The Zombie Knight

Loren Lighteyes tapped his foot against the stony floor, trying to have patience and not quite succeeding. Joining up with Caster Egmond’s new sect within the Freeman Fellowship had certainly proved to be a roller coaster so far.

In just the last two weeks, they’d visited half a dozen Abolish strongholds--and it wasn’t entirely clear why, either.

Obviously, Caster had plans, but he apparently wasn’t yet keen to share the details of them. And while being kept in the dark was nothing new to Loren, he still didn’t exactly love it.

Loren’s reaper, Rezolo, seemed to think that it was some type of recruitment drive. With Loren being the first one to join up, it made sense that Caster would want to gather more followers.

But if that was what he was doing, then he sure had an odd way of going about it. Because Loren was still the only one following Caster around.

Maybe the Marauder of Calthos was just being picky. That was what Rezolo kept saying, at least.

And there was some logic in that, too, Loren supposed. Viable candidates for the Freeman Fellowship were few and far between within Abolish, and if Caster wanted to be even more strict beyond that, then Loren had a feeling that they might never find anyone else to join up at all.

But the main reason he didn’t entirely buy Rezolo’s interpretation of events was because Caster wasn’t just going around and striking up conversations all the time. That was part of it, sure, but there were also times when the man simply stopped, closed his eyes, and stood still for a while.

It was almost like the man had just suddenly decided to start meditating out of nowhere. Loren had never known anyone to meditate standing up--and so randomly, too.

“I am communing with the land,” he’d said.

Loren had of course asked for elaboration, but he hadn’t gotten it. Instead, Caster just promised that all would become clearer in time.

Pretty damn odd, this Marauder.

And then, of course, there were the arguments. Despite visiting so many Abolish strongholds, Caster wasn’t exactly acting friendly towards their hosts. Sometimes, he seemed to enjoy antagonizing them. Other times, he clearly enjoyed it.

As the pain escalated, he couldn’t help acknowledging the risk. How well could she handle this? Better than he could? He was about to find out.

Agh. Even for him, this level of pain was a bit much. Not enjoyable. Disorienting. Excruciating, actually.

Then it was gone. His mind relaxed. Phew.

She’d relented.

“A quaint trick,” said the sister. “But you will need to do better than that, Little Fool.”

Huh. No effect? Unlikely. She wouldn’t have canceled her attack if that were the case. She was just putting on a brave face, trying to maintain her ego.

Good. He didn’t want this to be too--

Something else stole his attention. A sudden influx of intel from the Roberts on the western edge of the compound. They were engaged in battle autonomously.

Intruders.

“Ohoho!” said the sister, sounding suddenly quite pleased. “Finally noticed, have you?! The truth of the matter is that there is little I can do to you from this distant position. But a distraction was very much doable.”

Irritating.

A violent tremor arrived, freeing dust from the ceiling. He had a decision to make. Did he really need to go handle these intruders himself? The Roberts could handle almost anything on their own. So who--?

“Apologies for the use of trickery,” said Rasalased. “I do hope you do not die this day, Young Demon. There is more I would speak with you about.”

“Perhaps you will find these new opponents entertaining,” said the sister. “I suspect, however, that you already know enough about them to make you suitably nervous.”

What was she--?

Two of the Roberts just went offline at once. And more information was arriving. So much incoming data. Tough to parse through it all like this. The Roberts were swarming. Gathering intel en masse. And attacking. They needed guidance, though. More advanced and specific orders.

Uh-oh. Some of the intruders had already penetrated quite deep into the facility. Nearing the Vanguardian captives.

Couldn’t allow that, now could he? He started giving them new orders as he moved to personally intercept.

Who the heck had managed all this, anyway? Sure, he’d been distracted, but not for that long. This timing was quite suspicious.

And those silhouettes in the camera footage.

Ah.

One of them, at least, was very obvious. And from it, he could infer the others.

But the obvious one was the most problematic, he knew. He’d spent quite some time trying to learn more about that blasted creature after his encounter with it at Bellvine. Much of that battle had been hazy in his mind, but he’d remembered enough for it to leave a lasting impression on him.

It was that damn dog.

The thing about psychics was that they were frequently overconfident, likely because they associated their intellect with their psychic prowess--and there was perhaps nothing in the world more intoxicating to one’s ego than the feeling of being intelligent.

