17.8

Eve wasn’t impressed with the Deadlands. Most planes were fire, lightning, lava, or bare rock. Not a single plant un-warped by mana could be found. There were no creatures currently seen that were not either insectile, lizard, or both. She didn’t spot any food supply that would be worth eating. In short, it looked like the entire place was run by an idiot who knew nothing about proper management.

Then there were the locust hordes.

No wonder Idiot One can’t manage to launch a successful invasion. They leap headfirst into Wilson’s maw, probably out of desperation for decent cuisine. This place has no strategic value practically by design. Eve thought as she moved swiftly through the terrain using Spatial Steps. Dagon either can’t or won’t improve this place. They don’t even have a Crystal Wall up, from what I can tell. Surprisingly, something from the Deeps hasn’t swallowed this place.

Eve’s mind conjured up several reasons food supplies were scarce in this Realm. From what she could see within their minds when questioning her information sources, the Dremora were fashioned by the hand of each Daedric Prince. They had organs, felt pain, and had a unique brand of Soul Mana. However, their entire being seemed devoted to devouring such mana.

Crystal Core offered up a rather disturbing thought. After looking it over, though, Eve didn’t think she could disagree. A Curse was torturing these creatures. Slice after slice of flesh displayed in Eve’s mind from Eternal Memory. Gradually the shape of a massive curse written into the very fabric of the creatures took shape. The rune for Hunger was painfully clear. The Daedric Princes had created a race whose entire existence was to feed on Soul Mana. They were weapons designed with intelligence but a terrible hunger for flesh. Consuming the meat allowed the Hunger Rune to devour the victim’s, Soul Mana. It gave rise to a disquieting thought the longer Eve pondered.

Dremora are nothing more than gatherers for something more significant. They are symptoms of the disease, their features carved by chaos. Eve thought as she continued moving while the landscape shifted around her form. The only thing here that could be consuming the Soul Mana is Dagon. The Daedric Princes must have become corrupted over eons of such fare. They are drunk on the sweet wine of mortality, addicted to the entire construct that requires them to feed.

Soul Mana was a fantastic foundation for many Rituals. However, consuming it was also of benefit in the same vein. One of the problematic aspects of consuming Soul Mana was the mutational aspect that occurred. Mixing your own Soul Mana with others, even by consumption, wasn’t a clean process.

Unlike a Ritual where purification could be built in, Eve couldn’t imagine a method of safety. Consuming Soul Mana would be like mixing a drop of ink in water. At the start, it wouldn’t mean much, but over time it added up. To avoid becoming a horror, a creature must be built with a unique method of purifying right off the bat. Adding the feature after birth would be almost impossible, and she suspected would be fatal. From what she had gleaned so far, the Daedric Princes didn’t even grasp the concept of purity.

Eve slowed as a light source denoting a city arrived on the horizon. The entire Deadlands had a hostile environment, but life did flourish in a sense. Certain areas she had spotted in passing contained nothing but burnt grass and dead trees. When she approached closer, it was apparent they were lethal carnivorous species. The grass had a bloody shade of red, while the tree roots attacked with an insidious thirst for flesh. Almost every plant was meat-eating, poisonous, and colored purple, red, or black.

There were several varieties of wildlife visible finally as she approached closer to the Dremora-controlled city. Many creatures that appeared to be a lesser version of their humanoid overlords took shape in the surrounding wasteland—twisted small things resembling the imps of lore—animals such as wolves, horses, and deer in vague mockery of the real world. Flora and fauna were a twisted mirror of Tal Mor. A pitiful lake near the city she found had a vaguely exciting form of mud crab. Eve watched with glinting silver eyes as the critical crustacean struck like lightning gutting a wolf. These naturally armored enemies were no harmless food sources.

As she grew closer to the city, Eve shifted her form to match what she had extracted as beautiful from the mages. Her skin gained an ashen cast like ebony, and her veins pulsed with magma-lit energy. Her silver hair shifted to bleached white, and her eyes turned to the red of fresh, bright blood. She eschewed the pathetic scales, scars, and other such nonsense. The tips of her ears were pointed like curved knives. The races of this place prized strength and flesh, especially new flesh, denoted hideously horrific might.

Her Jian shifted into existence on her hip as if it had lived there for eternity. Anyone looking would be able to see the weapon wasn’t hanging from a belt or hook. It was a simple, understated statement of power, just like her flesh. The armor shifted into a torc, vambraces, and anklets of gold engraved inlay. Invisible ripples of forces flowed along her body, the equivalent of magical armor in this place.

The association between armor and the mortal races is too strong, so force armor is. Eve thought as a cloak grew and billowed out behind her. Her cover was made of Witch’s Dust, with a hood that shadowed her face except for the ruby-red lips. Looking good is ninety percent of any negotiation, violent or otherwise.

The final piece of the costume was a barbaric-looking bandeau bikini complete with fur boots in void-disorienting black. Satisfied with her appearance Eve moved along at a sedate pace towards the city that began to tower in the distance. As she grew closer, she shifted her Spatial Step to give her a minor boost in speed. Each step was the equivalent of three, making her speed and appearance ghostly.

As she passed, traveling groups of Dremora looked at her before looking away. Those she met could see the swaying blade and new flesh. While the capital of Dagon’s realm was Obliterated Sun, it wasn’t the only city in existence. The realm spread out, spawning cities like pustules. Each town had a few significant points in common.

