerful enough to kill me are as good as my chances of being struck by lightning!" I say jokingly to her frustration.

-//-

"I am Deskari, Lord of the Locust Host! Usher of the Apocalypse! Behold, Iomedae, your poor impostor! Your city will fall to me. Your followers will feed my hunger!

I had to jinx it, didn't I? I forgot the mantra of the heroic realm: beloved by the muses, reviled by the fates!

The Mendevian city of Kenabres is a fortified crusader city bordering the Worldwound. It houses one of the Wardstones, powerful artifacts shaped as giant obelisks that cordon and quarantine the Worldwound, preventing demons from overrunning Golarion. Despite this, the city has not seen anything more than the occasional demon brigade for the last half-century… until now.

A demon lord decided to crash the seasonal festival in honor of the crusader goddess. The medieval park was been overrun by demons teleporting out of nowhere, catching the Crusaders when their pants were down. The demon lord took a gambit he could endure the power of the Wardstone for long enough to destroy it. The initial sound of crashing rock was not from a falling wall after all. The quarantining cordon is broken and demons once again could simply teleport inside the city of Kenabris and beyond.

"Deskari, Lord of Locusts! Leave. My. City!" Terendelev, the silver dragon protector of the city declared toward the heavens a challenge to the demon lord as she resumed her true form.

From the horizon, an insectoid man with the lower body of a locust jumped on the roof of the city's church. He stood taller than an elephant, had the head of a praying mantis, and wielded a scythe made of bones; he certainly cut an intimidating figure against the setting dusk. With another jump, he closed the distance between him and the silver dragon. Calling it a fight would be a joke of poor taste, he pined Terendelev's head with the flat side of his weapon and prepared himself to scythe her life away by severing her serpentine neck.

Ah, I hate to fight inside cities too! Well, it was a nice day to die anyway. Argyrchiara, I called feeling the crown of torn be placed on my head, followed by slender arms enveloping me in a hug.

Always by your side.

I stroked my heart flame, my pneuma exploded outward like a detonating star and I discarded my juvenile disguise, resuming my true stature and donning the raven's mantle. The power of the Iron God suffused my flesh and my cloak of shadows, hardening it into magnificent black armor with six metallic wings. I genuinely looked like an avenging angel of death.


View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EKOXzF8jSsA

I intercepted Deskari's execution blow with one of my own, our clash was loud for the wind to shriek. Despite being the lesser between the two of us, my surprise attack made up for the difference and I successfully pushed the Demon Lord of Infestation and Locusts. An entrance worth of an archangel, I would say.

"What?" Deskari exclaims in indignation and offended pride. "Iomedae, you coward! Do you think this pawn can make a difference!? I will pile his bones at the gate of the Rasping Rift, do you hear me? Let the feast begin!"

While the demon lord was busy cussing at the heavens, I used this chance to adjust. It was clear the city was condemned but I could still save its people. I manifested my mandala intention, the halo of coronation light bringing me up to one hundred and twenty percent. Which was nice but more of a side effect, even simple domains can be used as a medium for virtuous techniques. I sacrifice a thousand years to the flames of my heroic heart, coloring my mandala halo with my [Star Rage].

Over scant two decades yet a lifetime ago, the moon god Rher cursed a city to ruin by bathing it with his baleful moonlight. Since that night I have sworn to defy him and his ilk. Today, under the light of a grim sunset, a defiant star shines like the dawn. This is not the cursed Festival of monsters, my light touches the souls of all presents and shares with them my spark, dragging out the promise of greatness they had always been to meet to seize. Due to fear, doubt, due to self-hatred. All these excuses were banished by my coronation light, this was the end of their days, and they had this one chance to seize the treasure inside their souls now or never at all.

My light reached all the corners of Kenabris and touched every soul. Logic, still accompanying me inside the compact AI core, threw in her lot, backing her own power through my light to reroute and rallying all scattered and disoriented citizens into a coherent fighting force as thousands of souls not only awakened their souls but also instinctively comprehended their true nature and took their tentative first steps to seize their virtue.

"YOU!" Deskari howled in scorn and hatred yet even the demon lord could not conceal the pain he was suffering under my light. He was not the only one.

While I uplifted the lowly mortals, I also castigated the mighty demons. It was high time to put all lessons from the Hollow Garden to good use, extraplanar entities still carried the imprint of mortality. Their transformation did not sever them from human morality, it was trivial to drag their fears, doubts, insecurities, and failures and use them to strike their Ego. To make true demons from their beating hearts, eager to tear themselves out from their chests like they were ravaging beasts.

"Me." I continued for him with a jovial tone full of levity and derision. "Sorry, but I have no intention to give you my name. I never greeted a bug in my life before I crushed it and I have no intention of starting now."

Deskari screamed with a thousand voices at my insult, every vermin in the city buzzed loudly to broadcast his fury. He lifted his scythe high and brought it down, I answered his blow with one of mine own, my starlight blade leaving a trail of starry night as it pursued the life of the demon lord in front of me.

Our blows outpaced the wind, clashing at such speed and frequency it was more like a unique uninterrupted collision than a chain of attacks. Deskari's strength and power were truly titanic in scope, to the point it was cheaper to break from the constraints of space-time to deliver five different blows with a single swing in different directions to adjust his swing than to try to directly overpower him.

It was an outragedly dangerous game that demanded perfect mathematical precision and where even the smallest of mistakes and nicks were unforgivingly costly. Deskari wielded poison in its every attack and it proved itself capable of matching even my outstanding constitution. Worst, its poison also serves as the carrier to thousands of microscopic demonic eggs that quickly multiply and spread throughout the victim's bloodstream and flesh alike. And to make things worse, like the brain harvester, the demon lord can hasten the parasite's lifecycle to hatch from the inside out of its victims. Only my refined constitution, iron god quintessence, the burning starlight flowing in my veins, and mending nectar are keeping my head above water.

Deskari also possesses a rasping armor of keratin that buzzs an aggravating sound wherever he is struck. It probably was meant to debilitate those who dare to strike him but I am above such concerns. My mind had long since been broken down by Rher and rebuilt stronger for it. Even the horrors of the outer gods find no purchase in me. Even his main weapon's greatest asset was the ability to spread pestilence and create earthquakes every minute or so has little use against me.

I can win. And this isn't simply my virtue overwhelming my common sense here. Deskari is the greater and more terrible between the two of us but our compatibility couldn't be worse. His main vector of attack is countered by my specialty and the longer this goes the better I adapt to it. Normally this alone wouldn't be enough, a demon lord is a ruler of the abyss, having legions of his lessers at his beck and call, a royal guard of his favored minions, and the power of his layer to boost himself with. But Deskari had to leave all his defenses behind to perform this daring attack, he is as vulnerable as will ever be.

Deskari opened his mouth, releasing a jet of withering acid that melted everything it touched and carried his poison. I answered by channeling a starry night bean of entropic energy to stop his attack and sterilize the place. Our battle carved a path of destruction and toppled buildings through Kenabres, like a scar across the city's face. To the demon lord's disbelief and outrage, he could not best me or wear me down.

Yet as things are I will burn out first as I am fighting on two fronts, empowering the crusaders with the light of my virtue. I desperately need to do something to break this stalemate in my favor.

Or, you know. Some hero with more heart than sense can tip the odds in my favor.

I would not believe it if I hadn't seen it for myself. A midnight bolt carved a trail of shadows as it flew in the air like a bird, advancing unerring despite the turbulence caused by our exchange of blows. It pierced the prodigious armor of the Demon Lord, making him arc his spine back in pain and shock.

Through a hero's sense, I discerned how the essence carried by the bolt infected Deskari like it was a deadly poison. It suppressed all desires and strong emotions and replaced them with apathy and deadly anguish, weighting the spirit down and striping it of its strength, leaving it as cold and passive as stone.

More than that, I recognized it for what it was - a Technique Reversal. The natural state of this essence was to instigate carnal passion and secret desire.

I found instantly a sense of kinship with this essence. It was very similar in nature and behavior to the [Wheel Turning], the dance of Life and Death throughout the circle of Samsara. Enough for me to easily mimic it with my foundational technique. While I had never done so before during the middle of a battle, I had ample experience expanding my virtuous technique's interpretation with far more convoluted means for inspiration.

This however wouldn't be enough to put Deskari down for good tough on its own. That is why I will go the extra mile. Nectar is an amplifying substance. Joined with healing herbs, it becomes a perfect panacea. Joined it with an unshakeable poison though? Let's find out. Hemlock became dangerous enough to kill tyrants, who are normally immune to poison due to their total authority over their flesh. This poison of despair might be what it takes to put a demon lord down.

My sword shares my name and flesh, it was trivial to transfer the remains of my nectar to it and have Argyrchiara, my heavenly muse, breathe the essence of Hope (despair) into it, making a lethal cocktail to rival Hydra's legendary poison.

Deskari was even generous enough to turn his back to me to reprimand the audacious mortal with an earthquake, opening a precipice under his feet as a reward for his trouble. Fortunately, a Tiefling spellcaster used [feather fall] on him, granting me the opportunity to stack the Lord of Locust Host in the back instead of saving the brave young man.

As expected, Deskari shrieked like a little girl. "Oh, my. You are tight, aren't you? Is this your first time?"

"What- Whatever answer he intended to give was lost as Deskari shocked on his own blood. He was far from done though, expertly swinging his scythe to get me out of his back.

I did just that. It wasn't like I had much more to give myself. The nectar had kept my head above water but without its fortifying effects I began to sink, Deskari's brood was tearing me from the inside out even as they died burning. But worst of all, I was running out of time. I went too far to redeem myself. To undo right here and right now what I couldn't twenty years ago under accursed moonlight. It was simply too familiar a sight for me to not risk it all for the one chance I could save them all. My virtue and my fundamental hubris, Hope (salvation).

Deskari turned to me, using his precious Riftcarver as a crutch. The hatred and black bile he threw my way would have cowered even the most hardened warrior but I was no mere brute. I am a hero, that is why I smiled despite the pain and doom ahead.

"You, shining whelp! What are you? How dare you harm me so? Impossible! I know what you are made of – mortal ambitions, mortal frailty. And fear. Fear of decay, forever imprinted on mortal souls. Even your precious Iomedae! But I? I am chaos and death, and the end of times… I cannot be defeated! I will destroy you, and the Impostor shall bear witness!" The demon lord's scream shakes the earth with countless hisses, yet it is a pitiful thing. Full of astonishment and fear in the face of overwhelming despair. A host of emotions burst into the Deskari's massive compounded eyes. Anger that turned into pain, then shock which begets anger once more.

"Millions of eyes and yet you are still blind, aren't you? First – I don't even know who this Iomedae chick is. I came here as a tourist." I say casually and flippantly precisely because Deskari shows himself to be prideful to the point of madness, indignation is eating at him more than my poison of despair. "Second – you have already lost. The sun has set five minutes ago."

Deskari finally looked up at what I had been preparing ever since this battle started.
カルヴァリアの星 - Art


The one-kilometer wide ring of light, an angelic wheel deployed in the stratosphere, blazing with focused sunlight. Reflectors I created to capture cosmic power using the vortex dragon's spatial talents, rhetoric, and the stolen power of the moon god recast by the lens of my virtue.

"Third – I severed your ties connecting you to your abyssal realm on my last strike. This will be your final death. Star Storm!"

Deskari's scream was muffled by the sizzling Star Meteorites raining down his head like a guillotine as the world was consumed by light.

*************************************************************



***ZAGREUS CANCEL THE APOCALYPSE***



*************************************************************


-//-

"Now, hear me out." I tried to argue with my disgruntled children but they were having none of it, to the amusement of my worthless students.

"Double lariat!!"

-//-

[AUTHOR'S ROOM]

Have you ever played a new game + where you started out facing the final boss in an unwinnable battle but you beat him anyway and unlocked a secret ending? That was basically what happened. At first, I intended for it to end in stalemate but after refreshing the story by watching the game version I went – wait, can Zagreus actually win this for good? Deskari spells list are nothing to write home about and his fearsome poison is something Zagreus can manage, especially after he acquired the Iron God's quintessence.

At the same time, Deskari was super vulnerable. Normally demon lords have access to something called Abyssal Resurrection, causing their soul to return to a hidden location within its realm, and it is immediately restored to life once per year. But Zagreus's last labor allows him to perceive and sever these ties and connections, even if they are supposed to be beneficial; privileges of a hero. Plus, Noctitula's power which is notoriously lethal to Demon Lords exists in these nifty artefacts called midnight bolts and one is canonically used in Deskari. This gave Zagreus a precious hint as to how to weaken Deskari and trap his soul. Finally, demon lords have access to mythical power while inside their realms, but only inside their domains. They are like the abyssal version of extraplanar tyrants.

Zagreus not only advanced but also reached 7th mythical rank, granting him improved surge, Legendary Item (Ex) [1st], and Mythic Crafter (Mythic) feat. Now that his marshal and trickster package are online, he will focus on making his sword into a busted artifact!

It was as close to the ideal scenario for Zagreus as he would ever get. Deskari was a dangerous mix of intelligence and arrogance that perfectly set him up for a fall. In the tabletop adventure, Kenabres is supposed to be attacked by Khorramzadeh, a Balor lord that kills the silver dragon while she tries to save the pcs. I guess in video games they were more mindful to introduce the final boss at the beginning since he wouldn't be seen again until the final act.

I finally went in deep at the heroic realm equivalent for jujutsu sorcerers. Since curse users are doomed to die cursed deaths, it would make sense for them to work toward the dissolution of resentment due to their Buddhist inspiration.
 
refiniment of a curse user
Gojo and Yuji had been the first to enter the Solitary Buhhda realm. Much like in the greek realm, Gojo decided someone can only call himself a proper sorcerer after stepping into the 2nd realm, the sophic realm equivalent. So the progression goes: curse user, sorcerer, Pratyekabuddhayāna (solitary Buddha), Bodhisattva (savior Buddha), and emptiness (Olympic equivalent).

So my guess is that it works something like this, right?

Śrāvakabuddhayāna (Assisted Buddha): Not really a Jujutsu Cultivation Realm but rather a failed attempt at entering the Pratyekabuddhayāna Realm. They either failed to become a Solitary Buddha, have no interest in becoming one, or simply have very poor talent in Jujutsu. Either way, they still wish to be Liberated from Curse Energy but require the assistance of a Samyaksambuddha who can forcefully purify their Curse Energy into True Positive Energy but at the cost of becoming an Arhat, also known as an Assisted Buddha. This means that, while they still possess powers on par with Solitary Buddhas, they will need to wait until their next life to be able to become a Bodhisattva.

