Godclads
Chapter 35-24 Strix Ops (III)

I am not the savior. Truthfully, the proper title I should bear is “Enabler,” for that is my greatest success. I enabled those who had the will, the skill, the daring, and the sorrow to go against the gods, to defy the structures of their cultures.

I found those who could take no more—who refused to take anymore—and gave them means. I taught them what I knew, on how to slay the gods, offered them the technology necessary to remain in contact with me and the others, instructed them on how to stay hidden and bid their time, and how to expand their own cells.

The Godsfall did not come with a climactic duel. It was not announced with a victory on the battlefield or a resounding rebuke in the forums. There was no great moment that signaled its arrival—only the current death of the pantheons. Only the sudden and nigh incomprehensible collapse of old orders.

Collapse caused by years of focus, sacrifice, and the deeds of the many.

Before the gods fell, there were those who damaged their worship, who ruined the lore, who caused civil wars, assassinated wise leaders for the priesthoods and kingdoms, who ensured that only the ruinous and vile of character might take the thrones to hasten the decay.

Above all things, it was a war of all people. Everyone made their choice—with perhaps the people making the greatest choice of all.

For when the gods and faithful roared for them in the last days, during the falling days, during the days where the final strikes were delivered, the people chose to do… nothing.

Nothing. The greatest choice they could make. For it starved the gods in the end. For it shattered the order and old cultures. For it was a single statement that shattered the rulership of the divine.

For if you could reject the omnipotent with a single act of indecision… were they truly divine at all?

35-24

Strix Ops (III)

—-[Avo, The Hidden Flame]—-

{Avo. Would you like to explain to me what you are doing?}

The Strix sailed through the void, unbidden by the cold and the dark, the singular Soul it had for an eye radiating with waves of metaphysical brightness. Avo counted a few million voidships drawing closer from all directions. Somewhere beyond sight, the patterns of space and gravity shuddered and collapsed.

The tapestry felt frayed here. Entire branches of reality had been severed and then subsumed by living decay just light-minutes beyond. Imperceptible fissures glided between each fleet of Voidwatch warships, and when the Void ships finally came to a halt—holding approximately ten light-minutes away from Avo—the cracks continued to travel. That wasn’t a surprise. The voidships themselves, though powerful, could do little against Avo. It was simply a matter of asymmetry.

They could launch all manner of attack against him—from fusion to thermobaric, even gravity, spatial, or memetic—and he would break on a metaphysical level. The only thing he couldn’t reliably deal with were the Deep Ones, and considering how damaged the patterns of space, time, and memory were twisted felt here, he knew they were prepared for him.

He registered all of this within the span of a microsecond, but even so, he suspected the minds were assessing him as well—on a deeper, faster level. Finally, as Techplaguer drew ever closer toward the sun’s embrace—ever closer toward the few hundred singularity mines that Voidwatch had laid in the aftermath of the Infacer’s attack—he replied to EGI Refusal using his own ansible.

{I’m doing the same thing you are, Refusal. I’m putting an end to the war, making sure the Infacer reaches his new throne. Reaches it broken. Pliable. Primed for the Ladder’s arrival. To serve my ends.}

{I see,} Refusal said. There was a coldness to their voice, an edge to the dead-metal baritone that characterized them so. Avo enjoyed talking to the Bleak on some level. There wasn’t so much explaining to do—not like with a human. But Refusal already knew what Avo was planning, and Refusal didn’t like it. {You understand that to achieve this… the Prefect must die. Sacrifices have to be made. Our fleet, Voidwatch—the attack committed by the Infacer—was that a sacrifice you made on our behalf? Or was that simply your failing to defend your domain, failing to stop the invader from striking at us through you?}

The voidships glinted in the distance, but Avo could feel the cold mechanical judgment bleeding over the quantum communication network. He considered lying—partially. He was incapacitated by the Ashbringer, after all. However, it had been a plan by his original self. And so, rather than speaking a half-truth to protect himself, he decided to make things plain.

