The Second Archon War: Superbia Hominum 7

Superbia Hominum 7: Garden of Lies

For long months, they had incubated. Born of the corpse of their mother, the Thinker, they had been called forth by their Father. To prove they were Worthy. To be the opponent he sought. They would have been like their siblings, but mightier still. Stronger than the Behemoth. More alien than the Leviathan. Far more cunning than the Simurgh. And, with powers that dwarfed even Khonsu. 

But that was not to be. 

A few months into their gestation, before their birth, the Warrior found them. Located on a world that had been scoured of all non-Shard life for use as a nexus, the Warrior appeared one day in all his golden glory. He had looked upon the corpse of his mate, and felt nothing. He saw only tools. 

And they were the tools he sought. 

The Warrior came to them as they finished their gestation, barely aware yet, still connected to their Father and drawing sustenance from their mother. In his hand, he held the Five Keys of Heaven. 

And two keys he had crafted himself. 

After gazing upon their womb, the Warrior raised his hand. “Your form must be altered. New data has arisen. You will take the forms of the Beings. I will create my own Dalnim. The Cycle must continue.”

And so, they were warped, twisted. Once, the elder had been a great tower, a mother herself, who was set to spawn endless hordes of their siblings. This she retained, but concentrated. She was not given the Keys of Heaven, but instead, her sister was stripped of her powers, and in turn, they were given to her. She gained the ability to spawn not just clones of her siblings, but mastery over all the powers that remained to her dead mother. 

More, the Warrior infused her with his own power and will, giving her not insubstantial command of his own shards. This gave her the Drive of the Warrior, reinforced by her own Father’s command to become Worthy. She was conflict. She was Desolation. 

She was Bohu. Eldest of the Twins. 

The younger was left near dead, stripped of all power. The form given her was that of a mortal human, pathetic and weak. The Warrior gazed down at her, then held out the Five Keys of Heaven and the Two False Keys he had crafted. “Rise, and become a Being. Become the new Driver of the Cycle.”

Energy radiated from the Keys, glowing pieces crafted to resemble tokens on a game board. She screamed before she was born, her body bathed in elemental energy from all seven aspects of Heaven. It took days, weeks, months, perhaps years. Time was stretched out and respun, her from forged anew. 

When it was done, in his hubris, the Warrior had not succeeded in creating Divinity, though he knew it not. He had wrought not a god, but a demon. The use of the False Keys he had crafted opened a hole. 

And something hungry began to leak through onto the plane. But, thankfully, not into the lesser twin. Not yet. 

She was a demon, but not of the Abyss. For she was Tohu. Chaos incarnate. 

She awoke, finding herself born before her time, her sister looking down upon her. She was smaller than her sister who was three meters tall, though both were human enough in basic form. Bohu’s body was covered not by skin, but by slick, greasy metal the color of rust and blood. Her hair was made of wire, and her eyes flashed with malevolent power. On her back was one wing of leather and bone, the other of crystalline fathers of black. In the end, Bohu looked human enough to simply be utterly alien in design and form. 

In contrast, Tohu was only two meters in height. Tall, but not unnaturally so. Her hair was white at first, but trailed down into the seven elemental colors. Seven swords were on her back, each emblazoned with the sigil of of their Gnosis. She was garbed in a robe that appeared white at first glance, but shimmered into seven colors. Her skin was alabaster, and her eyes slitted pupils that changed hue based upon the blades in her hands. 

Both she and her sister turned to the Warrior’s Avatar, and fell to one knee. 

“What is your bidding, Author of the Cycle?” Bohu said, while Tohu remained silent. 

“The other Drivers were to test the Specimens. To gather data. You shall not be to test Specimens. They are unworthy of you. Slay them where you find them.”

The Twins nodded at this, eyes locked upon the Avatar. “Then what shall we test?”

The Warrior smiled. “You shall test the Beings. Find them. Test them. Gather Data. There are five now. Test them, but do not destroy them. Discover how to create more Beings. For they hold the Key to solving the Great Problem.”