Pratyekabuddhayāna (Solitary Buddha): One who has obtain Liberation but has yet to or unwilling to aid and guide others. At this stage their Curse has been completely purified, becoming True Positive Energy, not the false positive energy of Reverse Curse Technique. True Positive Energy is able to purify surrounding Curse Energy solely from contact. This causes Curse Spirits to weaken if not outright exorcised just by being in their presence. This means it can be use to negate Curse Techniques and nullify Curse Tools and Items.

Bodhisattvayāna (Saviour Buddha): One who obtained Liberation and is now working to aid and guide others. They need not literally preach or give sermon like Geto, and can instead aid and guide through example and demonstration like Gojo and Yuji. So long as their actions aid and guide others towards Liberation then they can be said to be performing their duty as Bodhisattvas. As Bodhisattvas, they collect and accumulate Faith and Gratitude from followers and once it reaches critical mass, they can push through and break into the Realm of Samyaksambuddhayāna.

Though, I think the Olympic Realm equivalent should be Samyaksambuddhayāna (Complete Buddha): One who has obtain Liberation and has guided a great many other towards their own Liberation. In this realm they no longer require a Physical Body and can exist a being of pure consciousness alone. However, they can still interact with the rest of world if they want too by creating and projecting a body made out of True Positive Energy similar to those pre-mending Planeswalkers from the old days of Magic the Gathering. They can forcefully purify a person's Curse Energy but at the cost of them becoming an Arhat.

Edit: As for the Realms beyond Olympic.

The Titan Realm equivalent should be Sambhogakāya Buddha (Celestial Buddha): Involves the Construction of a Celestial Egg/Reality Engine and is a blueprint for their very own Pure Realm. Extremely similar to Sukuna and Kenjaku's Barrierless Domain Expansion but on a completely different scale. It is essentially a mixture of Reality Marble and Marble Phantasm that's also an ORT level Reality Overwrite with the immutable properties of the Garden of Avalon.

The Primordial Realm equivalent should be Dharmakāya Buddha (Primordial Buddha): Involves the hatching of the Celestial Egg, thus detonating a self contained Big Bang within themselves, gaining a Cosmic Body and embodying their Pure Realm. It is essentially similar to Gojo's Domain Envelopment but on a completely different scale. At this point they basically become a walking talking Universe and are basically a God from Shinza Bansho that also possesses both Gudou and Hadou qualities.

Something along this line.
 
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WRATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS 2
Dreams. I am quite familiar with them. Had to. After witnessing Rher's manifestation I realized I was no longer the same person I had been, even the most minor of sensations had an altered nuance to them. The moonlight had tainted my existence, leaving its underlit mark. And nowhere this was most keenly felt than in Dreams.

But even then, this was uncharted territory to me. I was having a vision.

A cage made of pure light, yet somehow alive, bearing a festering wound from which tendrils of dirty red and purple darkness creep throughout the structure. And there, inside, two hosts of flaming warriors are locked in battle. One side yet pristine, the other tainted by corruption. One side speaks of duty and sacrifice willingly endured for a greater cause. The other side refutes it with the reality of soul renting pain, and disillusionment in hollow platitudes, for the sake of ungrateful mortals who do not even know their names while they beg for freedom and pray for death.

The fate of two angelic hosts hangs in the balance. And a dreamer bearing my blade in his hands holds their fates in his hands, as well as the fate of Kenabres and perhaps the Worldwound as well. He can destroy the cage along with all its inhabitants, or he can mend it by killing the angel defectors within. What he cannot do is free those who wish to escape and keep the stone intact for those who wish to remain.

But I can. I forged that blade as an extension of my being. I had once done the impossible and broken free from an inescapable prison, this feat was etched in my soul as a monument to said display of excellence. What I couldn't do was remotely send my heart blood to perform the feat, and sponsor this endeavor with my own life.

Yet, this doesn't mean it can't be done. The quintessence of the demon lord Deskari, the embodiment of the Hunger of the Abyss, lodged itself into my fire chakra in my stomach, integrating itself to my Hunger. A man's soul exists in three parts always striving for balance, if one advances the other two are sure to follow. Logic and Spirit are guided by Hunger's instincts to see it. The solution to our conundrum. The bounty of the heart of the one who wields me. Ah, would you look at that? There was some truth to Deskari's final words after all.

If he wanted to bring a perfect solution to the quarrel between the angelic hosts then he would have to pay the price. He would have to set his life ablaze and burn! The boy, barely a man, could scarcely be called a cultivator at all. And even this had come to pass only through my grace. The blessing of my light. He was still a 3rd rank civic cultivator with three centuries to burn at most. Nobody would fault him for turning back. The price was simply too heavy, there was a reason all heroic epics closed in tragedy, after all. Greek fire was unlike any other in the world – once it started burning it wouldn't go out until it reduced the world to cinders.

And yet. The irreverent [Chaotic] soul cried for freedom. It yearned to burn, to see an impossible miracle with its own eyes. To break free from the boring constraints of mediocrity and stagnation.

Sometimes desire alone is not enough. But sometimes a hero only needs to burn.

He set his life aflame and brought my blade down at the root of the corruption, loosening the prison enough for the angels from Heaven to escape free.

It was a good dream. Everything hurts though, I am going back to dreamless slumber.

-//-

Slowly awareness returns to me like a withered light switch. Everything still hurt and I feel like shit. The poison of the Lord of Locust Hosts is not to be trifled with. To begin with, I should have been immune to it, I tempered my body against all forms of mundane poisons, venoms, and diseases during my time back to modern civilization. During my return to my alchemy studies, I tested myself against the deadliest poisons known to Golarion. Hell, I even dared to pitch myself against the Tyrant Riot's brew, the one that eventually killed him and brought the First Son to Burn to his knees instantly.

Not a fun experience. The danger has passed yet my body still feels hot and weak like I am in the throes of a tropical disease. My head is pounding enough for me to wish I was dead too. Even the comfy bed hurts. Fortunately, I had this chilly and comfy pillow to console myself with. It was just cool enough to bring relief yet not so hard to be ice. Perfect for a lazy afternoon nap on a hot summer day.

So I made myself comfortable by clinging to it yet further. That was when it started to moan in discomfort and I realized my pillow was no pillow at all. I slowly crack my eyes open just to see a well-toned yet unmistakable feminine stomach half exposed by my incessant turning. I slowly look up to see a beautiful middle-aged-looking lady with white hair, silver eyes, and a bright pink flush in her cheeks. She tried to hold my gaze but she kept on averting her eyes yet going back again and again, clearly more embarrassed than angered. Then I realized I was using her tights as my pillows.

I also belated noticed I had resumed my juvenile puer aeternus form to hasten my recovery. Make sense at how I could fit in an ordinary bed, she looked nothing like a half-ogre to me. I could also hear loud music and celebration coming from downstairs as well and my internal clock informed me that about a week had passed since I faced Deskari.

A picture of events slowly starts to fall into place, I was incapacitated after killing the demon lord, meaning both forces were beheaded right at the start of the fight. The thing is, demons are not keen on leadership, they are slaves first and foremost to their selfish desires and obsessions; their weakness yet their greatest strength. They wouldn't back down, on the contrary, most would seize it as a chance to achieve prominence and notoriety. And there was no better target than myself, especially as defenseless as I had been. This woman is Terendelev, the silver dragon that I saved from Deskari. Considering I awakened the soul of practically everyone in the city, she must have elected to protect me instead of resuming the fight in the frontline.

"So this is my steward guardian during my period of infirmity? I can't complain then, I haven't been pampered like this in a long time." I say with a cheeky smile, over the years I became less self-conscious about this form and learned to appreciate how much it let me get away with. People are irredeemably shallow or rather, the Greeks had the right idea, cuteness is justice!

One would think that a noble lizard such as Terendelev would be above this shallowness, considering silver dragons are the paladins of the dragon race, but apparently not. She stammered over her words and was getting even redder, literally turning into a pepper. How cute! Such an uptight girl are the funniest ones to tease. What? In a world without the internet, I had to recourse to social interaction for entertainment. Which was more effective than one might expect, life had a way to be stranger and more chaotic than fiction. Like how a strait-laced and well-groomed half-orc woman in copper armor just so happens to enter the room unannounced, catching us both in a compromising position.

The way the two froze while staring at each other like deer caught in headlights was hilarious! The knight woman looked utterly scandalized by what she was seeing while at the same time biting her tongue – ah, she knows my true nature then; I don't know if she disapproves because of the apparent age gap, the cross-species nature of the relationship, or the fact her direct superior is seducing their savior angel in his moment of weakness. Terendelev herself felt like a kid caught with the cookie jar, I could practically see the hamster wheel spinning as she furiously thought of a way out of this.

I, of course, could make things worse. It was tempting really – I haven't had much in the way of meaningful social interaction during my time in Numeria. Alas, I haven't grown so cruel to toy with people's reputations for my amusement. So before things could escalate I simply laughed aloud at the two of them, breaking the electric tension building up. The mischievous gleam in my eyes was enough to clear the misunderstanding.

"You are really impertinent, aren't you?" Terendelev complained as she untangled herself from me and took a respectable distance. She tried to sound aggrieved by my actions but her eyes held a naked intensity and reverence that was hard to ignore – a hero is a larger-than-life existence after all. In a sense, her worshipful behavior was both justified and more than owed, yet… I held the title of 'strongest' before, but even back then I was a foreigner neck deep in a game of intrigue and simmering cold war. While I left the place bearing a legendary status, I had never seen it for myself. Numeria is much the same, no living soul knows about Unity and as long as the Divinity Drive exists I fully intend to keep things this way; Silver Mount is still a fortress, it just changed management. This means I now have to deal with the consequences of my actions for the first time in a while.

I stand up, letting the sheet covering me fall. And I seem to be naked? The two of them turned their back to me so fast one would think I was a prune Artemis, ready to tear them to pieces for their insolence. "Y-your holiness, I implore! We had to disrobe you to treat your injuries but I swear in Iomedae's name no one sullied your virtue!" The half-orc knight asks in a high-pitched voice at odds with her size, which was still better than Terendelev who was trying and failing to string coherent sentences.

Honestly, this was starting to grate me. Not that I could do anything about it, even as newly minted cultivators their nascent pneumatic sense was more than up to the task to open their eyes to the difference in standing between us. Even as a bedridden pipsqueak, my presence looms over them like a mountain so tall the peak can't even be seen. Even a dragon, a member of the supreme mortal race of the material plane is just that at the end of the day, a mortal.

Deskari would have snuffed Trendelev's life without any fanfare or preamble if not for my interference, and I delivered to Deskari his final death in flagrant violation of the laws of reality, heaven, and hell. I stood where Aroden, the living god himself, once stood. And I not only matched the Last Azlanti, but I also outperformed him! I freed Golarion from Deskari's long shadow once and for all.

Now that I bother to look, I can feel distant insolent eyes spying on me. From imperious to contemptuous, some coming from so high I could break my neck and never manage to look up enough, others from so low I could dig all my life and never reach. Regardless, I had a single answer to their transgression. I reached for the part of me marked by Rher, and pulled an opaque veil of obscurity, leading the peeping stares to crosswire with each other while I hid in plain sight. If they wanted to take my measure, they could do so for themselves. Creeps.

I reached into my shadow and pulled on cotton pants and sweater and a pair of leather sandals. I also retrieved Nature's Bounty and used it as a hairpin. Finally, I created a mantle of inconsequence with my rhetoric to pass as just another recently awoken cultivator.

"Sorry for the trouble. I am presentable now."

They reluctantly turn around, and their mind was like an open book. They were mollified I look like a lazy and unkept brat yet also somewhat mortified I would go to this extent for their sake. Terendelev composed herself first, "har har. You honor us with your magnanimous understanding of mortal limits. It's no exaggeration to say that Kenabris, perhaps Mendeve, or even Golarion was saved by your intervention. I as the defender of this city and as a crusader swear my services to you. Would this lord share his name with us?" The silver dragon says while kneeling before me, her orc friend soon follows her example.

No helping it then. I have to play the part. "Now, now. We don't need to be this formal with each other, after all my light touched your souls already. The only thing that separates you two from me is magnitude. As long as you walk the path of virtue you surely can reach the same ivory heights through exalted deeds. My name is Zagreus, would you tell me yours?"

"Irabeth," answered the female orc knight. "I am a knight commander of the garrison. We are at the Defenser's Heart, a tavern turned resistance headquarters during the fight against the demons."

"Terendelev," continued the silver dragon. "During the battle that followed I was tasked to guard this place and you from demon attacks. The hordes desired to kill the slayer of Deskari at all cost so this place became a primary target for Deskari forces."

"I understand and I am thankful for your assistance. You have questions, but first – I feel the presence of my companion from downstairs. Am I to presume that the brave fool who took my sword and set his life ablaze is downstairs?"

Both women took a worried pallor at my questioning. "Yes, indeed. The Wardstone had always been their primary target and after the defeat of their demon lord a powerful demon called Menago took matters into her own hands. She intended to corrupt the Wardstone, causing a chain reaction that would have detonated all other stones cordoning off the Worldwound. Panaka took your sword at your companion's suggestion, the one called Reila, to solve this matter."

I lifted a surprised eyebrow at the mention of Logic's human name. It is unusual for her. Although the worried stance from the two crusaders at my reaction is ill-placed. "You don't have to fear for your friend. If anything, I am worried for his sake. What kind of mother names their kid Panaka?"

My joke flies over their heads, there are some things the Shard of Babel can't convey. "Why don't we go downstairs? I am famished!"

-//-

Kenabres looks much like I had seen it before Deskari's stunt. Full of dancing drunks partying like there is no tomorrow. Then again, things indeed looked like the end of days not long ago and they were literally sharing tablets with the dead. My Einherjar warriors were happily sharing tablets with the living, I was too close to Deskari to deploy them but it did not prevent them from joining the following fight and afterparty. The most drunk among them happily greeted me as I walked down the stairs just to be stopped by their most socially aware brothers in arms. If I wanted to be known I would have appeared at my true stature.

I made a beeline to the hero of the hour. Panaka was handsome enough, with shoulder-length ginger hair, a perpetual smile, and mirthful brown eyes sparking with mischief through the scarlet light of his heart flame. Having a philosopher experience an early ignition was bad enough, but a citizen that just took his first steps in the race for divinity? It might have been his own choice to make but I was the one that offered it in the first place. I altered his course, and now I have to take responsibility.

And it seems Panaka had quite an eventful journey after falling down the underground cave complex existing below Kenabres. His soul has been sewed together with another [chaotic] soul. Their situation is similar yet altogether different from mine own after Termina. Through my heroic sense, I can see this wound on his chest connecting the two conjoined souls with… well, the Abyss.

I wouldn't even know how to explain such a thing before fighting Deskari, all my knowledge of the planes came from academic knowledge deprived of real-life experience. It was only by seeing a demon lord with my own eyes and seeing for myself how its soul differs from ordinary demons beyond mere magnitude – how they are connected to the realm they rule in the Abyss, and after I severed Deskari's soul from his, that I learned to identify it.

