The Forging Of The Fulcrum Hammer/Part 2

The 27th Day of Descending Earth, 762 in the Year of Our Empress.

"Do you regret any of it?" Ledaal Vira asked.

"I regret I was caught," Mnemon Matthias answered coldly. "I do not regret what you call a crime."

The procession moved with all due respect and speed, as was befitting its nature. Many large banners inscribed with holy writings were liberally waved in ritualistic fashion. Small bowls of incense burned perpetually in swaying censors. The Immaculate Monks who made up the procession's members were artfully garbed in fine robes, giving the parade the appearance of a stately Immaculate function.

There were many reasons why it was not.

"Do you truly believe that murder is justified by an individual's worth?" Ledaal Vira asked.

"If a riot happened in the Imperial City, made up of either peasants or patricians, do you think the Black Helms would react the same way?" Mnemon Matthias retorted.

To begin with, this procession was not twining its way through the crowded streets of the Imperial City but instead in the last legs of its journey into the Deep South. Now many weeks from Paragon, the land had fallen away to little but endless sand and burning sun. There were no crowds to witness its passage.

Secondly, this procession had been traveling with deliberate purpose for months now, something never before done in the living memory of any of the monks in it. It would be months before they returned to the Blessed Isle, yet not one would complain even if the Order had permitted it. Every man and woman here counted themselves highly esteemed by the Dragons to be a witness to what was to come.

"The Parable of the Fox teaches us that reaching beyond our place leads to disaster, for ourselves and for the community we live in." Ledaal Vira looked as peaceable as she had when Matthias had studied from her in his youth.

"The Parable of the Babbling Fool teaches us that no one is exempt from responsibility, for their own choices or those that affect others. It was true for him as it is for me." Mnemon Matthias looked much the same, for he'd had a century and a half to learn his teacher's discipline.

This procession carried with it a burden. This was not the body of a faithful monk being laid to rest, perhaps a Fire-Aspect who might have wished his ashes scattered out here. Instead, they brought with them the Heretic.

The giant of a man who now bore that name was striking to look at. He was thickly built with muscle, for he had been a follower of the Earth Dragon Style. He stood more than a head and shoulders over the tallest men here and, bound as he was with holy jade chains, he was unbowed by their unattuned weight. No longer permitted to wear the robes of the Immaculate Order and clad only in a worn pair of rough breeches, his once-fair skin had burned, then bronzed beneath so much sun.

"What you did was not the way of Pasiap," Ledaal Vira said with certainty.

"What I did was immeasurably better than what that fool would have done."

The Heretic had been denied the bronze razor and coal-black hair now lay evenly across his head. His eyes were a light gray, the color of a day thinking of rain but wishing for sunlight. And while he had been stripped of every vestige of the Immaculate Order, he wore the same sober expression shared by every other Monk, the same way of moving, and the same inexorable patience.

In time, the lead monk stopped. The procession formed up around her, splitting in half like water diverting around a river stone. In the midst of the procession's end, the monk stood alone.

The Heretic came last and stood before his teacher.

He did not avert his eyes before the empty expressions of those who had once been his peers. He was unafraid, as steadfast as Pasiap, and he went to his knees before the head monk because he knew what was expected and he'd built his life around service.

"Mnemon Matthias, you have been brought here to die," Ledaal Vira intoned.

The Immaculate Priest looked down at him with hardened eyes. She had known him his entire life but whatever compassion she felt for him was not enough to turn her judgment aside. Nor the judgment of the Dragons. How heavy was the sin on his soul?

"Mnemon Matthias, you were found guilty of the murder of a Dragon-Blooded member of House Cynis as well as guilty of stealing his Exaltation for yourself. This heinous deed is exacerbated by your life-long commitment to the Immaculate Order and that status in no way mitigates the severity of this crime, nor does your long service to our Order."

Matthias met her eyes with perfect composure.

"Your sin remained concealed for a century and a half. At any time, you could have confessed what you had done. For someone as versed in the Scriptures as you are, you had the obligation to do so and yet you did not. Your crime would never have been discovered if you had not failed to master the Earth Dragon Style."

All of this had naturally been brought out during his trial on the Blessed Isle. Matthias knew this summation of his past to be part of the pageantry of this little ritual. Never mind how ridiculous making a ritual of this was, given that it had never happened before in the history of the Realm.