But Morgunov had come to believe that intelligence and psychic abilities were, in fact, not directly related to one another. For example, psychics never seemed to realize that when they bridged their minds with his own, they were exposing themselves to a return signal.

And what was even worse for them, was that it was also possible to amplify said signal. Much like feedback from a microphone, the signal could be captured, made stronger, and then sent back to whence it came. That, in turn, would create a positive gain loop, amplifying the signal again and again, as fast as synapses could fire in the brain.

Of course, this was a bit dangerous on his end, too. The rapid amplification of the psychic signal would quickly feel like a splitting headache, soon followed by a knife in the brain, and then ultimately, a combusted skull. Unless, that was, the psychic realized what was happening and severed the link in time, which they usually did.

So it was a matter of the physical endurance of one’s brain. And as a servant with ample passive soul defenses on his side, Morgunov was typically able to come out on top during such exchanges.

He couldn’t be sure how this so-called Primordial lady would fare, but he intended to find out.

The reversal was a simple enough matter to execute. Well, simple after years of practice, at least. He merely had to empty his mind of all thoughts--admittedly not his strong suit--and then, while maintaining that emptiness, find the opening through which the signal was arriving.

He found it best to imagine the emptiness of his mind to be filling up with flammable gas. Then he could easily discover where the gas was coming from. A conceptual breach.

From there, he would imagine a spark, and the gas would ignite, blowing back through the hole.

Ah, it was already working. He could feel the headache coming on. Hoo boy, what a toughie.

This kind of pain was impossible to numb, too, for it was not merely physical. Bool’s half of the mind would be feeling it just as much as his half, if not more, which was why the reaper didn’t care for this technique.

It was an important part of being human, he’d come to believe. Those rare few who couldn’t feel it were missing out.

There was a popular sentiment that those who know pain are less inclined to inflict it upon others. And in Morgunov’s experience, that was true.

But it was also true that such experiences granted one the knowledge of where things hurt most. And from there, malicious intent could truly run rampant.

Knowledge was a funny thing. So many people throughout history liked to espouse the enormous benefits of education, of a learned populace, of knowledge in all its many forms dispelling ignorance around the world. And yet, Morgunov had increasingly come to believe that knowledge was also a prerequisite for evil to exist.

You could not intentionally hurt someone if you didn’t know where to strike.

And perhaps, in a similar vein, evil was a prerequisite for the advancement of knowledge. Because ultimately, more knowledge would bring about more evil.

That was all very reductionistic, of course, but it was fun to think in simplified terms, from time to time. And necessary, too. He’d seen many intelligent people get so lost in their own sophisticated ideas that they began to overlook the obvious. He didn’t want to be like that.

Which was why this attack from this so-called Primordial was interesting to him. Such a simplistic approach. Inflicting pain. No doubt, it was meant to be a test. She wanted to see how well he could take it. And once she’d gathered that knowledge, she would likely try something more advanced.

Unfortunately for her, she’d chosen her first attempt poorly. While Morgunov wasn’t entirely certain that his next trick was going to work on her in the same way that it had worked on numerous powerful psychics, he had a pretty strong feeling that she wasn’t going to be having a very fun time, here in a second.

He just wanted to enjoy the pain for a moment longer, first. Mmm.

Okay, that was enough.

He concentrated.

As with many things in this world, it was mind over matter. Honed control over many years of meditation. Naturally, he’d gotten quite bored of the typical meditations that reapers were always asking of their servants, so when he’d started looking into various ways that he could spice things up, he’d been quite the happy camper for many decades thereafter.

“And what of your plans?” asked Rasalased. “You wished to meet a Primordial, no? What will you do now that you have accomplished your goal?”

Morgunov tittered. “Still not sure I believe that I’ve really accomplished it. I need some type of confirmation that your big sis is really one of ‘em. Do either of you have a means of proving it?”

“If I did,” said the sister, “why would I bother providing it? Your satisfaction makes no difference to me.”

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t be stingy, now. You want the little Lion to keep on breathin’, don’tcha? I’d say that’s plenty reason to be cooperative.”

“You should be more concerned about your own breathing,” she said. “You act like you have full control over your circumstances, when you do not.”

