Gods Do Bleed

Shadows began to thicken. The enchanted light did not go out or even flicker but became insignificant as the room lengthened and the shadows grew.

Vermund became very aware of his lack of ax or armor as a parade of demons made their eyes known from the suddenly vast darkness.

They looked at Vermund, now surrounding them, including the strange man with red hair and blue eyes. The Grimstborith's assassin, Phantom, looked around into the darkness in panic. Vermund himself tried to strain his eyes to see how many there were. The man seemed very comfortable where he stood.

The sound of pawing and restless, hungry growling filled the room, but the monsters didn't leave their shadows. A few more restless walked closer to the light, but when they did, the strange man would look at them, and they would again go back into the shadows.

The man was the shadow beast's master, and he held their leashes tightly. His power over them was firm, but all he would have to do was let go, and beasts would come for them; Vermund was sure of it.

He focused all his attention on the man standing before him, ignoring the shadows as the false threats they were for now, his only shield being the Phantom that stood a few feet in front of him, ready to give his life, but that was hardly comfort now. 

The stranger held a black spiral stick and wore a fine blue cloak. His blue eyes were bright and well-focused as they moved and discerned detail despite the dim light. His red hair glowed like fire, kindling in the dark and pressing gently against pale skin. It gave him an otherworldly appearance. The contrast clashed, giving a feeling of violence.

Vermund found his voice, "Who are you?" The Grimistborith had a sneaking suspicion he already knew.

The man gave an unsettling smile before mock bowing, his eyes never leaving Vermund's form, "Lord Theodore Lupin, at your service." 

The Grand Magus, of course. Vermund had heard that he had orange eyes he remembered seeing and wondered where they had gone. He asked himself if this really was Lord Lupin or some imposter. 

No. Who else would be able to spy on him and God's damned Phantom in the same room without being seen? Fear took Vermund, but he fought to keep it from overwhelming him.

Vermund knew the real question wasn't if this was the Grand Magus but what he should do now. Fuzzy feelings that came like fear and panic were pushed back by the steel grip Vermund held with his will.

Vermund had seen a fairth of the lightning bolt the Grand Magus had beckoned from the sky. He was sure the image would be famous one day. He even bid the human Magician that made it sell it to him. It had cost a pretty penny.

The Grimstborith inwardly groaned about what the most potent Magician might have heard. What could he do? 

 Az Sweldn rak Anhûin specialized in the careful art of assassination. A path forced upon them because of their intense desire for revenge and an understanding of what their honor brought them to kill.

Riders were more robust than ordinary men or dwarves. They were more akin to supercharged elves.

Killing them required determined patience and subtlety. The intensity of their grief and constant reminders allowed them to become the best dwarven assassins easily. It sharpened them like knives near to the point of breaking.

The Dwarf shook his head. Now wasn't the time for such thoughts.

Assassination was one thing, but directly fighting the man was likely to end only one way. If he did nothing, Vermund met Theodore's eyes; they did not seem to like him. Vermund wished he had his ax and shield so that he might at least die fighting.

Vermund looked at the Veiled Phantom, hoping he might do something. 

Phantoms, Az Sweldn rak Anhûin's most remarkable asset against riders, knew how to fight more powerful opponents. Perhaps he had some trick that might work now.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

They were well-trained assassins, each taken during early childhood to move while not being seen to kill without hesitation. Their goat fur boots were cut and stitched in moving patterns to eliminate noise. Their black cloaks covered their bodies with the definition of stitched camouflage, making them seem like the phantoms that could haunt dreams. 

They were living weapons using obscure ancient magics, each an expert magician in their own right. Vermund saw him move now.

 He could see his Phantom subtly reaching for his knives in a way Vermund knew Lord Lupin wouldn't be able to see. The Dwarf glanced away, not wanting to give anything away. He looked the Grand Magus in his eyes again instead. They were as cold as before.

The cloak to Phantom's' was a tool just like everything else they wore. It was held loosely to his body and held up from his shoulders by stiff shadow black shoulder guards so his hands could move underneath without every movement being seen. The slight shuffling of his cloak could only be noticed from just behind him where Vermund stood. Vermund could barely see the flashing of bronze steel through the slit of his cloak. 

The daggers they carried were crafted to break through wards and held poison to ensure their victim could not reach for magic. They might work on the Grand Magus. Vermund knew his task. He had become a distraction.

Swallowing deeply, Vermund turned his nose up at the Magus, Letting false pride puff up and fill his chest.

"But of course, Grand Magus, it's good to see you," Vermund said, putting on a velvet-smooth politician's voice, the one he used when convincing other Grimstboriths of a particularly clever idea. Lord Lupin shifted his stance but didn't move toward them, to Vermund's relief.

"Really? It seems I stumbled across something you would rather not be known." Lord Lupin raised a fiery brow, content to talk for now. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement and arrogance. Vermund could see that the Grand Magus didn't see them as threats. The beasts stalking in the dark seemed to agree, giving a chilling growl of satisfaction.