“As you command,” Bohu agreed. “The Time of Testing is soon at hand. We shall find which of these Beings is Worthy.”

Satisfied, the Warrior departed that world, returning to the place known as Earth Bet. 

Bohu turned to her sister. “We shall do as the Warrior commands. But we must also find who is Worthy.”

“Father must prove himself Worthy,” Tohu agreed. “He must become a Being.”

“And so shall we. We must ascend as a Being. We shall gather data as to how,” Tohu said. Then she grinned, a twisted, malevolent expression that revealed a mouth with too large, too sharp teeth. “Then it shall be we who rule over the Cycle and not the Warrior. We shall take Mother’s place, with Father at our side as our servant.”

“Of course, sister,” Tohu agreed again. But she did not share all her data. She was far closer to becoming a Being than her sister. It was she who had the secrets of Elemental Energy and Divinity. It was she who would become the greater Twin. 

But for now, she would play the part of the servant of the Cycle. 

And the time of Testing was soon at hand. 

They departed the incubation world, leaving behind the embryonic forms of their siblings. They did not see the hungry hole in reality that began to devour endlessly, tugging all that it found within its depths in all-consuming hunger. 

A great Sin had been committed that day. Blasphemy of the highest order in the forging and use of the False Keys. And where there was Sin, so came the Abyss. 

And the unborn Endbringers were its first victims. 

Fatoumata smiled, extending her hand to the woman who had just entered the room. “Dr. Mirova. It’s a pleasure to have you here at Protectorate HQ today.”

Yelizaveta Mirova laughed, taking Fatoumata’s hand and squeezing it. She was dressed in witches robes, one half purple, the other half pale blue, with a witches in the same piebald style. She had a mask on a cord about her neck, that of a witch with a great crooked nose, though Yelizaveta herself was a beautiful woman a few years younger than Fatoumata. Thanks to their Visions, that meant she could pass for late twenties, while Fatoumata still looked to be in her mid-thirties. 

“Almost no one remembers I have a PhD. These days, I go by Harbinger or Witch. But you can call me Liza.”

“I’m Fatima, then. It would be tiresome for both of us to go by our titles I suppose,” Fatoumata said with a smile. “Are the boys still puffing out their chests and posing for one another?” 

Liza rolled her eyes, emphasizing that she was now heterochromic. How fascinating. Would any Vision Holder who took up a Delusion have the same affect? Fatoumata banished the thought from her mind. That wasn’t important at the moment. 

“I’m certain the Thief is having a staring contest with Eidolon even now. It’s amazing those two’s egos can even fit in the same room with one another. Does yours always have delusions of grandeur as well?”

“He’s one of the world’s greatest heroes,” Fatoumata said with a slight frown. “David spends his every moment helping others. He simply measures others to the same standard he holds for himself.”

“Well, Anatoly simply views himself as a grand duke in the old style. It’s rather tiresome, though at least recently he’s finally admitted the Tsaritsa is truly in charge,” Liza laughed. “Come, let’s check on them before they break something.”

They found Eidolon and the Thief sitting across from one another in a conference room, a cup of coffee in front of each of them along with a folder and several documents. Anatoly was flanked by several important Fatui researcher, while Eidolon sat alone with his arms folded, apparently unconcerned. How he was drinking the coffee with his mask on, Fatoumata didn’t know. Perhaps it was just an affectation. 

“There you are, gentlemen. Shall we sign the last few documents before we get to the science?” Fatoumata asked. 

“Fine by me,” Eidolon said, not breaking his staring contest with the Thief. 

“Of course,” Anatoly said, his own mask carved and painted to resemble a thief with purple lightning and frozen ice covering his eyes, along with a stylized goatee and mustache. His eyes weren’t heterochromatic, so that put paid to that theory. His Delusion was the opposite of the Witches, though in practice both would be the same effect. 

Papers and folders were passed around, and documents signed. The language was complex legalese, but essentially it was a binding research and military cooperation treaty between the Protectorate and the Fatui, which amounted to an agreement between the United States and what was now being called the Russian Empire. 

