This Shared Moment of Flavor and Monologue

—Legend-Culinarian Maki Izawa, The Persimmon of Kirimon379

This Shared Moment of Flavor and Monologue

To give a live demonstration of what it was like to fight the Tarrasque, Marikos had Shiv reactivate his Pillar of Orichalcum and stay perfectly still. For the first time in quite a while, Shiv found himself a weapon rather than a warrior, wielded by the same claws of the Dragon-Knight who once used him to bludgeon the Undying Tarrasque across the airspace of Lost Angeles. The air rippled and burst with shock waves as Shiv was wielded like a bat, one that extended on for hundreds of meters and was getting ever tougher with each passing second.

While Marikos continued his demonstration, the four Dragon-Brokers looked on, three of the golden dragons seeming irritated by the sheer boisterousness of the Marikos, while Yellowbelly clapped and laughed so hard his voice caused a series of landslides to unfold down the slope of his treasure hoard.

At the same time, a more sizable audience built on the horizon, with a thin veil of Biomantic mana forming a hexagonal construct around the surface district—an ongoing g sterilization effort to purge whatever remained of the mana leeches. Thankfully, no casualties had resulted from that disgusting matter, and now all the afflicted slaves and residents were standing along the edge, with glinting lights signaling their use of telescopes and binoculars.

Meanwhile, the surviving residents of Blackedge were gathered in small crowds, heeding the story from a safe distance away—a safer distance, anyhow. It was a good thing that Marikos was so skilled, for a careless strike by a creature of his size would result in a mass casualty incident. Ultimately, there was no true safe place when you were an Adept or less living among Legends.

Yet, despite sharing a Gate with literal bodily embodiments of calamitous destruction, the spirits of the townsfolk had never been higher. Their eyes and hearts were imbued with a new gleam of hope, and some of this flowed toward Shiv. The affection they felt toward him was paltry and faint, but it existed, and that was an astronomical distance compared to the bitterness they regarded him with before.

Saving the people of Blackedge was one thing. They had come out of that alive but scarred, with so many of their loved ones dead. The trauma they endured meant they were only capable of relief and not true joy.

The feat he performed in the depths of the castle, stealing away the Vicar's plague, treating it and keeping it dormant, granting even just those few survivors another chance to see those who'd thought them destined for the Ascendants' embrace, filled them with a new vigor and granted him his first true deed of high virtue in their eyes.

And though many of them still looked upon him with fear, it was no longer laced with that abject horror, nor did they do all they could to flee from his presence.

Now more than ever before, he was a son of Blackedge, and the town reached out for him. For the first time in his life, he realized he could reach back for the town as well. There was a promise of community now, a community that once rejected him, that once scorned him. That he could now spite, if only to hurt them as they hurt him. But that feeling belonged to a weaker, more worn child. He didn't forgive Blackedge, but he wasn't going to destroy himself for a pointless measure of retribution.

Shiv thought to himself as he curved through the air again. His Pillar of Orichalcum glowed with red-golden splendor, and he sank into the moment, finding a measure of peace amidst the turmoil.

The pain of his past mattered, but so too did the potential of the future and the decisions that he could make in the present.

He was here amongst valued allies, his name boasted of by a mighty Legend; he was here at the height of Starhawk's Perch, looking over his friend, watching on as the woman Adam was meant to wed spoke to Roland and Rose, desperate to find a way to save her slumbering beloved. He was here, back at the capital, working through books in an urge to get at their knowledge, trying to make up for his missing education, fighting against lost time. He was here, back in the Fairwoods, where one of his bodies was being led away by Produveral, departing in a splash of Dimensionality, while another one of his vessels stayed in place in preparation to begin another seasonal loop as antagonist to Evanescia.

And that was the thing about life: Everything was always changing. Everything was constantly in motion. He couldn't help how he felt sometimes. He couldn't control the will of others completely, and the greater powers arrayed against him were determined to bring forth more troubles and tribulations. But between all those absolutes was his own ability to choose, and that was how he was making his own legend. More than his legend, such was how he was going to build his own character. The Harbinger of Tripartite Ruin needed a strong core. He couldn't indulge in the lowest of flaws—he had to be more than a brute, and he had to learn from the others.