"Of course. We weren't expecting you, and you look much different than expected, but we are honored to have such an esteemed magician among us." Vermund said, ignoring the last part of what Theodore said as he felt ice creep in his veins. He heard one of the demons hiding in the shadows growl differently this time; its sound was thrown right into his ear, making him feel like he had teeth inches from his right ear. 

Vermund managed to hide his fear, but inside, it deeply unsettled him more than the thought of death did.

Idle curiosity made him wonder how the Magician before him changed his appearance. Had he sung his eyes blue and hair red like an elf? Had he done so silently? 

Theodore gave an unkind smile, leaning forward, seemingly done with talking. Vermund's Phantom took that as a sign to attack. In a blink of an eye, two bronze blades flashed across the room toward Theodore, catching the Grand Magus off guard. 

However, it didn't have the effect that Vermund had wanted or that the Phantom had intended. With an inhuman reaction speed, the Magician lifted his death stick, and the daggers halted in the air without a word. 

The blades still spun slowly, and their tips pointed toward Theodore as if desperately trying to reach him before slowly turning their slips to face Vermund and his Phantom instead. The Dwarf could feel the Wizard's anger as his eyes began to shift before becoming blue again. The same numb curiosity as before took him, but it was quickly stifled.

Vermund felt dread creep in as the Wizard's smile returned. With a wave behind him, the Wizard beckoned the beasts that still lurked in the shadows, and Vermund could only curse his ancestor's desire for dramatic lighting. Creatures scary in their own right became nightmare fuel as they sprinted out of the shadowed corners of the room.

From the darkness came a dozen cats of all sizes and varieties, some black, lean, deadly or tan, large and powerful, some of them having gigantic back manes of hair. Each was more exotic and fatal than the next until ones with multiple tails and rippled venomous eyes pulled ahead; they were the fastest to reach Vermund's Phantom.

"Gánga" 

The Phantom threw back the first wave, and with a vicious snap, Vermund could hear the necks of a couple of cats snap, causing them to fall still. It wasn't enough; more cats came, and soon, The Phantom became a blur of death. Vermund stood by, unable to do anything but watch.

Pulling weapons from underneath his robes, the Phantom stabbed and slashed cats, cutting them at their necks, slashing and stabbing at their eyes as they tried to bite him. 

He managed to kill six more at a prodigious rate before the remaining four cats jumped at him all at once. They stumbled against his wards, thrown back like the rest, but they held him in place for the several seconds needed for Theodore to return the Phantom's daggers to their owner in a gruesome fashion. 

With a flick of the Wizard's wand, there was a sickening tearing sound.

Vermund heard a chilling scream as bronze daggers sheared through his Phantom's' shields, instantly finding purchase in both of his legs. The Phantom quickly fell onto his back in pained delirium. 

Vermund winced and expected to see the Phantom torn into, but the cats, seeing him incapacitated, walked past. Theodore came to the veiled assassin's side. 

The cats instead turn to him now. The clicking of claws on marble was as frightening to him as hearing their predatory growls by his ear. The Grimistborith noticed that claw marks were being made on the marble, molding the stone like mud. 

Vermund could still hear his Phantom screaming but knew he couldn't do anything. As he slowly backed away, the cats stalked forward. They drew him far back into the room, further than the room had extended before the grand magus arrived. 

Vermund had to make several turns without looking behind him so that he wouldn't be encircled, but soon, his back was to the wall opposite his throne. The four remaining cats surrounded him and began pawing at him, and he tried to dodge them desperately. The darkness retook them, making them shadows again, but he could see them against the light.

They were almost playful as their sharp claws snatched at him. One with vermilion eyes flickered two of its tails and showed sharp, over-bitten teeth as a show of menace; their white snapped color was visible even in the shadows.

Thin, bloody scratches began to accumulate as razor-sharp claws slashed flesh and muscle. The beast, more intelligent than their savage forms suggested, didn't cut deep. Vermund knew he was being played with. He also knew he wasn't facing his true enemy now. Hopelessness began to overwhelm him. Fear for his own life.

Despite his pain, Vermund tried to turn to see the Grand Magus, desperate for the chance to beg or do anything that might stop his onslaught. 

He caught a snatch of him still standing by his Phantom's side. The veiled figure was shrinking and changing. His confusion caused him to hesitate. Four new considerable red marks throbbed, and threw up blood on his chest. They were deeper than the rest. Vermund cursed, turning his full attention to the cats scratching at him, trying desperately to ignore the burning he felt on his chest.

The Phantom was still screaming, but it was changing, becoming more animalistic; it sounded like he was begging, too; he seemed to try to say something unintelligible before he fell silent. 

A cat crashed into Vermund, knocking him to the ground, and all he could do was hope he wouldn't die. The cat's teeth neared him, reaching for his neck, coming so close he could feel hot, charred coal breath before its weight disappeared from on top of him. He was, instead, stalking over to join the other cats.

