None but the unworthy may pass, for only those who have done true evil are capable of accepting the Gods' true forgiveness.
A message found inside the Dungeon during the first wave of human exploitation, Imperial year forty one.
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
"We're getting close now," Elly murmured, half napping on the couch. "To the Dungeon invasion, I mean. The armies have completed their training, the airships are ready, and Vistus is pretty much done arranging all the necessary supplies. The Great Houses are dragging their feet a little, but we'll have their people too. A few more weeks at most while everything is double and triple checked."
Marcus hummed, slowly disassembling his armor. Fine-control telekinesis was a frustrating skill to master, and one that had nothing to do with space. It was disconcerting to realize how much that added perspective, that cosmic weight, aided his workings.
"I know," he finally replied, feeling his chest piece click into place. He tsked, detaching it after a moment. Still too slow. "Looking forward to it?"
Elly waved her hand, which flopped up then down. "Kind of. It'll be fun to hunt Calamities without having to worry about protecting the Empire. And with your portals, it's not like we'll really be cut off from home. But I guess it's a risk I don't particularly like taking."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. So, like, what if we took a few of Horzo's airships, right? You spatially expand them, and we load the entire kingdom into the things. People, supplies, what have you. Then we sail to Parna, go to the eastern mountain range—which is massive—and settle down there. Not much undead that high up, and I'm sure we could find a solution to that problem in time."
"And then the Dungeon wipes out the Empire and takes over the world?"
"Well, yeah." Elly shrugged, an odd gesture for someone laying down. "But that'll take time. They'll have to cross the sea, find Parna, find us, then overcome the fortress we've built in that time. We'd buy decades, if not more. With some luck we'll both be old, or dead, before the world ends, at which point it isn't really our problem anymore."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "And when the Empress objects? Or Vistus?"
"Pfff," she scoffed. "They'd have to catch us first. But I know it isn't an option. Not really."
He rolled his eyes. "It damn well isn't. Morality aside, you can't just load up a kingdom and fly over an ocean. Not without years of preparation, which we don't have. And Parna isn't exactly virgin land either, since nobody actually knows how the undead came to be. Not for sure."
"I'm just daydreaming," she dismissed, shifting to sit upright. "And I'm not against exploring ancient and unknown places like the Dungeon. Just saying that we have options apart from the Empire."
Marcus shook his head, laying out his armor to try again. "Not good ones, but should the worst come to worse, the two of us are taking a ship and getting out. I'm willing to fight for my people, but dying for them helps no one."
"I'm glad we agree." Elly stretched much like a cat would, looking around afterwards. Her tone was almost confused. "When did we move into the Academy room?"
He looked up. "What?"
"I mean, my trophies are here," she replied, gesturing. He looked at the shelf, only able to offer a shrug. She frowned. "And my clothes; is that my favorite mug? No, don't just shrug. I never agreed to move in here. I liked our place in the castle. It was domineering."
His armor came alive and snapped into place, but the right cuisses was angled wrong, and it bounced off his leg. He suppressed a hiss of pain, glaring at the thing.
"Are you ignoring me?" Elly demanded, sounding horrifically horrified. Marcus leaned aside to avoid the piece of bread she threw, glaring at her. She was pouting, because of course she was. "I asked—"
"When we moved into the Academy room, I heard you. You're free to move back to the castle, if you'd like."
She threw another piece of food at him, which he flicked back with one of his telekinesis threads. "Don't you be a dick. I was complaining, and you don't interrupt my complaining with reasonable sounding but actually unreasonable compromises. What, just leave? Really?"
"Bad choice of words," he allowed, glaring when she picked up another piece of food. Elly ate it instead, smiling innocently. "What I meant was that we don't have to live here, if you don't want to. It's just easier for me since the Academy has more stuff I need than the castle."
She waved her hand, flopping backwards again. "Nah, it's fine. I'm just bored, and you were looking disgustingly productive. Now that my toxic wife duties are over, I'm content to lounge and watch you hit yourself with armor."
"Truly, I am a blessed man," Marcus replied dryly. "Didn't you have a meeting with General Pator?"
"Not until tonight I don't. For once, my schedule is blessedly free. So, if you were to be overcome with the desire to do shirtless pushups, or pantsless squats, feel absolutely free."
"One day, woman, I'm going to actually do that, and I'll enjoy seeing you turn as red as a tomato. I am, what did you call it? In mouthwateringly good shape?"