His connection has granted him mythical power. Well, it was the same for me after eating Hellion's soul. The result is not this self-evident because much of it was used as fuel for my soul's ascension to the 4th rank of the heroic realm. All Greek cultivators can find power in consumption, in hunger, but a [tormented] soul such as myself has a special affinity with it and humanity's most fundamental animalistic nature. This allowed me to recycle and slowly purify Deskari's demonic essence into pure power and then spread out as mythical power to my followers.

My knowledge of the Abyss is that it exists as a primordial Evil and Chaos. And while prosing about the nature of Evil can be as untractable as the nature of Virtue, the nature of Chaos, ironically enough, is a straightforward matter. To a cultivator, chaos is raw potential and the possibility, the promise, of greatness. In that sense, Order is the manifestation of one of those possibilities at the expense of all others. Any cultivator who crossed the Rubicon established their foundations, and chose a captain Virtue for himself is well aware of this process. In a sense it is simply part of growing up and leaving childhood behind.

I came to the Worldwound trying to understand how the planes could have been stitched together and now I have a miniature version of the Worldwound unceremoniously dropped in my lap.

I sighed in exasperation and walked toward the young man. Alas, someone beat me to the punch. Wearing masterfully crafted yet modest clothes, a beautiful woman in her late thirties accosts the hero of the hour. Despite being a medieval society, her face was unmistakable, monarchs can't spare expenses in propaganda. Panaka was being accosted by the Crusader Queen herself, Queen Galfrey.

It seems his display of valor didn't go unnoticed – they are saying he blew up the roof of the garrison with the blessing of the gods; and whether it was Iomedae's or mine was a hot enough topic for people to fight over it. Regardless, people were collecting the stones as holly relics and Panaka companions were serving as a cordon to ward off overly enthusiastic zealots and fans. That happens to include Logic, mounted in the tablet like a laptop.

Irabeth readily joined in on the conversation once she identified her reigning monarch. It was easy to see where the conversation was going. Queeny here is poaching Panaka for a fifth Crusade.

"I couldn't pass up the chance to meet the new hero all the crusaders are talking about. And soon, not just the crusaders." The queen said, implying a lot with what was left unsaid between worlds. In the end, her mind and heart were an open book to me. She has almost stopped believing this war could be won, she is far older than she looked, having ruled for over one hundred years. There is a mix of cautious hope and wounded pride to her actions – it seems my needling at Iomedae didn't go unnoticed after all.

"Well said! All need to get some rest, after all." Panaka says diplomatically to the queen. The boy is clear out of his element here, unsure how to port himself around royalty.

"… Because grand new deeds lie ahead. Right?" Galfrey insists, foregoing any sense of subtlety. It reached the point where the celestial touched posh friend of his was about to make a nuisance of himself. I could appreciate that but I lacked the time to play these games.

I channeled my mythical might into magnifying my gravitas and force of personality. "Or you could leave the demonic front behind in search of safer shores." Despite the melodious and velvet silk voice sweet as honey to the ears I have in this form, the backbone of steel could not be missed. All customs of the bar were drawn to the commotion.

"And who would you be, pipsqueak?" Panaka asked back, search refuge in irreverence even as his smoldering eyes were locked into a staring contest with mine own.

The Queen tried to interject by I easily spooked over her. "The fool banking the last chance anyone will ever give you, and one more than you deserve," I say while pulling at my sword, having it leap from his belt back to my hand to then return to my body as coruscant tattoo embroilment glowing under my clothes. "Leave the Worldwound and never come back. Improve this world as any mortal man can, in the small ways that matter most."

"That is a tempting proposition," Panaka answered with sarcasm. To be young and foolhardy. "Why, I feel positively titillating to jump at this offer." He says while looking at the stares of admiration and sycophants directed his way.

"How much of your life did you burn through already, half of it? And that was in what, one fight? You will burn yourself out at this rate, boy." This time my words had an effect, his companions looked worriedly at him now that the price for his actions was revealed and he lacked the bite to stand up to it as he once did. "Cast aside your suicidal ambitions, and accept the life that the gods prescribed you… or condemn yourself to accompany me to the Worldwound."

My words shocked the redhead out of his funk, an expectant look crossed his face. I had tutored enough young students to identify a maverick when I see one, his soul nature notwithstanding. Panaka is looking for trouble. A crucible to test himself against. The heart flame behind his eyes flared to life as he held his breath in expectant anticipation.

"I irreversible altered your path so now I am taking responsibility to tutor you so you can live long enough to become a virtuous man. But know that Heaven is cruel even to those it means well. Know that you will suffer like you have never suffered before. Know that the only reward for one backbreaking labor will be another one more in turn. Know that no matter where you go, no matter who you come to be, you will always be marked by my association."

"My, my, you certainly know how to sell this. I am sure the city would be teeming with wannabe crusaders if they copied your slogan!" Panaka jests but internally he is rooked. This was the kind of call to adventure he had been searching for all his life.

"I am sorry for not living up to the hype. I am not Aroden, I don't have a magical stone to ascend you on the spot. For worthless riffraff of our ilk such grand things can't be inherited, they can only be taken. Consign yourself for never-ending ascension, you will either seize divinity with your own hands or leave a story worth hearing about after you die trying."

"Now that is cheating! I am not in the habit of chickening out just when things are about to get good. There is no way I am backing down now!" My new protégé says while extending his hand.

It's as I suspected, this boy is trouble. I am so regretting that! Even so, I shake his hand, sealing the deal. And the peanut gallery went wild.

-//-

So, I messed up. Apparently, this Iomedae bears the title of the Inheritor, so for the second time, I unintentionally called her out in public. The truth is that I have little interest in the 'ascended', Aroden on the other hand seems to be everywhere so I focused on him; I mean, her greatest feat, passing the trial of the Star Stone, was matched by a drunk and a serial killer.

Ironic then that my rotten luck worked in my favor for once. My public declaration to deal with the Worldwound after my definitive victory over Deskari, outperforming Aroden and stealing Iomedae's thunder, has lit a fire in the goddess's fan club. I turned the Worldwound from an existential threat into a holy race. So this is what failing up feels like?

The important thing is that conscripts flocked to Kenabres to be part of this fifth crusade in numbers not seen since the first crusade, when people still thought the Worldwound could be beaten. Well, I still stand for what I said to my children. The Worldwound is too big a problem for a single hero to solve. I will need an army, and I am afraid my dragon bone warriors won't cut it this time.

The very land of Sarkoris has been tainted by the Abyss. Yet the Abyss itself can be tamed. Demon Lords can shape part of the Abyss they claim as their own to their liking. It's not a unique feature from the Abyss either in this regard, much like the First World of the fey the Abyss is a realm of protean chaos, being notoriously more malleable than the other Realms. If powerful enough entities can impose their will on the First World then why not on the Abyss?

It seems I am destined to walk the Conqueror's path far earlier than intended. Well, to begin with, the separation between the realms isn't as airtight as people would like to believe. The irony that I following in the footsteps of my senior brother in Orphic faith isn't lost to me either. And considering what I know about the god who conquered and ruled the holy city of Ma'habre, Dionysian-like mysteries are ideal for any conqueror – an army march in its stomach and I can grow food at will with my green thumb, I learned enough about druidic magic to create arboreal golems in case an undead labor force were to be frowned upon, I even have the ideal survival kit for traveling in dangerous wilds!

All Greater Mystery Cults have their own little idiosyncrasies that set them apart from each other despite the uniformity derived from cultivating in the same style. One such particularity stems from Orpheus's Orphic Hymn to Dionysus where the god is given the epithet of Protogonos, he was considered both the father of the fertility god Priapus and also the incarnation of the primordial Priapus.

It is not something I like to talk about because, you know? I am a fifty-two-year-old man with adult children, not a fifteen-year-old boy. Tsumiki is having perpetual headaches due to the ties her Raging Heaven Cult has to the entertainment industry, positioning it a stone's throw away from to Japanese porn industry. The cosmetic of cultivation already pushes even the plainest and ugliest person above any mortal soul, and Dionysus's Pseudanor aspect goes both ways, compounding an already precarious situation. The long shadow of Priapus's poor reputation hangs as an ever-present threat over the new Raging Heaven Cult. Only Megumi's non-nonsense attitude has kept it afloat every time a cult member goes overboard or decides to make some easy money with a pseudonym on the back of the cult. Detractors on the internet say this was my greatest blessing to Japan are the least of my children's worries. Sects are institutions that live or die by their reputation, and Priapus has been a joke since the era of the city-states.

Then again, I myself have never met a talking donkey I didn't want to kill and then taxidermize in retribution for their insolence. So who am I to criticize? Priapus has been an object of mockery to ancient Greeks and Romans, true. But Dionysus has always been a champion for those pushed to the fringes of society even before that. That is why I asked Megumi and Tsumiki to keep this in mind, the core members had their humanity stripped once by Mahito, it's no wonder they would resort to extreme outlets. Fortitude is the motto of the wine-dark children of raging heaven, be it mental or physical. Let the outside world think what it will. And these two never disappoint, it's easy to forget both had a life before me as abandoned children. They understood what it means to not belong anywhere and be unwanted wherever you go. It seems the Raging Heaven cult has become a true family.

That is why despite Priapus being regarded as something of a joke by urban dwellers, he was highly respected as a countryside guardian deity. In Greece, the phallus was thought of as having a mind of its own, animal-like, separate from the mind and control of the man. That is why a smaller member was seen as more civilized. Yet this same trait granted him affinity to navigating uncharted and dangerous wilds and waters, making him a patron to merchants, sailors, fishermen, and those who subsist on the untamed nature.

The fact this is the only known countermeasure to Infinite Void once you are hit by it shows its value. It prevented me from being stun-locked by Gojo's Domain Expansion as the 'lower head' takes charge once the higher one is incapacitated. It's no laughing matter… ok, it kind of is. But Gojo wasn't laughing the first time I used it. Mostly because I turned him into a donut. As in, he was drowning in his own blood.

And as it happens, the phallus is also associated with "possession and territorial demarcation". The life aspect of the [Wheel Turning] has a heavy association with transmutation, something I familiarized myself with during my pursuit of the Philosopher's Stone. The followers of Alexander, the Conqueror, often refer to his ongoing campaign as the spinning of the wheel. This connotation clearly refers to the wheels of a chariot, wherever Alexander went he was its new master and overlord, subjugating everything in his path. Yet considering he was the one who built the Orphic House with his own hands out of broken wagons and this happened during his early campaign… well, a junior brother owes to honor their seniors. Right?

I might not know the specifics of Macedonian cultivation, their Course of Honors, but Roman culture was obsessed with the guy. I don't have the time to refine all those flocking under my banner through the path of the philosopher and the Champion is a fundamentally solitary path, but the path of the Conqueror? I might have to hard carry them for a while but this might just work.

Ah, I can already hear Gojo throwing a hissy fit. It's not like I shied away from demonstrating how starlight marrow could be used to make a crow out of a man. How to seize someone in hand and utterly break them down and make them a prisoner inside their own body. Rendering them less than what they were. A shadow, dancing to the tune of the one who cast it. There is no sugarcoating it, they might not bear iron manacles but crows still are slaves. During my time in Japan I only ever used it on the worst of the curse users during the direst situations. But I never regretted it either.

At least my enemies will be literally demons. This is unambiguously good versus evil as it can get. And I will need it since I am still getting complains from India to this day!

-//-

[AUTHOR'S ROOM]

Yeah, this is the official start of the WRATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS campaign. I sort of skipped the tutorial, next chapter Zagreus will meet most of the iconic companions, by which I mean Ember, Daeran, Nenio, Lann, and Woljif. Regill and Arueshalae will join later on but I have to keep a lid on the number of cast members. We don't have the luxury of a generic SI main character, after all. But Panaka is clearly bound to the trickster life. A Brazilian star wars inside joke, that name.

I also have been wanting to explore the Conqueror aspect of the Orphic house for a while. Undead minions are no fun, after all. Zagreus is going full Iskandar, terraforming the Worldwound as his armies march picking every vagrant he finds in his way and turning them into fierce cultivators. Let's hope he doesn't leave while naming his successor "the strongest".
 
WRATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS 3
"Weren't you supposed to have absconded the frontlines and returned to live or luxury back in Mendev?" I asked the smarmy heaven-touched, aasimar, Count Daeran.

This was more a way to burn daylight, Panaka had gathered many companions while in Kenabres and they were now resting in the barracks as we prepared to launch the 5th crusade. The only thing I know about him is that he befriended Panaka during the fight for Kenabres, he is Queen Galfrey cousin, and he is an oracle.

"Oh, believe me. I wanted nothing more than to leave this dreary vista behind me, but my dear cousin couldn't bear the separation between us after we had finally been reunited once more." The young noble says sarcastically, his noble grooming ooze from every minute word and body language.

"Are luxuries you can't enjoy and honors you can't be personally showered with worth your freedom and life? The brave fools rushing toward danger have ignorance as an excuse. But what do you have young count?" I ask, looking down at Daeran both metaphorically and literally.

There is no point in keeping the charade on the frontlines. My heroic stature has only improved with each labor, putting me at 255 cm (8'6" feet) and yet the young aasimar still managed to look down on me while looking up. Impressive.

"Oh my, to be subjected to the tender mercies of our resident god. I am truly moved to the point of tears." The count says, clearly not meaning a single word spouted. "So why don't you save me from such ignoble fate then? It surely is within your capacity and I certainly could use the entertainment in such a tawdry campaign."

"Me, saving you? Well, I certainly could choose so, but tell me count. Aren't tired of being chosen? I heard the humor about you, chosen by the fates to be born in the lap of luxury, to be marked by heaven. And when tragedy struck, chosen once more to survive where everyone else died, and finally chosen by Higher Power." My words rang over Daeran's head like judgment, his shield of aloofness and decadent mischief parting like mist to reveal the lonely boy underneath. "Oracular power, to be like a glove, perfectly fitted to the hand behind it… you have been 'blessed' your entire life. It is high time someone cursed you with a choice for once in your life."

Daeran had no come back to me, something all those who knew him seemed to take notice of. Yet there was a hardened survivor behind the front of well-groomed pedigree and decadence. "Nothing is more hateful than people who give prostrated speeches in the mistaken belief that their inner thoughts are of any interest to anyone but themselves."

He wanted to go further but another one took particular exception to my action. An elf woman wearing hags and bearing gruesome charred hands and a pure and [radiating] soul. The 'saint witch' Ember.

"Why would you say such horrible things? Daeran is hurt and you decided to help him by hurting him more? Opening his old wounds won't heal him, it will only hurt them more and lead them to hurt others in turn to find some relief." The young elf gently chastised me.