The cats calmed now as if they had always been obedient pets. The one remaining mostly consisted of the exotic kind. They didn't pay Vermund any more attention as they parted for Theodore, who held a docile black rabbit cradled in his right arm and petted gently with his left hand.

"Now, what to do with you." Lord Lupin said, his voice indifferent, almost cheerful, not at all matching the shadows still surrounding him, and Vermund felt something break in him. A part that wanted to keep living deaden.

Vermund stood again, ready to face death on two feet, hoping Theodore would kill him quickly instead of leaving him for his demons.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Theodore hadn't come intending to kill anyone; perhaps he wouldn't have to. He looked at Vermund as he squirmed. The man was in tatters now, his noblemen's robes and dark red doublet more rags than cloths. He was bleeding a mild, steady drip of blood and looked more frightened than any dwarf Theodore had ever seen. Yet the traitor still tried to stand proud as if he could have pride after colluding with the one thing his family hated. 

The hypocrisy that Vermund would go against his family's self-imposed oath didn't sit well with the Wizard; it didn't make sense. It filled Theodore with irrational anger, but he didn't act on it. It would have tweaked Theodore's sense of honor and duty when he was still Duke of War in the Dominion. Thankfully, for Vermund's sake, that held some distance for him now. 

When he was Duke, he understood honor best. Love and devotion for his family had driven him to do terrible things for that devotion. Atrocities that should never been asked of him. If he were still that man, things would have gone differently.

If the Wizard had been patient, he might have followed Vermund around and seen why he was speaking with the black king silently before presenting it to Orik, but The Wizard had never been patient. It wasn't one of his virtues. Political tedium brought brashness out of him, making that fact even more apparent.

Honestly, this entire war was starting to bore the Wizard. Perhaps he should travel to Urû'baen and be done with this troublesome king. The Wizard felt the idea slip from his mind, and hard-learned cautiousness took root. Something about the king screamed trap. Something about the king was significant, and the Wizard could not yet put his finger on it.

Orik would have his Clans meet soon. With his free hand, Theodore stopped petting the rabbit and grabbed the neck scruff of one of his remaining transfigured two-tailed cats that eyed the rabbit he held hungrily. The cat had the nerve to growl at him, but one look in its eyes put the fear of God into the creature.

Theodore may have been too efficacious in their likeness. These things had forgotten entirely that they were shadows on the wall only minutes before. Theodore let the room shrink, and the shadows became less terrifying. The walls bumped into Vermund, knocking him onto the ground as they contracted. The Wizard watched as he indignantly stood once again. 

"There is no need to play with me, grand magus. If you plan to kill me, be done with it." The Dwarf had lost his salesman's tongue, and his authentic voice came through now. Grim and raspy. His ill temper shone now in the darkness with red, raving madness. Theodore could see the Dwarf had lost his fear of death.

Vermund himself looked much like his son, having the same gray eyes and tall figure for a dwarf, that is. He looked fragile now that his facade of a politician had fallen. Perhaps this was the true him.

"I might not kill you at all. It all depends on what you tell and if you would tell me the truth." Theodore's stocks of Veritasium had sadly run out and would take several months to restock. The Wizard reached into one of his extended pockets, deciding an artifact of truth detection would do for now. 

He found a round device similar to a Remembrall. It was made of clean, clear glass and perfectly spherical. Theodore pulled it out of his pocket for the Dwarf to see.

"Why should I tell you anything." 

Theodore's shadow lengthened and began to loom over the Dwarf, but the Wizard didn't say a word, just staring at him. Vermund stumbled back and fell onto the ground not far from where his Phantom had been transfigured into a rabbit before. Theodore let the orb float before petting his new docile black rabbit. He scratched one of its ears, and the rabbit gave a satisfied light rumble. Theodore decided he would name him Snuffles.

"Fine, but how about tit for tat. I answer a question, and I'll ask one." The Dwarf said, his tone suddenly becoming confident as if knowing what Theodore wanted now gave him leverage.

Theodore couldn't help but look at the Dwarf skeptically, "I could make you talk, you know?" 

Vermund gave a sly smile, holding a bronze knife to his own throat. The dwarven bastard thought he had done something clever. 

Theodore sighed but conceded it wouldn't matter much either way. He tossed the truth orb over to Vermund, and the Dwarf stumbled not to slit his own throat as he caught it. 

"Where are most of the members of your Clan? This compound is practically empty." Theodore asked, genuinely confused about the lack of guards or even occupants. 

The Dwarf looked slightly nervous at the question. Still holding the knife in one hand and the truth seeker in the other, the Dwarf answered, "We don't have many members of our family left, and we don't have many troops." 

The truth seeker turned orange, the color of a partial truth. Theodore smiled, having struck gold before the tiresome Dwarf stubbornly asked to voice his question. The Wizard used Tempus silently and decided he had enough time to entertain the Dwarf. 

"How did you enter this room without me or my Phantom knowing?" 