"Your stolen Exaltation was inadequate to the task of channeling your Form's highest Charm. Again, you were given a chance to confess even at discovery by your peers. Yet you did not. You fled your cloister and eluded your pursuers for 12 years. Only when the Wyld Hunt brought you down did you at last admit your guilt."

Matthias remembered the Wyld Hunt and its devilish leader, the man with purple eyes who could not be tricked. He remembered the ashy taste of defeat in his mouth when they circled him and struck him down. Most of all, Matthias remembered the Ghost Knife of Thiokol.

"For your sins, you have been sentenced. Firstly, your Exaltation is to be stripped from you." Ledaal Vira almost looked like she was going to smile. "This, of course, was done on the Blessed Isle in recognition of your extraordinary abilities at evasion, in case you escaped us on the journey here. The Holy Knife of Mela severed you from what was not rightfully yours."

They called it the Holy Knife but Matthias knew it by another name. Even now, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten his hands on it but the Ghost Knife of Thiokol had changed his life so long ago.

"Secondly, you are to be brought from the Blessed Isle so that no trace of you will remain to defile our holy land. So terrible are your crimes that the Scarlet Empress herself ordered your name struck from all records. With the sole exception of this ceremony, thereafter you will be known only as the Heretic. No plaque will be added to your family's shrine and Mnemon personally erased your name from her House's records."

"You are banished from the Blessed Isle for all time. Your crimes are so serious that the highest Priests of the Order have joined their prayers to the Empress to ask the Immaculate Dragons to never allow your soul rebirth on the Blessed Isle. May this condemnation remain upon you everlastingly."

Matthias could not hold his eyes up beneath that judgment. Of all the things they had done and would do to him, this was the one that mattered the most. A cold winter settled into his soul, despite the fiery heat of the South. No matter his fate, he had been doomed. Mnemon Matthias, the Heretic, was already as good as forever dead beneath that pronouncement.

"Thirdly, you are to be left here in the South, in an empty wasteland where you will be unable to harm anyone. May your bones turn to sand in time and may you never receive shelter no matter where you go."

His head bowed, Matthias fought for breath. In a time so far removed from now he could scarcely recall it, he had struggled for breath like this. The fits that had come upon him that last year of mortality...yes, he couldn't seem...to quite...catch his breath.

Matthias closed his eyes tightly and concentrated on taking one breath after another. With the discipline of a life long Monk, he ignored his body's pleading to gasp frantically. It had done him no good when he'd been a boy and it wouldn't serve any purpose now except to diminish the vestiges of dignity he had left.

"Fourthly...Mnemon Matthias, you took it upon yourself to take the Exaltation from another Exalt deserving of it. Your hands stole Pasiap's gift from Cynis Alaraj."

Lifting his head, Matthias met Ledaal Vira's eyes once more, steeling himself to keep breathing. This wasn't part of the speech he'd heard back on the Blessed Isle. Was this something his teacher had been saving for him? Or was she improvising, adding her own punishment because the Heretic was one of her own?

What did it matter? He was damned. Nothing she could add would make the slightest difference.

"For your crime, for stealing from the Immaculate Dragons themselves, your hands will be severed. You will never again to reach for what does not belong to you."

Matthias' eyes opened wide at the sentence. Powerful hands grabbed him from behind, unnecessarily rough. He did not struggle. Whatever these Monks thought or felt, let all who asked know that the Heretic met his sentence without wavering.

"The judgment of the Immaculate Dragons is completed, Mnemon Matthias. You have been stripped of your name, your stolen Exaltation, your honors in the Order, your homeland and shortly your hands. Go forth and die, Heretic, or not. You are damned either way."

At that, the Priest turned her back. Mnemon Matthias stared at the robed figure facing away. He did not take his eyes off of her when they set his hands on a large block of wood, nor did he bother to pull away when they brought out the great two-handed sword. Untied, he met their judgment with all the force of his will and he grinned slightly as several looked away.

The great sword came down and Matthias felt only cold for a moment before the pain began. The sweat on him thickened, dripping freely from his hair now, but his face betrayed no inkling of his pain nor any sign of his fear. They took the block away and a Monk thoughtfully bound his wrists to staunch the bleeding.

Then, one by one, they assembled back into the procession that had brought him here. Moving with greater dispatch than they'd displayed getting here, the Monks of the Immaculate Order began their journey north. Back to the Blessed Isle. Not one looked behind him or her.

Only Ledaal Vira remained. When the last Monk had left their line of sight, she slowly pivoted to face him.