I just lifted an eyebrow in turn, while seizing her by her charred arm. "You say that yet why do you refuse to heal them? Heavenly Restriction, the light I shed in Kenabres would have mended you by now if you had just accepted. Tell me, is the power granted to you worth living your life as a cripple?"

Her new friends don't appreciate my invasion of her physical space but don't dare intervene… yet. Ember herself just stared at me without flinching away. "Because that is what fire does. It consumes things until only ashes remain. You could heal my hands and only my hands, but those are the least of what I lost." She declared to me with purpose and conviction. Interesting.

"Haha. So, am I a cruel villain then? A blacksmith of souls who treat this world and its people as iron to be forged in flames?"

"Well," Ember paused, hesitating for the first time. "No? You helped people of Kenabres-

"Yet it wasn't enough, was it? I heard about you too Ember. You certainly like to look down on the divine for not doing enough for mortals, but when I extend my hand to you, you bash it aside like I am a leper. How do you think it makes me feel then?"

"I –, Ember tried to answer but words failed her until found hidden courage to push forward. "Can you really call a success every time someone dies?" She asked timidly.

"… you aren't talking about failing to save mortal lives. Are you condemning me for scorching the demon legions with my light and killing Deskari?"

Her companions looked at her with expressions ranging from exasperated fondness to outraged. Oh, this is going to be good!

"Why shouldn't I? Killing is wrong. Just look at the demons, they do nothing but hurt and destroy and they live in fear and misery for it. People are the same too. If we all could just stop pushing each other down and start to lift each other then we everyone could be happy." She says with sincerity.

"Wow. You truly mean that, don't you? How delightful arrogant." I say with a smirk.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that even gods can't save those unwilling to save themselves."

"I know that."

"Yet you don't act the part. Don't misunderstand I agree with you, demons are people. People who had made their choice and kept to it for whatever reason or excuse they could fashion. Their realm is called Abyss for a reason – no matter how deep a person sinks, they can always go further."

"Should you just abandon them then?" Ember asked and that sparkle of defiance is back again.

"Let's make a deal then, I will spare any demon who genuinely repents."

Panaka's paladin friend, Seelah, bolted from her chair at my statement. "That is absurd! Demons are a corruption that should be destroyed! I believe in redemption – I was once a criminal myself. But there are limits!"

"Don't misunderstand, I am not chastising or mocking Ember. She can proselytize all she wants for the demons to her virtuous heart's content. But this is why I am being tough on you all. You all still don't understand." I turned toward the rest of the watching companions, some looking at me with defiance, others with naked interest.

"The primary reason demons are such a hateful existence is because they are a twisted mirror that magnifies a reflection of a darkness that exists in every human heart. They know every flaw of the human spirit and they will pull at them relentlessly. You will be tested like you have never been, making you doubt yourselves and what you believe in. Make demons from your hearts." I looked at every single one of them and pinned them with my stare. "Whatever you stand to lose by turning back doesn't measure up to risk by going."

It is clear they don't understand it even now. Unfortunately, they will.

-//-

"So, what do you think?" I asked my friends in my dream realm. The campaign is about to start and I have set the preparations for my glorious campaign against the demonic hosts of the Abyss.

"That you are an asshole!" Gojo interjects while looking at me with judgment. "Really, you casually drop a bomb that Alexander was a cultivator who just so happens to be your senior? Let's push aside the historical implications of this news- no. I can't do it. I won't play along! The Raging Heaven Cult has thousands of members, everybody knows by now of your little reincarnation trick. It is the whole point of the Orphic faith, to begin with!"

I looked at Gojo's antic with concern. "Ok, that is unusual behavior even for you. What did crawl into your ass and died?" I asked while turning to Geto, but only got a really constipated look.

"Well, you see…" Geto started but then looked at Megumi and Tsumiki for help, who instantly looked away like they desperately tried to deny something.

"I don't get it."

"Yes, you do, you fucking asshole! Just admit it already, it was you! You are Alexander, ravaging the east like it is your fucking playground! And now you are simply doing it again against the first acceptable target you came across. And there is no way this tidbit doesn't get leaked as well!" Gojo says while looking at Yui Haibara, who for his part had stars shining in his eyes. How enviable, if I could just brush Gojo's fits of pike like this my life would be easy.

"Well, in my defense parallel universes are a bitch." I explain truthy, even knowing it would be in vain.

Gojo answers by lunging at me. Fortunately, Geto restrains him in an armlock like he is some rabid beast.

I turn toward Tsumiki and Megumi.

"Don't worry," My son says with clear eyes while radiating the aura and patience of a saint. "What happened in the past can't be undone but you can change yourself through your present actions. I have full faith in you."

"And I will use this heads-up to start writing the apology letters." Says Tsumiki, retrieving in her own little world as she weaves plans as the Kyrioi of the new Raging Heaven Cult. "We managed to cut a good deal with India last time. We might be able to piggyback the first apology. Besides, nowadays the Indus River is Pakistan so we might be able to avoid reparations by addressing it to the ethnicity instead of the country. And if everything else fails, I can always point the fault at Hera as the true instigator, it isn't even a lie."

Ok, I not only am completely lost, but I also might not want to deal with this Gordian Knot.

-//-

All cultivators stand alone when facing raging heaven. From this precept, the cultivation of uniquely excellent existences derives. Opposed to this the Romans affirm all roads lead to Rome, and the roads are their cardinal public virtue. The main advantage gained by one side is lost by the other but eventually, their path inevitably cross.

Eventually, a man places all below himself, the road toward raging heaven is wide enough for a single person to cross. Eventually, a man's reputation becomes a beast none of his fellows can dare to ignore or cross. It goes by countless names yet can be found in every civilized city of men, so the Greeks in their superb wisdom refer to these men by the name they know in their heart to be their true title. The Tyrant Realm.

I have been dabbling on this path for far longer than others. The nature and complexity of sovereign souls is not something easily tackled… and yet every man knows in his gut as soon as he sees it. Ravenous Authority that subjugates and consumes everything in its path.

The Iron God of Chains, Unity.

The Lord of the Locust Host, Deskari.

Yes, I know what a tyrant is. But do I know what kind of tyrant that I want to be?

The mind fashions a question, the heart burns as fuel, and the gut instinctively answers how it is to be deployed. The basics of the tripartite soul and its relationship to the body.

It is said that a raven carries tribulation in its talons. It has ever been so, since the last of the bright birds brought the sun god word of his lover's infidelity and were scorched black by his grief. One midnight messenger is tragedy enough. Any more than that is nothing but a curse. After a certain point, a pile of tragedies becomes its own cruel comedy. A gathering of ravens is nothing less than an unkindness.

By defeating Deskari I have become more than a nameless raven but a true legion. By exploiting the reversal trait I learned from jujutsu, I can use the labor against the Iron God to forge bonds instead of severing them. By combining the two I can seize in hand every single one of the bright souls flocking Kenabres at the news of my crusade. And as chaffing as it is for Queen Galfrey, this is mine. She is hardly in a position to turn down divine assistance.

Even then, this isn't enough. Magic is so common to Golarion that its people think frog tornados (frognadors?) are a natural phenomenon. Yet even they can sense how wrong the Worldwound is. It truly lives up to its name, it is a wound. The very soul, air, and water are tainted by the influence of the Abyss like an infected wound. Storms of blood, earthquakes, and droughts are the norm. And all living beings hardy enough to endure just suffer the insidious touch of the Abyss being twisted and corrupted into monsters.

Yet Hope sprints eternally. All wounds can be eventually healed. The Worldwound can be mended… by a firm enough hand. Time to render true unkindness upon the Abyss. I will teach demons to curse my name.

As the armies granted to me get ready to leave, I cast down my light, touching every single soul supposed to be under my care and rendering them an ultimatum by the tip of the sword of my intention. This was their last opportunity. They were to surrender themselves to me and I promised to lift them higher than they ever dreamed possible. Or they were to leave now, for breaking the letter or the spirit of said oath would see them cursed not only by me but also by all new brothers and sisters.

It was rash, but now that Deskari is dead my main enemy is Baphomet. The insidious master of the Ivory Labyrinth has doomed more than one crusade in his web of intrigue, paranoia, and betrayal.

The spies and infiltrators were quickly rooted out in the face of my ultimatum. Some threw themselves at my feet and implored for mercy. Some even were sincere too. And a few even betrayed their former allegiances to leap at the lifetime opportunity. Those were readily spared. The remaining were either left behind or guided to Pharasma's judgment.

A tyrant's judgment is swift and self-serving.

Armed with Deskari's first-hand experience of carving a realm for himself to rule out of the realm of the Abyss, I marched, I saw, and I conquered.

The flock of marching ravens garmented in midnight veil was only a declaration of intention to the denizens of the Abyss. With exponential performative excellence brought about by true cooperation, I turned the united hunger of my unkindness toward the influence strangling the decimated lands.

Yet this alone wasn't enough. As a disciple of the Augur, I know how to charm and enthrall the very earth and its bounties. So why not with a marching song? As the wheel keeps on turning, I march on with a song of liberation in thousands of lips.

The protean realms of the beyond like the Abyss and the First World are ruled by the disorder of Chaos. Where, when, why, and how are suggestions rather than constants yet this is what made them malleable to those with sufficient strong will.

Why revive the dead nation of Sarkoris when I can do better? With the helping touch of my muse, I imprinted the higher aspirations of my soul into the land, turning the world silver bright. And the Abyss is footing the bill!

The cursed land recoiled at my audacity and storms of blood tried to rebuff my advance, flaying winds tried to scatter my followers, and magma eruption tried to scorch away my company. Yet under the aegis of my bright and defiant soul, the young souls under my care found hope to keep on even as their bodies begged for death. Why wouldn't they? It is the uncertainty that kills a man, each step they took was a victory against the Abyss.

Cooperation in combat is an exponential force, supported by their brothers in arms they refined themselves within and without. Guided by my hand, every step they took was surer and more precise than the previous one and will be surpassed by the one that followed it, adjusting their posture in a dozen small ways, orienting them towards victory.

Mythical power certainly helped speedite their training. Settling heavily on my guts, allowing me to draw miraculous power without burning my spirit down to cinders. At the cost of hunger. By taking for myself the burgeoning weight of my followers and their tribulations with my own spirit being weighted down and withered.

It is like I have an endless hollow pit where my stomach used to be. Yet it was worth it. Wherever I passed, the Grim vistas of the Worldwound were replaced by a stark world as bright as polished silver. A defiant miracle only I could perform and the land itself knew its new master, standing defiant against the forces of the Abyss. Besides, I didn't go without a meal for long.

The denizens of the Abyss didn't appreciate my renovations and were more than willing to express this displeasure. First, the Deskari's orphaned brood, vescavors. They had yet to understand what I was doing. The moment they entered the range of my influence it was too late. My hunger set upon them like the creeping hand of the grim reaper. Despite the combined radiance emitting from me and the five thousand souls under my banner, we still drew everything in like a star collapsing into a black hole due to critical mass.

This was my updated Domain Expansion: Courses of The Stars. My domain had always been particularly sophisticated and powerful, and one of its key features is that it targets everyone in range, including myself. This binding vow allowed me to selectively select which side of the scale those in range would fall on – life or death. With my muse's inspiration and guidance, I had adjusted things so as to lock in on those bearing the quintessence of the Abyss.

The demoniac locust storm comprised millions of ravenous creatures bringing with them the eternal hunger of the abyss fell on us like the mantle of night yet. Yet the combined power of the five thousand men behind my back I crushed the biblical plague in a blue-green sphere that suffocated and compressed the very space it touched. The swarm scattered in an attempt to survive and sow chaos inside the ranks but my all-devouring light weakened and consumed them second by second and the soldiers fought with precision and surety at odds with their experience and standing. The ending was the same – I drank the bounty of their soul taking away their vitality and future and revitalizing not only my forces flagging strength but also restocking my heart blood stocks. A parting gift from Deskari. Devouring was his only virtue, and making it mine elevated me to even greater heights.

In the end, even the chasm in our way was reshaped by singing stone into a smooth stone road leading to our destination. The battered spirits of old Sarkoris who were once worshiped by the Cimmerians before the Worldwound had not yet been broken. The land itself threw its loot behind me, showering my company with blessings. Kingdom and subjects singing a marching song dictated by the rhyme of my beating heart.

Cultivation gives celerity to a man's strides and allows them to go without sleep and food for longer the higher their standing happens to be, but the men under my care were still unrefined. That is why I took their fatigue, drowsiness, and more important of all, their hunger. Each day we marched was like a decade for me. A decade without rest, sleep, or eating, pushed my heroic constitution to its limits and beyond. Once again, I fell on the next best thing, my batch of nectar (replicate) I created just before departing.

When the Abyss finally delivered to me a troop of flying gargoyles I few ravenously over them. Bringing them down to the earth with the pseudo gravity of Rher's suffocating space combined with Xeno's Logos. My men tore them apart like a pack of vultures. It wasn't enough and by a long shot. Fortunately, the deeper we penetrated the Worldwound the more resistance we found.

Howling bands of demons ready to test their luck as soon as they found some geographic feature or magical phenomenon to push things in their favor. Sects of demon worshipers searching for revenge or glory. Cabals of intelligent undead protecting the one place they can prosper in. They all were crushed by the turning of the wheel. My troops brushed off curses like an old dog shakes off fleas as we marched toward Drezen.

I even got to add some convenient meat shields for my troops. Zacharius, once a holy crusader revered to this day, now a powerful lich capable of giving even me pause… if I was by myself that is. Zacharius was leagues above the pickle wizard I once enslaved but my mythical powers make me an absolute master of the dead. Once they fall into my grip there is no shaking it and backed by my troops, he had no chance. He and his dead brothers in arms once more will join the crusade.

Yet even I had my limits and the men's nerves were starting to fray by the days-long ceaseless march and how quickly we were closing in on Drezen. They had done well and the conqueror's path lived to its name, granting danger and reward in equal danger. Between the fight in Kenabres and the campaign, many promising souls were between the sixth to eighth rank of the civic realm. It was time to grant their worthless flesh time to catch up with their spirit.

Besides, another thing concerned me. Panaka's mythical powers have grown again. The wound on his chest floods him with the power of the abyss yet at the same time it kills him. He is also far more susceptible to the corruption of the Abyss, he might experience demonification if things go.

Things are far from hopeless despite my grim conclusion. Whoever did this made sure to purify the power like distilled water, so his mythical power is extremely malleable. And there is also the fact he has a second soul inside him. Maybe ascension is really what he needs, cultivation not only multiplies the soul but also orders it. And I have an idea to mitigate this.

-//-

I am not the kind of person prone to leave things down to luck. More than that, I am an expert in the subject of the soul. Panaka quite liked my sword too and I still have Riftcarver, Deskari's scythe made from his mon's bones that he killed… this might just work.

