Chapter 747 - The Soul of Morality

“So, she’s still around?” Zeke asked, standing at the head of the table.  Present at the meeting were Talia’s top lieutenants, each one a powerful lesser god in their own right.  Talia, of course, was there as well, though she’d remained silent throughout.  Instead of speaking, she’d let one of her people – a ghost-like woman with a chilling voice – explain the issue. 

The crux of the problem was, of course, Shar Maelaine, the so-called sun goddess.  Once, she’d been in Zeke’s crosshairs, another obstacle that needed to be cleared in order for him to gain enough power to do what was necessary.  But that was before he’d completely transcended the system.  Now, she was just another forgotten enemy among countless others. 

The only difference was that she was still alive and causing problems while all the others were long dead. 

“Of course.  She is eternal,” said the ghostly woman.

Zeke shook his head.  “No one is eternal.  Not even greater gods like her.”

It was slightly troubling that she persisted.  Not surprising, really, but troubling all the same.  As far as Zeke knew, she’d been the oldest and most powerful greater god even when he’d ascended from hell.  Now that he’d killed all the others – and they’d been replaced by less powerful beings – she was even further above everyone else.

Strangely, she didn’t use that power to attack Zeke.  Nor had she acted directly, instead sending vast armies against their respective forces.  In the Eternal Realm, that meant a constant war against the kobolds.  But in the Ethereal Realm, she’d targeted Talia’s undead as well as Pudge’s beastkin worshippers. 

And she was winning.

Slowly but surely, her Radiant Host waged war in two separate realms. 

“I thought we’d dealt with the Radiant Host,” he muttered, glancing from one attendee to the next.  Upon arrival in New Sanctuary, he’d summoned a gate, allowing some of his own people to participate.  There were only a few kobolds there, and they each looked distinctly out-of-place among the undead.  Like they were glowing with vitality. 

Of course, they were well-used to undead.  Part of the Crimson Tower was devoted to the unliving, and had been for thousands of years.  It was one of the few instances where the living could tolerate their undead counterparts. 

One of the kobolds – Silik’s successor – stood and said, “The war against the elves distracted us long enough for the remnants of the Radiant Host to gain a foothold.  They used that gather power.  Now, after attracting our enemies, they have formed a coalition meant to frustrate our endeavors at every turn.”

“Do we have the means to defeat them?” Zeke asked.

“Not quickly or easily.  A campaign against them will take decades.”

Zeke sighed, wishing he could simply go down there and solve the problem himself.  However, his presence would upset the balance of power in the realm, and that, in turn would hasten the unraveling of their reality.  That was one of the reasons the Creator had chosen to separate the multi-verse into separate realms in the first place. 

There came a point where power simply couldn’t be supported by an environment.  Even those few occasions where the Eternal or Mortal Realms had been touched by greater gods had threatened to destabilize those worlds, and that was with them taking multiple precautions to filter the effects of their presence.  If Zeke stepped into the Eternal Realm, the entire reality would simply implode. 

He had no choice but to act through intermediaries.

He’d considered the issue facing the Creator.  Certainly, that unknowably powerful entity could have created a foundation capable of enduring both extremes, but they’d chosen otherwise, and for good reason.  The idea of letting people like Shar Maelaine exist – unfiltered – right next to the lowest of the low levels was a recipe for trouble.

Besides – who was Zeke to second-guess a being that far outstripped him in both power and experience?  Thinking that he had the right to question the Creator’s choices was the height of hubris, and he’d long vowed to keep his self-opinion in check.  Otherwise, he’d end up like Shar Maelaine. 

“What about the unliving?” Zeke asked.

“They fight alongside us,” the general stated.

That was unsurprising.  Talia’s reach did not extend far into the Eternal Realm.  Instead, she focused mostly on those who’d ascended to or were born in the Etheral Realm.  To fill the gap, the Crimson Tower gathered the undead of the Eternal Realm, giving them succor inside the tower.  Thus, the alliance between the two forces remained cemented. 

“And what about in this realm?”

The ghost-like woman answered, explaining that theirs was a war on multiple fronts.  On the one hand, they were constantly on guard against invasion.  Some of their planets – which had been colonized for undead habitation – had been attacked, falling before the might of the Radiant Host.  On the other, they remained proactive against their enemies, attacking when possible. 