Elly scoffed dismissively. "That was one time, and I told you I'd just run a really long way before entering the room. It had nothing to do with catching you washing. And you were stalking while overhearing that last part, so it doesn't count."
The door swept open before he could reply, and Marcus shot Elly a glare. She'd known there was somebody coming, the wretch. She always did, and used it to win arguments.
"Who caught who washing?" Vess asked, closing the door and marching inside. "Actually, nevermind, I'll get the full story out of Elly later. I would like to formally request that you hang Duke Hargraf. Or flay him. It's been years since I've seen a good flaying."
Marcus turned back to his armor, resetting the exercise. "And a good afternoon to you, Vess. Considering I only recently made that man's adopted daughter the heir to Mirrania, and that said heir is quite fond of her father, I'm probably not going to do that. Not unless he's hunting peasants for sport, and even then he's powerful enough I'd need to wrap it into a greater crime, like treason. That man makes us a lot of money."
"Worse," Vess hissed, throwing a bundle of leather-wrapped papers on the table. Elly leafed through them curiously while the succubus talked. "The man is pushing. Always pushing. You've given the wretch too much, first allowing him to control trade with the Empire and then that business with Mitzi, and it has gone to his head. Treason charges might very well be in order, considering what he's done."
He turned to her, abandoning his project. "Alright, what are you talking about?"
"The man allied himself with an Imperial Great House." Vess crossed her arms. "House Bearon, to be precise, which controls territory a little south of us. They're the moderates' main trading ally, and now the man has managed to maneuver a marriage alliance with their youngest daughter and his nephew. Apparently, Hargraf convinced them that he has your ear."
Marcus paused. "He doesn't, but why does House Bearon sound familiar?"
"They were nominally involved in the plot on my life," Elly replied, still reading the papers Vess had dropped. "This doesn't seem that bad, honestly. I don't like the man, but Hargraf is just formalizing a nearly centuries old trade agreement through marriage, securing a permanent market for his… beeswax? Huh. Anyway, he's scrambling to keep control over his monopoly now that Mirranian Gates are being created."
Vess waved her hand. "It's the leash that keeps him loyal. One of only two, and with Mitzi being the other, he is rather less than secured. Honestly, he doesn't seem to be able to stop. Killing him and installing someone else, while politically difficult, will be better in the long run."
"And piss off Mitzi in the meanwhile, who will actually be here to govern while Elly and I descend into the Dungeon," Marcus pointed out. "He's a problem without an easy solution, but you know that, so what's going on?"
The demon sniffed, turning away to pour herself some wine. "I'm only advising you on political matters, as is one of my duties."
Marcus glanced at Elly, who seemed as baffled by that statement as he was. She shrugged, pointing at Xathar's empty spot. Marcus rolled his eyes, summoning the horse. Xathar promptly started munching on a forgotten—and half rotten—apple.
"And the real reason?" he asked. "If you're unhappy with work, we can always—"
Vess rounded on him, wine forgotten. "Don't go into the Dungeon. No one who has entered that cursed hole has ever lived to tell the tale, there's something going on at the bottom of the Hells, and no less than four entire planes of existence have gone silent. Something is wrong, and I don't want to have to bury yet another empty coffin."
He leaned back, surprised, while Vess took a moment to gain control over herself. It was Xathar that broke the silence, sounding bored.
"You're talking about the War of Enoi?" the demon asked. He pushed his snout into Elly's side, seemingly searching for more apples. "That won't be our problem until long after these two are dead, and probably after we're dead, too."
Vess blinked. "How do you know about that? I only learned about it a few hours ago."
"Knew someone who fought there," the horse replied, huffing loudly when Elly failed to conjure more apples. "Twisted little Felid. Liked to scalp newborns. Good storyteller. Also dead, the weakling."
Marcus narrowed his eyes, glancing at Vess. "Why did this war make you concerned about us going into the Dungeon? We've been planning it for a while now."
"I don't know," she admitted. "I've got a bad feeling, is all. Xathar, what are the kings fighting about down there? My contacts don't know."
Xathar shrugged, laying down and thumping his head into Marcus' lap. He provided scritches while the demon talked. "Tins didn't say, but it's been going on for centuries. Other demons, probably. It's always other demons. Name one thing that can survive that deep down that isn't a demon."
"That's… fair," Vess allowed. "Nothing much can stand up against that much united royalty. A civil war of that scale is still bad, though."
