Interlude 4

I sat on the uncomfortable chair within the god sanctum, called here like the other eleven gods by the hermit god Vardin. The seat, fashioned from some pretentious marble and gold combination, felt too small for my frame. Just like this meeting felt too small for my temperament.

I shifted my weight, the chitinous plates covering my body scraping against the ornate furniture. Several of the other gods glanced my way with irritation. I didn't care. Let them be annoyed. At least annoyance was something to feel.

I wasn't sure what the little man wanted, but I hoped this meeting would be quick. Such gatherings of words bored me greatly. Even when I was mortal, I could not stand such things. Battle councils were one thing (planning the glorious bloodshed to come) but this political maneuvering and endless talking? Worthless.

For the thousandth thousandth time, I regretted killing the previous war god. I thought fighting Mulmin would have granted me fame and power and glory. In some ways, it had. The battle itself had been magnificent; the clash of two titans that reshaped mountains and boiled oceans. For those brief, glorious moments, I had felt truly alive.

But after? After came the endless tedium of godhood.

With the Mantle of Enmity, I had more power than I could ever want. Yet it was because of that power that I had grown bored of my life. None could offer me a challenge in battle anymore. I had fought every beast, every monster, every so-called champion that dared rise up. None lasted more than mere moments against me.

Ever since that bitch Kanis Rael had formed her cursed System, I was unable to face any foe worth fighting. I was a warrior with no opponent. Their system kept mortals from rising too far, from becoming a proper challenge. The constraints and rules and levels; all designed to prevent another god-slayer from emerging.

I understood the reasoning. Three of their number had fallen to mortals who grew too strong. But understanding didn't make the endless centuries any less dull.

I even created that blasted War Academy in the hopes that if I could not find a worthy opponent, then I could make them. I poured my knowledge into its foundations, blessed its grounds with my power, watched over generations of students as they trained and fought and grew.

Yet even the most powerful graduates, the vaunted level 100s, could not offer me decent sport even when I lowered my strength to theirs. I had to hold back so much that the fights became exercises in restraint rather than true combat.

I was so incredibly bored.

Across the circular chamber, Vardin paced back and forth. Something had the little god agitated. Good. Perhaps whatever crisis he'd summoned us for would provide some entertainment.

"Where is Mirrin?" demanded Naori, the newest of our number. Her half-rotted face twisted in impatience. "We cannot begin without the Lord of Amity."

"Mirrin sends his regrets," Vardin replied, his voice tight. "He is... occupied with matters in his domain."

Prostas snorted, stars swirling in his beard. "Occupied? What could possibly be more important than a full council?"

I leaned forward, my interest finally piqued. Mirrin never missed these gatherings. The god of peace and stability lived for this diplomatic nonsense.

"Perhaps," I rumbled, my voice echoing through the chamber, "our hermit brother has finally found something worth telling us."

Vardin stopped his pacing and fixed those unnerving golden eyes on me.

"Indeed I have, Kaldos," he said. "Something that concerns us all."

I raised an eyebrow at his tone.

"I have discovered," Vardin said, his voice cutting through the chamber's whispers, "that a Primordial has returned."

The words hung in the air like storm clouds. My spine straightened against the too-small chair, the chitinous plates along my back flexing with sudden interest. The boredom that had plagued me for centuries evaporated in an instant.

"Impossible," Kanis Rael hissed, her hazy form flickering with agitation. "Are you certain?"

Vardin nodded, his golden eyes unblinking. "Machalaziel, the Primordial of Machinery, has returned from the dead. Much diminished, but very much alive."

The sanctum erupted. Gods who moments before had been half-asleep in their thrones now leapt to their feet, shouting over one another. Altanava's radiant form flared so bright I had to shield my eyes. Clethu's usually calm voice rose to a panicked shriek.

"We must destroy it immediately!" Luderenil thundered, shadows writhing around his form.

"Wait! We must understand what this means first!" Altanava said, her body glowing brightly with every syllable she uttered.

I watched them, these supposedly all-powerful beings, reduced to squabbling children at the mere mention of a Primordial. The First Generation gods, those who had actually fought in the Second Crusade, showed the most fear. Their terror was... intoxicating.

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Naori, her half-rotted face twisted in confusion, raised her hands. "Why is everyone panicking? If this thing is weak, can we not simply kill it?"

Ayen's massive eye fixed on the younger goddess with contempt. "Foolish child. The creature still possesses fragments of the Mantle of Machinery, even in its diminished state. None of us knows what would happen if we killed it and its Mantle intermingled with our own."

The tendrils that served as her fingers writhed anxiously. "Remember what happened when Ignum went mad? Your predecessor's corruption nearly destroyed everything."

Prostas stroked his starry beard. "Perhaps we could send champions to dispose of it? Mortals who—"

"And risk creating another god?" Kanis Rael cut him off, her form distorting with anger. "Whatever mortal killed it might inherit even a diminished Mantle. We would be back where we started!"

The chamber descended further into chaos. Gods shouted proposals and counter-proposals. Jothas pounded the stone floor with his earthen fist, causing tremors. Ayen and Prostas hurled insults at each other while Altanava tried unsuccessfully to restore order.

But I heard none of it. Their words became distant buzzing as blood rushed in my ears. My heart hammered against my red-plated chest, each beat sending a thrill of anticipation through my body.

A Primordial. A being from before the gods. I had not been born during the Second Crusade; I was a second-generation god who had taken the Mantle from Mulmin. I had never faced one of these ancient, mythical creatures.