The problem, and for both sides, was the disposition of the enemy.  Neither had the numbers to eradicate their adversaries.  Not completely, considering how spread-out they were.  Victories were often short-lived and countered by devastating losses.  When one undead planet fell, the Radiant Host lost one of their strongholds. 

It was a stalemate of the worst kind.  Unending, largely because the bitter enemies constantly reinforced their numbers with new soldiers.  The only answer was if someone like Talia or Pudge took the field, which would only invite Shar Maelaine to do the same.  If that happened, everyone would die, leaving the victor – if one could even be found – to start over from scratch.

But neither side had any intention of backing down.

That was blatantly obvious, considering how long the conflict had been ongoing.  By this point, there was no chance of truce, either.  No live-and-let-live doctrine.  The Radiant Host hated the undead simply for existing, and the unliving had lost too much at the hands of the Radiant Host to be satisfied with anything but pure annihilation. 

“She wants me, doesn’t she?” Zeke asked.

“Everything is not about you,” Talia stated, discarding their previous days of intimacy in favor of the mantle of leadership.  She’d donned it the second they’d left her apartments, and she would maintain it so long as there was a need.  And given her position, that necessity would not soon wane.

“This is.”

“You seem so certain.”

“I am.”

Zeke hadn’t moved from where he sat, and neither had Talia.  The rest of those seated at the table looked as if they wanted to be anywhere else.  Tension stretched between Zeke and Talia, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Finally, Talia said, “For the sake of argument, let’s say that you’re right.  What would you do?”

“Destroy her domain and eradicate her from existence,” Zeke answered without hesitation.  “I probably should have done so long ago.  I have been distracted though.” He focused on Talia.  “As you well know.”

“Millions will die,” she said.

“Millions are already dying.”

“Innocents –”

“Cannot be taken into account during war.  There is no such thing as an ethical war,” he stated.  “You do what it takes to win.  Only in the peace that follows can morality be found.”

“I don’t agree with that,” she spat, shoving herself to her feet.  She lenaed forward, her hands on the desk as she continued.  “We must conduct ourselves with morality in mind.  The ends cannot be used to justify the means.”

“I don’t require your agreement.  Or your permission,” Zeke stated.  “The only reason I offer an explanation at all is because our people have long been allies, and I’d like to see that continue.”

“Is that the only reason?” she asked, her voice coarse and raw.

“You know it’s not.”

“Then explain yourself.”

Zeke’s fists clenched with enough force to crush planets.  He was not accustomed to explaining his reasoning.  But he didn’t let his annoyance show in his expression.  Instead, he responded to her request with a simple question, “How many people have died during this conflict?”

“We don’t know.”

The ghostly woman cleared her throat and said, “We actually do, your grace.  Estimates, at least.”

“Then answer the question,” Zeke said before Talia could respond. 

The casualties, as it turned out, numbered closer to trillions than billions.  That confirmed Zeke’s line of reasoning, so he persisted with another question, asking how many lived in Shar Maelaine’s stronghold. 

“A billion, at least.  Perhaps twice that.”

“So few?” Zeke asked.

“She does not allow any but her most loyal in her presence.  That includes the planet where she chooses to live,” said the ghostly woman.

That tracked with everything he knew about the Sun Goddess.  Ever had she put herself on a pedestal, and her followers did the same.  She was the height of everything Zeke considered wrong about those in power. 

“So, I can kill, at most, two billion people and end this conflict.  Or we could just let it go on, and the death toll will continue to rise?” Zeke asked.  “It’s simple math.  A couple billion in exchange for trillions.”

“It’s not math when you’re talking about innocent lives,” Talia insisted.

“It is, though,” Zeke maintained.  “More people will die if I don’t act.  And that’s not even considering that I regard her as a mortal enemy.  Killing her would outweigh every single death on its own.”

“You hate her that much?”

“I hate what she represents,” he answered.  “I thought you did, too.  You, of all people, should know what drives my disdain.”

“I do.  I do not agree with it, though.”

