Tread Lightly

My body becomes whole once more directly underneath a searing hot gout of oil. Sliding underneath the heat with much of it sticking to me, I roll and land on my hands before staring at Ytern's opponent. The figure is covered in roiling brown oil, bubbling over and over again like a volcano.

I can't even tell if it is a demon, human, or Nahullo. It is just far too unclear. What is certain, however, is that it is a Demigod.

Walls of concentrated chill block the oil from spreading throughout the ruined city while Blodwyn regenerates our burning flesh from what little landed on us. I open my palms, preparing to create a Soulbone as Ytern calls for me through his ice.

"I see. They sent the Wendigo! I can take care of this one! If you are here to help and not sabotage, then push the critters back to the bottom of the hole! It's the best place to fight them! We were ambushed! A Councilmember turned coats! I already got the Groundswalker!"

Nodding to the Warmaster's words, I watch him manipulate his ice with his soul and Ether, sending it to war against the Demigod against him. The two divergent elements rise into the sky, causing explosions of temperature every which way, quickly filling the dome of ice with steam.

Ytern was a bit pessimistic about my arrival, but it makes sense. I don't linger a second extra, choosing to trust in the Nahullo's strength. My boots kick off the ground while I dart around craters, fallen warriors, and ruined buildings.

So many Nahullo are dead. The crimson-stained permafrost weighs heavy on my heart despite the fact these were once enemies. These people... they killed Sacate. Yet... Ytern did not. He saved us back then because of Abraham. I don't wholly understand why, but he did.

Because of that... I won't betray the Warmaster's trust. If I find any of those bastards that were there, though... they are dead. They are so fucking dead.

Blodwyn hums with approval as we quickly decapitate an ambushing Motherbound. Then, twisting around another corner, I form a Soulbone to shove in another's eye socket.

Nearly every step is punctuated with another death, either that of a Nahullo too far for me to help or a Motherbound via my Ether. Blood quickly stains my new clothes, which Dawn gave to me. Yet, not a single Motherbound manages to scratch me. These are potent monsters, but they are not compared to me any longer.

I still remember being underneath the Spires of Starkbluffs, the thousands and thousands of these things. Slightly intelligent and completely degenerated into monsters that only seek to spread their corruption. The Nahullo wiped them out back then after months of campaigning, and the other races left them alone to do so. It has always been a silent rule. We kill these bastards first.

And so, just as I watched Marshall do so back in Bent, I fight my way through hundreds of enemies, the permafrost beneath my boots stained with more blood than ice. Every step I take crunches on the frozen ground, but the blood that splatters from my long spike of bone melts the ice in sporadic streaks. The streets are chaotic, filled with warriors clad in cold metal or dense furs, battling fiercely against the invaders who have overrun their city.

By their armor, I can easily tell which Nahullo are more trained and more dangerous than the others. The weaker and younger ones have mere pelts to protect them, while the powerful are guarded by steel. These people, however, keep their distance from me just as they do to the monsters. I suppose they are scared of me. They shouldn't be, though. These things... are far worse.

These invaders—corrupted humanoid monsters of all kinds like usual—move with grotesque agility, their bodies twisted and malformed, their eyes glowing with a sickly dual light of silver and night. I charge into the fray, my instrument of Solid Ether cleaving through their ranks.

Each swing of my Soulbone cuts through flesh and bone, sending splashes of dark blood onto the white landscape. It's almost futile for them to rush at me with how pitiful they are, but the Motherbound don't stop. They deliver themselves to death in an attempt to slow me by any means necessary.

The total devotion to their God tosses a sickly feeling in my stomach. The higher Motherbound all speak of their Mother in a joyful light—most of them, at least. They speak of her comforts and help, of her love.

But as I see the scores of death and destruction, I don't see any of that love. I only know the madness afflicting these beings.

I don't hesitate; I can't afford to. Every Motherbound I find, I kill without discrimination. If I come unto a Nahullo too late to rid them of the sickness, then I dispatch them just as Johnny would.

I wish I could help all the Nahullo I run past, but I cannot. There's a friend somewhere in this city, and I need to find Primrose before it's too late. Based on the rising amounts of steam... Ytern's fight won't end any time soon.

That means he won't be available if any more Demigods or even Gods come through the Gate of Death. I need to find her fast. Then, I'll worry about pushing these monsters back.

My entire being sinks into line as that serenity befalls me, the one I had within the Codex. With unfurrowed brows, I traverse the near-blinding steam unceremoniously with pure confidence.

Turning a corner, I sidestep a creature lunging at me, its claws sharp enough to rend through a Nahullo's armor. My counterstrike is swift, my pointed bone sinking deep into its chest. The monster lets out a guttural scream as it collapses, but there's no time to linger on its ruined soul. I press forward, weaving through the melee, my senses heightened to every sound and movement around me.

