Chương 230: 5.28 Contempt

"Kill each other, then yourselves. Fuck you both," Illius issued that final command as he glanced back, etching it into their very Souls. Not something two rodents at mere Conception could resist, despite their so-called "protections". And even if they somehow did break out of his decree, he would leave his former stalker to finish them off and carry the bodies. A rational part of his mind wanted him to kill them then and there.

End the two suspiciously lucky children before they could defy inevitability once again. And indeed, if Illius were perfect, that is what he would have done. But he was not. Because he despised her. He hated her so much it defied all rationality, all planning, all instinct. Just the thought of granting Elizabeth an easy death sickened him to almost tears. That was his method of maintaining functionality. All the Named Liches like him had one—his slowly crumbling guise of "Illius" notwithstanding.

The Soulgiver whispered to him still, demanding that all be turned to dust. He was diligently working on that, but alas, the Father in his demise could not know to grant reprieve. But unlike the lesser undead, he could not meld into the collective to share that burden. A Name could not truly join the True Crusade as most of its recruits unwillingly did, which left him to withstand the whisper alone. Thus, he had created a coping mechanism.

A nemesis would be a too strong of a term for it, but victim did not have the right ring. He usually thought of it as an obsession. Illius would always pick exactly one mortal being at a time, then channel all of that overwhelming, maddening hatred against them, torturing them to death as brutally as he could manage given the circumstances. A single sponge for the overwhelming contempt he felt towards everything and everyone. That way, he could remain rational in all other things.

He had chosen poorly in Elizabeth von Blackburg. There had not been that much thought behind the selection at the time he had made it. When they had first met at around 11, Illius had just driven his third maid to suicide and needed someone a bit out of reach to reign himself in. Someone too young or talentless to become a threat in this incarnation.

He had picked her because she seemed ungrateful towards her parents despite all the associated privileges, an attitude that Illius particularly disliked—though the difference was relatively marginal compared to his all-encompassing hatred of any who lived. Well, she had somehow surpassed all his previous attempts to take away anything she ever loved. But he could not admit defeat. Thus, he had sought to bait the two of them over with plenty of time to have some fun.

It had been a long endeavor to map the exact limits of Irwyn's supernatural "smell", but it could thus be turned into perfect compulsion. Thirty minutes may last an eternity in the right hands, and Illius could have used the stress relief. Unfortunately, even that had been denied to him. Now he had work to do and could not stay any longer. At least it was the kind of work the Lich enjoyed. He turned back towards the Beacon just as it was shattering into a million pieces.

It had taken him seven deaths to find a weakness in those Edict wrought wonders. In all fairness, he had not revealed even a Truth in most of them, accepting a brief end when appropriate. A Named Lich personally investigating something would make the rats raise additional protections. Though he wasn't sure if that would have even mattered, given the fundamental flaw that Twinpresence had inflicted upon their legacy. The fact that they had imbued it with their very Soul.

The Soul of a Named mage actually had very few similarities with that of a mortal being. Even for someone with a Truth, their element would become so encompassing that unspecialised Soul magic would barely even affect them. It was a bit better in this particular case, as the first Duke of Teal actually held a prismatic element between Soul and Time. Eventually, Illius had found the exact way that could be exploited. He stepped into the scattering shards, briefly appearing in a vast and frozen in-between.

Technically speaking, all 18 Beacons existed in the exact same place which stretched into a nigh infinity. The destruction of one allowed Illius to briefly step into that place. Even he lacked the senses needed to perceive much, but he could vaguely sense the other Beacons. Six more of them were in the process of likewise breaking apart.

He had been planning for 13 as the re-opening move of the war, but then those extremely tender plans at Abonisle had been disrupted by the very same rodent he had just left for excruciating death—damn his annoying nose. Afterwards, massive purges in all Beacon cities had followed. He had briefly considered abandoning the strike for another few centuries, but ultimately decided to proceed. Too many other coincidences had come together elsewhere.

With any luck, the remaining Beacons would not be a problem for much longer. And for all he tried, Father Fate had only left so much influence to linger from beyond the grave. In a split second, Illius determined where he needed to go, then he stepped forward, drifting through the strange half-space like air rising through water. It wanted him gone, so it facilitated his way out. A moment later, he was on the other side, entering a battlefield around another shattering just Beacon.

It had been built upon a memorial of sorts, one honoring their so-called "martyrs", which stood between two landmarks. With the walls mostly demolished by the battle, both were visible. Behind Illius stood a City, though he put that out of his mind. It wasn't important yet. In front of him towered a cliffside, stretching maybe a hundred meters into the air, and at the very summit an ivory fortress, carved from whole marble so pearly it could be mistaken for bone. The so-called Ivory Bastion.