The link between body and soul makes it so they become a blueprint for each other. Jujutsu isn't unfamiliar with spirit beckoners capable of channeling either or both of those aspects. Panaka is taking to the soul grafted to his body rather well. This is good and bad, good in that this means the second soul is unlikely to grow into a heart demon. Bad in that this soul belonged to the Abyss, no matter how well it had been processed, the person involved did not want to compromise its integrity. There is a pull like gravity, pulling Panaka's soul toward the Abyss and I am afraid direct intervention might the fragile equilibrium of his spirit. What he needs in a fetish to bear the brunt of the Abyss corruption in his place.

Riftcarver is capable of tearing holes between planes and creating earthquakes by striking the ground, being the essence of separation. Breaking Riftcarver was interesting. It was much like breaking a cultivator's Ego. Since I am the one that killed Deskari this task was easier, but not by much. I channel my pneuma into it forcibly breaking it much like one kills a cursed spirit, using reverse curse technique to reverse its evil quintessence into good aligned one.

A part of its broken fragments retained its natural properties of [rifting] but another had the inverted property of [merging] like a reverse cursed technique. I then summoned my worthless student and demanded about two litters of his blood. He whined it would kill him for a while but when I explained need it to make a weapon so he wouldn't die when out of my sight, he relented.

I used it to imprint his body information on the fragments of the demonic weapon, with any luck it would attract the abyssal corruption staining his soul and serve as a vessel for the power of the abyssal soul glued to his own. A long sword I named [Rebellion], and yes, it is a reference. It even fits the demon slayer theme.

This was also a good opportunity for me. My two main weapons serve as amplifying for my Dionysian mysteries but I never made anything for my Rher's based mysteries. Mostly because I hated him. Even so, I promised myself to not let the bastard dictate my face a long time ago. That is why I made another blade for myself with the fragments of [rifting] that remained, this time using my own blood. Considering I lived over a decade in Japan it is a shame I never got to express my inner weabo, that is why I made it a katana and baptized it as [Serenity].

-//-

[AUTHOR'S ROOM]

I had been preparing this for some time now. It would be a waste to never use all Zagreus's work on his domain expansion. It might have come off as a spiritual workaround, but that is why it is. Greeks cultivate unique existences and Zagreus is basically the only person capable of doing what he did the way he did. He used his Muse's unique power, and his labors, combined with jujutsu knowledge and Deskari's stolen wisdom to pull it off.

About the KKJ interlude, Dyonisus' memories of the Orphic rites are rather vague and nonsensical. This is partly due to the madness theme and partly due to Zeus erasing memories. I myself thought Bakkhos was Alexander the first time I read through it, but doing research showed me that it was not. Zagreus children instead had come to the conclusion Zagreus tried to conquer India not once, but twice!
 
WRATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS 4
"Well, what do you think?" I say to my old friends and family members while showering them with gifts; figuring out the dream transportation trick was a shore!

"That you had been a busy little bee as always, Zagreus-sensei," Geto said in his usual diplomatic yet casually disrespectful tone of voice. Even then there is a deep appreciation of what he saw, "These new enlightenment books completely outclass everything you had produced so far. Perks of your new standing and a muse's favor, I presume…"

"Yet we can't help but worry why you are dropping everything on our lap now," Megumi says while examining me up and down. It was less an accusatory tone for what I did last time we saw each other in person and more one of acceptance of the kind of person I was. This kid can read me way too well, it seems.

I lift my latest book, 'definitive guide to the Philosopher's Stone'. After all the hassle it took me to figure it out it would be a shame to leave this knowledge to rot, especially the way I have been risking my life lately. The same goes for all Numerian science, only philosophers would be able to read these but it paid off. Philosophers are meant to be bastions of knowledge in the first place.

"There isn't much to say. Deskari's fight might have been unexpected but it was also as close to ideal as possible. With him dead then his first general, the balor lord Khorramzadeh, The Storm King, is sure to have stepped up to take the Rasping Rift for himself. This will not only elevate him to nascent demon lord status but also confer him dominion over Deskari's forces."

"And he is coming for your head, to prove himself the new head honcho." Gojo cut straight to the point, as someone familiar with how the pecking order works since birth. "You said that Deskari was arrogant and proud to the point of madness. But this Storm Lord never had the resurrection trick available in the first place, and the sense of invincibility derived from it either. He will bring out everyone, which are?"

"Four Balor slaves, another general called Darrazand, and an army of between hundreds to thousands of demons cajoled to serve in exchange for mythical power," I say as succinctly as I can manage.

A spy informant from behind enemy lines contacted Panaka a while ago, considering she was the one that informed Desna's church about Kenabres invasion her intel is solid. Areelu Vorlesh and her apprentice Xanthir Vang perfected their 'transformation' ritual and were working overtime to make up for the death of their master with quantity.

"At the risk of going out like Fëanor, getting run over by a train of balors, you decided to get your affairs in order in case the worst came to pass." Gojo casually accuses me while perusing my 'Treats on the Arcana', geared to teach philosophers how to perform arcane spell casting. Much like alchemy, wizardry is firmly set on a foundation of Logos, making it a worthwhile endeavor to pass on.

"A crass way to put it, as always. But yes, this is the most decisive battle of the 5th crusade. Drezen was the frontline of the crusade and now it is once more so, but for the demonic legions this time around. Conquering Drezen will give me a foothold to retake Sarkoris."

"Well, we certainly can't tell you to walk out of this one. Ever since we met you have been nothing if not nosy." Geto interjected while sighing in fond exasperation. "It's one of your greatest traits, after all. The reason you changed our lives for the better. But we can't help but wish you weren't so cavalier with your life." To drive the point home, he looked at Tsumiki cradling a crate full of bottles filled with nectar and yet staring at them like they were cheap replacements for the real thing.

I sighed in exasperation. I didn't want to deliver these kingly gifts in such a dour mood, but it is what it is. They were all closer to divinity than most souls would ever be yet they were still powerless in this matter. They had no means to help me, and it was eating away at them. Heroes are not meant to sit on the sideline. Maybe Geto was right, I have to be more considerate of their Ego.

I had ideas to mitigate this, of course. The [astral projection] spell offered great inspiration on this matter, but some things can't be brute forced and I wasn't in the mood to gamble with the souls of my loved ones. The severing of the silver cord teetering soul and body results in instant death. No questions asked. It is too big of an Achille's heel for my taste… I am an idiot, aren't I?

"My worthless student!" I say with a shit-eating grin on my face, a fact perked up instantly at my term of endearment really pissed him off in that special way I have been doing to him since he was a teenager. Yet the way I was looking at his collarbone, where he kept his necklace pass instantly perked his attention right the fuck up. "Drag my worthless student's worthless student down here right now. I, your master, will see to it that you no longer have to sulk on the sidelines!"

"You really know how to push my buttons, don't you? Luck for you, I have long since owed to beat Yuji's head straight anyway." Gojo answered with a feral smile. And he wasn't the only one. The rest of the presents were overtaken by enthusiasm and hope.

It seems they all had felt stifled by my coddling. Well, to my defense, Gojo was supposed to be the strongest one of the lot and my first impression of him was as the victim of a scene crime.

-//-

The walls of Drezen loomed on the horizon. Not that a normal person would be able to see through the storm crown blanketing the fortified city with a foreboding black curtain of thunderclouds.

Our mysterious informant was dead on the money too. I could see with the acute senses of a hero that the city was teeming with hordes of demons. I had delivered the first true defeat to the war for the Worldwound since Aroden himself walked among men. And now is the counter-offensive.

Only my stellar performance in this campaign has kept the morale of my troops in check when they saw Drezen. This will be the biggest battle of the 5th Crusade, defeat meant another chance like this wouldn't happen again for a hundred years, probably more if it even at all. But victory? Men feel that if they triumph here, they might live to see the end of the Worldwound.

Despite the challenge ahead, most men find themselves excited and terrified in equal measure. The head feeling of overwhelming presence enveloping them like a blanket and whispering promises of victory, the fraternal sense of belonging they feel for the strangers they fight side-by-side without hesitation, and the sense of purpose and victory. Drezen will be the crucible from where the new leaders of Sarkoris will rise. The last thing on their minds is to return home.

"So how are you feeling, Panaka?" I ask my new apprentice.

As things stand the battlefield is both the best and worst classroom. Fortunately for him, I always believed that when a truth is expressed correctly it's self-evident to the point of being plainly understood even by a fool. Every lesson was eminently applicable to the task at hand. The skills taught were concrete and readily contextualized, and though they weren't all easily learned, the reason they needed to be known was always clear.

He already had the foundation to be a great warrior, not that it is a rare thing. Golarion is an unspeakable dangerous world, and weakness has been bred out of them by countless troubles. Panaka was elegant like a dancer and as strong as a bull and cultivation elevated these traits, but mythical power brought to the surface an almost forgotten mischief streak.

"Like I walked for days without sleep or bathroom breaks while bathing from head to toe into demon blood and guts. You know, the typical crusader experience." He confined to me while we reviewed the maps of the city's layout.

"Don't forget the blood loss." I shimmed in good humor.

"And how could I forget? The only thing keeping me going is the comedy found among the ruins. Are you really going to dispose of the Zacharius guy?"

"And you want me to spare him?"

"He pulled a magnificent trick, being worshiped as a great hero, a saint really while going behind everyone's back to seize eternal life for himself."

"I owe to check that head of yours, maybe you hit it too hard back in your fall during Deskari's battle."

"Don't be like that, Zac. That world itself has gone crazy. We are just following along. Especially with that suicide mission, you tossed on my lap." Panaka answered with a mischievous grin. What the hell was someone so unruly doing in a crusade city?

"Don't let the men hear you speak like this, would you? I will start to pass command of the crusade to you once we take Drezen-

"Wasn't I supposed to be leading this crusade in the first place?" Panaka asked a question that wasn't a question. I obviously stepped over Queen Galfrey's toes to get the crusade to go my way. She had no room to talk back then since most conscripts came here for me in one way or another, but as soon as Drezen is secured she is going to start to stir trouble.

I whacked Panaka upside the head for his cheek and moved on. "Since you are so worked up, remember your part. I will engage the most powerful demons on my own while directing our forces. You are to infiltrate Drezen and secure Iomedae's banner, the Sword of Valor. If it works as it is intended then it will turn the battle in our favor."

"And that is why you gave me this wicked sword, right? Love the gift but the skull crossguard is a bit tacky though." Panaka says while brandishing Rebellion like it was a toy. They instantly bonded, as expected.

"You can always give it back if you dislike it." I say while stretching my hand into a 'gime' gesture.

"Yet your sense of style is impeccable, and the sword fits with my new drip," Panaka says while addressing his new reinforced leather armor and pulling the sword away from my reach. I gave him the Dante dress code because I knew he would love it too.

Not only that but both his new armor and weapons were augmented with Numerian more analogic super-science and magic. I also gave myself the liberty to do the same for his companions. Because they will need it, the demons are not going to take it lying down. This is their chance to revert things back in their favor. But I have no intention to let them.

"Remember, this sword is your lifeline, a fetish and spiritual shield. When you set your life aflame to correct the situation of the Wardstone angelic host, you got infused by the power of the artifact. This granted you mythical powers from Iomedae but you also inherited the Wardstone's scar and lingering corruption." I lied. While his mythical powers were triggered in the Wardstone, their source is traced to his wound. However this knowledge can have adverse effects, so I will keep it to myself for now.

"Yeah, you told me I am supposed to be more susceptible to the Worldwound corrupting influence, right? You protected me in the march here but it is time for me to earn my keep and stand on my own legs." Panaka says resolutely, and the side of the man that earned my respect shined through once more. He could do it. He might die trying, but he could make the difference today as he did back on Kenabres.

"That is the spirit. I expect great things from you. Even if your jokes are lame."

"The hell they are!"

-//-

The once proud crusader city has become a den of evil. Khorramzadeh lived up to his reputation as the Storm King, as soon as my marching forces entered Drezen's range we were assaulted by a volley of lightning bolts. The storm raged turbulent winds capable of rebutting advancement and sealing the skies, water curtain hitting like a shower of ice needles, whaling thunder deafening ears, and flashes leaving after spots in the retina.

The mere idea that mortal men could fight the storm was madness. Fortunately, the men under my banner were now cultivators, true sons and daughters of Raging Heaven. And the Father has no use for men afraid of the dark. Facing the storm was our singular privilege and manifest destiny.

As the cruel bolts descended over our heads, virtuous men lifted their sword arms in defiance, guided by my firm hand, and struck back at the storm like a mortal man would a sword blow. They wouldn't succumb quietly to the storm, even as their limbs were charred black by the storm. And they wouldn't let their formation be broken by might alone.

Of course, the brunt of the storm was aimed my way. Khorramzadeh was unlike anything I have ever faced yet he reminisced me of Tribulation Lightning – it hungered, and it tried to break me down uncaring of standing or disposition. It could hurt me where ordinary thunder would be harmless and he wielded it like it was any other weapon.

Unfortunately for him, I have been preparing myself to face raging heaven on my lonesome for over twenty years, and I am not the kind to play defensive either. I swing my sword in an ascending arc with the support of the thousands of men under my banner backing me. A darker-than-black arc of light crowned with stars flew up and severed the storm in two, revealing the afternoon sun.

Sparagmos – the act of renting into pieces. Something I adapted from Sukuna's cookbook. By backing it with mythical power augment its motion, expanding it to target the very pneuma of the Storm, disrupting it. If Khorramzadeh could mimic the Storm that Never Ceases to some extent using mythical power, then there is no reason for me not to do the same. Even then it was a stop-gap solution. It was clear to the naked eye how the storm stitched itself together and the discerning eyes of a hero could even see the guiding will holding the reins of the storm.

Alas, it would have to be enough. With the temporary respite from the storm, I gathered my influence, sacrificing hundreds of years to the flames of my virtuous spirit at the altar of my fourth labor. My shadow expanded and linked to my entire legion and countless black arrows flung themselves from it, blotting out the reemerging sun once more and falling into Drezen like a biblical plague.

The black bolts of unkindness cut a screaming arc through the sky elegantly like flying birds. Like the storm, they were guided by a directing will, deftly avoiding obstacles to closing in on their mark and delivering tribulation from their beaks and talons. The poison of despair that killed Deskari. That is because the ink bolts were not arrows, but ravens.

They peeked and harassed the demonic legions. No amount of mythical power could mitigate the Abyss' quintessential nature and the demons, loose canons one and all, fell into each other in their panic and chaos. Their retaliatory attacks turned into friendly fire and small wounds festered as cruel beaks tore at tender flesh and eyes.

My counter was as successful as it was short-lived, the storm thrummed back to life and the skies were sealed off once again. Yet they fulfilled their purpose, in the short window, my troops reached the walls of Drezen. I kicked down its walls and created stone bridges out of shadow and ivory for my forces to cross. We penetrated Drezen, now we just had to take it.