As the Harbinger spoke, Shiv felt a slight rush of levels.

He took a moment to think, to truly consider. Can Hu’s silhouette was a shadowed blot in the light of the mana core; restored of form, leading the Arachnae Order Geomancers in an effort to restore the last of the ruination visited upon the Perch. And then there was Uva, stretching herself in all directions. No longer did she remind him of a spider in certain ways. No, she was the web itself, and a part of her always resided inside him.

And then there was Adam, who suffered but was still here. He wasn't dead; the fight wasn't over.

And then there was Marikos, the Dragon-Brokers, Hymn, Valor. So many people all around Shiv, so many minds and hearts that he could see so much motion, so many thoughts, so many schemes, but ultimately life, life all around him, life that he could act upon that acted upon him—flames feeding upon flames: a community being born.

With that realization came a thought, a thought and a gift, a gift and a burden. Shiv was responsible for everyone inside the Gate, and they were responsible for him as well. No one lived truly alone. Everything one did, even if they leveled and evolved individually, affected everyone else. More than strong, he needed to be skilled. And more than selfish, he had to help people face the wounds that lingered within them—for in a world already mutilated with corruption and grief, there needed to be someone who defied.

Once more, Shiv thought back to the promise he'd made, the promise he failed to keep in the ruins not far from the Abyssal gateway. It was a naive thing, declaring that he would ignore the System so casually. But he hadn't been wrong. Indifference was not the strife-killer; mastery and a gentler dominance were. For he could war against war itself and mend that which was broken amongst those nearest him.

Such was how he was going to elevate his Harbinger. Such was how he was going to secure the future. Such was how they were going to survive the Mythic Incursion—and all the strife to come.

And he knew what he needed to do as a start.

For all these early arrivals, there needed to be a shared moment—and Shiv knew just the thing.

Shiv called out telepathically.

Marikos froze mid-swing, and his bright-orange eyes went wide, glowing with the promise of overwhelming Pyromancy. And it was exactly this that Shiv was going to put to good use alongside Candles. There were going to be a lot of people arriving at Gate Piety in the near future, and he was going to enlist all the help he could to make this place the most hospitable version of itself. Marikos repeated.

The Hydra that had come along with Marikos, the one called Tall Ben—the first to obtain the Aegis of Assimilation—perked up with all twelve of his heads.

“Yeah,” Shiv said. “Food. For everyone. When was the last time you guys ate?”

Marikos tapped Shiv's Pillar against his shoulder, still treating him like a staff. A rumbling hum emerged from his throat, and his lungs sounded like a roll of crashing drums.

Shiv pressed his lips together. “More than a day.”

Shiv tried to imagine how many bloody chickens it took to feed a dragon half a kilometer long from snout to tail-tip. He gave up after half a second. “That’s… horrible, Marikos.”

Marikos proclaimed each word with unparalleled pride, his mind and heart fully unaware of how childish his behavior must have seemed. And that was just the thing about Marikos, something Shiv had noted for the first time a few hours ago. Marikos’ mind and heart were strangely shriveled. They were blunted. There was an unnatural flatness to his emotional affect and a narrowness to his thoughts that Shiv couldn't see in anyone else. More importantly, however, every aspect of him felt like it was forged to be unyielding. The waters that made up his mind moved like crashing stone rather than liquid or gas.

Marikos capped off his declaration by throwing his head back and roaring, his red-orange scales dimming to an ominous obsidian as he projected a jet of flame from his mouth and eyes that split the very sky in twain.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

The great difference between Marikos' Pyromancy and that of Candles' was that the former's was wide and destructive in effect. The Pyre of the Empyrial Dawn was simply not meant to be unleashed upon anything but an enemy. Meanwhile, the latter’s burned even more potently. Despite the incredible heat of his fire, being in Marikos' vicinity felt like a cool breeze compared to the all-incinerating flames possessed by Candles.

