Jackal Among Snakes

Zen clenched the red blade that Sataistador had gifted him tightly, then wiped some sweat off his brow. He kneeled in a place he had been only a few times before, despite his efforts to come as often as he could. He stood atop a glass cover, peering down at something that could be considered both a work of art and a feat of unimaginable intelligence: the Stormfield. This array, contained within glass, was the heart of the Palace of Heaven. It was the true last bastion for the rulers of the Great Chu... and now, once again, it was returned to its rightful owners.

Zen sighed, but the movement of black smoke before his vision made him turn his head about wildly. Was something here, something that he had missed? The gods that had come with him had totally destroyed the meager garrison Erlebnis had abandoned here, but perhaps there was some trick that they had missed. He caught the eye of Anneliese, who had been scrutinizing him relentlessly. Now, there was deep unease etched in her face.

“What’s the matter?” Zen called out.

Anneliese didn’t respond. She backed away, clenching that staff of hers tightly. Instead, she spoke to the other gods in this room; the triumphant Rook, Raccomen, and Almazora. “Something’s happening with him!”

Zen felt a great deal of alarm at her words, but when he opened his mouth to ask further questions, black smoke poured out from his lungs. He started to taste it, started to smell it. The smoke... it was as though the smoke itself was made of blood, bile, tears, gore. As he tasted it more and more, he started to feel it. It burned his insides like acid. His lungs, his stomach, his throat, his ears, his eyes, his nose; he felt its burn, but more than that, he felt it move.

Like a thousand slugs wriggling around inside his body, the smoke wormed and writhed. He raised his hands up, but his right hand... it refused to release the blade in his hand. With reason enough to recognize it might be the cause, he tried to pry it from his right hand with his left. It pulled away slightly, but in so doing revealed that tendrils on its surface had dug their way deep inside of his body. He held out a hand to Anneliese and the gods near her for help... and as he did, he saw a hand burst free of his neck. It reached for the blade in his hand, and as though taking an implement from a child, gently plucked the blade from Zen.

“Thank you for keeping this safe,” he heard a voice—though one, he might’ve sworn it sounded like many.

Then... darkness.

#####

now-useless husk. He had witnesses to his sudden arrival—Argrave’s wife Anneliese, the victorious Rook, Raccomen, Almazora... but then, the fact they stood there without doing

surprised him how people

its orderly cities, its robust network of canals, its rigid bureaucracy, its multiple millennia of existence... Sataistador hated it more than anything. He hated that he had failed in taking the Palace of Heaven before, and hated that it had resisted his robust attempts to completely and utterly wipe it off the map. So long as

tower, and now Sataistador had the Stormfield; they complemented each other in a way soon to be revealed. Each had a rudimentary understanding of the others’ sphere of

has been taken without authorization; if you see it on

one was controlling it any longer. The light beneath the glass covering slowly faded, like embers losing their heat. “Few

a trap that had claimed so many others: gloating. It was unbecoming of him. He should do what he must, then save the words for

it is you're doing, do you honestly think that you can hold your own against Law, all of us?”

need to burn a man to ash to end his life. Just cut his throat…

grinning as his beard billowed smoke and

mention godsblood?” Sataistador’s grin widened as his throat gurgled, and he licked the edge of his blade. “Let

but I know my blood is more valuable than yours,” shouted someone as

wall, staring at Sataistador. His face was strangely…

The king of Vasquer strutted in proudly. “That’s right. I know