Chapter 133: 131 – The Bickering Immortals

“Why don’t you take a look for yourself?” offered up the White-robed Brother, handing over the scrying mirror. The Dark-robed Brother took up the offer gladly, only to recoil at what he saw, gripped by grim laughter.

“Oh, I see now. They’ve unknowingly re-enacted the Creation of a Great Man Ritual! Truly one of the most wretched among foundation-building methods, yet undeniably effective.”

“Guess again. Look, look closer - she is artificial. A homunculus in the truest sense, personality traits and idealized archetypes taken from the constituents and distilled into a real person. I would be so bold as to say that the Inheritors have done something even we dreamt not of doing in the Imperium’s halcyon days… Not for lack of trying, lest ye forget.”

A graven countenance fell upon the Dark-robed Brother, millennia of knowledge and experience leading him to one abominable conclusion after another.

“How truly impressive, certainly surpassing the Suncage Receiver and our army of golems,” he sneered. “How many died in payment for this mortal’s creation? Hundreds? Thousands? Millions?”

“None, dear brother,” smiled the White-robed one, much to the Dark-robed one’s chagrin. “Hundreds were left rightfully scarred, yet among those I know of, all have recovered. Such is the precision these Inheritors have reached in less than a lifetime, and it is this precision that leads me to believe that there was no accident at play. In fact, one among these sacrificial lambs somehow built a vastly stronger foundation due to her involvement in this creature’s birth; strong enough to carry the Edifice of a Dead God - and not merely any dead god, but the very same that is your namesake. Hedan, He Who Watches… Although I feel that 'He Who Judges' might be a more appropriate title in this era.”

“I thought I had felt a disturbance in the Fog-Sea’s currents akin to the previous two Renegades... Another to walk the Spiteful Martyr’s Path, then. I must admit, you were right about one thing - mortals truly do grow amusing in times of upheaval. If only living in these interesting times were not such a hassle.”

“And these… Victory Demons, is it? What do you make of them?”

“Old fundamentals applied in a new way… To say that I have not seen something like this in the past would be a lie, yet to say that their blazing resolve does not stir something within me would be a lie as well. But then, what other answer could I give?”

“Truly. After all, was it not you who Kama’tok stole his heart from?”

“Do not tease me so, brother. The King of Blazing Fires earned it, even if I had to create a false obstacle that he would take a gift earnestly offered. I wonder if this Beast of Gerhodan would more readily accept an old hermit’s patronage...”

“I do not recall agreeing to the patronage of any mortals, dear brother.”

“And yet you lost all these delectable soul-seeds to me only moments earlier. Oh, what might I do with these?”

The Dark-robed Brother narrowed his eyes at his sibling, a venomous question rising from his lips, “Tell me, which side do you root for?”

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“Come now, you know that I’ve always found the suffering of would-be tyrants oh so delectable,” smiled the former, fishing a Soul-seed out of the bag. He put away the bag into one of his sleeves, and in that same motion, pulled out a gourd carved with an ancient symbol for life. Dropping the seed into it, he filled it with water from a nearby fountain, corked it, and shook it about. When he drank the resultant shimmering liquid, his skin was instantaneously returned to youthful exuberance, and the glittering seed clattered out of the gourd no worse for wear. The seed had played no part, its involvement merely a ritual meant to honor the soul whose ascendance created it.

“That technophiliac fool of a self-proclaimed Sage once spurned an invitation to a social gathering I had invited him to, so as far as I am concerned, everything he stands for can be fed to dogs,” said the Dark-robed brother facetiously. 

“Though in all honesty, I still think the Empire will be better for the overall state of the continent. To think the Inheritors managed to build something capable of so completely disrupting the flow of essentia in a region... I had my work cut out for me getting that conversion barrier built without spreading undeserved knowledge.”

A jubilant laugh rang out from the White-robed Brother: “Come now, you and I both know that it is because of the Emperor’s ill-conceived attempts at suppressing cultivation that we haven’t had anyone able to forestall such a calamity in the last couple centuries anyway. I didn’t achieve immortality thrice over to avert my eyes from the entertainment of a good upheaval, let alone permit such rancid stagnation as He seems fond of. Frankly, I was about ready to go down there and start tossing forbidden technique scrolls in the way of promising would-be cultivators if someone didn’t start the show.”

With an enigmatic smile, the White-robed brother took a pull of his pipe.

“I might still do it anyways.”

“For each forbidden scroll, I will ensure that my wall comes down a month earlier.”

“Is that so? I thought you had agreed to… What was it again that you told the Sage? 'Not so much as lay a finger on it if you manage to raise it?'”

“I need not touch it to make it sink earlier… And I would sooner suffer the consequences of reneging on a verbal contract than let you tamper with mortals unimpeded. If I am to benefit the Inheritors, it will be on my own terms.”

“Very well, perhaps I’ll only help some obscure knowledge resurface, as I’ve done so many times before… After I take a look for myself.” 

“Don’t you-” the Black-robed Brother began, but his counterpart was long gone in a puff of pipe smoke, leaving only a voice transmission talisman floating at head height, which soon turned to dust and blew away in the wind. 

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