Aha. Finally, they were getting down to it. Morgunov had been wondering when they would start to bare their fangs.

Since the beginning of the conversation, he’d been sending thoughts to his Roberts. He had hundreds of them scattered around the compound, patrolling the grounds, feeding him information via the network of biochips in his brain.

He’d been making more of the Roberts close in, surrounding the forge’s chamber. By now, they were above, below, and all around, waiting to break through the ceiling, floors, and walls the instant he told them to.

“Well, if you’re gonna talk big, I hope you’ve got some means of backing it up,” said Morgunov. “I mean, I’ve allowed you to wrap yourself around me like an angry, little rope via these tattoos, so c’mon. If you think can do somethin’ to me, then do somethin’ already!”

“Let us not be--” tried Rasalased.

The world went white.

Crushing pressure arrived, all over his body but especially on his head. He could feel the intent behind. The desire to render him to dust. To put him in his place.

And it certainly hurt. Morgunov could not deny that. He sensed Bool wanting to numb his body, but he stayed the reaper’s hand. Eheh. Just because he’d been letting the reaper pitch in for a change didn’t meant that he was about to allow Bool to do whatever he wanted.

Because pain was an interesting thing. He didn’t get to feel it very often, anymore. There’d been a time, of course, when he’d greatly feared pain and tried to avoid at all costs. But over the years, as he’d aged and aged, as boredom had started to become his fiercest enemy, he’d developed a certain nostalgic fondness for pain.

It was supposed to be both the source and ultimate destination of all souls and ardor, which may have been one and the same thing. The Current was theorized to connect countless realms where life existed--and more. Many scholars throughout history believed that, wherever a reaper ferried a deceased soul to, the Current would eventually carry that same soul--or the energy that composed that soul, perhaps--back into this world.

An eternally recurring flow of imaginary power. Unfathomable in its strength and potential.

Morgunov, therefore, understood what Rasalased was getting at.

The ancient mythical beasts of the Sandlords could theoretically reside within a plane of nonexistence. And someone, therefore, might be able to ride the Infinite Current to such a place and meet or otherwise bear witness to them.

A truly ludicrous plan, filled with absurd danger. The Infinite Current, if it did indeed exist, would not be some leisurely route through scenic territory. The Current was supposed to be a force of literally unparalleled soul power and ardor. To endure through the Current, having your own soul constantly pummeled by such a force, while also attempting to guide your own path through it...?

Morgunov was not sure he could imagine a more impossible feat.

But perhaps that impossibility was precisely what made the plan worthy of a god’s time.

He had to learn more.

“What do you want with the arasaba, exactly?” asked Morgunov.

“I believe they may be the progenitors of my kin,” said Rasalased. “And if so, then I must learn more of them.”

“Ahhh,” said Morgunov. “You want their power.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

The emperor snorted, then laughed. “Yes, I’m sure your interest in them is purely academic. Just like me!”

“If the arasaba hold answers regarding the origins of my kin, then they may also hold answers regarding the origins of all mankind.”

Morgunov bobbed his head. “Could be. But is that really so mysterious to you? If your surly sister here is truly a Primordial like she claims, then she should have plenty of juicy answers about all sorts of things, no?”

“Even if that were so,” said Rasalased, “I would not want her to provide them. There comes a point where one should not rely on the knowledge and experiences of another in order to continue growing. One must seek the truth for oneself.”

At that, Morgunov couldn’t help smiling. “A man after my own heart.”

It had been but a glimpse, but now, with the added context of Rasalased being interested in this place, perhaps that was enough to interpret more.

Hmm. There were a few emotions and sensations associated with the glimpse. Longing. Satisfaction. Hunger. Pride. But most of all, thirst.

And there was an image, too.

A vast, golden landscape--not only sand but great pillars, too.

Pillars of quartz, unless he was mistaken.

Quite similar to the great pillar that the Pit had only just showed him.

Ooh. Morgunov had to admit: that was a little worrisome. That vision had most certainly been a warning, and here he now was, seeing it again, only this time without the accompanying sense of urgency.

“Yes,” Morgunov finally answered. “I have heard the name. What is your interest in it?” He had a fairly good guess, of course, but there was no point in jumping to conclusions when he could simply ask.