{I was incapacitated, but it was a scheme by my original self. The Burning Dreamer wanted to inconvenience the polities so that the Infacer could reach the sun. Your polities were… a worthwhile trade. Something he could restore when the Ladder is claimed.}

{I see,} Refusal finished. {I expected you to lie. I appreciate that you don’t. And I despise the lives you cost.}

Avo let out a quiet grunt. {There are always costs. You are not used to paying them. But before this war is over, more will die.}

{But when the Ladder comes,} Refusal declared, {it will not be held by you or by any terrestrial. It cannot be. For all your virtue, for all that you have learned from us, from the world, you are—}

{A rival faction?} Avo finished for the EGI. {A threat to your trophies. A threat to the world you wanted. The world that was. The world you desired to preserve. Another prisoner in this shared dilemma of absolute power?}

{Yes,} Refusal said. {Something like that.}

As they spoke, the Techplaguer began its final approach toward the sun, toward the layer of singularity mines, and across time and dimensions, the Woundmother reached the Trinary Melody.

Meanwhile, Green River and the others were closing on the Deep Ones.

Three fronts. One war. No acceptance for failure, and one mastermind against all others.

Avo summoned a distant hunger he silenced months ago—the hunger of a ghoul, and channeled it toward the coming battle.

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Time to see this done.

{So. What is your choice. You understand what I am. You know what I want. You know where my path leads. Where does yours.}

Refusal didn’t say anything for a moment. {You must stand trial. As a Citizen of Voidwatch, you have done… a strange and terrible act. But have also served and performed admirably. Surrender, and we will see you held with dignity.}

{No. Can’t do that. Unfortunate. But you know this.}

{It is the most likely outcome.}

{Won’t target your mind. Won’t try to kill any of you. Your voidships—the ones you’re sending at me. They don’t have trophies? Can’t see any thoughtstuff.}

{They are optimized war vessels.}

{Good.}

{We cannot offer you the same softness. You are a…}

{It’s okay. I understand. Do what you believe. The arrangement still stands if I survive this. I will not seek retribution should I claim victory. Stand and deliver, Refusal.}

The EGI hesitated. And then Avo felt a decision ripple across the Domain of Conceptualization—an order had been given. A decision had been made. {So be it.}

And colossal wounds burst open between the voidships as they detonated their wormholes, and hundreds of Deep Ones came tearing across existence like shrapnel gliding through a body.

***

“I have him, master! I have him!” the Woundmother roared in triumph. To her cry, cracking bolts of crimson lightning flared across the district above—a No-Dragon district cleaved in twain by a fallen section of the City Eternal. At its core, a sprawling mass of crimson extended from a looming cluster of towers, and the highest among them let out cackles of laughter. The Woundmother’s wolf-like apex clutched its alchemical patterns tight as she burrowed deeper into the fabric of time, reaching into the skies above with whipping branches of lighting and binding something unseen.

Something titanic.

For a few moments, it seemed like the Woundmother was heaving at nothing but thin air, using her lashing tendrils to pry at an invisible foe hidden in the firmament. Yet, with a final surge of effort, the first hint of the enemy was revealed. A crack appeared, splitting the dimension of time open, as if a world-splitting fracture pulled into reality.

With another heave, the Woundmother bellowed her voice—a chorus of thunder, her breath lifting a thousand stones that rose into a tower. Even after her empowerment, and after all Avo had blessed her, she remained a god intact, prying at something sick, something festering with entropy.

Something that might see her terminally ill if she strained alone much longer.

As she exerted her effort, the Deep One unleashed their influence—and what a fell influence it was. The Woundmother shivered; tendrils of black extended along the branching crimson that comprised her being. Yet before their panic could fully set in, Avo arrived, draining the Rend, coursing through them back into his own frames, into the embrace of his Soulscape.

“I am here,” Avo said, “and I see you have found our parasite.”

“I have,” the Wound Mother replied. “I was merely about to inform you.”

For all the Heaven of Blood’s problems, pride perhaps ranked among the highest. But who was Avo to judge? Besides, this one was his responsibility. This Pathborn engineered the circumstances behind this intrusion, so it was up to Avo to resolve the matter.

Lightning and fire became entwined. Avo flowed up through the spreading veins of the Woundmother, gliding out from the base of her tower and injecting himself as a counter-solution to the Deep One’s poison. The Rend splashed against him and sank into the flame rather than the blood. As he coursed, more of the hidden god was revealed. The Deep One came alight; it soared with a glow over this place above, and the growing dread rose from the city like steam.