The horse huffed in amusement. "It's routine, and good fun. Sometimes I want to fight in a proper battle, you know? Not this playing we do in the mortal realm, or the skirmishes of the upper kings. It's a shame it's so far down. It takes ages to get there and back again."
Elly frowned. "How old are you, exactly? I don't think I've ever asked."
"That's a very rude question," Xathar grumbled, tilting his head so Marcus could scratch better. "Good on you. I stopped counting when I reached four thousand. Maybe five. Considering I came across the grave of an old friend a while ago, who was younger than me, and she died at twenty ish thousand, I'd guess about twenty five, maybe thirty."
Marcus slowed his scritches, having to clear his throat before speaking. Even Vess seemed surprised. "You're over twenty five thousand years old?"
"Roughly. I am very good at surviving. Why has the scritching stopped, bush mage?"
He slowly resumed his contractually obligated duty—or so Xathar would have him believe—and Elly spoke after a few long, silent seconds. "So, uuuhm, should we be worried about that? The war, I mean?"
"If you'd like. It took Tins a dozen of your lifetimes to get back up here, and he's one of the faster demons I know. You'll be long dead before it becomes your problem."
Marcus slowly relaxed. It was a problem, but he had his own to worry about. Namely, Hargraf. "Back to the point, how do we deal with our resident problem duke?"
"Give more gifts to the Loyalists," Vess replied after a moment, humming to herself. "Yeah. If he has to work for your favor, he'll limit his own behavior, but if he thinks what he's gotten is all he'll ever get, he'll look for greener pastures."
He tilted his head. "And how would I do that, pray tell?"
Vess smiled, Elly lured Xathar into a game of tag, and Marcus put the Hells and its problems out of his mind.
***
"And that," Marcus finished, waving at the stone arch behind himself, "marks the completion of the Gate."
Donna activated the thing right on time, and the group of lords and barons clapped politely while magic surged. Redwater appeared, and Marcus wanted to sag with relief. He didn't, of course, but he wanted to.
Two weeks he'd been at this, and he was well and truly done with sycophantic nobles desperately trying to leave a good impression on him. Thank the Silent Gods for the Royal Guard.
Still, Stawford and Duncast both had Gates now, the seat of the moderates and isolationists respectively. They only linked to Redwater, both to create an economic boon for his capital and to prevent misuse, but they interconnected the kingdom like it had never been before.
Growing markets, bundling natural resources, bla bla bla. He just wanted to get home and get his last chore done before the Dungeon invasion. Well, this thing and then actually enchanting Horzo's airships. They'd had their first meeting planned, but something had come up, and then another thing, and now they were in a rush.
Planning large projects always, always, came with delays.
"You can leave now," Donna whispered from behind him. Marcus half turned, and she gestured to the Gate. "Barcus is providing a distraction."
Barcus did indeed seem to be preparing something, but what Marcus couldn't say. Until it exploded, that is, and half the nobles ducked for cover. The rest were either wearing shield amulets—only four thousand ducats, get yours today!—and thus confident in their survival, or had frozen completely.
Only three, he noted mildly, had ducked while wearing shielding amulets. Unsurprisingly, all three had the kind of physiques that loudly insisted on a military lifestyle. Hells, one appeared to be an actual Knight of Mirrania, and a rich one if they could afford magic equipment.
Marcus spoke when the loud bang had dissipated. "That was unnecessary, rude, dangerous and short sighted. You're good people."
He stepped through the portal, ignoring the alarmed attendant trying to figure out why their Gate had activated, and teleported past the line of people waiting to use the Redwater Gate. Two more warps and he was approaching the castle itself, one up and one down.
Normally he would have gone to the Academy, but Elly wasn't there anyway, and he was hunting someone else. With Barcus' intervention he just saved nearly four hours of pointless smalltalk with the Duncast nobility, and since the isolationists were basically his anyway, his rule would survive a mildly annoyed baron.
No, he had a much better plan for his time. The Loyalists had long been his most fervent supporters, and any gift he tried to give hadn't quite stuck. His talk with Vess—Hells, had that been two weeks ago now?—had given rise to a solution.
Additional Gates.
Truly, a more original idea had never been concocted. But from a military and economic standpoint, there was little better he could offer.
Building a network of smaller Gates in Loyalist lands would allow Helios and his barons to move goods, people and soldiers with lightning speed, something the two Gates he'd just built didn't offer.