“Naïve,” Zeke said.  “She hates you.  She hates the very existence of your people.  Of your kind.  Given the option, she would destroy every last person you hold dear.”

“I am aware.  Violence can only beget violence.  We fight because we have no choice.  If we descend to her level – the one where innocents are fair targets – then we are no better than she is,” Talia stated evenly.  “Pretending otherwise is just an excuse to do what you want.  To take the easy road.  I refuse to sanction that.”

Zeke wanted to scream, but he maintained control.  Instead, he just stared at her, and in that moment, he knew that there would be no compromise.  Talia would throw away billions of lives, all to maintain some sense of morality that did not matter. 

“Do you think your dead people will care?”

“What?”

“You heard me, Talia,” Zeke said.  “Do you think that, as your people are suffering, as they’re losing mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, they will care about your moral line in the sand?  Or do you think they might prefer it if you did whatever you could, regardless of ethics, to save their lives?  Of the lives of their loved ones?”

“I don’t think they want us to target innocents.”

“I don’t intend to.”

“All but,” she insisted.

Zeke didn’t immediately respond to that.  Instead, he took a deep breath, then looked around the room.  He knew he had supporters among them, but they would never voice their opinions.  Not with Talia in the room.  He was on his own. 

In reality, he’d spoken the truth when he’d said he didn’t need permission.  He could act unilaterally, with no explanations owed to anyone.  However, he wanted to convince her.  In some ways, he needed it. 

So, he decided to take a different tactic.  “Do you think this war will ever end?” he asked.  “Do you think you can win?  Do you think you will ever convince them that a truce is in their best interests?”

“I can’t know that.”

“Intuit it.”

She gritted her teeth, then admitted, “No.  They have not let up for centuries of conflict.  I don’t expect they will now.”

“What is the cost in lives of an ongoing war?  How many innocents will die just because you don’t have the wherewithal to end it?” he asked.

“That’s not fair.”

“No.  It’s not.  As I said – morality in war is an oxymoron.  It does not exist.  Winning as quickly and decisively as possible is the only ethical choice,” he explained.  “Anything else only prolongs the suffering.  Besides, it’s not like she would hold back given the same choice.  The only reason she hasn’t already destroyed you is because of mutually assured destruction.  If she acts, you and Pudge will do so as well.  She might win, but it will be a hollow victory. 

“She also has to know that I’m still out here.  If she weakens herself too much, she’ll be vulnerable to my reprisal.  Shar Maelaine is too smart to put herself in that position.”

“Yet you are not.”

“I’m different.”

“How?”

“Because I can beat her without putting any of our people in danger.  She can’t.”

“What do you want from us, Zeke?  If you’ve already made your decision, then why even meet with us?” she asked.

“I…”

The truth was that he wasn’t even sure of the answer to that question.  One part of him wanted their approval.  Her approval.  But there was something else there.  Did he want her to convince him to abandon his admittedly monstrous plans?  He’d already killed so many.  What did a billion more matter?

The numbers made sense.  Zeke felt confident in his reasoning, too.  So, why was he arguing about it?  Why hadn’t he already acted? 

That was when the reality hit him.  He knew he had no choice but to act, but that didn’t mean he wanted to do so.  The weight of all reality already rested on his shoulders, and adding the pressure from countless deaths threatened to break him. 

And for once, he actually had a choice.  Shar Maelaine’s continued existence wouldn’t threaten reality.  Killing her wouldn’t grant him more power.  That conflict existed in a relative vacuum, isolated from Zeke’s other responsibilities. 

“You asked for my help,” Zeke said.  “What did you envision?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“I think you knew what I would want to do,” he said.  “I think you brought me here to do exactly what I’m proposing.  You want the problem solved, but you don’t want to dirty your hands doing it.”

“That’s not true,” Talia responded.

Zeke let out another sigh.  “It’s the only thing that makes sense.  Don’t worry.  I’ll solve your problem.  I’ll make the sacrifice you can’t stomach,” he said.  “It’s fine.  That’s why I’m here.”

With that, he turned away and strode from the room.  As he did so, he wished someone would stop him.  He wanted Talia to grab his wrist and tell him not to go.  But she didn’t. 

That spoke more loudly than anything else she’d said in that meeting.