The warriors of these northern people are fighting for their lives, some holding their ground, others retreating from the overwhelming onslaught. The retreating ones are few and far between; however, they are primarily children. Even the women fight, placing down their young ones to draw a weapon.

These people... Everyone is as hardened as the men and women who live on the frontier. They are not too different from us. Cries of horror and grief fill the air, augmenting the burning steam.

I help where I can, swinging my Soulbone to deflect a creature's bloody blade that has a warrior set to death, then rushing to intercept another as it charges toward a small group of children. But I can't let myself slow down too much—the chances of finding Primrose grow slimmer every moment I linger.

She can hold her own, but... worry gnaws into my soul.

A long breath fills me as I find myself utterly surrounded by that fog. It is pressed against my skin, causing me to sweat. Annoyed by it, I inhale a more profound breath.

Freedom fills my lungs with the energized gasp as the steam, as heated as it is, spreads throughout my body. The air partially clears, revealing all the surroundings to me.

The buildings around me are partially collapsed, ice forming jagged patterns along the walls. The city is a labyrinth of narrow streets and broken alleys, making the battle feel like a maze of carnage. I cut through another group of corrupted creatures attacking a squad of Nahullo against a wall, my bone flashing with each sightless strike too fast for their eyes. The stench of blood and decay fills the air, mingling with the bitter cold as the leader of the squad bows to me in thanks.

I don't even acknowledge their thankfulness; I am already heading onward.

I can feel the strain in my muscles building, the ache of relentless combat, but I push through it. It's nothing compared to fighting a God.

The capital of the Nahullo is far more expansive on the ground than in the air. Still, after minutes of slaying hordes of Motherbound, I find my first Councilmember.

They are pressed into the permafrost, a hammer made of some dark green substance overwhelming whatever abilities they possess. It is a Fallen Plaguemarked, a rare thing to see an Angel be so twisted by the Darklight that it shows in physicality.

The demon, or whatever it once was, is now a hulking mass of flesh and Darklight. The Plaguemarked's other arm, also a blunt weapon, raises itself into the air while wobbling with some awful construct of Ether. Without letting it strike down at the Councilmember, I dive forward, spearing it through the chest with my Soulbone, and catching the descending monstrosity's fist.

A tremor runs through my body as I feel bones crack in my right arm, already wishing that I had stopped by Earl for a new prosthetic. Still, the Motherbound groans in pain with its very soul being injured. The creature's focus shifts as I overwhelm it with Living Manacles before kicking it backward with a beat of Painsforge.

Partially surprised by my own strength, I watch the oversized monster tumble into and annihilate a nearby stone building. The crashing rocks mirror my stinging arm as a roar cuts through the air.

The Nahullo on the ground groans in pain while attempting to stand. Their own steel hammer plunges into the permafrost to help them while calling out to me. Hearing them, I dash forward just as the Plagemarked bursts out of the debris, the mark on its skull shining deceptively.

"Human!? What are you—"

A shocked gasp rings out as I catch the descending hammer-like fist once more with my left hand, tossing the Soulbone to the other at the same time. A familiar trauma runs through my body, but I bear it, stabbing the Angel with my weapon once more. A typical Angel would have died of a single puncture wound from this.

Fallen Angels are simply too difficult to kill for my own liking. Perhaps that's hypocrisy.

And still, the thing won't die! Tightening my hand, using Living Manacles to hold onto the Plaguemarked's fist, I rip out the Soulbone before stabbing it again and again, letting the Darklight and blood wash over my face. After nearly scrambling the creature's chest, I feel it finally die as its fractured soul enters Lily's chambers and flows into me.

Exhaling a long breath, I turn to the Councilmember. Their helmet is smashed to pieces on the ground beside them, revealing the pale face of a young Nahullo. They... don't seem too far from Abraham in age. The early twenties, maybe?

Based on the look they are giving me... This one is terrified.

"I'm not here to kill you. Reinforcements. See what happens when you aren't always trying to take our lands? Get back to helping your people."

My boots crunch against frozen blood on the streets of Iced Rampart while I depart this Councilmember. Yet, they don't let me just leave them. Instead, the young man sprints after me, hauling their hammer all the while.

"Wait! Let me help you!"

The eagerness in their voice is so raw that I face them, stopping my departure for a few seconds to hear them out.

"Help me? How will you do that? You nearly got turned to mush by a single Fallen."

I stare up at the Nahullo as neither of us takes note of the height difference. Instead, this man bows his head, apologizing while stating his name.

"I am sorry to be presumptuous! I am Hine Elswan, the Twenty-Second Councilmember! I can do little for you in battle, but I can guide you! You know little of my home, yes? And less of my language?"

Hine's words are accented yet clear enough to understand. He must be well-trained and taught. Of course, he is. He's already an Angel. Not everyone is like me. He is likely a prodigy amongst his kind. How... hilarious.

His words make sense, though. I do need a guide. I've simply been running toward the loudest commotions, unable to read the signs or listen to the warriors.

