Chapter 727 - Children

“If there are any of Aja’s worshippers left in the Eternal Realm, they’re well-hidden,” said Jasper.  The dark elf looked tired.  His eyes had sunk deep into their sockets, and he’d clearly not been taking care of himself.  However, there was a hard edge to him that told Zeke just how difficult the past few decades had been. 

For his part, Zeke had never meant to thrust so much responsibility onto his friend.  His plan had been to relieve him after that first wave of attacks.  After that, the kobolds could handle it.  However, his long absence meant that there was no one to instigate that relief, and Jasper, loyal as he was, had continued to do his job. 

Back in the Eternal Realm, they had a new name for him. 

The Executioner. 

It was well earned, from what Zeke had been told.  Whole cities had been destroyed, their people slaughtered.  As bad as other villainous forces like the Radiant Host had been, they’d never swept across the world with such viciousness or efficiency.  The immorality of it was unquestioned. 

And yet, Jasper had never wavered.  He’d sacrificed his sanity at the altar of Zeke’s responsibility.  Even now, there was so little left of the dark elf he’d met so long ago in the mines beneath Min Ferilik. 

Zeke regretted that Jasper’s goodness had been such a necessary cost, but the results were what really mattered.  Weighed next to the dissolution of reality, any price was justifiable. 

“Many ascended rather than face our armies,” Jasper continued.  “They have joined her flock here in the Ethereal Realm.”

Silik picked up there.  “We have been conducting operations against the Ethereal Realm forces for nearly fifty years now,” he said.  “With mixed results.  They are not weak.  There are many powerful lesser gods among them, and they have numbers on their side.  Still, we have taken seventeen minor domains, killing those within.  The tree has not shown herself.”

Zeke frowned.

“Do we have a plan of attack?” he asked, looking around the table.  He’d returned to the tower only a few days before, but already, he was itching to get to work.  He also couldn’t quite ignore the fact that everyone in the conference room – indeed, the chamber itself – was comprised of strings.  It was like reality, or the illusion of solidity, had been superimposed over the true shape of existence.  Those threads haunted his every moment, never leaving.  Never letting him forget that what he saw, the people he cared about, were just collections of threads. 

Even the miraculous Crimson Tower was made of strings.  Certainly, they were tied so tightly together that they appeared like one solid mass, but if he looked closely enough, its nature was as obvious as anything else’s. 

It was so much easier to justify wanton slaughter when he knew he was just severing a few strings. 

“Draw her out,” said Oberon.  “If you personally attack, she will have no choice but to respond.”

“She will leave her domain?” he asked.

“For you, yes.  You have to understand that these other settlements are not completely disconnected.  They’re on a similar level to my domain,” Oberon explained.  “Or that was the case before we abandoned it.”

Many of his faeries had died in the ongoing war, and to the point where he was barely holding on.  He still had the power of a greater god, but it was dwindling by the day.  Soon, he’d be no stronger than Simeon.  Or even Mak’tar.  One day, he might even descend to the ranks of a lesser god, albeit one with enough knowledge and power to occupy a step above most. 

What would he do then?  How would he react.  Oberon seemed resigned to his fate, but Zeke wasn’t so certain anyone could truly accept such a thing.  He knew he couldn’t do that.  Not now that he’d seen reality for what it was.

However, he also suspected that he’d never need to worry about that.  As much as he depended on his worshippers, he felt that they might not always be necessary.  After all, the Creator, for all his power, was unknown to most of their universe’s population.  Yet, he was by far the strongest entity in existence. 

That suggested that his power came from elsewhere.  Perhaps from the universe itself.  Or from within.  Either way, he was not dependent on worshippers to empower him. 

Zeke aspired to rival the Creator, and so, he had to believe that one day, his own worshippers would become superfluous – at least regarding his level of power.  Already, he felt that he could, to some degree, bypass the Framework.  It was all just threads, and all he needed to do was pluck the right string if he wanted to make changes. 

Perhaps that needed to be his next step.

Experimentation would be necessary, and he had an entire dungeon full of prisoners on which he could test some of his theories.

For now, though, he needed to focus on other things – like the upcoming struggle against Aja.  Then, he had to worry about her demonic brother.  Finally, there was Shar Maelaine, who’d stayed out of the limelight.  He had no idea what she was doing, but he knew that she was up to something. 

It was her nature, after all. 

She knew he was coming for her.  Not immediately, but such was their conflict that their eventual clash was wholly inevitable. 

“We need to bleed them a little more,” Kianma suggested.  “Every death means she’s a little weaker.”

“Our intelligence suggests that we are barely outpacing their birthrate,” Silik stated.  “In a few years, they will begin to gain ground.  We simply aren’t capable of killing them quickly enough to make a difference.”

“What of our own troops?” asked Talia.

“Soldier for soldier, our army is superior.  However, as quick as our birth rate is, our training is far more intensive,” Kianma answered.

That made sense.  The kobolds bred quickly, which meant that, for conflicts in the Eternal Realm, they were all but unstoppable.  However, to reach the Ethereal Realm took quite a lot of time and effort.  The elves might not have reproduced as quickly as kobolds, but they had millennia of development backing up their efforts at progression.  They knew precisely how to proceed, and what’s more, they had many who were on the verge of ascension. 