Even to me, a god, such beings were legend. Creatures of such power they had shaped reality itself. Beings so mighty it took armies of heroes and the greatest warriors of the age to bring them down.

Such a fantastical beast would be worthy of battle!

This was my chance! My chance to finally face an opponent deserving of my strength. After endless centuries of disappointment, after creating an entire academy in the desperate hope of finding a challenge... here was something truly worth fighting.

I felt my lips pull back in a savage grin, exposing teeth that had grown sharper with my excitement.

I burst through the doors of my sanctum, my rage a physical thing that crackled around me like lightning. The massive red-veined marble doors slammed against the walls, spiderwebbing cracks through the stone. My attendants scattered like frightened birds, wisely making themselves scarce.

"USELESS!" I roared, my voice shaking dust from the rafters. "Spineless, pathetic excuses for gods!"

With a single sweep of my arm, I sent a weapons rack crashing across the chamber. Ancient blades, trophies from a thousand forgotten battles, clattered across the floor.

I stomped toward my throne, a massive thing carved from the skull of a titan beast I'd slain before ascending to godhood. The floor trembled with each step. When I reached the dais, I threw myself onto the throne with such force that one of the horns cracked at its base.

Chosun stood at the edge of the room, his face impassive save for a single raised eyebrow. My right hand man, the only mortal who dared remain in my presence during these moods. The level 100 Black Knight watched me silently, waiting for the storm to pass.

Smart man. Had he spoken, I might have hurled him through a wall.

"They're all cowards," I snarled, gripping the armrests of my throne so tightly the bone creaked. "A chance for real battle after ten thousand years, and what do they do? Nothing! NOTHING!"

The council meeting had been worse than useless. Hours of circular debate, leading nowhere. Vardin insisted the creature, this reborn Machalaziel, posed no threat. He claimed the Primordial had inherited his memories, making it more human than monster.

"It believes itself a mortal," Vardin had told the council, his voice maddeningly calm. "It knows nothing of its true nature or potential power."

That revelation had sent the First Generation gods into fresh panic. If Machalaziel had Vardin's memories, then what of the other Primordials they had slain? Did they too carry fragments of their killers' souls?

Kanis Rael, always the strategist, had voiced what they all feared: "A Primordial with human cunning would be a devastating enemy. If it ever remembered its true nature..."

But Vardin had dismissed her concerns. "It has built itself a mechanical body. It believes itself a construct, not a god-killer. It poses no threat while ignorant of its nature. Without a full Mantle, it can not heal itself enough to become one."

And so they decided, after hours of meaningless debate, to do nothing. To watch and wait, as if time meant anything to immortals.

I'd cornered Vardin afterward, away from the others. Asked him directly where I could find this reborn Primordial.

"Where is it?" I'd demanded. "Tell me where this Machalaziel hides!"

But the hermit god had refused. I'd tried everything: threats, promises, even appeals to our ancient friendship. Nothing moved him.

"It is not ready for you, Kaldos," was all he would say. "Nor are you ready for it."

Me? Not ready? The very thought made my blood boil anew. I was Kaldos, God of War and Change! What opponent in all creation could I not be ready for?

Chosun cleared his throat, drawing my attention. He'd weathered my temper for years and knew when the worst had passed.

"I take it the council meeting went poorly, my lord?" he asked, stepping forward with measured confidence.

I grunted, flexing my chitinous fingers. "Bah! Cowards and fools, all of them. Vardin found this... this reborn Primordial, this Machalaziel, and refuses to tell me where it hides." I slammed my fist against the throne. "A true battle after millennia of boredom, and they vote to 'observe' it!"

"A Primordial reborn?" Chosun's scarred face betrayed rare surprise. "That is... unprecedented."

"It has Vardin's memories, walks among mortals, and thinks itself one of them." I leaned forward, my black eyes gleaming. "Can you imagine the fight such a creature could give me?"

A curious smile crossed Chosun's face. "My lord, have you reviewed the reports from Kalder Reins?"

"Who?"

"Headmaster Reins. From your War Academy."

I waved dismissively. "That old fanatic? No, I've no time for school reports while gods cower from shadows."

Chosun's smile widened. "Perhaps you should make time. Kalder claims he's found two candidates with genuine potential to reach level 100."

"So? Warriors reach that pinnacle every few generations. Impressive for mortals, but hardly—"

"One of them," Chosun interrupted, "is quite unusual. A mechanical being with abilities unlike anything recorded in the System. Kalder describes it as a monster that thinks like a human, fights like a god, and builds like... well, like a Primordial of Machinery might."

My entire body went still. "What did you say?"

"The creature is quite formidable. It survived a deep delve into the Academy Hellzone. Recently, it executed one of Kalder's professors in formal combat. Uses golden tendrils as weapons. Appears to be partly mechanical."

I lunged from my throne, crossing the distance between us in an instant. "The reports. Now."

Chosun was ready. A scroll materialized in his hand, offered with a slight bow.

I tore it open, eyes devouring Kalder's meticulous descriptions of combat techniques, of golden dragon-headed tendrils, of impossible technological advancements. Of a being with no recorded past that appeared mere months ago at his academy.

My laughter started low, then built until it shook the walls of my sanctum. The roar of my delight sent servants scurrying for cover in distant corridors.

"Chosun," I said, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger, "tell Kalder Reins I'll be visiting his Academy immediately. I want to meet this 'Widow' myself!"

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