“I seek the arasaba,” said the Dry God.

Morgunov blinked. “Oh! Your mythical lion beasts! You actually believe in them? Your descendants certainly didn’t seem to, last I asked.”

“It is not a question of belief. In the realms beyond, all can be made or unmade. The impossible made possible. But you must already know this, surely.”

“Eheh. I know of the claim, yes. ‘fraid I’m a bit of a skeptic on that front, though. Only the Void could possess the kind of infinite power you’re describing. And the other realms are not of the Void.”

“Some are,” said Rasalased. “Those in which souls reside must belong to the Infinite Current, which in your interpretation would be an aspect of the Void, no?”

Now there was a term he hadn’t heard in a while.

“The Infinite Current...” Morgunov stroked his thin beard as he thought it over.

The Void, supposedly, had many aspects to it. More than were even knowable, perhaps. More than were worth keeping track of, certainly. Such was to be expected when trying to conceptualize the infinite infinities of nonexistence.

But two of the more popular aspects were Chaos and the Infinite Current.

Chaos was supposed to be the nexus point of all creative thought, perhaps even of all creation itself. A theoretical domain of mayhem, madness, genius, and every conceivable idea.

It was also Morgunov’s personal favorite aspect, as it so happened.

The Infinite Current, however, was something a bit different. The Great River of Souls, was another name for it.

“But you have visited other realms, at least through mental projection,” said Rasalased.

“Yep,” said Morgunov. “Perhaps it was even similar to what the two of you are doing right now. Where are your corporeal forms currently, hmm? Do you even have those, anymore? Or have you supposedly ‘ascended beyond the need for them,’ as some of the old stories claim?”

“Indeed, we left them behind long ago,” said the sister.

“Hmmmmmmm,” mused Morgunov. “I wonder about that. Certainly, it would be quite the convenient thing to make others believe, wouldn’t it? This idea that you are now totally intangible beings, no longer vulnerable in physical ways. That way, you don’t have to worry about some maniac getting it into his head that he might be able to hunt down your little, fleshy bodies and capture them. Or kill them. Or otherwise use them against you, eh?”

“Believe what you will. It matters not.”

“Eheheh. So aloof!”

“Tell me,” interjected Rasalased. “During your travels among other realms, did you ever hear of a place called Saharazeem?”

The Great Desert?

Interesting. Morgunov had to think back. It was true that he’d seen quite a lot of the realms beyond this one, particularly during that one time at Bellvine. But even now, a lot of the things he’d witnessed there were still jumbled or foggy, hardly better than nonsense.

He’d spent considerable time in the immediately following years trying to parse through all of that information, but he’d only had a modest degree of success with the effort. Largely, it had come down to simply journaling everything that he could remember and then trying to interpret patterns from the mess. Ideas, emotions, visions, sensations, names, and places.

It had seemed an endless ocean, at the time. The great and vast Void.

One of the most enjoyable experiences of his life, truth be told. But so confusing in retrospect, too. And above all, he despised being confused.

Mysteries were one thing. Discovering secrets, uncovering truth--those were wonderful. But merely being mixed up and dumbfounded? No. Absolutely not.

The name, at least, was familiar to him. He just needed to recall if it was from that time or if he’d simply read it somewhere.

Bool’s assistance was appreciated here. Ehehe. The reaper hadn’t felt this useful in eons. It reminded Morgunov of more innocent times, when he’d relied on the reaper for almost everything.

Ah, there it was.

Yes.

Saharazeem. It was from Bellvine.

“Unfortunately,” said Rasalased, “I believe my sister is right about you not being trustworthy.”

“Ouch!”

“However, if you were to fulfill your end of a bargain first, then your trustworthiness would be a non-factor.”

“Oh? Hmm. But that’d mean opening myself up to being easily betrayed by you, instead.”

“It would, yes,” said Rasalased. “But that is the price you must pay for being of such ill-repute. Perhaps if you had lived your life more forthrightly, then you would be able to enjoy the accompanying privileges.”

“Mm, I both resent and doubt that. People are way too untrusting in general for someone to be given the benefit of the doubt with any sort of regularity.” He gave a shrug. “But anywho, lemme hear what else you wanted to ask. Sounds like there might be room to negotiate for Asad and Qorvass’ lives, depending on how the rest of this conversation goes.”