Said Pyromancer loudly cheered and projected a coarse gout of flames from his orifices as well, and the twin waves of Pyromancy merged together, forming a colossal sphere that burned so bright it made the mana core seem a faded ember.

“Yeaahhh!” Candles screamed. “Burn together!”

While he and Marikos had the time of their lives, Shiv noted how Tall Ben and the rest of the Lance were surveying their surroundings. Unlike Marikos, they didn’t throw themselves into the social fray with wild abandon. Instead, they established a protected position for themselves—planting a colossal enchanted banner deep into the ground mere meters away from the Abyssal Gateway. A chain of wards spreading 500 meters wide enveloped the representatives of the Descenders Union. Rather than being dense barricades of mana meant to protect them from harm, the primary enchantment seemed to be spatial—and though Shiv's Portomancy was paltry, he could feel the immense tug emitted by the banner. If he had to guess, it was some kind of jump-point for the Lance—a mechanism that would allow them to teleport to safety if an attack was sprung.

Shiv thought to himself.

Uva's words had proven true. Marikos was far from the only Legend in the lance. Tall Ben himself was a Heroic Biomancer—but his mana field was denser than Shiv’s by 200 levels or so, not far from the next level threshold. And judging from the chipped halberd he carried, Shiv suspected the Hydra was more a Legendary Vanguard in terms of combat ability. Tall Ben coiled his necks tight around his komodo-dragon-like body, hiding just how immense he was. Marikos was already an immense being; Tall Ben was probably ten times his mass, only packed tightly together.

Then there were the other five. The first among their number who caught Shiv's attention was a far, far smaller, lithe dragon who was busy maintaining a bone-made greatbow. The weapon had a Divination gem lodged at its front, and its string was the same shade of red-gold as Shiv’s pillar. His Atlas granted him a surprising insight in that the bow itself was harvested from another dragon’s spine, and—her head snapped up to meet his gaze without forewarning. It was like she'd felt his Awareness settle on her.

Shiv offered her a friendly wave, but her expression—and her mind and heart—were closed and clouded.

And something about that made his intuition tingle.

The rest of the Lance was made up of dedicated magi, as much as a group of heavily armored giant dragons could be dedicated mages.

Even at a glance, it was clear the Descenders Union didn't have divides between their Martials and Mages. Everyone was clad in heaviest plates and bore a weapon, with flowing sheets of adamantium in the case of the four mages. They also wore enchanted hoods, which were further bolstered with gravity magics to lighten their bodies, and the fact that their staves were cudgeled staffs that had their focus crystals hovering within reinforced force-spheres.

Shiv also noted the iron-bound tomes and quills that hung from their hind legs. That gave him another burst of insight. These weren't dedicated battle mages. They were dedicated scholars who doubled as battle mages. Shiv had called for Marikos specifically because he knew him, and while he was the de facto celebrity of their group, the vanguard of vanguards, these were the actual diplomats, here to bargain on behalf of the Descenders Union with the forces at Gate Piety.

Deductive Reasoning 33 > 35

And just as with the great bow-bearing dragoness, they were all looking back at Shiv. Each of the four offered him a polite nod, but he could see the distrust inside their hearts, felt the tension that extended in two directions, connecting their worries to both Marikos and him.

The Harbinger’s words grounded Shiv, giving words to his latent political instincts. It wasn’t even perception; he felt their worries in his bones before his mind ever put the pieces together.

Politics 6 > 10

The Harbinger's words proved true, for Shiv realized the Dragon-Brokers were gazing upon their counterparts with interest and fascination. He realized the two sides were inversions of each other; the Dragon-Brokers were awakened monsters who'd gained sapience and decided to control things through information and coin.

Meanwhile, the knights of the Descenders Union were people who stole the flesh of the great beasts they slew in a rite that demonstrated their martial valor. Their way was conflict in the physical—power taken through steel and spell.