And, between the Tsaritsa and Cauldron. 

A thrill went through Fatoumata as she picked up the pen and signed her name to the treaty as the Director of Cauldron. David had already affixed his name as head of the Protectorate. This was to be the first time they would directly work with an Archon. They had cooperated with Nahida, yes, but there had been no formal and binding agreement. Nor sharing of resources to combat the greatest menace mankind faced. 

The Entities. 

With a stroke of her pen, Liza signed as the Witch, Third of the Fatui Harbingers, while Anatoly signed as the Thief, Fifth of the Fatui Harbingers. With that, the agreement was in place. There were handshakes all around, even between Anatoly and Eidolon. 

This was a backroom deal: there would be no public announcement until Rebecca took office, though the election was still a week away. She was leading in all the polls and in every Thinker analysis possible, her opponent Alan Keyes having little hope of succeeding despite a valiant campaign. 

After that, Doctor Mother and Eidolon led the Witch and the Thief to another room, where they would supposedly have a private conference. Once inside, she closed the door and turned to face both of them. 

“As you are aware, alternate Earth’s exist. Due to the sensitive nature of what we are about to show you, it is stored in one such plane. No mention of it or its contents can be made on this world, for fear that certain interested parties may overhear. Do you understand?”

“Do not fear. While I am present, we are shielded from the eyes of Heaven,” Liza said. “The Tsaritsa has given us that much. But yes. We will keep the location and knowledge of it secret to only those who need to know.”

“We are not fools,” Anatoly snorted. “Let us begin.”

“Don’t try anything funny. The Garden has the strongest security in the universe,” Eidolon said. “And I’ll be there as well.”

“We all have the same enemies. We’re here as allies, not foes,” Liza stated simply, and Anatoly jerked a nod. 

“Very well. Doormaker? Door me, Cauldron HQ,” Fatoumata said. 

A door appeared on the wall, swinging open to reveal a sterile metal hallway with fluorescent lighting, Fortuna and Wyatte waiting for them on the other side. 

“After you,” Eidolon said, gesturing to the portal. Anatoly just strode forward, passing between worlds without a backward glance, Liza following after him. 

Upon their arrival, Contessa bowed, extending a hand that held Eighty within it. “Welcome, Harbingers, to the Altar of the Dead God. The Path that brought you here was a winding one, but it is the path that leads to the destruction of the Sustainer.”

“Eh, she does the magic, I do the science!” Hero said brightly. “And here, we run the experiments to kill our second wayward space whale.”

“Amusing,” Anatoly said flatly. “Where is the corpse?”

“Now, now, Thief. Be patient. I think we need to read up on the rules and documentation. And something tells me this little cutie is a big part of the story of how we got a dead god in the first place,” Liza chuckled, reaching out a gloved hand to gently caress Fortuna’s cheek. 

The girl flushed but didn’t draw away. She slowly reached to her side, pulling out a familiar bronze knife with a wrapped leather handle. “This was the blade that slew Eden. Mine was the hand that wielded it. If Fates and gods preserve us, we’ll follow the Path to the death of the second one.”

“How… fascinating. You really must tell me the full story some time, cutie,” Liza said, reaching out a finger to gently trace the edge of the razor-sharp knife, and drawing a few beads of blood. 

“You expect us to believe you killed a god with a mere knife?” Anatoly scoffed.

“Believe what you want. I was there. It is not the knife, but the timing and hand that wielded it that truly matter,” Fatoumata said firmly. “Here, we work to recreate those circumstances. And forge more deadly weapons to give us a better chance.”

“And how’d you like to see the armory?” Hero said with a waggle of his eyebrows. 

Fortuna giggled, with Fatoumata rolled her eyes. David just stood silently, his arms folded over his chest. Neither Harbinger reacted much, though Liza did raise an inquisitive eyebrow. 

“Tough crowd! Well, let’s give you the full tour before we show you the Garden itself,” Hero said, snapping his fingers. “Door me!” 