The result was that they could field more soldiers in the Ethereal Realm than the tower could muster. 

“They also have allies.”

“What?” asked Zeke.

“Aja and Oda are siblings.  They may not like one another, but they are committed to their continued existence.  You are a threat to both, and so, both have responded,” Silik said.  “Shar Maelaine has sent a contingent to aid them as well.  Elites.  They claim only to be advisors, but…”

“They will defend those strongholds,” stated Oberon.  “There are also rogue deities.  Former greater gods who have lost their worshippers.  Many will have latched onto Aja.  She always was a collector of lost creatures.  And finally, she will have beasts under her command. Some of them will be as powerful as a greater god, though without true sapience.”

Zeke clenched his fist.  He wanted nothing more than to hit something.  No unraveling strings.  No metaphysical discussions.  Just a good, old-fashioned battle to the death.  More than anything else, that was what defined him since the very beginning of his journey.  Certainly, his relationships, as important as they were, took a backseat to his propensity – and if he was honest, his love – for fighting.

“Which one of the settlements is the most populous?” he asked.

“Mirabar.  Forty-two million elves live there.  It is also the most well-guarded,” Oberon answered.  “But it is not the suggested target.”

“Why not?” Zeke asked. 

“It is only so populated because it is a nice place to live,” Oberon explained.  “Temperate climate.  Regular day-night cycles.  By most measure, the planet is a paradise.  But in the grand scheme of Aja’s organization, it is practically meaningless.”

“Forty-two million worshippers can’t be meaningless.”

Indeed, Zeke wasn’t certain how many people Aja claimed as followers, but he felt sure that losing that many would strike a noticeable blow against the totality of her power.  Would it be crippling?  Assuredly not.  But no single battle would accomplish that feat. 

“It is when compared to the other suggested target.”

A hologram flickered into being in the center of the conference table.  It depicted a planet with three moons, and to Zeke, it looked practically barren.  Oberon zoomed in to one of the moons, revealing a sizable settlement.

“Estilar,” he said.  Then, the hologram shifted to another moon.  “Imilar.”  Another movement.  “And Cylikar.”

All three moons played host to large settlements, but even put together, they were barely half the size of Mirabar.  He said as much, asking, “What makes these so important?”

“These are the elven academies that fuel their armies,” he said.  “The planet itself – Okanar – also serves as a hub, hosting almost a dozen entrances to the Ways.  Most of Aja’s trade flows through this planet, even if the population is minimal.  If you attack here, she will respond.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“You wanted a crippling blow?  This is that,” Oberon explained.  “Trade will slow to a crawl.  Their ability to train new soldiers will be quartered, and even those who attend other academies will receive inferior instruction.  The bulk of elven expertise resides on those three moons.”

“They are children,” Kianma pointed out.

“I have killed thousands of children,” came a whisper from Jasper.  When Zeke looked his way, he saw that the dark elf’s eyes were firmly on the table.  His shoulders sagged, and his white hair shimmered in the light.  When he looked up, his eyes were like stone.  “Hundreds of thousands, and that is just directly.  Through my orders, even more have been left to fend for themselves, succumbing to the elements.  Or to the scavengers that followed my armies, feasting on the dead and living alike.”

“Jasper,” Kianma began.

“Don’t,” he interrupted with a glare that could have melted steel.  “You speak of killing children as if it is a line we have not already crossed.  We slaughtered innocents.  The guilty, too.  Mostly them, but to believe we are just…that is a grave mistake.  I will be punished for my sins, in this life or the next.  So will you for enabling them.  For ordering them.  For insisting that I do what needed to be done.”

He glanced at Zeke.  “I am damned.  I know that.  I have known since the beginning.  Do you know why I kept going?” he asked.

“I don’t,” Zeke lied, though he knew the truth of it.

“Faith.  I have seen you do miraculous things.  I know…I knew what sort of man you were,” Jasper explained.  “Always trying to do the right thing, even when it was the hard path.”  He smiled, though the expression didn’t touch his eyes.  Shaking his head.  “Do you remember when you saved the slaves?  Beneath Min Ferilik, we were all hopeless. Until you showed up and overturned everything.  You saved us all, not because you needed us.  You didn’t.  You did it because it was the right thing to do.

“I know you.  So if you say that what I do is for the greater good, then I trust that it is the truth,” he said.  Then, he looked around the room, his gaze hesitating for only a moment on each person.  “I expect nothing less from the rest of you.  I can’t force anyone to do anything.  I have not even ascended.  I have remained in the Eternal Realm, blackening my soul with every passing day.  But I will tell you now – should you hesitate to do what’s necessary, I will make you pay for your lack of commitment.  For your cowardice.  You will end up like everyone else that stands in the way of the greater good.  Do not speak to me of children.  Not when our entire reality is at stake.”

For a few moments, no one spoke.  No one dared to breathe. 

For his part, Zeke did not know how to react.  Seventy years of slaughter had clearly taken its toll on Jasper.  Gone was the jovial bard he’d met so long ago.  In his place was a zealot, and not because he believed in the goal.  Rather, because he had faith in Zeke. 

Or perhaps that was the only justification that allowed him to keep going. 

One way or another, his speech was effective.  As they made their plans, no one else objected to the intended course.