The first was the main level of defenses carved on approach. Magical and mechanical traps littered the area like sand in the desert. The road was no exception to the traps, either. Eve saw a group of Dremora off to the side offering bets on road section fatalities. Eve walked through the traps like air and grinned evilly when others followed her. The screams of dismay as they realized the pitfalls still existed were terrific music.

Reaching the city gates was a tedious affair. Bureaucracy was the same even in a place where everyone was theoretically immortal. She gave entirely manufactured answers at the entrance based on the extracted information. A quick scan of her mana was the check to ensure she wasn’t a spy for Iceharbor. Once the appropriate toll in thin gold bars she had forged was paid, entry through the portal was allowed.

For a race of slavers, the interior of the city was pristine. She could see that sewage was handled with actual structural concepts. The level of sophistication was decent for the Deadlands at large. Eve slipped through the city like a ghost denoting different quarters. There was the Merchant Quarter, the Noble Quarter, the Common Quarter, and others.

Eve was most interested in the Noble Quarter, as being a member made entering the others a trivial process. The city, while clean, wasn’t filled with structure beyond that and the sewers. Fights were finished using violence, and more than one headless corpse littered the alleys.

There was a quaint attempt to molest and rob her. Eve let Jian do the talking and dumped the bodies into the allies. She didn’t need to use fancy technique here, as pure brutality was enough. Although she was sure to lose points for not prolonging the agony of inferior beings, Eve didn’t care.

Canvassing the city finally gained her the name of the place, Destiny’s Edge. Planar tears into other realms controlled by Daedric Princes appeared more frequently here. The rips also led directly into Mundus or the Material Plane. They were mere rumors, though, but Eve knew they were something more. The scent of human flesh was distinct from the Dremora. A spell cloaked it, but Eve didn’t taste with merely mortal means.

Oh? A human mage dares to enter this place and walk among these creatures? Eve thought as she twisted the mana around her with Witch’s Dust. Following the trail of the mortal human was relatively easy. Eve noticed that she wasn’t the only predator either. Small teams of Dremora appeared to be approaching from all streets with a canine. Bloodhounds, or the daedric equivalent.

Spatial Step took Eve directly to the rooftops of the strange mish-mash of architecture. Savage Survival Mind and Combat Bot pointed out the suspicious places among the rooftop shadows. Pools of shadow that moved and patches of darkness a little too deep. Crystal Core implied that the hunters wanted to ensure all avenues were dead. A mage able to walk for so long among the Dremora was no novice. The capture of such a rich soul would be an extremely high priority. Eve tilted her head for a moment and then moved. In less than a second, every creature on the rooftop within a one-kilometer range died by decapitation.

She didn’t know who, what, or where the human came from. Nor did she care. No, what Eve was after was much easier to understand.

Chaos.

The human mage represented a faction that had the power to send their best and brightest here. It required no small amount of energy to do something of that nature. A drop in the bucket to Eve but an ocean to a mere mortal. Her cloak swirled, twisting around her like a living serpent as she watched the play beneath her position. Standing like a deity in judgment was its amusement.

Midway underneath her, the human mage paused. One of the Dremora slaving teams had slipped up and triggered a silent alarm. Eve watched the mage hastily work a teleportation with a devious grin.

Working spatial magic in front of her was practically begging for a lesion. Eve reached down and twisted the symbols right as the spell was completed. The mage popped out of their jump directly in front of Eve, who had turned away from the ledge to face them.

It took a fraction of a second for the mage to reorient themselves. As soon as they recognized where they were, the older human dropped his disguise to cast a cruel blow. Eve watched with barely disguised boredom. Witch’s Dust-Cloak stripped the mana leaving a tiny ember where a raging fireball had been.

“Is this all the mortal mages can accomplish here?” Eve said softly.

The mage shifted gears immediately upon hearing her speak in their tongue. “Greetings, esteemed elder. This one is called Grey Chime. Thank you for your timely assistance. Might I know what faction has aided me in my time of need?”

“Silver has aided you, but I am not from the Imperial Battlemages,” Eve said, amusement coloring her tone.

Grey Chime immediately shielded himself and asked slowly, “Where is my intrepid savior from?”

“The Prison Plane, of course,” Eve said succinctly.

“The Prison Plane?” Grey Chime said, his expression shifting from defensive to confused.

“Yes. A Daedric Prince recently invaded us.” Eve said with false modesty.

Grey Chime’s bushy white eyebrows raised, and he said, “My condolences. How bad was the damage?”

“Damage?” Eve said, appearing mirthful. “There was no damage. The System that controls mana in our world burned the Prince out of existence. They were forced back to Iceharbor to recuperate.” Eve said.

Grey Chime appeared pensive at her words, so Eve continued, “Our world decided to send a message.”

“A message?” Grey Chime asked, intrigued.

“Indeed. More of a warning of sorts.” Eve said as the Dremora and Daedric bloodhounds convened where Grey Chime had previously been. “We decided to send a sign that our world did not welcome invaders.”

Grey Chime said, “Messages require messengers.”

“That is correct. When sending a message, one must be sure it can be delivered.” Eve said, hooking the space around the hunting team that had converged before pulling them to the roof.

Grey Chime paled as the Dremora appeared around him.

“You would need someone who could handle any situation.” Grey Chime said. Eve didn’t reply as her form blurred before every Dremora and bloodhound was decapitated.

“I will send a message that can be understood with few words,” Eve said.

“What will it say?” Grey Chime asked, looking at the minced corpses.

“The same thing all such messages say,” Eve said. “Here be monsters.”