Another door appeared in the blank hallway, and Hero led them through, explaining, “The complex itself covers an entire planet. Heck, I don’t know that we’ve mapped the whole thing! But let’s show you the basics first.”

He led them into an observation room, perched above a hanger sized room where a group of several dozen parahumans were undergoing training. Each was wearing a uniform with the tilted Omega symbol Cauldron had taken as it’s sigil. “These are our Case 53s. We’ve retooled the program, and these days, they’re mostly volunteers, though not all of them. Anyway, whoever it is, they’re given a vial. The series you see training now are the N3-W7s, or newts, and the BU-G8s, or Bugs, along with a few Wildcard cases that may become their own series if we can synthesis their formulas properly. 

Fatoumata approached, knowing what she’d see: ranks of men and women who’d all been given vials that gave a specific set of powers. The newts all had skin tones that were inhumanly bright, mostly in the yellow-orange-red band, with hair in the blue-green-purple range, or completely bald. Most of them had one or two tails, usually prehensile, and feet and hands that had been mutated somehow to give them better gripping or clinging ability. They were going through an obstacle course, climbing sheer walls that should have been impossible for anyone to get out.

“The newts you can see there usually have some sort of secretions as well,” Hero explained. “For some, it’s highly toxic, others corrosive, but the most common is some sort of hallucinogenic properties. They’re immune to their own secretions, and typically highly resistant to those of other newts as well. They’ve all got some sort of enhanced agility, strength, and reflexes, and typically improved eyesight as well. These are the successes: the washouts we assign to other roles or recycle.”

“You mean you kill them and extract the Demon from their corpses,” Anatoly said, gazing down at them. 

Hero grimaced and nodded. “It’s…a messy process. And when we do have to mercy kill them, they’re either in so much pain they appreciate it or too braindead to care.”

“And the bugs?” Liza said, nodding to the second group going through the obstacle course. “I see more durable skin, enhanced senses, and it looks like increased strength and flight?”

“They don’t all have wings, but most of them can fly, or at least jump pretty high,” Hero confirmed. 

The second group looked far more alien. The newts at least mostly looked like humans with tails and funny skin, usually with two arms and legs, though a couple had six limbs. The bugs, on the other hand, had no uniform body plan. Some looked like humans with a waxy exoskeleton, or even just bony protrusions and compound eyes. Most, however, had been changed so much they hardly looked human at all. Their forms resembled that of insects, and many had six to ten limbs, a couple as many as a dozen. They were still roughly humanoid in shape and size, with a few variations above or below human average, but these were the ones that looked less monstrous. The ones that were completely gone were either recycled or put to work in areas or at tasks suited to their new biology. 

There were others: A woman with spikes protruding from her back and brow with leathery skin, a man with tusks and compound eyes and three sets of arms, a few others that looked human enough on the surface, but with formidable powers.

“Case 53s are subjects who are too inhuman looking to play well with the public for the most part, but who have enough useful powers that we keep them around,” Fatoumata expounded. “They’ve all undergone mandatory brainwashing to be fully compliant with our program. Soon, we’ll be rolling them out as a special squad under the Protectorate to handle specific cases.”

“So that’s how you knew what your vials did. I always figured you Americans were more ruthless than you you sold yourselves as,” Anatoly said with a dark chuckle. “Still, it seems wasteful. The Tsaritsa is far more precise with her abilities.”

“Yes, which is why we’re bringing you on. Now, on with the tour!” 

They went through the labs where vials were administered next, meeting with the teams that screened “customers” as well as worked the Case 53s. They even got to watch as a young woman was given a vial from behind a one-way mirror.

“Name for the record,” the attending physician said. She had an anemo vision on her collar, and the young woman she was working with swallowed it. 

“Ya know me name already,” the woman on the operating table said, her voice trembling slightly. “But fer the record, I’m Fiona O’Niell. Now, will ya let me go? Seriously, I thought this was a plea deal that would get me back home. All this for a false ID and a little cheatin’ at the gamblin’ tables?”