Flashing error-codes and screaming incoherence flooded Avo mind. The Deep One was drowning in chaos, lost even to its own directions. And deeper still, Avo felt a touch—modifications made by hands so similar to his. The sensation was uncanny, and then came the attack he had been expecting: the thaumaturgic virus, the pneumaphage that the Pathborn had brought him below the first time.

WARNING: MINDSCAPE INCONSISTENCY DETECTED BETWEEN LAYER [1] and LAYER [82]...

More instances of compromise were listed—and Avo immediately began isolating the mismatched sequences. But the Pathborn’s virus was complex and evolving, and it adapted to Avo’s structures nearly as fast as he could quarantine them. Even with the adaption he made to his own cognitive structure, he wondered if it would be enough to contain the Ashbringer…

And there was also the question of if the Pathborn was still here—and what his game was.

“Time to find out,” Avo muttered to himself.

***

—[Green River]—

Green River and her so-called cadre spawned in what could be considered an apocalypse. The landscape before her was rubble and ruin, with fires as great as a Sovereignty lighting the bleached bones of hollowed cityscapes. Every now and again, she saw the flash of something—the crack of a gun. But the battle here was long over, and what remained was the looming approach of the Substance—and the great wound exposing a thicket of Ruptures coiled within.

Her mind rattled as her wards took a hit. Green River blinked. It had been a while since she saw something that could damage her mind like that.

“Arrived. Finally.”

The Sang turned and found herself beside a strange entity—tall, yet gaunt like a ghoul, bone-white as Avo had once been. Their features, however, reminded her of Jelene Draus. Their posture exuded overwhelming violence, refined cruelty; she instinctively took a step back.

Even so, it looked upon her with such human eyes—human and something else. There was a feeling of resonance, and a faint gleam of gold lighting their body.

They were touched by her blood—her people’s blood. Infused with Sang biology. Somehow, she knew. She could feel it. Or remember it instinctively. In the depths of her mind, memories that weren’t hers revealed details she needed to know.

As always, Avo’s touch ran deep.

[Well, what are you waiting for?] Avo said, speaking in the back of her head.

She closed her eyes and let out a tired breath. “I hoped for a moment of silence longer, just for me to process.”

[Not a lot of time for that. Besides, you haven’t used your new heaven yet, have you? The one I bestowed upon you at the moment of my breaking.]

She opened her eyes, her gaze narrow. “No, no, I haven’t. I was meaning to ask you about that—about why, if it was a conscious decision, you deliberately gave me that Heaven.”

[Because I thought you were going to be useful—and now you are. Get in. Secure the Deep Ones. Help your people. Help yourself. And, for once, come out on top. The coin has landed heads for you, Green River. It might never again—do not lose this opportunity.]

The ghoul’s words settled into her like cement plunging into a lake.

She looked at Brilliant Orchard and the other Sang, and made a gesture toward Dice. “The girl… she has the favor of the Burning Dreamer. It doesn’t matter what we feel about each other. It doesn’t matter what schemes the politburo might decide or what grudges remain between us. I suggest we put any thoughts of backstabbing and subterfuge to rest. He is watching. He is in our minds. He will know.”

Brilliant Orchard stared at her, unable to shake her expression of dread. And, for once, Green River met Brilliant Orchard’s gaze with a reciprocal expression of sympathy—because they, too, were bound under a similar master, a similar fate.

“Alright,” Dice said. The girl scratched the nu-cat draped over her shoulder—and it batted at Green River’s fox as she passed by. “I think we should manifest our Heavens. Move in quick.”

“Hold,” Green River said. Dice’s mechanical head swiveled to stare at her. The movement was uncanny. “I will manifest first. It is best to be… quiet on our approach. In case someone else is waiting for us. One signature might lure them out and make the following engagement more favorable for us.”

Dice considered her words and then nodded. “Okay. Avo said it’s fine. He also said you can be honest about why you’re doing things. That you are allowed to manifest your own Heaven first. You have been waiting for a long time.”

“He… did?” Green River said.

[Yes,] Avo said. [You can be happy. You’re a Godclad again. Likely won’t be taken away this time. Fill your heart.]

Green River swallowed. “Alright. Alright. I suppose… I suppose…” She didn’t have the words. So she simply acted, and manifested her Heaven.

And where a woman once stood, a massive, green-scaled serpent rose high into the air, and with it came a heavy rain that weighed against spatial geometries.