"Staying to watch me die, Vira?" Matthias said harshly.

"Yes," she answered. A cold fire burned in her eyes, chilling despite the desert's heat. "Someone should chronicle the fate of the Heretic and I...I am old, Heretic. I may not look it but it will not be long before I join Pasiap. I would have a full reckoning for Him when He asks me how I failed."

"Fine. But I'm not going to sit here until I die."

The hot sun beat down upon him, like the punishing eye of the Anathema. He remembered the one Anathema he'd seen during his brief tenure with the Wyld Hunt. They had crossed blows and Mnemon Matthias might have fallen if the other Shikari hadn't arrived. He'd struck the killing blow and watched the sunlight fade from the monster's body.

Was the misguided God of the Sun punishing him now for an act against an Anathema so many years ago?

Mnemon Matthias began walking, followed at a short distance by his teacher.

To the far east lay mountains. They were the only geographical feature on this featureless sea of sand so he walked toward them. Hours passed without speech. The sun set and night sprang up but neither faltered. Mnemon Matthias refused to rest and Ledaal Vira did not need to.

When the sun rose, he grew tired and slept in the sands. When he awoke, fever was upon him and his wrists were as red as Fire-Aspected jade. Still, he rose unsteadily and went on his way, knowing Ledaal Vira would follow him.

"You will not survive to those mountains," she said. "No mortal could. Even a Fire-Aspect would not make this journey lightly."

"I don't make it lightly," Matthias grated. "I make it because I must. I will not die until death itself takes the choice from me."

"I would expect you to seek your death, Heretic." Ledaal Vira's voice, long familiar, was long absent in warmth but at least she didn't sound flat with anger as she had for months now. "Because your soul can never be reborn on the Blessed Isle does not mean there is no rebirth for you."

"A rebirth to what?" Matthias laughed. "To an animal's life again? Even if I eventually found my way to a mortal's life, Vira, without a birth on the Blessed Isle, my soul can never join the Dragons. I am trapped in Creation...for all of eternity. Eternity, Vira. It doesn't matter if I live or die right now so I choose to live. At least in this life I can remember when I wasn't damned."

"You always were a good student," Vira said, sounding a little sad. The Earth-Aspected woman was rather pretty, even if her head barely reached his chest. The polished white marble-like complexion of her face looked as mortal as he'd ever seen her. But how often had he ever seen her display any emotion?

The day passed on into night again and Mnemon Matthias knew he would not survive another day. His body was wracked with chills and burning flushes that might have been hot sweats a day ago. As it was, he had no water and only the trained endurance and steadfastness of the Immaculates kept him on his feet.

On and on Matthias walked. The mountains were concealed beneath the moonless night but he trusted he was heading in the right direction. A deep and terrible sickness rising in him warned that he would never even reach their foothills. Still he pressed on and Ledaal Vira pressed on with him.

At some point before dawn, a marrow-deep frost settled into his bones. Though his flesh burned around it, the ice in his interior only grew. When it became light enough to see, Matthias refused to look to look at the stumps where his hands had been. It would not do him any good now to add weight to his burdened soul.

Strangely, the heat of the day was slower to rise. The sun wasn't so bright this morning and it looked sullen and resentful behind a cloudy sky. Clouds in the desert, imagine that. The sands looked strangely like ash and the mountains far ahead of him looked curiously different. Maybe that was just because of how much distance he'd covered.

"Something's wrong," Vira said, glancing about nervously. Nervous? Her?

"What could be wrong?" Matthias chuckled. Then he stumbled and fell. It was a clumsy accident and one that annoyed him. But when he realized he couldn't get back up, it became a great deal more worrisome.

"You'll be dead within the hour."

The voice was not Vira's and it made her turn around in surprise. Neither could see anything, that was plain to Matthias.

"Probably," he said agreeably to the air. Ledaal Vira frowned at him and he shrugged. He was dead. What did it matter?

"No, not even an hour. I've seen millions of men pushed to their limits and you've pushed past yours, even if you weren't fighting an infection. You'll be dead in minutes."

"Thanks," Matthias said to the voice that came from somewhere over to his right.

"Heretic, I have journeyed with you this far...but do not go toward those mountains." Ledaal Vira was worried, she wasn't even bothering to hide it. That glossy white face, framed by hair like oricalcum, was tense with concentration. "Something's wrong here, I feel it. Don't you? What's more, I do not think this is a God playing with us. I think we're in a much worse place."

