Jackal Among Snakes

“Now that I know what comes, all of this looks so small,” Onychinusa marveled, one of the emissaries of her Lord at her side as she witnessed the march of the elven gods. They stood above the canopies of the redwoods, removed from the conflict yet central to it all.

“Everything can look small from the right perspective,” the emissary answered back.

What occurred down below certainly did not fulfill the definition of ‘small.’ Kirel Qircassia’s breach stood strong. It was a gash in reality itself and existed as a portal to another realm. Rather than a portal made naturally, this was a tear. It connected the two realms in such a way that one could see nothing if they looked at it from behind, but from the front, an entirely separate realm expanded infinitely onwards. Though Kirel already bent this place to his whims, in time the Bloodwoods would be entirely supplanted by his realm.

If Kirel had his way, the two realms would blend, homogenizing until the mortal world and the divine world were one in the same. It would stay in this state during the cycle of judgment wrought by Gerechtigkeit. And when—no, if—the arbiter was defeated, both would separate once again, becoming two diverging paths subject to different forces. The divine realm would heed the divinity, while the mortal realm would once again heed the mortal forces of nature permeating this land. And thus, existence spun millennium after millennium.

Seeing it in this fashion, the great force of elven gods and mortals rushing to plug up this breach seemed small. Thousands of Kirel’s servants battled against a foe they were not equipped to handle in a desperate but loyal attempt to salvage their invasion. Even Onychinusa could see no way to end any of those elven gods with all of the power at her disposal.

The gap between worshipped and worshipper was far too large to bridge. And there were yet more gaps beyond those, of a magnitude Onychinusa could barely even begin to conceive…

Yet still her eyes wandered to the human mage known as King of Vasquer, struggling with his allies with all the same ferocity as the rest. Looking at him, he had reason to be proud of his strength. His spells claimed countless lives in this war, and so he had reason to think his actions mattered. He had certainly toiled to embrace as much power as he could. But with all she knew, he seemed the smallest of them all.

Still, her eyes wandered to the emissary. “You can move beyond the Lord’s shrines, now. Why must we mind things so small? Argrave rejected the Lord once before. Let him die,” she suggested after her question.

The emissary did not respond immediately, but she knew it would. They had been indulgent to her requests these days, in harsh contrast to the coldness they displayed not a week earlier. Even though the back of her mind sometimes whispered this was manipulation, she still wished to be indulged to a point she did not mind if it was precisely that.

of the game eliminating all uncontrolled variables, or mastering them so completely they bend to your will?” The emissary held out its hands, almost as though to seize those fighting on the

run down her spine. “And

emissary retracted his hand. “The only way to determine the quality of clay is to get it wet, and attempt to mold it. If it keeps its shape when worked, then it is good clay. And if it breaks, crumbles…” the emissary looked over. “Then we move on, leaving it broken.

of the king alone. She swallowed and said desperately, “I’ll do my

commence soon. They grow ever closer to the breach… and Argrave will call upon the centaurs’ Sarikiz, if he sticks

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grew ever closer to the breach, the resistance they faced increased in turn. He burned through much of the power he’d accrued in the elven realms, but it didn’t feel like such a

to survey the scene, mentally exhausted. Though even the Magisters had run out of strength on this death march, Anneliese and Orion picked up the slack he left behind. His queen cast grand spells one after another as though it was as easy as walking, using ice and lightning to

only see the mortal world. Looking straight at it, an entirely new realm opened up before the viewer—Kirel Qircassia’s realm. The breach was impossible geometry manifest. The area behind

was black, burned, and lifeless, its uniformity disturbed only by his servants. Some of that lifelessness already seeped into the ground by the rift, transforming it. The sky was a blinding white, exuding light constantly. Land and sky existed as two

from a distance, but Argrave felt something strikingly familiar. It was the same sort of presence that he’d felt when Erlebnis himself had warned Argrave against meddling with the Blessing of Supersession, or when they had visited him in that shrine of his. But this pressure was not Erlebnis’. It was simply the weight of being

more than his pressure… Kirel Qircassia exerted his will. Black hands grabbed the breach from the bottom, straining as they pulled. Opposite them, hands of whiteness worked just as fiercely. Any new servants entering the realm walked on the arms of these hands,

intense Argrave wondered if he could take another step forward. His brain felt crushed, and his limbs felt like jelly. He could move

fell away, one after the other. Argrave felt some of that unending pressure fade… yet as he rose to his feet, half

his body like a living shield, while Merata called the vastness of life in the Bloodwoods. Both of them engaged this tide of divine will as the other gods circled around them. Lightning and life began to falter… but soon,

even though only a figment of his being, would be too strong for those here. He thought that his fears were right, and he was wholly insufficient for a challenge of this magnitude. With