And thus a path ahead manifested in Shiv's mind. There was ample opportunity for friction and cooperation between the Knights and the Brokers, and that gave Shiv a unique role to embody: if they came into conflict or they desired to come to an accord, he and, by extension, Gate Piety could play as kingmakers. With the Brokers and the Knights focused on each other, it also gave him more leeway in case he made any political mistakes—and he definitely would make some mistakes, for even a High-Tier skill could easily be betrayed by inexperience.

“Hey, Yellowbelly,” Shiv called out, “did your bots finish bringing in all the ingredients for the pot stickers?”

The sleeveless Dragon-Broker grinned. He rubbed his claws together with glee.

“Or discover if I’m just a fraud,” Shiv shrugged inside his pillar. “That’ll be amusing too.”

Marikos demanded more than he asked.

“Oh, you’ll see—especially since you can help me make it. Hey, any chance you can wrangle your Lance into this ordeal?”

Marikos bellowed without hesitation.

Shiv laughed. “Don't worry about that. I'll make sure nothing goes wrong. Brokers, you want in on the action too, or just watch?”

The Dragon-Brokers shared a look, and the shuffle of their bodies caused the mountains of mithril they lay upon to clatter and crash. Poverty, the Dragon-Broker dressed in the finest silks and adorned with the most ornate of jewelry, stuck up his snout and announced his decision with a snort.

Yellowbelly barked, bouncing his alloyed teacup off Poverty’s thick head before catching the ricochet.

If Poverty was bothered by his fellow’s judgment, he didn't show it. Instead, he continued maintaining his haughty facade. Inside, however, Shiv could see his mind turning like a turbine, spinning his thoughts so fast, Shiv was sure the dragon's Multitasking Skill was definitely Legendary. Shiv wondered how many other tasks Poverty was running at this very instant. Looking at his empathic core, meanwhile, made it clear that this Broker was indeed kind of an arrogant prick.

That wasn't to say the other Dragon-Brokers were in any way humble; it was just that their arrogance was expressed in a wide variety.

Know-Nothing cleaned his massive monocle with a delicately embroidered cloth. He preferred to seem nonchalant, but already he was trying to work his angles. As the Dragon-Broker who feasted upon secrets and information, it was in his best interests to co-mingle with the Descenders Union—for this was part of the reason they wanted a stake in Gate Piety, to access more of the Abyss and all the untapped markets it offered.

Garrulous, Dragon-Broker of Diplomacy, merely grunted—and refused to elaborate further. His mind was the most inscrutable of all; Shiv couldn’t peer into his thoughts at all. It was like a hazy veil was protecting everything behind its screen, much like his milky-white eyes. But where the Dragon-Broker ensured the obfuscation of his mind, his heart remained transparent to the Harbinger, and it was pointed in the same direction as his monocle-wearing comrade. He too was interested in the Descenders Union, but his fascination with the Dragon-Knights was of a more personal variety, judging from how pointed his passions felt.

Shiv sighed.

Letting his Pillar of Orichalcum dim, Shiv slipped out from Marikos's grasp and looked toward the bot encampment near the hoard. If he had to guess, the pearlescent dough and all the other delicious foodstuffs Yellowbelly was boasting about would probably be found in the large silo they set up at the center of their little encampment. “Candles! Marikos! Could you guys heat up the grilling station? We got some stuff to fry.”

“Ugghhh!” Candles groaned. “Yeah! More burn!”

For the first time since Shiv could remember, Marikos did a double-take as he watched the little Pyromancer develop full-body spasms atop the tea set. Slowly, awkwardly, Marikos leaned in and did his best to whisper. He wasn’t very good at it.

“Eh? Maybe not. Candles is a work in progress. Don’t worry, just let him burn stuff, and he’ll be fine.”

Marikos tentatively nodded.

Shiv used his Harbinger to rip the images Marikos conjured out of his mind. “Thank you for that absolutely nightmarish thought; I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. There will be no unwanted juices in my dough.”

Marikos looked upon Shiv with pride.

Udraal watched the columns of steam rise from a few districts away.