Matthias lay in the cool sand. It felt so comfortable, he just wanted to lie there until there was no more need to ever stand again.

...No, he wasn't done yet.

Matthias propped himself up on his elbows, the agony nearly causing him to black out. Inch by inch, he got his boots back under him and then he was standing again. He tried to brush the sand off his robe but only spread dried gore across his front. His stumps really did look bad but at least he wasn't bleeding anymore. Not enough water left in his blood for that.

"Minutes," the voice repeated.

"If you say so," Matthias said, setting out toward the mountains again. His pace was slower by necessity. He didn't feel well. No, actually, he didn't feel much of anything anymore.

"How much do you want to live?" The voice was a deep baritone that resonated with unearthly power. Probably Pasiap. Wait a minute, why would his Immaculate Dragon be talking to the Heretic? But who else would?

"I don't," Mnemon Matthias replied thickly. His tongue had swollen a while back and speaking was difficult. He did it anyway. "I don't deserve to. Don't you know I'm the Heretic?"

"Your religion ousts you and you want to die? Pathetic." The contempt in the voice gave him the impression it wasn't Pasiap after all.

"The way of the Immaculate is truth!" Ledaal Vira insisted, though she was doing no better than he was at seeing the source of the speaker. "You only compound your heresy by consorting with this dark power, student!" She glared at him. She was so passionate, so alive with the Way. He remembered what it felt like to feel that way. Mostly, he wished he still did.

"I had it coming," Matthias said, speaking to the voice. It wasn't like you could add any severity to an eternal sentence. "When I was a boy, I killed a Dragon-Blooded for his Anima. I stole it so I could Exalt. I took what should only have been given."

"Not so pathetic after all," the voice chuckled approvingly. "What was your victim doing with his Exaltation?"

"Wasting it by drinking," Matthias said sourly, the bitterness still fresh in his mind after all these years. He felt that lingering resentment that rose because he'd had to take his Exaltation, that it hadn't been given to him as it should have been.

"He would have done great things in time," Ledaal Vira spoke up. "His soul was receiving its reward for a hundred lifetimes of right conduct. Who are you to judge it?"

"You did the world a favor, Heretic," the voice sneered. "Damaged as you are, I can see you were a competent warrior and the fact that you were able to get back on your feet impresses me. You're a huge man and you've clearly taken advantage of your size in your training, I can see the signs of it all over. You deserved that Exaltation, and greater glory than that besides."

"I don't need glory," Mnemon Matthias croaked, his throat beginning to seal shut from a lack of moisture. "All I wanted was to please my family and honor the Immaculate Dragon of Earth. I suppose that was too much to ask for."

Somewhere in the distance, Matthias heard a growing clamor. It sounded like the training yards of the cloisters but he couldn't see anything past the immediate sand dunes. On and on he walked, the voice his only companion.

"Do you think your life has to end here? I'm offering you power, Monk. I'm offering you the chance for glory, whether you've sought it before or not. I'm offering to make you a God."

"I'm not worthy," Matthias said, shaking his head.

"Because men tell you so? Because their books tell you what to think? Perhaps you've even had a vision of your Elemental Dragon...but who is He to say what death truly is? There is a difference between Heaven and Earth. The first is always greater and your Pasiap, mighty as he is, can only ever be of the Earth."

"You're blaspheming!" Vira's voice cracked like a whip, cutting across the distant but growing sound. Perhaps just up that last sand dune right before him. Every step was agony but Matthias continued undaunted.

"Against who? Against what? Soon Pasiap Himself won't be able to stop me, Monk. And unlike the Dragon, I Exalt the worthy. I would give you what you deserve, Heretic. I would bless you as you should have been blessed."

"What are...you saying?" Matthias was weary, ever so weary, but he was almost to the top.

"That your loyalty to your Pasiap is futile. What did He ever do for you? To say he abandoned you is not even doing it justice...because He was never with you to begin with, was He? You have the potential for greatness, Heretic, and He chose to make you a slave in this life. You worship Him but He doesn't listen to you. He's never listened to you. Can you tell me of even one occasion where He's spoken to you? Can you, Heretic?"

Matthias couldn't manage a reply and not entirely because of the philosophical point. Pain was beginning to blossom inside the wintery cold of his bones. He was very nearly done.