Even as lightning fell in my head I smiled as the second part of my plan started to gain motion. During the brief raven assault, I gained a bird's eye view of the battlefield. With said intel, I guided my crusaders where they needed to be. As the demons gave their back to the mangled cadavers of my unkindness, I pulled the rug from under their feet once more.

I threw centuries of my life into the flames once more, making a circuit between my first and fourth labor. Hypnos is just a prelude to Thanatos, slumber is just a small death. Those baptized by me into wine-dark faith, bearing the underworld pass made from the treasure of my soul, the habitants of my personal Orphic House. My dreaming ravens. I beckoned them using my Dream to neatly sidestep the infinity that separated us.

Time for some jolly cooperation. Praise the Underworld motherfucker!

I pulled a Hades and filled Drezen with dark expects in midnight raven veils. The hundreds of people I saved back in Shibuya Incident now return the favor by answering my call. Holy shit! This really drives home how big Tsumiki's Raging Heaven cult has become, they were all deep in the sophic realm. I didn't doubt Tsumiki's potential, cultivation is the work of a lifetime but the Raging Heaven Cult started out as a multibillionaire institution due to my early investment in bitcoin. What surprised me was the enthusiasm all these people had to have to reach so high in such a short span of time. The trauma of Mahito's violation certainly would be a great enough motivation, but that they didn't burn themselves out and crash is to Tsumiki's credit as a Kyrioi.

This is only viable thanks to Yuji though. Astral Projection is considered the pinnacle of necromancy but the risks involved made it unviable for me, yet his experience with cursed objects and cohabitation of souls without integration turned out to be essential. To amend that I had to use the underworld pass necklace and my monument to Ego as a Dream Realm and safe rub to my dreamers's souls. It's kind of how the Hunter's Dream works in Bloodborne.

And as they had all been tempered by the same founding mystery too, bringing them into the fold under the mantle of my influence was easy. I had manifested my heroic unities right in front of the balors while my crusaders and ravens ground down the demonic force in a pincer formation. Fortunately, 3rd realm cultivators can't fuel their heart flame with their own heart blood while in astral form, needing to tap into the stocks of their summoner so even these rebellious souls under my care are one hundred percent safe. Even then their raw power comprises hundreds of men put together while sophic cultivators are in the dozens, more than enough to hold the Balor slaves until I take care of Khorramzadeh.

While I charge toward the Balor Lord I direct Panaka and his friends toward the Sword of Valor. This battle is far from won just yet and from what I saw so far Khorramzadeh and I are on even footing with one another. Khorramzadeh is in that sweet spot where most of his power is concentrated on his person, kind of like the heroic realm of demons. He also has battlefield superiority. It isn't worth it to attack the storm when I can simply force him to focus it on me.

I cut my way through Drezen, busting stone walls like they were made of cardboard. Despite the disorientation derided from the storm, I could feel he doing much the same. He channeled the storm toward himself like a lightning rod as he advanced toward me until all his concentrated power was discharged in our sword clash.

I was burning at full throttle as well, so the impact of our swords tore the tiles from all rooftops across the city and pushed both of our armies away from our battle. This would be a one-on-one death match with everything on the line.

"It's been long since any brave fool challenged me, the great Khorramzadeh! After I tear you to shreds, I will grind your pathetic followers to dust!" The balor lord declared to the heavens, his voice like thunder and despite my heroic stature, he still dwarfed me by more than double my size. In hand be wielded a cruel kopis blade serrated like lightning.

"That is why you don't let the help speak, Deskari had far better battle banter. Not that it helped him any in the end." I say with a cruel smile of mine own like he is no better than dirty in my boot.

My provocation worked as intended and Khorramzadeh screamed a hoar in outrage and his storm followed suit. He released a powerful discharge of profane power from his body and I answered in kind, manifesting my [star rage] to scorch his body and soul. Instead of rebuffing each other our attacks pierced throw each other, forcing us to disengage simultaneously.

Well, that turned out more complicated than I thought it would be. I was in full regalia and despite the penumbra of the storm my light still shone defiantly, scorching and blinding the demonic army opposing my allies while fortifying and supporting my subordinates. Despite Khorramzadeh's overwhelming firepower, he had no means to counter my healing factor from my dharma star pneumatic chamber. And yet Khorramzadeh is not without resort either, the very storm revitalizes him where it would hurt any other and he proved himself impervious to my smiting light. This will be a battle of attrition.

We dance through the air like bolts of light, clashing again and again, leaving a trail of destruction in our frenzied battle. He somehow knows about the poison of despair of my blade, making a point to favor his whip of lightning over his blade due to its reach and flooding himself with lightning after each glancing blow and shallow cut to shake off its torpor. It was as I feared, there is none of the inflated ego in Khorramzadeh. He was taking this seriously and the outcome of this battle is yet uncertain. We were hurting each other faster than we could heal ourselves but the balance was too tenuous to last. Eventually one of us would get the upper hand and neither of us was up to leaving it to lady luck.

How long has it been since I had one of those fights? Despite the grim stakes, I found myself smiling. It seems I have become a thrill junkie. So be it. Time to reach into my old bag of tricks and see what I can pull off.

One raven only tells the truth, and the other only lies. We trade sword blows through the air like something out of an anime fever dream, clashing again and again in a frenzied tempo, our blows outpassing the wind like a unique uninterrupted blow. Suddenly the battlefield melody goes out of tune, Khorramzadeh's sword passes right through me as I break into a shower of black feathers and ravens, clouding my presence.

It was for just a fraction of a second but the balor lost track of me. Or rather, he was led to believe so. In truth, I was the ravens circling him and I reconstituted myself while cutting his back open and severing his spine. Khorramzadeh howled in answer and exploded in a profane lightning conflagration once more, pushing me back despite my best effort.

Despite his injuries, lightning holds his spine together and he raises his hand toward the storm, concentrating its power on his hands. He then swings it around like a giant lightning whip and drives it violently in a vertical slash. And the city of Drezen is cleaved in two.

He probably intended for me to block it to protect my troops but my hold over them meant I could command them like any other limb. Ordering them to get the hell out of dodge was a no-brainer. His attack might have healed him some but the storm has been temporarily spent by his attack.

I close in while creating probability clones, something I couldn't risk before due to extra exposure, and Khorramzadeh bolts back, understanding his compromised position. Five starry midnight streaks of light pursue a lightning bolt across storm skies. Khorramzadeh kept me at by through judicious use of [chain lightning], forcing us to keep a certain distance but he was still being kited, shallow blows were infecting him with despair.

He somewhat understood how it worked and tried to counter by shocking himself into a frenzy, exploiting the animatic power of lightning to shake off the stone-like inertia of my poison. But even with four eyes, he didn't have what it took to keep all of myself in range, flying sparagmos slashes were mounting up. He was a mangled mess from head to toe. They slowed him down until we closed in for the kill, Khorramzadeh raised his blade in a final hail Mary but he could at best ward off one of me as mem myself, and I turned him into a pincushion.

And the five of us proceeded to do just that… wait-

Too little too late I realized that Khorramzadeh wasn't warding any of us but aiming his blade at the storm, like a lightning rod! He either suspected all five of me were real or had given up on sorting through and finding the real me. So he either decided to gambit I wouldn't immediately kill him or opted to take me down with him, the crazy bastard! That was my style!

The result was the same, I ran my sword through him five times over and was immediately electrocuted by the concentrated power of the storm five times for my trouble. The world was consumed by light and I blacked out from the pain.

The next thing I noticed was the yellow setting sun on my face. Everything hurt and I had been seared like a well-done stake but I was alive, my desperate gambit paid off. Something I took from Hakari's balancebook, the boy overcommits in fights due to his pseudo immortality often landing him in hot water against technical enemies, so to counter it he uses a binding vow sacrificing a limb to reinforce his body. Now my black armor blew apart to ward off some of the power of the storm like a lizard severing its tail. Considering that the first chakra was related to survival it was a super effective strategy.

All my limbs are numb and non-responding but I can still fight, so I lift myself with difficulty. Then when I looked once more toward the horizon, I saw the silhouette of Khorramzadeh, and with no small amount of satisfaction, I assessed he had seen better days.

The final lightning bolt reenergized him but only just. He was bleeding heavily from the five decisive blows I landed on him and the wound was necrosing fast. He even broke one of his wings when he fell. More telling of all, the storm had dissipated. He was in his last leg, the same as me.

I couldn't help it, I started laughing. Apparently, Khorramzadeh felt much the same because he joined me. In the end, we were both foreigners in these lands carving a place for ourselves. The death of the other was needed to solidify the hold over these lands but I can't say it was unpleasant dance the one we had. Things were about to come to a close though so there is no sin in enjoying the afterglow while it lasts.

My starlight marrow burned through all the nectar in my blood mending me into fighting form while Khorramzadeh circulated as much lightning as he had to shake off the inertia of despair flooding his body in the short time I had given him but that was it.

I reached into the deepest recesses of my tormented soul for the animalistic fury and tenacity. My blood boiled so hot I was steaming and I gathered the dregs of my influence to manifest my Carrion intention. A ribcage made of ghost flame growing arms and muscles, until it became a grinning flayed apparition about as big as Khorramzadeh himself.

He screamed in defiance as we charged each other. Our first punch brushed against each other without reverting their course and the resonance alone was enough for me to spit blood while Khorramzadeh spat his front teeth. We whaled at each other in a savage exchange, even the sound of his bones breaking was like thunder.

We had abandoned all semblance of form to savage each other like rabid animals, falling back to the primal pull of inspired violence, the oldest and deepest art form known to men since before we had more thoughts in our heads than fingers to count them. We bit and clawed and raked whatever we could reach. Until my manifested intention gave out yet we fought regardless. I punched him in the throat just to get a knee to the groin in retaliation, I ate a knuckle sandwich to seize his arm into a judo arm lock overthrowing him across a building even as his lightning aura touched me alive. We locked ourselves into an arms struggle where we dragged every bit of mythical power remaining to pitch against the other, carving a chasm between each other that broke city blocks like they were porcelain plates.

We were two ruins stubbornly tearing at each other. Both two stubborn to break down before the other did, battling in our private little world. Is there any wonder then that an outside force broke out the stalemate?

A pillar of light pierced the heavens as far as the eyes could see and a holy aura fell on the ruins of Drezen like a aurora. Panaka had seized the Sword of Valor, the sacred banner once belonging to Iomedae. Its effects were instantaneous and unmistakable, it was like Khorramzadeh had suddenly found himself bound by a straightjacket, every limb moved like it had been attached to a lead weight. The victory was mine, he couldn't even teleport away now. And it tasted bitter in my mouth.

He knew it as well, he turned to me and a new glint had entered his eyes. I couldn't help but laugh. "That is right, mighty Khorramzadeh! Show it to me! The ending chapter of the storm lord and know that I will take your Last Breath for myself. Because I am your better!" I threw in a last challenge toward my foe, a closing statement of our battle.

Balor are notoriously feared not only for their cruel hulking power in life but also for their deadly death throes. A blinding explosion of unholy fire against everything in one hundred feet range, turning the slaying of balors into harrowing business. And now I just said I will grab said bull by the horns, how could he turn his back now?

Khorramzadeh shouted toward the heavens in defiance, the dying storm in his eyes returned accompanied by a cruel smile, his frame bulking to the point of bursting, and a second pillar of lightning shot toward the heavens in defiance. The Storm King charged me with everything he had, the culmination of his existence distilled into a single moment. I saw his history through my sophic sense.

Like most demons, his mortal life had been almost forgotten at this point, safe his reign of terror as a warlord. He thrived in the Abyss, becoming a balor general under Pazuzu, Deskari's father. During a potent storm in the Abyssal Realm of Verakivhan, where he was waging war against the troll legions of the demon lord Urxehl, the Balor ascended to the status of lord among its kind. After taking the head of a mythic marilith known as the Typhoon of Blades and absorbing the heart of the violent storm she controlled, he made the lightning his own and became known thereafter as the Storm King.

Khorramzadeh charged me and I knew it would be his last. He no longer had any way to revert the process, if I dodged beyond the boundaries of space and time like I did against Kenjaku, victory would be mine… but that is how losers think!

Nah, I would win this fair and square, leaving no room for doubt who was the superior between the two of us.

My pneuma ignited from my body like a supernova and I charged Khorramzadeh, time to catch tribulation with my teeth, literally. This time he was the one caught flat-footed as I slammed into him, piercing his body with a blade of rhetoric coated hand and grasped his beating heart, the Eye of the Hurricane. I pulled it free from his chest and bit it down, sinking the fangs of my influence into it, triggering the conflagration of the Storm King's death throes.

It was just as bad as last time but fortunately for me, what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger. The principle of my soul backed by the essence of the [latent] soul, which excels through outside stimulus, set in the foundation of a [tormented] soul capable of finding strength in adversity, made me more than capable of overcoming any trial. I had been preparing myself for it, directing my starlight marrow and remaining nectar to fortify my body against the power of Khorramzadeh's profane lightning.

That is why when the Storm King detonated, I held on for long enough to pitch the Hunger of the Abyss against his torment. Sinking my teeth into the bounty of his soul and consuming it all for myself. It blinded me and the earth was shocked by the resulting earthquake, all my nerves were set ablaze, and yet the more I ate the more the storm became part of me, the more it invigorated me where before it would hurt. It was a race to see if the storm could destroy me before I made it mine. All the while I burned, throwing thousands of years to the frames to buy me seconds in the future as lightning scorched me inside and out.

Part of me wonders if this is what trying to take off a piece of a tyrant's influence feels like. I was consuming the storm and yet it was not settling inside my body at all. It was just causing havoc, wrestling control, and stirring disorder. Unfortunately for it, I know myself all too well. The boundaries of my soul might as well have been adamant wrought, untransmutable, and absolute. I had long since chipped away all weaknesses and flawed spots. My body had become a snare coiling around the storm until finally, I seized it in hand.

The storm was subjugated, and incorporated in my own flesh. Khorramzadeh's distilled quintessence settled on my throat chakra, something that I had already expected – as the Father was the Thunderer the son was the Bromius (noisy, roaring, boisterous); a Greek soul's influence is manifested through rhetoric, the advantage of being the loudest voice in the agora can't be understated.

Yet this was not the end of it, much like Dionysus's starlight marrow, the subjugated storm settling in my body reshaped me and expanded my substance, deepening my existence as it integrated with my mythical power. The power once held by the Typhoon of Blades that was later seized by the Storm King now exists within me. A lesser mystery as much as such boons can even be called such compared to the gods themselves. It exists in the same category as the Six Eyes, even if particular in nature.

I looked up, there was no lightning bolt coming down on my head yet as lightning danced between my fingers, I felt like I never would have to fear it again.