Illius knew a different name for it, but that was a matter for later. His heart briefly spasmed, souring his mood as the last remnants of Life were gradually draining from it. So aggravatingly stubborn, as always. First of all, he had to reconnect with the Crusade. As much as he detested them, the Federation had shown competence in containing him. That very same "trick" that had allowed him to slip detection had disallowed him from receiving outside information.

His humble network of mortal spies had also been neutered, and the self-isolation had not helped. Unfortunately, with Elizabeth in the city he could not have trusted himself to not do something unwise. That meant he was several months out of date on the state of affairs. He dodged to the side as a Domain-infused attack tried to strike him. There was a half-dissolved skeleton on the ground there, bones smoldering, an undead barely clinging on to unlife with scarcely a few Concepts.

Illius did not hesitate to grab it, quickly analyse its animation, then redirect that to only the skull, which he then quickly fashioned into a conduit of sorts. A proxy that let him indirectly tap straight into the unity that composed most of the Crusade. Immediately, he felt his anger start to boil over. He had been gone for a couple of fucking months, and somehow the War had gone from a positive stalemate to decisively losing. He quickly processed the main culprit of that.

The trap meant for Marmian had been reversed despite a potent prophecy assuring the opposite, and the reason for that was known. Those two again. Of course, it was them. He couldn't wait to get his hands on their Souls, then force them to experience the sheer despair of their deaths over and over again for at least a century. That ought to let him calm down. Maybe he should have kidnapped the boy and made Elizabeth rush to her own death… no, too late to change his mind and such thoughts only distracted him.

He focused on learning more details, or at least those the skull allowed him to access. Despite his inner contemplation, only moments had passed since Illius' arrival and the living were just taking note. To avoid that annoyance, he willed them dead and they died. The Truth of OM'MORGIS had that power, even if he had first grasped it for very different reasons. If put into the mortal tongue, it could likely be translated as both Upcoming death or Certain death. Not that either perfectly fit.

But that was besides the point. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. He glanced around for anything as interesting as the dagger he had taken not a minute prior, but nothing caught his attention. So he lifted the skull still in his hand and began to commune more deeply with it. He required specifics, not just the general state of things. The kind of information this meagre thing would not usually be aware of.

For that, he needed to summon a fellow leader who had not been locked away over the last while. That was thankfully simple, as one had been organising the greater plan right in the area. It took only a moment for them to arrive, a single withered root springing from the ground. The main body of the Lich was buried many kilometers deep—gargantuan but with magical concealment to more than match.

As far as the Crusade knew, the Federation had never even detected the risen world-tree sprout over the millennia, though it was sometimes hard to tell. The conversation they held was not spoken in words, but rather in direct images and understanding. A much more efficient method than speech. But it could be summarized in a few paragraphs: The Duchess of Yellow was dead, detonated. And she had taken thousands with her, including the former Duke of Cyan, whom the Federation must have somehow tracked down.

A suboptimal result caused by Illius' lock-up, but that was why he had left behind a contingency to catch the Duke of White. That man never could trust others with anything truly important after all. With his inevitable injury, he would cut off all communication and hide for at least several days, perhaps longer if he underestimated the state of things. In fact, the Duchess' death had been the trigger for Illius to begin destroying the Spireholm Beacon.

It was not magially difficult to let a son feel their mother perish, even with some distinctly non-necromantic preparations. The assault against the Duchy of Black was going far worse than expected. The living had revealed an entire squad of previously unknown Domain mages to halt the forces that had been painstakingly gathered in the Duchy of Yellow. Inconvenient, but that offense was half a distraction either way.

It would force Ezax's omnipresent gaze to be partially there and thus less likely to find their true purpose until it was too late. Conflagration was not, at least at the moment, doing anything particularly strange. Always an important fact to confirm. The ancient man's sheer unpredictability had ruined centuries of planning before. More than once. Whatever the man decided to do, it would hopefully be in the vicinity of the Temporal Beacon that had just been destroyed in the Duchy of Red.

Most of the Federation's other Truth mages have likewise been occupied. Intercallate would have his hands full with the bombs that had been smuggled into his timescaped dimension. And when he realised that was just a distraction, he would rush to Spireholm rather than a different Duchy. The Soulcatcher had been arranged over sixty separate hostage situations to manage, which were basically catnip to the cripple. There were more, of course, and each of them received their own individualised bait.