"He was impure, unworthy! He stole his Exaltation, Spirit! And you usurp the will of Heaven by pressing this matter. Begone or you will see why the Immaculate Order is renowned for its spirit mastery!" Vira didn't want to be here anymore and it would have made Matthias laugh, had he the energy to spare for it. And yet, she was still here. His teacher was twice his age, nearly three centuries old. Nervous or not, she would not run. That was Ledaal Vira.

"Show me your heart, Monk," demanded the dark, deep voice. "The living betrayed you. Your Gods denied you. You're going to die. How do you feel?"

"Angry," Matthias mumbled past his swollen, dry mouth.

"Good. What else?"

"Betrayed," he whispered, exposing the secret truth of his soul, a spiteful pride that he'd striven for a century to master. The nagging doubt grew faster than bamboo, now that he had spoken it. "All I ever wanted to do was serve Pasiap. But He picked a drunk instead. I did better than Cynis Alaraj would have. I...proved that over a lifetime of service!" Black hate gave him the final strength to make the last few steps up the dune while lending clarity to his speech.

"Falsely," Ledaal Vira said quietly at his side. "Dishonestly. Service with blood on your hands."

"Your Immaculate Dragon made a mistake," the voice said. "Don't argue with me, you know in your heart it's true. You're damned for proving them wrong. I know what it is to be punished for being right. Only too well." The bitterness in that unearthly voice was greater than Matthias' own.

"Great Pasiap, Shelterer and Teacher, have mercy!" Vira gasped in shock.

"Who...are you?" Matthias asked as he looked out from the top of the dune. Below him, an impossible sight filled the landscape. Matthias fell to his knees, no longer strong enough to stand, but he couldn't close his eyes if he wanted to.

The sand dune he knelt on was the last one before miles of open desert leading to the mountains. Soldiers marched across those sands, endless waves of soldiers. Regiments carried swords and pikes, others moved in mounted formations, and there were more of them than any army he'd ever seen. As far as his sight went, Matthias could not see their entirety.

And they were dead.

Skeletons marched in those ranks, zombies held those pikes. Dark ghostly beings walked among them, some in formation and some leading regiments as commanders. Ebony horses and stranger, more unearthly things served as mounts to figures wreathed in blackened armor. It was a scene from a nightmare.

The truth was obvious. Malias had already died somewhere back there and this was the punishment the Dragons had laid up for him. An entire army, solely for his destruction. As if dying itself hadn't been painful enough. At least, the agony was beginning to fade. So was everything else, for that matter.

"I am your savior, Monk. I am your master. I am the one giving you your revenge. You championed your religion but were thrown aside? I offer you a new religion. You fought for the people who betrayed you? I give you a new people whose loyalty is without question. They would call you a heretic? I will give you a new name, befitting the one I've been waiting for."

"You've been waiting for me?" Mathias croaked miserably. Even his knees could no longer hold him and his body fell to the sand. He lay there a moment, resting, then tried to rise again. He couldn't.

"For someone like you, yes. I prefer my own soldiers ordinarily...but the darkness of your soul drew me. The Judgment of Heaven is upon you...and any man who has earned that much disfavor must be accomplished...isn't that right, Mnemon Matthias?"

At last, Matthias turned toward the source of that voice and he was honestly surprised to find someone there. And what a person, if the word could be used. Matthias was one of the tallest men in the Realm, on par with the Legion of Silence, but this man towered over him.

Blackened soulsteel plates covered him head to toe and Matthias swore he could see bolts, as if the armor had been affixed directly on the man's bones. Chains of soulsteel dripped from him like water and pooled behind him. Two scores of children followed the giant, bound to him by more chains, though a seething hate in their eyes for all things warned him that they were not what they seemed.

From his belt, seven skulls hung down close to his knees, chained to his waist. And buried blade-down in the sand was the biggest Daiklave that Matthias had ever even heard of.

"Pasiap...what are you?" he asked. Dizziness assailed him and Matthias could no longer even keep his head up. As his cheek touched the sand, he felt an inexorable pull drawing upon him. It felt like a current of water, only it wasn't pushing on his flesh. It would have been sweet mercy to simply let go and let the current carry him off.

"Not yet!" the source of the voice snarled. Soulsteel chains rattled, plates clanged, and a cacophony of shrieking metal accompanied the vigorous gesture of negation. It was as if the figure only made sound when someone looked at him. "You can die when I say you can die. Matthias...don't be a fool. If you let go...they win. Pasiap wins. He'll laugh, Matthias. 'One more would-be Dragon-Blooded crushed to amuse me.' Oh yes, the Gods find the lives of mortals almost too boring to even look at...but killing you, crushing you never fails to please them."