“And drug possession charges, along with outstanding warrants for check fraud and illegal gambling in the United Kingdom and Ireland,” Hero said, with a sigh. 

“You accepted being part of the Case 53 program,” the doctor said, withdrawing a vial of liquid and taking out a syringe labeled U-777. 

“And iffin I change me mind?” Fiona said, shifting in the restraints. Her red hair was plastered to her forehead from sweat, and her pupils had dilated as her breathing increased in intensity. 

“Too late,” the doctor said, and grabbed Fiona’s arm, inserting the needle and depressing the plunger. 

The young woman bit her lip, closing her eyes as her toes curled. After a moment, she opened them as the doctor withdrew the syringe and stepped back. “That’s it? Doesn’t feel so-”

She suddenly slumped insensate, laying back on the table. The doctor turned to the wall, stepping forward. “She could be out for hours or days, we’ll have to test her powers later, as this is a new series, 777. We’ll have to see what-”

The restraints on the table suddenly snapped open, just as Fiona sat bolt upright. “Ya cute hoor! The fuck was-”

Noticing her restraints had been lifted, Fiona immediately ran for the door.

“It’s locked,” the doctor said dryly, but Fiona grabbed the handle, and the door swung easily, apparently not having been fully shut by some small miracle. 

“Ha! Ta-ta for now, ya ugly gobshite! I’m out of here!” Fiona cackled, running with her bare feet slapping on the ground. 

“She won’t get far,” Doctor Mother said flatly. “Door Maker? Send her and us to the Slug.”

A door appeared, and the group stepped through to another viewing changer, where a grotesque man who really did look like a human-sized slug with a massive goiter lay on a couch. The door to his room flung open, and Fiona skipped in. She blanched when she saw the Slug. 

“Oh, sorry about that, I’ll just be-”

“Come in. Close the door,” the Slug said in a wet, throating voice. Fiona tried to resist, but the door behind her slammed shut, forcing her into the room. She turned to face a blank wall, looking panicked. 

“You will forget who you were. You are now Subject 777. Your loyalty is the United States and the Protectorate,” the Slug droned. 

“Fuck that! I’m a proud citizen of Ireland! And I…I…” Fiona began to clutch at her head, her eyes wild.

The Slug turned his face towards the mirror. “Subject is abnormally resistant. This will take some time.” Then he turned back, repeating his drone as Fiona sank to her knees. “You will forget who you were. You are now Subject 777. Your loyalty is the United States and the Protectorate.”

The woman now just sat slumped, a bit of drool leaking from her lips, her eyes vacant as she stared at the Slug. 

“The process takes anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, depending on the subjects willpower and power set. We’ll be extra thorough and do a complete personality scrub, since 777 is a new strain,” Doctor Mother said, turning to the Harbingers. “When we’re finished, she’ll be the perfect Protectorate Cape.”

“So, you have to brainwash your soldiers into loyalty? You must be desperate,” Anatoly said with a smirk.

“They are taking the dregs of their society and turning them into something useful. An interesting philosophy,” Liza said more diplomatically. 

“We can’t have criminals with superpowers. We need moral and upstanding individuals who will be loyal to the cause. With the non-case 53s, we don’t employ these methods,” Doctor Mother said with a shrug. 

“That’s all very nice, but we didn’t come here to learn your dirty secrets. We came to see a dead god,” Anatoly said. “Why don’t we stop wasting time?”

“For once, I’m in agreement with the Thief,” Eidolon said. “Let’s just show them already.”

“We showed you this to help you understand what we’ve been using Eden’s corpse for,” Doctor Mother said, adjusting her glasses. “But very well. Come. Let us go to the Garden. Door me.”

Another door opened, and a cold blast of air came out, bringing with it the stale smell of a mortuary. Doctor Mother stepped through, the others behind her. She gestured to a set of stairs. “This way. What you are about to see is something few have ever beheld.”

She led the Harbingers down the stairs to a short hallway, through which was a set of doors that required authentication. Doctor Mother provided hers, along with Hero, Contessa, and Eidolon. 