"That'll be great. Can you lead me to the Gate of Death? The hole, at least. I need to push the Motherbound back while your Warmaster fights his opponent."

Hine's eyes open even wider as he brushes aside his long pale hair coated in sweat. The steam is already starting to fall back in after my gasp. I wait for Hine's answer, but the man kneels before saying a single word. His eyes don't even dare to gaze upward at me anymore. Fuck. He realized I'm a Dominion. Hopefully it doesn't cause an issue.

"I am sorry! I did not know who you were! I will guide you to the best of my ability, Lord...?"

I laugh at his strictness. This is going better than I thought. He speaks almost as if I'll maim him for simply thinking I'm approachable. Because... I like to think I am. This is not ideal, but it's better than him being antagonistic.

"Come on. Get up. I am human. We don't do those things. Just show me where to go, and we're good. Name's Wyatt."

Again, the young man is shocked to his core, sputtering while quickly walking ahead of me. It seems... a human at my level is not a common thing.

"Apologies. I thought you were a hidden demon who just now came out of seclusion with the way you fought and your looks. Humans are not... typically that strong at such an age. Demons have appeared out of nowhere before with an old Warmaster. There are not too many hidden Dominions anymore, though. Follow me. I know the way to the Breach. I was there with Miss Anodra before we were separated."

I raise an eyebrow at his words and sudden change of disposition. I suppose to him, however, this is his everything on the line. His life, his family, and his people. He doesn't have time to spare being scared. Respectable. With him at the lead, we sprint through the steaming streets as I question the man. Speaking to a Nahullo, especially one from a possible noble family, is a trove of knowledge.

"Hidden Dominions? I thought there was only one from each race and two Binary Lords?"

Hine nods deeply as he raises his hammer over his shoulder, preparing himself to fight. I also notice our attackers but don't let them get close as Living Manacles wrap around their limbs, and blood sprouts from my limbs to open holes in their bodies.

Blodwyn is taking the lead now that I've used some Ether.

"There used to be. Not so much anymore. Your... Eleventh killed all the Demigods he could get his hands on. That was mostly the Hidden, as they were called, hiding because they were comparatively weak and living lavishly with their lifespans and power. Now, I'm only talking three or four here throughout the whole continent. I thought you were maybe one who escaped his wrath. Instead, I see you are someone who grew underneath his umbrella."

Hearing about the past Dominions is quite interesting. There used to be more, and Vincent Harvey killed them. Why? He didn't need to do it to secure safety if they were in hiding. This man... he always does such unexpected things.

But why? Why would he kill Dominions? Why would he seek out and kill Gods that aren't even corrupted like the Morning Star?

It holds no purpose unless...

The Endless Devours All.

Of course. It was under my nose the whole time. He can devour others, taking their strength. I don't know how or by what method, but it is something he can do. In fact... I bet it's his Sirza's main attribute. But why did he not kill the other four? Were they too strong? Too willing to work together? I think that may be the case. Pre-ascension Vincent could have fallen to the Binary Lords, Creator, and Warmaster all ambushing him or preparing a trap. Not likely, but it was a possibility.

Hine and I continue cutting through the Motherbound on our way to the 'Breach,' as he put it, while I dwell on these thoughts. I kill another Fallen, a lanky Tonguer whose tongue I rip out and stomp into the permafrost. Hine helps by slamming the thing's spine with his hammer, which I notice only now is made out of bone, not steel, despite its reflective smoothness.

How interesting of a Nahullo.

In just a few moments, the cacophony of war suddenly accelerates through the steam as I take it upon myself to inhale another gasp. Heat fills my body, nearly burning my insides while clearing the surrounding block or so.

And that is where I find the Breach. A vast hole, near-identical to the Barrage back in Onyx Gate, sits smack dab in the middle of a warzone.

Over thirty Angels are within a single glance of the battlefield, less than half belonging to the Nahullo. With a sweeping visage, I find Primrose fighting beside another familiar face beaten out of her helmet. Anodra.

Hine says something inaudible because of a giant's hand stabbing into the top of the hole. Midnight purple chains coil around the Urayuli-sized fist. This Demigod... are they a Urayuli? Yes. Yes, they are.

A roar shakes the dome of ice around the city, causing icicles to crash into the ground. Stepping forward, I move to meet the Demigod born of such a rare kind.

The creature pulls itself over the edge of the hole with its mighty strength as legions of Powers strike at it from several different figures. Even Hine bombards it with bone, slamming a bullet-like object using his hammer.

Yet nothing damages it as I watch its soul shift, the amorphous blob creating an impenetrable shield of hair. Of course, its Dominion is that. And based on the fiery sockets I see within its skull, this being is old.

Very old. Old enough that Death brought it back to life during the last collapse. Old enough that I remember Remington remarking on its strength in his memories.

Who killed it? Kaisen. The Saint Of Scythes. Only he could penetrate its defenses.

Well, here's to hoping I can, too.