"You...lie," Matthias whispered. But the man wasn't lying. His whole life had been a mockery of Pasiap's harmony and his failure to complete the Earth Dragon Style was proof of that. The Immaculate Dragon had rejected him. It seemed Pasiap really did favor a drunk over a devout Monk.

"You die!" Ledaal Vira shouted. She slammed her heel against the sand. Matthias fell down the side of the moving slope as it ripped open in a wave toward the giant man in mail. He rolled and was glad to land on his back. He wouldn't have been able to breathe if he'd landed on his stomach and he was too weak to move anymore.

Looking up the side of the slope, Matthias...couldn't see Vira anymore. The warlord in armor turned toward him, the only one standing up there, and began walking down toward him.

"I am the First and Forsaken Lion, Matthias. So I know something about forsaking. I found the will to endure and prosper despite it. Join me and prosper with me."

Rage flared inside his dying body. Matthias ground his teeth at the slow, low chuckle that emanated from that horrible armor. He made tight fists of his hands before he realized he didn't have them anymore. They'd taken his hands! All those years of faithful service and they'd had taken his life, his soul, and his hands! His hands...

"But...my hands..." Matthias groaned. Even if Pasiap's Exaltation returned to him, he would be maimed for life.

"Do you not know you stand in the Underworld even now? You walked into it last night, you stupid fool! This is MY domain and here I am the Deliberative! Your soul will join my army one way or another and the Legion Sanguinary always needs more troops. But, if you take your place at my side, you will find honor. Glory. Meaning. And yes, I can replace your hands, Matthias. All that you lost will be returned to you...all that and more."

"Yes." At first, Matthias didn't realize that he'd said it, so close to death was he. But the current slackened against him and he found the strength to speak again. "Yes! If the Realm, if my own grandmother can abandon me to die like a dog in the desert...yes, I'll join you. Give me my revenge, Lion, and give me my hands and I am your man."

"Yesssss," the First and Forsaken Lion hissed, the sound of it piercing like jagged metal against slate.

At once, the current stopped. The pain stopped. The unnatural cold and heat stopped.

Then color seemed to return to the world.

The dismal grays, the biting bleakness of the Underworld changed before Matthias' eyes, becoming a paradisiacal ocean of beautiful sand and sky. He realized that the washed-out color of the world hadn't grown more vibrant. But it had grown more real, more natural.

He felt it creep inside his heart, settle into his blood, and make him part of this place inch by tortured inch. A cold unnatural wind pieced his skin and the dying fever, cut even through the frost and the pain of his bones and filled him up until there was nothing but the cold of the Underworld.

The Lion had promised him glory and Matthias felt the first vestiges of it when the swell of Essence opened his inner sight again. Somewhere in his soul, a Black Exaltation awakened him. It was a magnificent power, so pure and free of elemental constraint.

It was small compared to what he had been accustomed to...but it would grow again. He would grow and become so much greater than the Realm could believe. With this power...Matthias realized he would eventually bring down all of his judges, for nothing could withstand this might.

"Welcome to my Empire, my little Day Caste." The First and Forsaken Lion straightened and looked over Matthias' head. "So the Resplendent Hammer of Execution flies again." Matthias looked above him and saw a tremendous hammer, black and gray and spinning end over end. "No longer will your Anima wear that name, nor will you keep the name of who you were. You are my Abyssal and you possess the shard of the Descendent Hammer of Finality. Come."

Matthias found he could stand, so he did so. His hands ached dully but it was not the pain it had been. Even the infection seemed to have halted in its tracks. Around him burned a blackish light shot through with a poisonous green. Was he dead?

"You have much to learn, Abyssal. In two weeks time...you will meet my Masters and yours, for They are unusually eager to meet you. Be swift to learn the rituals I will teach you...or suffer a fate far worse than mine."

With those ominous words, the soulsteel monstrosity walked past him toward his army. Matthias fell in beside him. What else was there to do?

"What about Vira?" he asked, wondering if he was condemning her to death. The First and Forsaken Lion seemed to have forgotten about her. But the slow shaking of the helmet told him otherwise.

"Do not concern yourself with your Vira, Abyssal. From now on, your destiny is joined with mine."

Somewhere inside, Matthias knew he had just damned himself. But he was the Heretic, like Vira had said. In the end, he was damned either way.