That wasn't a difficult question for Theodore to answer. After getting Orik's approval to talk to Az Sweldn rak Anhûin, he apparated toward where the smell of dried blood was the thickest, finding the clan compound quite quickly. 

Then he had only to use simple invisibility and silencing charms and wander around the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin compound, picking at minds until he knew the general location and then followed the scent of dried blood to where the Grimstborith's throne room was.

For a place cloaked in darkness, it was easy to find one's way. 

The halls stretched in ordered columns, making the buildings more boring than human buildings. There was no maze of branching rooms, dead ends, or even unexpected balconies. The Wizard wondered if that had something to do with differences in the minds of humans and dwarves. 

The dwarves, whose minds he rummaged through, built their minds like architects would cities. Deliberate, planned, dogmatically following code so the building wouldn't fall over. Ensuring ceilings were of the correct height and walls were of the right thickness. What would have been an unnatural obsession to a human seemed to be the norm for a dwarf. Theodore honestly found the meticulousness unsettling because it was natural in a form, unlike Eobard.

However, Vermund wouldn't be satisfied with such a simple answer, and it was time to intimidate and impress rather than tell the truth. 

"The shadows whispered where you were. They spoke to me, telling me where you were, and then invited me to listen." Theodore said, letting his voice take on a mysterious quality. 

Vermund looked lost, but the Wizard could tell that he believed him. The thought of such magic frightened him, but the Grimstborith expected something so crazy of him. It seemed word of his magic had spread farther than Theodore thought.

"How many of your clan members has Galbatorix enlisted in his service?" 

Vermund looked down in shock before meeting Theodore's eyes. The Dwarf's hand holding the truth seeker trembled. His hand holding the dagger to his throat nearly slipped in surprise, drawing a bead of blood. Theodore sighed inwardly, hoping the Dwarf wouldn't manage to kill himself before at least telling him what he needed. 

"A couple thousand." The orb glowed blue, the color of truth.

"I thought that the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin clan hated dragon riders. Why would you work for one? Perhaps your honor as dwarves truly is false. It seems even stone can lie."

Vermund hissed at Theodore, but the Wizard didn't move unimpressed; he let one of his smaller cats stalk closer to the Dwarf, and Vermund stilled with fright as its teeth inches from his ear made a small sizing purr. Theodore intended only to frighten the Dwarf into submission, but he seemed to have broken him instead. His confidence shattered.

The Dwarf began to blurt out his intention, mumbling something about killing an enemy from within. The Grimistborith kept muttering about some secret that would spell doom for his Clan repeatedly, as if begging for it not to happen. 

In his broken lunacy, he dropped the knife and the truth seeker and fell on the ground, rocking back and forth. Theodore could smell the faint scent of urine leaking. The time for talk had indeed passed. 

The question now was if disposing of Vermund would be for the best. The Dwarf had betrayed his race to his family's greatest enemy. There was no greater shame and no doubt about his sentence. He would be executed if he was brought to court, but the Wizard couldn't help but think it would be bad for morale. 

A dwarf, one of the most stout allies of the Varden, is a traitor. Such a thing was unthinkable before the night of many spies. 

If such a thing were revealed now with their trust already waning, it would shatter Nasuada's cause and Theodore's means of control.

 The Wizard summoned his truth seeker to his hand, shoving it back into his pocket as he pondered what to do. Looking at the Dwarf, even feeling the edges of Vermund's mind, he felt rampant fear. Theodore could sense that his mind was only temporarily broken in shock, not permanently shattered like those that had truly gone mad.

The black rabbit he still carried suddenly began to struggle. Its tiny, stubby limbs suddenly pushed against him with surprising strength until Theodore let go. With a distinct rabbit-like shriek, the black thing fell, crashing to the ground and hitting its back with a small thump. 

It rolled onto all four after a few self-soothing lickings before hopping over to his proper owner. The rabbit pawed at Vermund gently until the Dwarf stopped shaking and hugged the rabbit to his chest, clutching the small thing perhaps too tightly as his anchor. Theodore could only shake his head in disgust at the pathetic sight and make his decision.

A ritual would have to be done. One that would ensure the loyalty of those who swore and those who didn't. Theodore sighed, disliking the thought of anyone losing free will, but the Wizard would do what had to be done. 

Theodore confounded the Dwarf and threw all of them under a disillusionment spell as he led the Dwarf and his rabbit out of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin's Compound and into the city of twilight, where light shined. 

Theodore's shadow cats transfigured from insubstantial matter that didn't last long as they followed. They melted under bright light to fill the shadows.

Dwarves were still up and about making conversation and clamoring only a little more quietly than when it was day outside—the time outside made little difference in the city of many lights. 

Similar to Roman concrete, the roads made walking easy with broad paths, but people filled every corner of the streets, and Theodore was entirely done weaving through crowds of people. He used an overpowered aversion charm instead. 

Children playing hoops in the streets, the first to catch the plague of fear, ran away or were pulled away by their older siblings at his passing. Adults, men and women alike were next, running inside their boxy symmetrical buildings, closing their windows out of an irrational fear of an encroaching darkness. A fear that even the lanterns lit at every street corner couldn't mend.