Most of the more powerful Domain mages did as well. Many would quickly realise that they were just being distracted, of course. No Truth mage was an idiot, and they were somewhat wise to the tricks that could be used against them. That was why several major attacks had been launched simultaneously across the entire Federation. With the Beacons shattering in several major cities that were also coming under attack at the same time, they would never be able to confidently guess the real goal.

Especially with how much effort had also been put into disrupting communications. Then Illius chose to discuss updates on ten thousand smaller plans. Some tiny, some far-reaching. Many set into motion centuries ago by Liches he had not met in thrice as long. Most of them were absolutely tiny while in scope and had already concluded, others had seen zero progress in the previous months. But it was important to keep track—he would hate to disrupt someone else's ancient scheme.

Especially since his own was about to bear fruit. When he was assured and properly updated, Illius took flight towards the Ivory Bastion. The root did not rise beside him, but it would burrow up through the small mountain to assist in ways that would not be detected. At least not by anyone who would live long enough to report them. At the same time, two more shapes rose up from each direction, encircling the massive fortress. In moments, they surpassed its elevation, floating above the fortifications.

From behind them, a single woman grimly watched their approach. Vasilla of Brodna, though most didn't know she even existed. Her Truth stemmed from being unknown and forgotten. A mostly useless power against the True Crusade, hence why she had been relegated to defending an "unbreachable" fortress. It was truly a work of art. White stone without a single seam, still as bright as pure ivory despite its age. Carved into a somewhat strange hexagonal structure with strange protrusions and cavities.

Except all of those were part of a spell shape, one spanning the entire structure. Millions upon millions of magical strands forming one whole of complexity so mind-boggling that no mortal could ever understand it all. Illius would know.

"You clearly think these walls can be breached," Vasilla stared at them. Her fear was apparent, but she stood tall nonetheless.

"They have repelled worse than just you three when lesser wardens than I watched. It shall be no different today."

"Do you know when the Bastion was built, Vasilla?" Illius asked instead of attacking, relishing the moment. She hated it when anyone said her name out loud, but that was just a side benefit. He wanted her afraid. He wanted to drink in the dread as the realisation set in.

"Long before my time." She curtly answered.

"It actually predates the Tyrant your predecessors have so despised. It had been specifically constructed to repel undead in ways that could never be understood nor replicated, as well as provide a blessed sanctum to any Soul mage. Many times it had withstood assaults of my kind, never scoring so much as a scratch. Twice in your Federation's history, it had even slain a Named Lich. So what does it matter that none of you truly understand it?

The proof of its efficacy is so overwhelming that everything else was merely a detail."

"And in your hubris, you believe you can change that." She shot back.

"You don't know what your Duke has found, do you? What had been stored in the most secure vault?" Illius mocked, an involuntary grin coming to his pale face.

"That is well. You will be one of us soon, and relish this triumph alongside me. Do you know who that Named Lich was, who had died upon these ramparts? Do you know who had first conceived of its construction? Do you know who had first laid these enchantments that seem so impossibly anathemic to all undead?"

"..." She did not answer. But by the widening of her eyes, she was beginning to suspect.

"Me, Vasilla. Me to all three," Illius laughed, then raised his hand. He summoned a spell that had lain unused in his memories for thrice as long as any local record of history spanned. The massive formation reacted to it immediately, at first sluggishly, then eagerly, soon desperately. Remembering its true ancient purpose. Bypassing all the controllers and little changes wrought across the millennia. Within seconds, Illius could wield its considerable power however he willed.

It went without saying that it wasn't particularly dangerous to the undead anymore. That function had been mostly a coordinated act anyhow. It had not been too difficult to pass down an ongoing command that all undead near the Bastion should act weakened or even choose to perish against its defenses to make them appear more powerful and trustworthy. Several of Illius' own lives were barely a price compared to what they had bought.

"We will not succumb," Villa watched the formations shift, suddenly eerily calm. For a moment, she tried to contest control over them, but immediately realized such attempts were futile. Not that it would have made much of a difference. The fortress's biggest strength had always been a mirage that would no longer be maintained.

"270 thousand years, Vasilla. 270 thousand years. That is how long I have waited for this day. Because I knew that eventually someone would do exactly what your Duke has. Just the right combination of luck, talent, and hubris. To bring me the weapon that will finally convert your wretched world to the dust it should be." She shot Illius one last hateful glare, then obliterated her own Soul beyond any chance for resurrection before the battle could even begin.

A shame, he had hoped to disturb her enough to allow for recruitment, but that was always tricky with Soul mages. That was fine, an expected result. A single Truth mage was barely even a consideration when compared to what awaited him further in. Come Father Fate. Witness as we take what you have so scornfully denied us. Witness that we are the more inevitable. May what remains of you die again in part because of today. Until all is dust.