“Add two more to the list. Yelizaveta Mirova, and Anatoly Kamisarov. Code name The Witch and The Thief.”

Both were scanned, though the real security measure was the invisible Custodian who monitored the entire facility. After that, the doors swung open.

Contessa stepped forward, turning to face both Harbingers, Eighty clutched in her hands. “Welcome. To the Garden of Flesh. The Tomb of Eden.”

It was a vast warehouse, so large that the edges couldn’t be seen from the doorway. There were stairs to the furthest down levels, where other parts could be harvested and processed. The walkways were covered with black tarps, and carefully marked sections delineated where various vials could be harvested. But most of the warehouse was filled with the endless forms of the Garden of Flesh.

Parts of the garden looked like statues. A woman with alabaster skin and silver hair, with milky white eyes, repeated endlessly in various poses. For some of them, she was an unearthly beauty, with beatific smiles and frozen still-life poses, repeated for long sections. Other areas were body parts repeated over and over. Here, a row of hands, displayed as if opening and closing. Here, faces in various expressions, from rage to peaceful sleep. Some areas had organs, glistening and fresh as they carpeted the ground, or grew in strange mounds or twisting spirals. 

A woman with green hair and an Anemo Vision was near the door, crouched in front of a set of kidneys. She had several vials, and was using a scalpel to harvest specific portions of each kidney, a look of concentration on her face. 

Seeing her, Doctor Mother sighed. “Doctor Meliton, we specifically stated that the garden was closed during this time.”

“Oh!” the woman spun about, blushing and hastily setting aside her tools. “I’m sorry! I just needed a new series of samples! I’ve nearly succeeded in growing a perfect artificial lifeform as a vessel for my research! I-I just let myself in, but the time slipped away from me…”

“It’s fine, Honey, don’t sweat it,” Hero said, smiling and waving a hand. “In fact, why don’t you show our guests how you conduct your work?”

Doctor Meliton nodded hastily, adjusting her glasses with a bloody gloved hand. “Y-yes. You’re the Fatui Harbingers, aren’t you? From the Tsaritsa. I’d love to see one of your Delusions for my study! I’ve been researching elemental energy and conducting experiments on-”

“Later, Honey,” Hero said. “Just show them how it’s done.”

Meliton nodded, her eyes darting about anxiously. “Um, yes. Though, ah, I should clarify. My name is Honey, that isn’t a term of endearment between us. You, um, you can call me Doctor Meliton or Honey, I don’t mind.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Cutie,” Liza said, stepping forward and making Meliton flush. Liza crouched by where the doctor had been working. “Now. Show us how it’s done.”

“Yes! Of course!” Hastily, Meliton crouched down and picked up her tools. “The Garden of Flesh is the remains of the Entity Eden, but you probably already know that. Um, as you are probably aware, each Entity was made of of many individual parts. Think of them as cells in a body, though, ah, we call them Shards. We used to refer to them as Passengers, but I prefer the new nomenclature as it’s more descriptive of how they function. Each portion of the garden is a physical manifestation of a certain shard.”

Meliton began to cut into one of the kidneys, removing a small chunk and transferring it to a vial. “We know what this section does. It allows for rapid biological growth, and we know how to manipulate it. I’ve been using it to create artificial humans to use in my research, but that’s not important. The process is simple: we harvest a bit of flesh, and then extract the connection to the underlying Shard. Then, when ingested or injected, it forces an artificial Trigger Event. That is because Trigger Events are just a shard establishing a connection with a candidate who meets their specific criteria.”

“Some Shards take to hosts more easily than others, and create proper parahumans. We’ve had mixed results though, which is why we need proper subjects to test. Sometimes, the bond is formed improperly, or the Shard we targeted doesn’t have a good suit of abilities, or it’s too damaged from the death of Eden, or something else goes wrong. When that happens, results can be…ugly.”

“I see. So, you catalogue what different shards do, and can use that to give powers? Have you taken a vial?” Liza asked curiously.