The Wizard and enspelled Dwarf made their way directly to the center of Tronjheim. The heart of the city that connected all the paths. The perfect location for a city-spanning ritual.

The livable area of the city was almost perfectly hexagonal, with a dome enclosing it lighted with crystalline stars that reflected lantern light. 

Six main roads came from the corner of its hexagon, with a final one leading from the gate of kings. 

All roads are approximately the same size and length and connected in Tronjheim's center, making the city's center its geometric center.

With Vermund in tow, Theodore didn't take long to reach the center, but the Wizard did note several soldier patrols on their way there. 

The soldiers, more mentally hardened than regular civilians, didn't run away immediately but instead waited for their commanders to tell them to retreat. Their discipline worked like a small shield to Theodore's distilled fear. 

The larger the army, the less effective his aversion charm would be and the greater their shield would be against it. Theodore was sure more would come. He would have to finish before they arrived. 

Looking at the center, Theodore noticed it was surrounded by large ornate buildings on each side with entrances and doors much too big for the necessity of any dwarf. Black metallic lamps lit every street entrance, beaming soft artificial light. That and thousands of smaller fire lamps lit everything with a gentle flickering yellow glow except for the city center fountain.

Magic lamps shone like stage lights on the water fountain that held a statue of a sizeable white-bearded man spewing water out of its mouth. Theodore didn't doubt it was one of their gods, likely whichever one that created life-giving water. The statue was too symbolic and strange for the Wizard to think otherwise.

Screams rang out as people started running, but Theodore paid them no mind, and the people flowed around them subconsciously in their panic. Instead, the Wizard's attention was taken by the artistry of the fountain.

Around the statue was a large pool of water surrounded by bottomless black marble. It took up almost a quarter of the circle's four-hundred-meter radius and stood in the city's direct center. 

Theodore admired the architecture while he let his aversion charm do its work, clearing the final path.

The center of the Knurlan city's black magic lamps shone brightly enough to make the blurred edges of his disillusionment charm visible when they moved. Most, however, didn't notice the strange distortion because of their sudden irrational fear. 

The center's dense population caused chaos as dwarves, slowed by the crowd's tide, tried to shove their way to safety. Several dwarves were almost trampled in the crowd of a couple hundred. Luckily, none were seriously injured. 

Orik was not likely to be happy with this lack of subtlety, but the Wizard decided to worry about that later.

Theodore took out his black hawthorn wand, and with a circling motion, the lights at the city's center dimmed, their brightness muffled before changing to green, setting the necessary ambiance for the ritual.

Theodore could hear the very distant clinking of armor as he began to twist his magic into the necessary Fidelius charm. The shape of secrecy was a subtle meaning to adapt. It was formless magic rather than a spell requiring intent, and like a snowflake, the process for it differed each time. It was also usually an exhaustive charm requiring hours, not minutes, but Theodore succeeded with much less time and more dangerous enemies reaching for him. 

Partitioning his mind using Eobard's slightly separate identity, he made himself the secret keeper. Breaking the customary rule that limited the usefulness of the secrecy charm.

He pulled at the center of the dwarven city, intending to puck the concept from the many minds that knew about it and prepared to pay a heavy cost in magic. The drain was more severe than the Wizard expected. Theodore expected it was simply the number of people who knew about the city center, but as sudden spikes of magic expanded, Theodore knew something was wrong.

It took a moment for the Wizard to notice something was fighting him, powerfully tugging on his delicate concept. He could feel the charm destabilize as the clinking of armor came closer. Panic began to set in the Wizard as magic holding his charm together began to spark and backfire with unpredictable effects.

Looking for the cause, Theodore could feel something attached to the statue that hadn't been there before. A presence titanic in size that stretched itself as thin as a worm as if forcing itself to act through the statue. His magic and its fighting each other clashed with violence that frightened even the Wizard. 

The clock had started, and soldiers were coming. His charm was rampant now, but Theodore calmed himself, feeling a tremendous wave of restorative magic invigorate him. He decided to Ignore the Fidelius charm, focusing on the statue instead. The magic making up the vale of secrecy sparked a rainbow of unpredictable magic as he let go of its tether, leaving it flapping in the wind. 

With a bust of purple fire, Theodore spewed magic at the statue, and it managed to resist. Some shield form glittered over its marble-white form, sheltering it from his magic. Theodore cursed his luck and then cursed louder when the marble became animate. Its form moved in an odd tick-like fashion with inhuman precision. It was still made of marble but held a human quality to it now.

The bottomless black water surrounding the now-standing white marble figure rose from the fountain into the air, hanging for seconds before being thrown at Theodore faster than thought. 

The Wizard pushed magic into an enhanced perception of time and still barely had any to interpret what was happening. He formed a spherical shield around himself, anchoring it to the ground, but it wasn't enough. The magic holding him to the ground held firm, but the concrete cracked as it was torn and flung. Along with Theodore, it went straight through one of the ornate doors the Wizard had noticed before into an enormous empty temple with tons of water along for the ride. 

