Garren rests at the now empty Table of the Celestial Decree where twelve gods once sat in harmony limiting their influence on the mortal realms. The once symbol of power over the gods is now no more than an empty table fashioned from a branch of the tree of life. A magnificent vessel created by the original god of the living, Gaia, in order to provide the immortal realms with a life everlasting before it was raised to the ground by the fires of hate and torment in the year eight thousand twenty-three after Starbreak.

  Garren looks up as a tall slender man approaches. He has reptilian eyes and the body of a lamia. Slithering up to the table he places large humanoid reptilian hands on it, his nails scraping against the polished wood.

  “You wanted to see me godfriend Garren?” He hisses in a grumbled voice.

  “The most recent attempt on Helladeus was a failure, though he did catch a glimpse of the attacker’s blade Drako’s Razor, there is just one problem.”

  Garren stands slamming the tip of a large obsidian dagger into the table.

  “I have Drako’s Razor.”

  The man slithers on his belly across the table pulling the blade from it observantly.

  “Ah yes, this is my blade, an artifact given to Aureullius prince of the elves for freeing me from my shackles in Hallows Delve, he had just become soul-bound to the Starbreaker after the realm-walker in their party died unceremoniously, there was romance between him and the realm-walker I believe,” he pauses setting the blade on the table in-front of Garren. “Go ahead and ask your question.”

  “If it wasn’t your blade that felled Destiny and Gaia, then what was it?” Garren asks.

  “It was my blade, Drako’s Razor has a sister blade as it was meant to be wielded with versatility, not chained to one class, already a powerful weapon itself, but when wielded with the sister blade it can become much more,” he replies with a nasally hiss.

  “And what is the name of this blade that is kin to Drako’s Razor?”

  “Deadringer,” Drako replies, his voice almost a ghastly whisper.

  Garren retrieves the blade stowing it away.

  “And where might I find this Deadringer?” Garren asks.

  “Wait until dark tribulus when the moon is at it’s highest, Deadringer will come for you, and its owner will abandon it, their objective already accomplished, I have but one request,” Drako says.

  “What is it that you need godfriend Drako?”

  “When you return my blade to the realmwalker, no, the void walker, grant him the sister blade as well, I am eager to see how he handles them both,” Drako says with a large reptilian smile.

  “There is one more thing,” Garren states.

  “You wish to speak with Heroldin, I cannot grant this, but I will pass along a threatening word to those who may seek to gain advantage from your request, war is coming, I am on your side friend, and I hope my champion stands with us too.”

  The light in the room flickers as if the rays of sunlight were controlled by electricity and Drako vanishes in a subtle cloud of violet smoke. Garren stands sliding his chair under the table and turns away from it heading towards a pair of large carved wooden doors. He places his hand on one of the doors ready to press forward before he gazes over his shoulder at the large empty table. The visages of the slain gods Destiny and Gaia appear in their seats giggling as they converse, the table filled with a bountiful feast.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  One more image appears before he pushes the door open. Helladeus running his hand over Gaia’s forearm jokingly as she blushes. They were so much younger then. Things were far simpler. And then, in that ghostly visage, Garren sees it. A young Avarice approaches Fate whispering in his ear.

  Unable to accept his vision Garren forces open the doors exiting the room and returning to his obsidian palace.

  The moons orbit the planets their energy pulsating into the realm much like the day star as Garren lies awake running his fingers through Mercedes’ hair gently. She shivers and he lays a blanket across her small figure with his lower arm.

  The night continues without event as Garren peers into every future, past, and present he can. His foresight seems blinded. A loud thud slams against his chamber door. He leans up suddenly rousing Mercedes. She climbs out of bed grabbing for a small stick at the base of the nightstand. She raises it and the end is alight with a luminous glow eliminating all shadows from the room.

  Garren pulls two mounted blades from his wall wielding them with his two lower arms and approaches the door. He slides the door open slowly with his top right arm and his blades clank against the floor.

  The decapitated head of Helladius peers at him wide eyed, a blade with the exact resemblance of Drako’s Razor pinning it to the door through his forehead. The head gasps, and a small note falls out of the mouth. He unrolls it reading the text.

  The gods killed my mother and father, no, you killed my mother and father. The only condolence I got was that Fate wasn’t on my side. That Destiny had this in store for me and my wicked parents. Hundreds of years I’ve waited for this. Destiny is dead, and Fate is on my side.

  -The Girl Bathed in Gold and Blood, Avarice

  A gust of wind blows through the window and Garren rushes back toward Mercedes. How could he not foresee this? Has he grown weak in his years of peace? Blood soaks the floor by the side of the bed. The curtains flow in the wind also stained with blood.

  “Mercedes!” Garren yells desperately.

  The sound of blades clashing echoes through Garren’s realm. Just as Garren is about to fall to despair an orcen woman climbs through his window covered in gore cradling Mercedes in her arms.

  “The brood-mother sent us, Helladeus has fallen, the War of the Gods has begun.”

  The Orcen woman moves toward Garren placing an injured Mercedes in his arms.

  “Thank you for protecting her,” Garren says cradling Mercedes gently.

  “The Broodmother cares for all her children, wether they are of her blood or not, we consider this one a sister, be more diligent in the future, you have the gift of foresight, daughters of the brood cannot predict what may happen, we only follow the Broodmother.”

  “Tell Kataria that I am grateful for her aid,” Garren states.

  “How do you know her by that name?”

  “I am Garren, god of foresight, and father of the newly birthed Grokken that lady Kataria is birthing as we speak,” he replies.

  “The father of the brother Grokken, I thought you an interest to the mother, but never thought she sent us to assist her mate,” she observes his four arms curiously. “I see, it is an honor to meet the father of my new brethren, perhaps you would honor me with Grokken offspring of my own,” the orcen woman states.

  “I’m sorry young mistress, my desires lie with Kataria, and Kataria alone.”

  The orcen woman slams her fist against her large muscular breast and exits the room to fight the dwindling forces of Avarice outside.

  Okami slides a plate of freshly cooked boardrel and lentils infront of Chrissima taking a seat beside her at a small table. Her crystal ball rests in the center, a communication device used by mages and connected to the Drakvania rune tablet system.

  “Okami, my love what isss bothering you?” Chrissima hisses.

  “The flow of mana has been disrupted, I sense, and have heard gossip, that portals are behaving strangely, sending people to undesired locations or delivering them as mounds of flesh,” Okami replies.

  “You worry about Mateo’s return,” she says placing an injured hand over the crystal in the center of the table.

  Her blood fizzles as she infuses the crystal ball with mana and the image of Mateo and his party appears within it. His party, except for Serenity.

  “He will arrive at the portal sssite within the next moon rissse, we have time to enjoy ourssselvesss, will you grant your new wife that pleasssure?”

  Okami smiles lifting his fork.

  “Of course, my love.”