-//-

[AUTHOR'S ROOM]

So yeah, no ascension this time. Part of me was tempted to count Khorramzadeh as a labor, but if I did so then Zagreus would be a tyrant by the end of Wrath of Righteous. It is the most epic adventure module in Pathfinder after all. Instead, I gave him this neat power-up, which replaced the problematic Unstoppable (Ex) and Immortal (Su). It even got retconned out of the game due to how it influenced the stakes. Instead, Zagreus got an appropriate power for a son of raging heaven.

The next chapter will be more about the kingmaker aspect of Wrath of Righteous and character development. Hope you enjoy it!
 
SHIKIGAMI
Alright since Bruno couldn't be bothered to take five minutes to gather what he's posted for Zagreus's Shikigami I've gone and gathered what he has here. Valkyrie Vulture is posted twice but I felt each description gave a bit of different info so kept both.

However @BrunofanofK is it Borderline Logic Urchin or Kaleidoscope Logic Urchin you've been using the latter whenever it's been mentioned in fic but I wanted to make sure. Also is there anything else you want to add about Zagreus's Shikigami?


Valkyrie Vulture (Endless soul) - the keystone of Zagreus' undead army, she serves as an external storage for body and soul information, similar to how Rika store cursed techniques for Yuta, allowing Zagreus to create an undead army on demand without fear of preserving them. Zagreus basically had this shikigami eat all the undead puppets he kept around and greatly facilitated the creation of zombie chimeras by mixing their bodies' information.

Moonless Cerberus (Changeling Soul) - using the information of the moonless beast as a base together with the principle of [construction] cursed technique to create a hound version of t-1000 made of liquid shadow. It is exceptionally sturdy due to its ability to mitigate damage by splitting into smaller hounds, making it a great crowd-control, mixed with the versatility and adaptability of construction and its sharp senses put this shikigami as Zagreus version of Megumi's divine dogs.

Poisonous Anura (Decrepit Soul) - an amphibian monster well suited for aquatic combat, a salamander aquatic dragon endowed with a hallucinogenic poison-coated body capable of cutting at people's core, their greatest fears and insecurities. He also possesses a breathing weapon version of said attack.

Batavian Glass Armadillo (Latent Soul) - A translucent armored body is capable of storing all energy of any attack as kinetic energy, similar to [inverse] but actually closer to Dante's royal guard. It possesses a critical weakness in the funny bone of its tail, similar to a batavian teardrop.


[Tyrant Raptor] shikigami is a murder machine of mathematical perfection. Taking the form of a vermilion cybernetic drake, it is a nuclear jet fighter capable of reaching up to Mach 7, surpassing any aircraft created by human hands. Born from the excellence of the [Dominating soul], it carries the element of fire. This manifests as a passionate flame that is stroked by Will to Power.


Hearth Snake (Caressing soul) - a support type, she serves as a healer and moral support type by mixing the life-fostering properties of the fire element with the Life aspect of the Wheel Turning. Capable of warding off places and serving as an alarm like a portable 'safe zone'.

Wonderland Cat (Blank soul) - crowd control type, his Cheshire smug feline uses Rher's smothering to manipulate coordinates and promote confusion, helping allies reach where they are meant to be and obstructing enemies' path.

Borderline Logic Urchin (Enlightened soul) - [I retconned Osha's element from wind to water since Mastermind is a coral] This marine lifeform can move around by floating, its spikes are coated with a 'wine poison' that reveals concealed truth and double as truth serum. Its eye serve as a good spotter and it can attack by firing its spikes and promoting them to explode into more, mimicking the basic [resonance] cursed technique.

Multichromatic Peacock (Radiant soul) - a support type, its colorful peacock exotic dance has the same effect as [Solo Forbidden Area] cursed, by customizing le dance macabre it grants its allies a significant boost to magical capacity, output and efficiency, besides a morale boost. it also helps bring allies into sync similar to a supernatural efficient military cadence.

Valkyrie Vulture (Endless soul) - necromancer type, it serves as an outside storage of body and soul information for Zagreus, allowing him to perform spiritual invocation (Séance Technique), freeing him from the hassle of carrying countless bodies in his shadow or running the risk of ever losing access to precious corpses. It releases a black shadowy tar that serves as a medium to manifest cursed corpses and Zagreus can even mix the info to create powerful zombie chimeras which his dragon bone warriors stand as the most prominent example.

Maenad Vixen (Shadowed soul) - druid type, serves as an outside storage of plant matter (flora) similar to Valkyrie Vulture. It can also manipulate and generate plants similar to Hanabi, the plant disaster-cursed spirit.
 
WRATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS 5
The thing about being the Conqueror that nobody talks about is what has to happen behind the frontline. What allowed the Macedoines to afford Alexander's campaign were two gold mines. This was the starting capital that permitted Alexander's incursion. Besides that, Alexander pretty much opened the Silk Road from the Western Front. The amount of riches circulating toward the West changed the historical course of the West throughout the centuries.

Cultivation or not, war is an expensive business. Me and my army have taken Drezen, showing that Deskari's death wasn't a fluke and now righteous and opportunistic people from all across Golarion will see this as their chance to make part of something greater. Yet the shadow of the Second Crusade who fell to infighting instigated by the web of intrigue cast by Baphomet is a harrowing reminder this war will not be won until the Worldwound is closed.

Drezen might have once been a fortified city but today it is nothing more than ruins. My battle with the Storm King has condemned it. I could charm the stone into mending itself but my instincts and experience inform me I will need as much of my heart blood as I can spare against Baphomet and Nocticula.

Fortunately, I am spoiled for resources. Normally demons are immortal in the material plane, invading through astral projection and breaking down into ether then reforming in the Abyss after death. But some particularity of the Worldwound makes it so they experience true death even without the use of heroic imposition. This means Drezen is filled with the carcass of mythical demons, a veritable banquet for the carrions. By which I mean me, myself, and I. My Unkindness.

My ravens ate so much that they became too fat to fly, like gothic terrestrial pigeons. Even cultivators are not above binge eating and its particular hangover. Fortunately, the Hunger of the Abyss, Deskari's quintessence allows me to process demonic essence extremely efficiently. This is my best opportunity to stockpile mythical power and heart blood.

While Areelu Vorlesh and her first apprentice, the locust swarm-that-walks Xanthir Vang escaped. They left behind a mostly intact laboratory with enough evidence to reveal the secret of mythical transformation – demon lord juice. Crystals are made of fossilized remains of dead Demon Lords that are purified through alchemy and then administered to a candidate.

The leftover impression and memories contained within were a good enough clue but the shed tear born from the midnight bolt used by Panaka against Deskari show uncontestable evidence, plus with a web of intrigue. Areelu Vorlesh contacted Panaka while in the war for Drezen while disguised as a captive. She gave that bolt to Panaka when Deskari attacked, she probably was the 'tiefling witch' that used feather fall to save his life too.

I can only guess her involvement with him but I know for sure Panaka himself is none the wiser about this. Fortunately, my own ploy worked as intended, the sword Rebellion experienced demonization while Panaka remained human. He can even tap into the demonic power of the sword.

For now, we are mostly in the dark about the Architect of the Worldwound and her plans but at the very least we haven't been swallowed by her design just yet. We already saw her strings behind the smoke and mirrors, now we just have to follow the trail she left behind and pray it isn't a trap.

Soul integration isn't something easily done. No matter how well-mixed two souls become, it is extremely hard, almost impossible, for them to truly become one. I know this with authority, only Rher's ability to touch the soul and Dionysus' chthonic attribute allow me to do what I did with my own soul. Gojo told me the cursed spirit with a similar innate technique tried to follow in my footsteps and mostly succeeded at the very end, forcing Gojo to get serious before it grew beyond his control. Showing this is the exception rather than the rule.

At least this explains the metamorphosis experienced by the inner members of the Raging Heaven Cult who bear my starlight marrow, who manifested mythical powers after returning to their waking world. Not dissimilar to Panaka's own companions, really.

If these nahyndrian crystals made from demon lords can awake mythical power then it makes sense my starlight marrow would manifest similar properties after I consumed a demon lord whole. The soul is the body and the body is the soul – while academically this statement is a gross simplification it isn't untrue. Megumi and Tsumiki experienced resonance with me while I was in the Prison Realm, rapidly augmenting their abilities. It makes sense similar would happen while I fought the Storm King.

More problem for Tsumiki at this point, there is such a thing as being too strong. Gojo can attest to that. But there is nothing I can do, really. Not until I finish things Sarkoris at the very least.

I stockpiled enough heart blood from Drezen demonic front for me to have enough to spare mending the city. I used the Augur swam song to charm the stone and put Drezen's foundations back together after all those earthquakes.

After that, it was time to get my hands dirty with honest labor. If Roman-style cultivation allowed one hundred men to fight as one then what stopped them from working the same way? Drezen was to be the standard for things to come. I had already set up the city's new foundation in perfect geomantic alignment to the new ley line brought about by my silver bright terraforming, now it was just a matter of building a city worth it with thousands of working hands.

In my march I searched for deposits of ore and working stone and set up arboreal constructs not unlike my previous zombie labor force, bringing supplies unceasingly to Drezen. Roman architecture used Greek classical orders as a foundation and starting point yet they did not stop there. Their city itself was to be a monument to their performative excellence, uniting public utility and function with form and beauty, becoming an eternal reminder of greatness. Propaganda was, is, and will forever be the soul of every venture.

Under my singular vision public buildings and architecture projects rose unceasingly. Concrete walls, domes, arches, water highways, and roads were built overnight. All were augmented and perpetually endowed with rhetoric, ensuring not only that they would last but also outperform. The road connecting Drezen to Kenabres could be traveled twice as fast for half the effort, magical engines linked to the plane of water supplied the city with clean water, and a barrier array held by the public displayed statues weakened and warded off all demons; Rome might not have been built on one day, but that is because they were all frumpy hussies. A good chance for me to show off all the knowledge I had compiled in the Spirit Library of my Own friend together with modern and futuristic technology in a minimalistic way.

With so many sets of raven eyes at my disposal it was easy to identify people's talents and put them to good use, passing my skill along while also working to create a war machine capable of contending with the Worldwound. Creating swarm simulacrums from the excess of biomass allowed me to induct these promising souls into the secrets of all fields of my trade. Forging churning armament capable to cup demon hide and ward their talons through a mix of magic and numerian science realized by rhetoric, to arable land producing essential crops.

And to those exceptional souls that proved themselves in the battle for Drezen, I granted them the opportunity to be inducted as commanders, a communion through starlight marrow. This grants them the mythical power needed to stand against the demonic hosts of the Abyss. To be a part of my unkindness and be marked by the muse of my heart, forevermore bearing the burgeoning weight of her affection and expectation.

The soul is the body and the body is the soul. Argyrchiara once used of my starlight marrow to manifest beside Megumi when he was fighting off Sukuna. In a sense she has always existed as an expression of my heroic mystery, a manifestation of my glory. And after defeating Deskari I manifested certain aspects of my mystery faith through a heroic feat of passion. Solus once said he was both a raven and an unkindness yet he didn't know what he was talking about. In a sense this was no different than my mastery over the mysteries of Orpheus – it is something that can be passed along to inspire virtue.

The Cimmerian-, kellid people have unique religious practices. They are one of the oldest ethnicities found in Golarion that have kept their ancestral rites intact yet they have been continuously displaced from their ancestral lands by circumstances. Being seen as barbarian invaders in lands their ancestors owned as the original people of all of Avistan. Only the land of the Mammon Lords has stayed intact, and while Numeria was culturally disfigured by the Rain of Stars they still got off lightly. The Worldwound, once known as Sarkoris, is an example of the worst outcomes. Only in Druma they had reconquered autonomy after orc invasions and millennia of dwarf colonization, being so different culturally to be almost stranded.

It is no wonder then that they joined the 5th Crusade in force due to my victory over Deskari. Their idiosyncratic view of the world affected their approach to the cultivation of virtue. Kellids are animists, while the majority of the Inner Sea region is steadfastly henotheistic, where every nation has a single sponsor deity while acknowledging other divinities, the kellids see little distinction between god, demigod, non-divine extraplanar entity, and even the souls and spirits of plants, peoples, animals and even the land itself. Their druids were tasked to impart the ways of the world in an odd yet accurate and comprehensive to the planar arrangement, perceiving the divine essence within all facets of existence, extending their worship far beyond the domain of conventional divinities. Uncandidly described by outsiders as the Cult of 'One Hundred Hungry Gods'.

This unique perspective meshed especially well with the Roman style of cultivation where public virtues are elevated above personal ones. The century-long diaspora seems to be coming to an end as nomadic tribes flock to the Worldwound. The druids are so happy with the restoration of their lands that they happily fall in line and work to bridge cultural differences for the sake of victory. The path of the wise senator, the steadfast soldier, and the cunning captain were things they easily absorbed and reframed to their own context. They even helped me figure out how Julius Caesar could induct foreign cultivators into his armies, turning them into Roman souls without setbacks to their cultivation.

Let's just hope that it is enough for the battles to come.

-//-

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged!" I say while looking Yuji up and down. Like Megumi, he has shed the last traits of his youthful features and become a man. The cosmetic of cultivation also helped, and he looked just like Sukuna did wherever he took over; talk about a bag of issues. "My prodigal son finally came back and he even brought company! Hello Todo and Nanami, thanks for the hard work. It is worth celebrating but Tsumiki took all my nectar."

The fact Nanami got to keep his suit even inside my Dream speaks of how uptight he still is, so it is hard for me to hold a grudge when he simply nodded at me curly. "I am sorry for my absent behavior, there were some matters that required my attention and care." He justifies himself without looking at the human-shaped matter in question.

After our confrontation with Tengen, Yuji started a one-man crusade to right all wrongs across the world and Nanami appointed himself as his keeper. As the only consistent link to one of the three only heroes in the world, Japan made a point to keep on paying him but he turned it down seen as he was pursuing a personal matter.

He has grown somewhat since last I saw him, something that surprised me. Nanami simply lacked the hunger that led one to ascend like Gojo, but he was the kind of steadfast guy who ended up ascending by hissing to the circumstances. There is hope for him yet.

Differently from who probably would have already ascended if it was not for the chip over his shoulders. Todo bore a severe look, he was clearly looking for trouble yet had the patience to prioritize and wait.

Yuji pinned me down with a most intense stare, I guess something finally clicked after he helped me set up the Parthenon of my soul as a spiritual hub. Or rather, he could no longer bring himself to deny it.

"Zagreus-sensei, why did you keep from me the truth?" He inquired indignant, yet there was an imperious hauntness that made it sound like a treat.

"What truth?" I feinted oblivion causing Yuji's affronted demeanor to wither away to reveal weariness.

"… that I am Sukuna." The words left his mouth like defeat.