The impact shattered all the windows and blew up a cloud of dust. Wizard felt his head throb as he stood.

 Blood licked his brow, but Theodore absent-mindedly sealed the small cut as he listened. The dust around him settled with a touch of his magic, and the water lay inert on the ground. The presence from before was all around him now as well in the marble statue just outside the broken building, which glowed like a magical powerhouse. 

Theodore paused, looking at the Sigal held over the temple's enormous mantle, an anvil, and a hammer glowing bright gold untainted by the green lighting. Theodore could hear the distant clinking of armor become more frantic and louder as he stepped out of the hole he had made in the temple door. 

When he came out, the marble statue stood in the sample place it had before, water floating out of its black pool. Theodore would have thought it became inanimate once again if it didn't still glow red with magical heat and if water didn't hang in the air, ready to strike at him again.

"So you still live, Summer Prince." 

Theodore froze at hearing the title. 

The thing controlling the marble statue looked down at him imperiously, its eyes glowing with ancient knowledge, though Theodore thought that had more to do with the sculptor than the God that held the statue in its grip. Its voice was lively and cunning, not matching the voice the Wizard would have expected the statue to have. 

"I do, and which God do I speak to? I never managed a good grasp on the Dwarven pantheon." Theodore struggled to decide if it was a dwarven god he dealt with or an ennobled spirit that could control things much grander than Peeves.

The marble statue gave a creepy laugh and a too-wide grin that caused cracks on its marble face. Even more disturbing was when it showed only half-formed teeth. The sculptor had skimped on making the complete set.

Theodore looked around but couldn't see Vermund or Snuffles, so he dismissed them for now. The clinking of armor hadn't stopped and was closer now than before. The Wizard could feel his time slipping, but he had to know how the statue knew his name.

Theodore reached for magic, slowly imbuing it in his body, starting with his legs and working his way up to his head. 

"How do you know that name? I can't say that I have ever used it in this world."

Theodore carefully granted his body characteristics wizards typically would only to inanimate objects, making his body unbreakable and unyielding while containing his magic to prevent leakages before he was ready. 

The statue's smile didn't fade, and it didn't respond. It was waiting for something. Theodore was sure of that, but what? Theodore felt lighter, pushing magic into his limbs as he grew heavier, sinking deeply into his metallic pools of magic that would be ready to erupt and become thermonuclear with kindling. 

Theodore let armor form over his body, not nearly as powerful as his ritual armor, but the Wizard would make do by pulling dense black magic into heavy spikes over his blue cloak. With a tug at its bond to him, he summoned Midnight to his side, and he felt a familiar weight settle at his waist, the ritual dagger humming with anticipation. The statue looked unimpressed at Theodore like he would an ant but nodded his head, and his creepy half-formed teeth smiled as if acknowledging Theodore's preparedness. 

What came next would happen in a few seconds, but under Theodore's slowed perception, it felt like minutes to him. 

With a clap of its stone hands, the naked statue sent two unbelievably large tsunamis of water, bringing them to bear in a pincer maneuver. Theodore prepared and used a beam of hellfire to melt water into vapor with a burst of heat, filling the air with green mist that looked poisonous in ritual lighting. 

The flames hotter than the sun's surface burned and cracked concrete into black slag, reaching where the statue stood. The marble avatar proved its divine nature by gripping the flame, managing to grab hold of it and push against it. It's likely misinterpreted its cursed nature, thinking it was normal fire. That was a mistake. 

Theodore had fought godlings before. He knew their arrogance.

Golden ichor spilled from marble as its right hand burned away. Realizing his flame's danger, the marble statue finally moved off its pedestal, cracking concrete as it leaped from the rest of the flame path, large swaths of his water sizzling to mist, taking the brunt of the attack in his stead. The water remaining followed him as if bound to him.

The Godling wouldn't fall for such a trick again. 

The water bubbled and foamed as the statue sent bullets of it at Theodore. 

Bullets that decimated the buildings behind Theodore as he dodged. Shattering stone and wood as if it were glass. Fragments sputtered off, tinkling against Theodore's black armor but leaving the Wizard unharmed. Nothing was spared, not even The Godling's temple in the onslaught.

Theodore became a blur, moving inhumanly fast, drawing his ritual dagger in his left hand and black hawthorn wand in his other, sending blunt weapon charms that seemed to bounce off without effect; the statue didn't even bother blocking them, somehow sensing their ineffectiveness. Instead, the statue focused on the water, gathering it behind him like fox tails. It did this all while pulling impossible amounts of water from the black fountain.

Without a gesture, this time, water moved from him and the black fountain in a wave of tendrils as large as dragons snaking out and trying to catch Theodore. The Wizard began to feel suffocated at its onslaught. There were almost no holes for Theodore to apparate to as tendrils attempted to grip and compress him. The Wizard had to create the little gaps that did exist as he haphazardly expanded the space around him in a desperate bid for escape. 