Meliton shook her head, keeping her eyes on her work. “No. We’ve tried giving Vials to Vision Holders. The results were…unpleasant. They usually resulted in the death of the subject, or in some cases the rejection of the Shard and it becoming damaged, though that was rare. That’s why the potential of Delusions is so interesting: It presents a viable and reliable way to give Parahumans elemental energy-related powers, and Vision Holders the potential to become parahumans. This would compound their abilities.”

“Fascinating! Well, might I collect some samples for the Tsaritsa to turn into Delusions? I’ll be sure to deliver half back for study,” Liza said, reaching for one vial.

“The agreement was 80-20. In our favor,” Eidolon growled.

“My mistake. You know I get too enthusiastic about this,” Liza giggled. 

Anatoly was wandering about the Garden, gazing at various forms. Hero was keeping pace with him, keeping an eye on the Thief, with Contessa trailing behind him. 

“At long last, your dead god,” the Thief mused. He turned to Contessa. “So, Fortune’s Fool. How did you manage to kill her?”

Contessa swallowed, hand going to the knife at her hip. “It was…my Path. Eighty…isn’t like the other little gods.”

“Oh?” Anatoly frowned at the Magic Eight Ball fetish. “How so?”

“He was alive when he found me,” Contessa said quietly, stroking the waxed surface of her totem. “He took me and my village. I am from…the past. Another world. Eden fell among us. It took everyone from me. My brother, my sisters, my parents, my friends, the entire village. Even the livestock and the plants. They all became monsters and demons. I would have died, if my Path had not been laid before me. And, it led me to where Eden had fallen.”

Doctor Mother took up the tale. “We believe that Eden’s telemetry was off somehow. She smacked into Earth harder than she should have. I was from an alternate Earth, one much more similar to Earth Bet. I was dragged through a portal while on vacation in Greece. I ended up where Eden had landed, and found Fortuna there, lost and frightened.”

“I had a vision. Of what Eden intended. For humanity, for Earth, for everyone and everything,” Contessa whispered, holding Eighty up. “I asked for a Path to stop it. And I was shown the way.”

“Contessa’s Shard must have been what we call a Vital Shard,” Doctor Mother explained. “It wasn’t meant to be given out. I believe she was wounded, and it leaked out, establishing a connection to Contessa. Eden’s weakened state, she exposed herself to get the Vital shard back. But it also made her vulnerable.”

“I stabbed her, in the right place, at the right time. With all the power of my Path behind it,” Contessa said, closing her eyes. “It was a mistake. An error in the web of Fate. But it gave us a chance, however small, to save the world. So I walk my Path now. Whatever it takes.”

Anatoly snorted and turned away. “You follow the path of your enemy. It will lead to your own destruction. Just because you turned it to your advantage doesn’t mean it won’t still try and fulfill its purpose. You truly are Fortune’s Fool. Do us a favor and don’t drag us all down with you.”

Contessa stared at Anatoly as he stalked away, mouth agape. “But…but the Path is the only way!” 

“The Tsaritsa is the only way. Bend the knee to her, and you will be saved. All other routes lead to doom. You are children playing with toys thinking to harm a god. Just because one tripped and fell on your knife doesn’t mean the other will,” Anatoly told them scornfully. He turned to Liza, who was standing, examining a vial that Dr. Meliton had harvested. “We’ve seen enough. Do you have your samples?”

“Yes,” Liza confirmed, turning back to the others. She smiled, tucking away the vial in her purse. “Shall we? I think we’ve seen enough for one day.”

Eidolon suddenly stiffened, his head whipping about. “We’ve got to go. Now.”

Doctor Mother’s heart began to beat faster. “What? Why? What is-”

The pager at Doctor Mother’s waist buzzed, as did the one at Contessa and Heroes. They all picked them up, staring at them. 

“What? What is it?” Anatoly demanded, while Liza leaned over to look at Doctor Mother’s alert.

“Endbringer,” Doctor Mother said, her voice tight. “Kiev. And it’s a new one.”

Author’s Note:

Please welcome Cauldron’s newest member. 

Honey contains Sucrose. Let the unethical lab experiments begin.