“Very well,” said the Dry God. “Next, I wish to ask about your experiences with other realms. Have you visited any of them?”

Morgunov pursed his lips, thinking. That was a tough one to answer, actually. “Visited? Uh... hmm. What counts as visiting? Because I’ve definitely done a bit of otherworldly traveling in my day, but such events for me have always been more... ‘out-of-body experiences’ than anything.”

“I see. So your corporeal form has always remained here, in this realm?”

“That’s right,” said Morgunov. “I know a guy who had a more involved experience like what you’re talking about, but sadly, he’s too terrified of me and keeps running away before I can have a proper conversation about it. Real slippery bugger, that one.”

“So you are saying that your experience is comparatively limited, then?”

“I suppose so. It’s a subject I’m interested in, though. Just haven’t gotten back around to researching it in a long while. I like to save certain things for later, know what I mean? Always gotta keep another project or two lined up, for whenever the current one finishes. Lemme tell ya, I absolutely hate having nothing interesting to do. Start to get a bit antsy and stir-crazy, which tends to make me lash out. In fact, Bool used to try and make me bored all the time ‘cuz of that. He likes it when I go out and make trouble for folks. He hasn’t attempted that in a while, though, probably because he knows that I’ve got too many backup projects in mind, right now. Lost cause for him, at the moment.”

Morgunov smacked his lips. “I dunno... that’s a pretty big ask.” It wasn’t, really. At this point, he had no further use for Asad or Qorvass, but they didn’t need to know that.

Plus, he always liked leaving the door open for a senseless murder. Never knew when something like that might come in handy. Hostages? Venting frustration? Silly experiments? There were all sorts of ways to make use of things that had otherwise outlived their usefulness. Who didn’t love a bit of recycling?

“I do not believe it is,” said the sister. “Now that you have met us, you have no need of them any longer.”

Dang it. “You don’t know that,” said Morgunov. “I’ve got all sorts of needs. And besides, the mere fact that you two care about them so much means that they’re useful to me as leverage. So if you want ‘em safe or even free, then maybe we can come to an agreement of some sort. I’m a reasonable fellow, despite what you might’ve heard about me.”

“More lies,” she said. “You only keep your word when it is convenient for you. Your overconfidence in your own power makes you have no qualms about betraying others. Any agreement made with you would have no weight or sense behind it.”

“So harsh. I’ll have you know that I keep my word for plenty of other reasons besides mere convenience. For instance, sometimes it’s just funny. To see the surprised looks on people’s faces, I mean. And heck, other times I keep it because I’m real mad. Tell me, what is convenient about hunting someone to the ends of Eleg for decades? Hmm? The convenient thing to do would be to forgive and forget! But no. If I give my word that I’ll kill someone, then I do it, no matter how long it takes!” He paused. “Unless, maybe, they come up with a really good apology. Then I might change my mind. But that’s not going back on my word! That’s making a new promise!”

“You lie even to yourself,” she said. “Rationalization masked as reason. You cannot tell when others see through you, because you cannot even see through yourself.”

“You’re not very fun to talk to, y’know that?”

“A spoiled child never enjoys being scolded.”

He sniffed. “What about you, Mr. Salad? What say you about striking a deal with me?”

“Aha. Concerned about him, are you? I suppose that’s only natural.” Morgunov paused. “Still a bit surprising, though, now that I’m thinking about it. I mean, do you really care about the little Lion? Or are you just going through the motions, ‘cuz of your sense of duty?”

“Of course I care,” said Rasalased. “Why would you say that?”

“Oh, c’mon. You’re a god now, aren’tcha? You’re above such base, mortal concerns, surely! Aren’t you much more interested in the big picture, hmm? Things that we on this plane of existence can barely even glimpse, let alone comprehend?”

Rasalased made no response.

Oho? Had he unexpectedly hit the mark, Morgunov wondered? Truthfully, he’d just been saying stuff, rambling with whatever came into his head. Usually, when he did that, he discovered all sorts of new ways to piss people off.

Ehehe. Perhaps this “Dry God” was even more full of surprises than he’d hoped.

The still-nameless sister chimed in again. “You will not be harming Asad Najir any more than you already have, Little Fool.”