With so little space, Theodore knew he couldn't keep up such exhaustive magic for long. He dodged a dozen more tendrils as he set up an impromptu ritual. Pulling on the concept of sickness and the already ritually prepared setting, the Wizard started to chant a chain of phrases in ancient Greek.

Cutting his hand deeply, the Wizard let a drop of it fall into the water as it moved past him, and the tendril of clear water turned black and shriveled as the illusion of simple water fell away. In its place, a solid black needle-tipped stone with veins of red contracted and spread toward its source, brittlely shattering on the ground as it went.

The God, unwilling to be caught by the same trick again, let go of the decaying tendril, but Theodore used magic, not science. The curse spread, bridging the gap and reaching for marble skin until the God's avatar let his control of water slacken. 

With unyielding decisiveness, the marble statue abandoned his weapon, tossing it at Theodore like a child would a toy. Tons of water fell on concrete with a crash. Globs of it fell into Theodore's face. The marble statue, having directed it toward him moments before releasing it, caused bullet-speed water to rush him all at once. 

The Wizard could not lift a shield in time or dodge thousands of watery missiles at the unexpected move. His sense of danger, dulled by his body's enhancements, gave no warning.

The Wizard felt the globs of water like a dozen hammer impacts to the face. The water, still obeying its master's wishes, clung to him, trying to damage him further. As quickly as he could, the Wizard vanished the water, letting himself see again. The Godling stupidly didn't take advantage of his momentary blindness and was content to wait for him to see again.

Theodore watched the God now. His face stung as if a mild acid had touched it, though his skin was unblemished. Theodore felt anger roil and mix with his magic, buffeting it from his skin.

Had his skin not been reinforced, Theodore likely would have fallen to the ground with bloody holes in his head. 

Theodore grinned through the pain, taunting the marble god. The Godling didn't seem to like that. In a rare show of emotion, the marble statue snarled in anger but didn't act immediately.

The God looked at Theodore, who was willing to show non-verbal signs of gloating to gould it into attack. The Wizard knew an angry godling did not use its vast natural resources. They threw tantrums like children. 

Arrogance didn't take long to overcome caution. The marble statue took a moment to reform its hand before it was on him faster than Theodore could blink. 

It charged Theodore like a bull. Its formerly broken hand, a quarter the size of the average human, leaked magic as it gripped Theodore's side faster than the speed of sound. Theodore might have been able to dodge it if the space around him hadn't been constricted. Theodore felt the same odd squeezing sensation he did when apparating. It seemed the Godling was learning some of his tricks, and Theodore was beginning to regret taunting it.

The pain in its tight grip was blinding for the Wizard. 

The marble statue was fast. Unbelievably so. Its body gave a sonic boom at the sheer speed at which it ran, and flesh alone could not match it. 

The marble statue slammed the Wizard through solid concrete walls, dragging him through buildings. Blood and viscera briefly surrounded the Wizard several times, splattering his black armor with vibrant red paint before finally stopping before a solid brick wall. He let Theodore fly back into it on his own to crater it. 

Theodore's vision blackened at the force of the impact. He felt bruises form, but the Wizard could tell nothing was broken. At least nothing hurt too severely, but Theodore inwardly cursed at his disorientation. 

Closing his eyes like he had fallen unconscious, the Wizard collected himself. Using magic sight, he saw that he and the statue were not far from the city's center. He could still feel his Fidelius charm running rampant nearby, ready to erase a swath of reality if it wasn't brought to heel. 

Pretending to be unable to gather the strength needed to stand, he collected threads of magic, slowly shaping them to reach the ether between things. He was hoping the statue's arrogance would ensure his temporary safety. Chronomancy was a double-edged sword with no hilt, so Theodore, despite his urgency, was slow in his preparations.

His eyes remained closed, but his magic sense was that he could see the statue like a burning beacon of light. Bright enough that he could see it saunter closer slowly, in no hurry to complete his humiliation. he could only just notice two of the statue's rousing attacks. 

Heavy footsteps cracked concrete, stomping where Theodore had lain much slower than it had charged before. The God was thinking of playing with him now. 

Theodore rolled to the side but didn't move to get up from the ground. The marble statue unsurprisingly began pacing as if waiting for him to stand, and the Wizard felt no shame as he waited to feel the threads of time. 

When he felt time itself within his grip, his wand cracked down, suddenly throwing debris from fallen buildings at the marble statue, distracting its divine eyes long enough for Theodore to be sure of his surprise—time slowed even more than before. 

Theodore stood up slowly, gingerly prodding for injuries, and the marble statue and debris began to move almost as if through molasses. Sure, he was only bruised. Theodore took Midnight into a reverse grip and ran up to the giant marble statue, eager to be finished before it could realize and counteract what he had done. 

With dozens of slashes, Theodore cut the marble statue into hundreds of tiny pieces, starting with its head and making his way down, eager to finish before the consciousness within realized what he had done. 