I signed in exasperation, "Worthless, presumptions, and arrogant boy! You avoided me and every single one of your friends for years to gallivant across the world in a quest for redemption just to knock on my door with a demon in your heart to demand the answer to a question you already know. You always have! Deep down to your core."

Yuji wasn't staring me down anymore but clutching his heart as if in physical pain, my heavy words easily cutting to the heart of the matter. I stopped shouting though, Khorramzadeh quintessence made it so no soul was deaf enough to not hear or misinterpret my words. To be honest, Nanami and Todo did a superb job bringing him to me before Yuji's situation deteriorated.

"It doesn't matter- I tried to reason.

"Of course it fucking does!" Yuji shouted me down in a fit of anger with the hand on his chest almost trying to rip his heart out. "All of it, everything he did with my body was not only my fault, but on some level, I was part of the will that committed these crimes. All of them… someone like that-

"Should just die already?" I said, hitting the nail in the head as his body froze like a block of iron. I signed in exasperation, this incorrigible child.

"I mean what I said, Yuji," I say as I walk up to him and embrace him just as I always did during his moments of vulnerability during the one-year seclusion in the hyperbolic time chamber. It is a testament to his piety to his virtue that he could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me, surpassing even Gojo. Yet the boy was still the same mess from back then, and it doesn't help that Japanese people are raised bereft of physical contact and basic affection; even Nanami almost gave up being a sorcerer after a close brush with death, and that is why he fostered his on me. A foreigner unconcerned with social niceties, the Japanese people even started calling me Shuten Doji (little drunkard) as a term of endearment after Tsumiki blackmail folder got leaked and my youthful form was shown to the public.

Leave it to a riotous son of raging heaven to wail his heart out in public without any shame. Half of that nation's strife could be alleviated through the simple and primal act of catharsis.

"In order to amend for his sin which no mortal had the means to punish him for, the Champion subjected himself to ten impossible labors to be decided by his worst enemies in exchange for atonement." I started because as a Pratyekabuddhayāna (Solitary Buddha), Yuji was in the same circumstance. This is a story he was familiar with, an analogy I had used before whenever his mod sunk down the abyss. "Cursed with madness and back-breaking labors yet he struggled not only for himself but also on behalf of those that suffered before him, and those that will suffer after."

"…"

"… and yet."

"He was actually cut down, right?" Yuji found his voice and answered me. "What was handed down from Heaven when the final labor was complete was an eleventh task, the one that killed him."

"Yes, ten steps to the peak. That had been the deal, the bargain struck with the Heavens. But instead of providence, he was given an eleventh as a reward. How cruel is that? It was not the Champion's side of the bargain that was unfulfilled, yet his virtuous heart was condemned as lacking, that a son of raging heaven must stand alone and unrewarded to be judged worthy." I seized Yuji's head and brought it inches from my face. "Is that really the reward you want to find at the end of your story, Yuji?"

He could not answer me but neither could he pull back either.

"No atonement, no forgiveness or reconciliation to one's misdeeds. Is this kind of life even worth living, having your face eternally dragged through the mud, unacknowledged within as well as without no matter how much you tried? That part of your story is nothing special or unusual. Every [decrepit soul] is appointed the same destiny by the Heavens, a life stepped in cruelty and hatred of one's fellow man. Yet you are a cultivator, aren't you? Why do you do the things you do? Why do you walk this path so strayed from its intender course and defy Heaven?"

"… you know."

"But I want you to say it aloud."

"…"

"…"

"My grandfather. He-, he asked me to use my strength to help people so that I don't die alone like he did."

"And since when did you start to curse him?"

At my provocation Yuji's pneuma exploded like a Vulcan, and there was a reason he kept the title of King of Curses. Only the most virtuous of souls could hope to keep their composure when confronted by such power and refined malice. I am pretty sure even most heroes would be intimidated by him. Too bad I had spat the face of god even as Rher unraveled my mind. I was so beyond caring that I don't even remember how to back down anymore.

"Do my words hurt you, boy? Then answer me this, why are you trying to cut everyone from your life then?!" I shouted as I grabbed him by the shirt, tearing it enough to reveal the necklace I gave him. The underworld pass that guaranteed his grandfather's wish would come true. "I know Buddha preached unfettered detachment but until the day you ascend, you are still just another man! Why are you cutting us off while keeping Sukuna in your heart, stupid? Focus on cutting through the swathing treats smothering your fellow man, severing resentment, and dismantling this odious karma you had been saddled with instead."

"… how you always know the right thing to say, Zagreus-sensei?" Yuji asked while slowly releasing his uncoiled tension, showing traces of the peppy young man I knew him to be.

"I can read minds and hear hearts, I would be a really worthless wretch if I didn't learn the way around humans by then. And you are far better off than me. I was not even a cultivator at your age. I expected him to crop up eventually as well, giving me time to think about what to say to you. Just go home, Yuji. Megumi and Tsumiki are more qualified to help you than me."

"Home, eh?" Yuji tasted these words in his mouth. "I guess I owe Fushiguro a visit. Oh, by the way. Todo wanted to talk with you about something!" He says excitedly. His troubles were not resolved but he isn't the kind to roll over and die.

"Of course he does." I say while looking at the approaching Todo who was taking his shirt off, which was rude since this was my Dream. Not that I am surprised. We both knew what this was about.

I looked him in the eyes and said, "I stand for what I said then. Heavenly Restriction was a novelty with serious side effects. I can't in good coincidence endorse it."

Todo just nodded, then punched me in the face.

-//-

"So you finally figured out Nenio is a kitsune. Good for you, hacking enough affection points to progress her guest line."

"Wait, so you knew?!" Panaka accused me, whether it came more accusatory than he intended due to the surprise or overstress caused by the mountain of paperwork fostered into him as the Knight Commander of the 5th Crusade, I could not say.

"Indeed, a fascinating phenomenon. While exploring some ruins advertised by a ghost to promise limitless knowledge for the one to unravel it, I suddenly found myself in this unusual form. It took a while but I eventually hypothesized this is my true form that I had somehow forgotten about. Truly, a subject worth further analysis. That is why I want to recruit you to explore it." Nenio explained in an enthusiastic yet almost scientific approach and detachment. The fact she is oblivious to the exasperated faces of their friends at her blunt remarks is quite endearing too.

"Sure, sure. I would be glad to run off with you all dungeon crawling while in the middle of a campaign." I say honestly, yet due to the absurdity some among Panaka's companions took it as a jest but the man himself knew better by then.

Daeran, an irredeemable instigator and still somewhat incensed by our early confrontation could no bear to pass up the chance to test me, as any other form of divine authority crossing his way. "Really, such a dignified and exalted presence would be better to not engage in such low-class jest. What face would your poor flock have then." Dearan said in diplomatic vernix of barely concealed sarcasm laced with poison, the bare minimum to get always while testing a god.

The way Lann flinched back at his words while wanting to kill him only served to show the truth of it. The former mongrel was a fanatic convert, not a surprise really. The disheveled work made by the demon that cursed his bloodline was an amateur's crude hand compared to the creative genius of Patch-face curse and the majestic horror of the Moon God. I could heal it as a philosopher in enough time through soul physiotherapy. As a hero it was so effortless, I feel like I am exploiting them for the undying loyalty I received in turn.

Also, the bleached gnome hellknight commander didn't take our bickering well either.

I just snored.

"War is a cold game. While glorious battle worth of epics are unavoidable decisive points in a war against a foreign force like the Abyss, the outcome of the war will be decided by the thousand virtuous steps taken before blades are even to cross." I said with authority, that my tireless focus to make an unstoppable war machine was no secret. Mendev nobility and Iomedae's church regarded this rising power with trepidation even as they tried to outshine me. But that was the least of my worries.

"Which brings me back to you," I access while pinning the hellknight with my meanest stare, and to his credit, he withstood it as well as a mortal could manage. "What does the paralictor of the Order of the Godclaw want from me exactly to have the temerity to demand my presence? Your little club hardly needs permission to play demon slayers in the Worldwound."

My words were derisive and caustic but not untrue. Only by my grace has the Worldwound ever mended, maybe other gods could do so but the infamous Contract of Divinity all true divinities adhered to kept the material world from becoming a battlefield. The extensive and torrid history Golarion has with demi-gods only proves that.

Regill took my insult for the permission to speak it was and forged on, determined to get my patronage. "Oh, but I assure you that the Order of the Claw and other hellknight institutions can be far more than that. You certainly have not only the might but also the vision to push the Worldwound once and for all! Hells, even the Abyss itself might be dealt with once and for all and you will find no better men to carry this task than the Hellknights."

Regill was an interesting fellow. Gnomes were a race originally native to the First World and as such are notoriously whimsical, capricious, and rambunctious, always searching for novelty and excitement as an animal search for food and water. Literally. Gnomes risk dying otherwise. A lack of exposure to new and exciting experiences bleaches them of all color, followed by depression and apathy, followed by madness and death. Yet some dreadful ones survive.

Most amazing of all. Apparently, some can even be cured by a strong enough chock.

Regill's bleaching had been reversed by a good one hundred years. It was too much a core part of his identity to reverse it without risking shattering his Ego. The dourness of his identity as a hellknight was too much a part of himself for him to let go. But even so, there was an electric tension just under his skin no longer armored by a mantle of detached apathy.

The field leader of the Hellknights in the Worldwound saw the silver path to victory and he leaped without even looking.

Not everybody was okay with that though. Sosiel, the human cleric had a distasteful frown and accusing eyes that looked at Regill like he was walking garbage. But it was Seelah, the paladin of Iomedae, who exploded with righteous indignation and revulsion.

"Hell no, we don't need the likes of these black armored statues! I heard the paladin Order of the Sunlight Sword was forcefully joined with the Godclaw after a devastating gargoyle attack. He gave the paladins two flasks of water and a sack to use as bandages and even ordered his own wounded to be finished off to deny the chance to capture them! I don't want to fight side by side with someone who will slit my throat if I am weak and wounded. You can't defeat one evil by inviting an equal but more organized evil into your ranks!" The paladin of Iomedae vociferated, steel in her voice.

I interjected. "You heard? I expected better from you Seelah, you should know better by now after your recent experiences. You misplaced your faith in a lot of people, and harbor doubts about your rapid progress. No one will ever truly know a thing until they've seen it for themselves.

"I saw the paralict casual disregard for the souls under his care with my own eyes. Blindness is a common affliction among men of his stature. A commander spends enough time playing toy soldier in the sand, eventually, he forgets that his men aren't really made of stone." I accused, and Regill almost made a fatal misstep in answer until Panaka interjected, verbalizing words that were not truly his own.

"The Abyss is like a teeming mass of unrestrained aggression. An individual demon might be pathetic and weak and their society is chaotic and disorganized yet there is an almost hypnotic pull to their legion as if they were less former mortals and more a primordial force unrelenting on its march."

"The kidnapping attempts of the demons might have been part of a greater plan or might be just demons indulging in vice and sadistic pleasure. Our enemies are not mortal armies of barbarians and treating them as such just show ignorance." I turned once more to Regill and pinned him with a merciless judging stare, magnified by my mythical might. "Tell me paralictor, of what use are your hellknights when I can charm the very earth to rise as soldiers of stone?"

The tension in the room was electric, I wasn't outright rejecting Regill but I made clear he wasn't impressing me either so far. Yet he did not rise to his post by chance, he was made of sterner stuff.

"Because we are hellknights." The half-bleached gnome says with conviction that belies his diminutive stature, carrying unflinching conviction in the ideals of his order. "You who could instill order and discipline in the barbarian kellids will find each of our men to be worth ten of these unwashed raddles put together." Regill says, unbothered and unflappable at the death stores thrown his way. His words certainly didn't help him ingratiate himself with my forces but at least he seems to understand the basics of performative excellence.

I whistled in answer to show my approval, and despite himself, he felt elated even if he didn't display it outward.

Seelah once more interjected. "Are going through with it, Zagreus? I beg you to reconsider, please! Giving this kind of power to hellknights will only do harm to the free people of Golarion." She begged of me.

I just signed in exasperation. "Seelah, you say that because you walk the path of the champion – you stand alone. But even so, you know cultivation only makes someone more than what they are yet it allows them to walk the path toward who they want to become. Whether they are worth of it or not can only be assessed in the end of their stories. Isn't that right?" I say while directing my gaze toward Panaka's latest addition, the redeeming succubus meekly hiding in the shadows. Arueshalae, the poisonous butterfly of Desna.

Seelah signed in defeat, she was so overjoyed by Arueshalae's tale of redemption she had gladly accepted her addition to our ranks during Drezen invasion. "You are worse than Ember! Sometimes as dreadful as Zon-Kuthon yet as magnanimous and compassionate as Sarenrae.

I just laughed at her needling; she was right after all. "Although the illustration of cultivation as a climb, the experience of it is closer to unstoppable descent. And whether someone reaches the bottom in one piece or otherwise is up to their own foundation."

I turned once more to Regill, "The path of the captain is a rash one. One hundred men fighting as one are better than a single man with the strength of a thousand put together, yet to do so your souls will have to be conjoined in purpose with you as its towering pillar. Know that you will have to forsake this dispassionate detachment you prize so much, there is no future for an army where the captain is elevated by his soldiers while they languish with their own weight. You will be expected to carry the weight of your men for them to carry you to victory. Knowing that, do you still want to condemn yourself to my patronage?"

The paralictor of the Order of the Godclaw accented in confirmation. "Nothing would make me happier. These kinds of tortuous battles are what hellknights are made for. I was correct in presuming there was a method to your madness, despite your questionable company." Regill says while pinning Arueshalae with a death stare.

I manifested my pneuma and inducted Regill and his present subordinates in my army. What is the worst that could happen anyway?

-//-

Man, this chapter was a lot of fun, even though it was a drag to write. I wasn't very satisfied with the characterization of the cast of WoR I had done so far but I feel I managed to capture the spark of identity this time. It took far more time than I expected but it serves to show the rapport Zagreus build with people around him and how they perceive him.

So after a lot of delays, I finally get to post this. The hazard of living in a tropical region, seasonal diseases are hard to content to. Fortunately, my health has improved and I got to move the plot forward.

Yeah, Zagreus became the divine founder of New Rome. Considering how much mass combat is involved in this campaign, the Roman-style cultivation is given a chance to shine. The kellid religion style also helped a lot to adapt this model, with some concessions. Roman progression is supposed to have eight realms instead of the Greek four, and they correspond to people's place in the city of Rome. Out of those we only know the last two, Dictator and Dictator Perpetuo. We know Sol was a legate, a commander who leads thousands of soldiers directly, so the centurion realm who leads one hundred is at least one level below.

Besides this, we don't know what powers each realm grants but based on how it operates it seems the Greek style is unusually puissant and diverse in powers in each realm compared to other styles of cultivation.
 
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