Morgunov giggled. “Ooh, that sounds like a threat. I admire your confidence. Unless it turns out to be arrogance, of course. Ehehe.”

This was music to his ears. Even though it was quite likely that this lady had simply been lying about being a Primordial in order to intimidate him, it would be absolutely perfect if she’d been telling the truth.

The fact was, he didn’t want a pet god like Rasalased. Someone amicable and courteous from the outset? No, no. He wanted someone mean. Someone egotistical.

Someone whose spirit he’d be able to take great joy in breaking.

Because after all, once that was done, courtesy and amicability could be taught. In fact, that’d probably be the most fun part.

She, however, did not immediately respond. Despite her rudeness, perhaps she still wanted to be careful with her words here.

Morgunov hoped not. That sounded boring.

Instead, Rasalased was the next to speak. “If you harm the Lion further, you will not find us cooperative with whatever it is that you want.”

“That’s one way of looking at it, sure,” said Morgunov, “but I could also pose the opposite perspective. If you don’t cooperate, then your sandy boy won’t be having a very good time in my custody.”

“Either way, the result is the same,” said Rasalased. “You must leave him be. In fact, releasing him and his reaper would be best.”

“Ah, so it’s you!” said Morgunov. “Finally! You sure are a hard fella to reach, y’know that?”

“Indeed, I do.”

“I’ve got some questions for you, mister.”

“And I, you.”

“Oh? Intriguing. But uh, wait a minute here. This angry lady is really your sister?”

“No,” she said.

“Yes,” said Rasalased.

“Mmhmm. Cleared that right up,” said Morgunov.

“We have a complex relationship,” said Rasalased.

“I’ve got a few of those myself,” said the emperor. “But as far as I know, you’re not a Primordial, Mr. Salad. You’re a few thousand years too young for that, are you not?”

“This is true,” said Rasalased. “But kinship is a thing more deep and vast than all the oceans of the world combined.”

“Ooh, okay. Sounds like a bit of wishful thinking on your part, but I can’t say I hate it! Your starry-eyed musings were one of your more charming qualities in life, so I’m glad that hasn’t left you after all these years!”

“Hmm? You speak as if you knew me personally.”

“Do I?” He sorted through his thoughts. “Oh, that’s right. My reaper met you a few times. Perhaps you remember. His name is Bool.”

“Ah. The name is familiar. But also not. Perhaps I remember. Or perhaps I do not.”

“Mmhmm, mmhmm. I know the feeling. Don’t worry about it. Bool’s a bit touchy when it comes to being forgotten, but I won’t let him say anything mean to you. He can be a real drama king, sometimes. Really needs to learn how to relax.”

“I am familiar with such difficulties.”

“Ehehe.” Morgunov couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, well, I’ve gotta admit, despite how much I’d like to ask my questions, I’m pretty dang interested to hear what it is that you want to ask! Especially because I’d figured that you would be more openly arrogant and hostile, like your maybe-sister over here. Instead, you’re seeming like quite the gentleman! Haven’t called me an ignorant fool once, yet!”

“I have always felt that a modicum of politeness goes a long way, even when talking to barbaric mongrels such as yourself.”

“Methinks you haven’t quite nailed it, but boy, do I appreciate the sentiment! So go on, then! What did you want to ask me about, eh? I’ve gotta know what a god would want to consult little ol’ me for!”

“You are letting me go first? I thank you. In truth, there are several. First, I would like to know what your plans are for the current Lion.”

"A threat from ignorance will do you no good, Little Fool."

"Eheheh. Doesn't have the same impact on me when you say it in Mohssian." His silver gaze shifted briefly to Asad, then returned to Qorvass. "You wouldn't happen to be a relative of these two, now would you? Or a lingering remnant of such a person, perhaps? Hmm?"

"That is both correct and not. To explain would be an exercise in tedium, and I am sure you would still be no wiser by the end of it."

"Oho, well, then. Perhaps you would be keener to tell me who you are in your own terms, then. Or who you want me to believe you are, at least. It's obvious enough that you're one of those tricky types. Prone to lying, no doubt."

"Hmph. Little Fool. Again I say: you wished to meet a so-called Primordial, did you not?"

"Yeah-huh."

"Then you should be rejoicing. For you have now done so."

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