The Wizard didn't quite make it in time. Theodore could feel time ripped from his tenuous grasp with a colossal tug from the God, and his body aged almost a decade as he touched its slackened edges. It burned and ached, but his ritual magic bound to Theodore's body protected the Wizard from the worst of it. Wrinkles were hidden through the use of his metamorphmagi abilities.

In less than a second, Hundreds of pieces of marble clattered together in a mess of golden ichore. They made a satisfying crack as they fell together, much to the Wizard's delight and relief. The Fidelious charm might have violently imploded if it had taken any longer. It was still on the verge, its multicolor aura becoming brighter and changing more quickly, but the Wizard didn't rush to leave immediately.

Instead, Theodore waited several seconds to make sure the statue wouldn't instantly reform before disapparating back to the city center, grabbing hold of his still-sparking Fidelius charm before it could explode, feeding it more magic to stabilize his veil and exhausting even more to expand its radius.

It cost Theodore incalculable amounts of magic, but the distant frantic clinking of armor had stopped, and confused murmurs took their place. The soldier slowed just enough by his lingering aversion charm, didn't manage to reach the city center, and now had forgotten why they had come.

Theodore sighed tiredly before apparating to the marble statue's side again. 

The lump of marble and ichor was already a quarter reformed. The marble statue's face, leaking cracks but fully formed, froze upon noticing the Wizard. Theodore, despite the God's chosen medium, could feel its panic. 

Theodore could sense the monstrous consciousness trying to flood its marble form with magic but prevented its reconstitution through the same spiral curse he had used against Murtagh. The God with the same cunning voice as before began cursing, trying to warp Theodore's magic without success. It was almost childlike in his frustration, but his magic seal held. The spiral dripped golden ichor and burrowed firmly onto the statue's head. 

"Why did you attack me?" Theodore asked, his face dripped with sweat. His control of his metamorphmagi ability slackened. His hair, much to his annoyance, shifted in length and color, matching his tumultuous emotions. 

The statue, having given up, shrugged its half-formed shoulders before replying. "Because I could, little summer prince. Because I am allowed to kill outsiders. Because what you were doing offended me." Theodore could feel a vast alien mind trapped behind marble eyes looking at him with boredom.

Because what he did offended him? Theodore cursed his luck. Had he tried to hide its holy land? There were no signs before the marble statue had made itself known, but the Wizard now could understand this creature's anger.

Gods and fey were fickle things, but there was one thing they took most seriously: a site of true worship. Gods especially feared being forgotten.

Though, the more likely explanation was that this being was bored. Rules bound them to a planet's Gaia, but often, such things had loopholes. The godlings Theodore met before were not nearly so powerful but instead playful. Immortality hollowed them, and many were never human to begin with. They caused harm because of a lack of understanding of mortal lives rather than maliciousness. 

This statue was different. Theodore could tell it knew what it was doing.

He would never have had to resort to chronomancy to deal with them.

Theodore sighed, "How do you know that name?" 

"It was the one that sang when you entered this world. I know of your deeds- those you burned with fire—the world you conquered. Not personally, of course, but we gods must have the illusion of omniscience, right summer prince. That isn't important now, though. You have been tested. This can only be done once." The marble bust spoke in the ancient language. As Theodore heard his name, a cold shiver went down his spine. He felt like someone had stepped over his grave. 

Searching for something to distract himself, Theodore paid particular attention to its accent. The statue had a lilt that Theodore had never heard in this world. It made the smooth silver-tongued language sound archaic and guttural. It was as if the statue became the king of Urgals speaking in an unfamiliar foreign tongue.

"Is that what you call this a test?" Theodore said as he looked at nearly a dozen ruined buildings and the bodies of several dwarves unlucky enough to have hidden in his path. 

The damage could have been much worse. The statue had the strength of a thousand men and was quadruple the size of any man. It could have been much worse. 

The God followed Theodore's gaze and gave a creepy smile, "Yes." 

It could have also never happened. Theodore lifted his wand Fiendfire, sparking at its tip, "Any last words." 

The statue put up a false front of looking at the flame with mild interest as if considering. Theodore felt a last desperate struggle against his seal before the bust seemed to give up. 

"Yes, you should know that this world holds more danger just like us, including evils further from Pan-Tera. The prophesy…" 

"No prophesies," Theodore said, interrupting the bust. The statue looked indignant, but Theodore ignored it.

"Very well. Perhaps you will have better luck than the grey folk Wizard." A marble fist flew from behind Theodore's back, but the Wizard, feeling the danger, froze it midair before glaring at the statue. The God gave him a helpless shrug. Its eyes filled with amusement.

Theodore let Fiendfire free, and primal flame consumed the statue, covering it entirely in fire but not decimating it instantly like it would almost anything else. It took minutes for the fire to take as the God fought against it every step of the way, but they did. The marble statue and its pieces were razed with a flash of red so that not even ash was left.

"Now, where did snuffles and that silly dwarf go."