He listened as distant rumbles of booming laughter and vicious arguments broke out between the different dragons his Deathless had drafted into a little culinary adventure. Mingled amongst the slaves and wearing the guise of a poor, wretched child who was suffering from the skin pox, he blended with the rabble and studied the developments of Gate Piety in peace.

His peace, anyhow. With the constant, deafening noises made by Marikos, he truly doubted anyone would be getting proper rest while he was here.

Originally, he'd returned to visit Adam Arrow and take stock of his burgeoning Divinity. When the Educator came seeking his aid to defy the Challenger, he found himself both delighted and surprised—because he truly hadn't seen this coming either. Per Thaen’s machinations, it was supposed to be the girl that was destined for godhood, not Adam. But Udraal had visited the boy on that night of the ritual and tried to harvest that nascent little soul inside him to complete the Arrow family tragedy.

With wife and daughter murdered during the ritual, son suddenly dead for seemingly no reason at all, and only the child of his best friends turned blood-enemies, the only thing Roland Arrow could have done was adopt the Omenborn. Yet, that didn’t come to pass, for Adam survived.

And now Udraal realized the Young Lord might have survived for a reason.He let out an amused sigh.

But though Udraal came mainly to take a gander at the newly restarted Arrow family side-project, it was his Deathless that brought him further delight. The boy was growing—and growing fast. Even deprived of all the training he was supposed to have, his urge to learn was insatiable, his morals unbreakable, and the long-suppressed social talent within him immense.

Mere weeks ago, the Deathless would’ve been too blunt and rough to charm half the people in this Gate. Now, he was learning to find the loose strings of their little hearts and make them dance like puppets.

Udraal’s thoughts came to a halt as a presence materialized beside him. The intruder’s appearance was so unnatural and sudden that it was borderline jarring, but he had long since neutered that natural fear-response inside himself to avoid feeding another’s Intimidation skill.

And besides, it wasn’t the first time he had been ambushed exactly this way.

Far from it.

“Father,” Udraal greeted without looking up. “I see you are more yourself every passing day.”

“Udraal,” Valor replied. “I thought about driving my blade into you for a moment.”

“Ah, well. That’s understandable. But also quite pointless.”

“Even if I could deal you true harm, I see little worth in it.” Valor didn’t look at him either. His own eyes were forward and up, fixed on Shiv, who was wrestling with a colossal clump of rapidly frying white dough on his grilling station. To the sides of his block-sized stove were the odd broken elf and Marikos, providing the flames, and the three of them called out to each other in a chaotic three-man cooking team while the others near the gateway were drawn in by their carnage. “Why are you here, Udraal?” Valor asked, voice weary.

“Oh, I’m interested in learning just what kind of Domain the Young Arrow has inside him. I just got distracted by the Deathless. On that note, I am curious: Why aren’t you with him right now? Are you ceding your mentorship over to Roland entirely?”

Finally, his father glowered at him. “I am absent so as to ensure Marikos stays an ally of the Gate, more so than my everlasting enemy.”

“Ah. Also understandable, but I told you—”

“Where did I go wrong, Udraal?” Valor asked. “With you. Where did I go wrong? What did I do to make you like this? What did I do to make you hurt me?”

Udraal went silent, and he stared up at his father. He stared, and stared, and was glad he'd extracted his ability to hate and rage and weep as well—because he might have done all those things right now if not. “The thing about telling you, father, is that it might give you some understanding of your plight. And with that would come a measure of relief, and that is such a dissatisfying thought. I still care for you—enough that I don’t want you to die. But there is this… need to hate you, that will not allow me to leave you be at peace or know any joy.”

“You will not tell me.”

“No.”

“Will you fix Adam?”

“Hm. No. But I will take a look at him. You cannot stop me from taking my measurement—”

Udraal felt that body go stiff as his father abruptly drove a blade up under his chin and into his brain.

The Transcendent’s connection to the dimension of Gate Piety went dark, and he let out an annoyed huff. “Well, that was childish, Father. Very, very childish.”