Sure, it was nice to be connected to the capital, and to the wider Empire as a whole, but for every minor city to be linked? It would create a surge of economic potential that would benefit them from the poorest to the richest, and they would owe it to him, and thus the crown.
Was he turning into a one-trick demon horse? Yes. But after this he was done, barring personal interest, and any other Gate would come at a steep cost. He was sure the Empire could scrounge together something that would interest him, and for Mirranian nobles it would be a reward.
Marcus nodded to himself, pleased. That would work.
Somewhat surprisingly, however, he couldn't actually find Helios. The man wasn't even in Redwater, apparently, being recalled home to deal with something urgent, whatever that was. Even more reason for the Gates, cutting down on travel time.
Marcus nodded politely to the lord who'd informed him, turned around, and sagged when he crossed a corner. So much for being productive and getting things done. He could still just start slapping down Gates, of course he could, but it would be rude, and neither did he know where to best place them.
So, with nothing to do and no Elly to waste time with, he trained with a trio of Royal Guards, washed, studied a tome on advanced telekinesis and how to master it that the Academy had found for him, ate, watched the sun set over Redwater bay, and went to bed not long afterwards.
Sleep came quickly, he dreamt of nobles rioting over a lack of whales, and turnedaround, nodding to Knight Captain Eloine when she approached. The older woman saluted, her armor making not a whisper of sound. "My Emperor. Another site has been found, as the Seers had theorized. Wonan and David have taken their companies to investigate further."
"Very good, captain," Marcus replied, folding his hands behind his back. He ignored the spike of pain in his lower back with ease born of long practice. He would have to schedule another healing session with Tomon soon. "The world?"
"My Knights have found no sapient life as of yet," Eloine replied, falling smoothly to one knee. One hand lifted the charm around her neck, and she offered it with a bowed head. Marcus didn't even bother protesting anymore. "May your guidance bless my work, Emperor."
Creating the charms had been a very, very bad idea. All the same, he took it, injecting a sliver of power into the thing. Divination woven betwixt spatial folds, one of his first ninth-tier spells. And also the start of something he could no longer truly control.
"Rise, captain," Marcus ordered. His Knight Captain did, tucking the charm away like it was a holy symbol, not a fairly clever spell. "Resource tier?"
Eloine shook her head. "Second grade at best. Rapid exploitation seems viable. Several sites have been scouted for the creation of a permanent Gate."
"Very well, then." He reached into nothing, withdrawing the first of three Wands. "I charge you with the destruction of this world, captain, should the worst come to pass. Your chapter has not failed me yet, and I trust that you will not start today. Two weeks, and then we scourge the surface and quarantine the sector."
The Knight Captain took the wand from his hands, one of her armored fingers brushing against his own, and he turned away. Eloine hesitated, finally taking her leave when he didn't speak. There were lines, and that was one he could not cross. Not without exacerbating the issue, one that he still hoped would quietly fade away.
Marcus looked across this verdant world they had stepped onto, at the thousand Mage Knights rapidly constructing the fort that would serve as their temporary home, and then at the distant sea. It was a beautiful place, untouched by man or disaster. But it was tainted, and no matter how miniscule the rot, the planet would burn.
There was no other choice.
Finally he looked up, looked at— looked at me, and spoke after weaving a working I had no hope to understand. "This is very rude, young man. There are courtesies we extend one another, rules that were put in place, and you are breaking so very many of them."
I could not speak, could not think, but the stranger, the old man that looked so much like myself, seemed to understand anyway.
"Young indeed. You will find no answers here, and I will not poison your future anymore than it already has. Go now, and dream of more pleasant things than me."
Magic rose, reality warped, and the desire to cling to this vision evaporated like the morning sun digging into his eyes. Marcus hissed, glaring at an unrepentant Elly. She grinned. "You told me to wake you up early, and I haven't slept all night, so— what's wrong?"
"I'm not sure," he replied. He reached for his neck, looking for something that he could not remember existing. "I think I had a dream. Something important."
"What about?"
Marcus shrugged, throwing the covers aside. Elly's grin, having faded, returned full force. He rolled his eyes. "Do grow up. Any chance you've seen Helios? I really want to get that project done before I have to enchant the airships."
"Nope. I did steal breakfast, though."
"That's something, I guess. Now return my clothes from where you've hidden them, or I'm dunking you into the bay."
Afterword
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