The ashfall pattered down from the crimson sky like snow, settling on Angar's armored shoulders with hisses, as he listened to the distant rumble of thunder that never quite broke as it should.

  He’d fully adjusted to the lesser gravity, fighting within its new physics as if born to it, but the thin air was something he’d never fully adjust to. Even Terran-normal environs had thin air to him, a son of harsh Tribute.

  Their temporary camp was in an area mostly clear of foliage, sitting on the warped soil, twisted thorns scraping against his greaves and cybernetics as he shifted on the cracked earth.

  He finished his biobrick and closed his Annals. Another attempt at the Mindscape beckoned, through that ancient portal-hub plane.

  Rested, with Resilience and resources recovered, he’d appear with more essence, and endure longer before dissolution claimed him.

  Each entry spat him into a different part of the plane, making success a gambler's throw, sheer luck to spawn close enough to the portal before time unraveled him.

  A low whine pierced the clouds overhead, drawing his gaze skyward. A Barracuda-class ship knifed through the churning clouds, its hull painted red and gray and etched with the sigil of the Penitent Flame, a cracked skull split by a flaming sword, its blade dripping molten steel.

  It banked sharply, engines flaring with a roar that sent embers scattering like startled insects.

  Angar's eyes flicked to Garioch, seated nearby on a rock outcrop, his armored fingers idly rotating a Puteus Vitae, a highly prized drop he'd just obtained. Though he longed to hold onto it, the temptation must burn to sell it for the substantial number of credits it’d fetch.

  The Saint seemed to tense under the gaze, then looked up, and their eyes locked for a moment.

  Garioch averted his stare, putting the Puteus Vitae in a belt pouch, pretending interest in the malformed scrub that quivered at their feet, its needle-leaves twitching with hunger.

  Since their arrival on Abyssalhome, many companies of other chapters had as well, such as the Wistful Litany and the Pilgrims of Shaloth'Eshk.

  Also, the Penitent Flame, the very brotherhood that had cast Garioch out.

  Angar burned with the urge to ask about that, having never worked up the courage to pry.

  Simo sat a stone's throw away, far enough for some privacy, hunched over Garioch’s borrowed slate, jabbing out a letter, his pokes landing audibly against the screen.

  As Angar had positioned himself as a shield between Garioch and Salvador's disdain, sparing Garioch the Seraph's barbs where he could, he felt he’d earned a question or two.

  He cleared his throat, and softly, infusing his tone with as much tact as he could, he asked, "You were one of them, were you not? A brother of the Penitent Flame?"

  Garioch's head lifted slowly, his eyes meeting Angar's once more, holding this time with a weary resolve. "Yes," he stated in his raspy voice, offering nothing more, letting the word hang in the air between them.

  "And they expelled you?" Angar probed as gently as he could.

  Garioch's gaze dropped to the cracked ground. He exhaled sharply, a puff of breath stirring the falling ash. "Aye, they did."

  He shifted on the rock, his armor servos grinding as he turned his body to face Angar fully, committing to the confession. "I guess I owe you the tale. Simo, having clashed with the United Front a dozen times over, guessed at the why of it, and knows already, as does Saint Salvador."

  He paused for a long moment, collecting his thoughts. "As a Zerker," he continued in his strange accent, "the manner in which my mind is fortified against the insidious taint of corruption differs profoundly. It’s more effective from the outset. It’d be a waste to allocate Stat Points to Resilience. My company commander viewed the matter otherwise, warning me that I would come to regret such a choice."

  Garioch's eyes narrowed, staring into the hazy distance where malformed trees clawed at the sky. "He held little regard for me. Few welcome defectors from the United Front, but it went beyond that. As I employ an axe in battle, he saw me as squandering a valuable slot in his company, an encumbrance with no value. Progress came slowly for me, often left sidelined and forsaken, but I understood and accepted it all without complaint."

  Garioch’s voice dropped lower. "During a deployment, while my company engaged the enemy, I was tasked with clearing civilians out of a section of a nearby city. It was a Dire-rated invasion, riddled with numerous gateways." He swallowed hard, the sound audible even over the distant thunder. "I cannot say precisely what corrupted me. I have no memory of encountering it, but with my Zerker modifications, it doesn’t go as normal.”

  He shook his head. “It renders us useless for possession by entities of the Underworld, which is a true boon there. Our higher mental functions are shut down utterly, leaving only the primal part intact, transforming us into rabid, feral creatures who perceive all that don’t have a similar implant as foes, battling like beasts until death or exhaustion claim us.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  He paused again, his eyes glistening. “In any case, by the time I regained my senses, I had slaughtered a great many people. A great many children among them. Thousands dead."

  He exhaled again, long and exhausting, then slumped. Unshed tears shone in his eyes, reflecting the perpetual twilight. Shame etched lines into his forged features, deeper than any scar from battle.

  “There's no real coming back from that,” he said, his voice almost too soft to hear. “I was detained, and once the invasion was quelled, the populace demanded my blood. A tribunal was convened, and I was condemned to two years in a hard-labor camp, a punishment viewed as worse than execution. The Penitent Flame cast me out, the very chapter that so many join in the wake of such an atrocity, seeking redemption.”

  Two years in a hard-labor camp. That was harsher than most sentences, at least from what Angar had heard, where few survived even one year. But most wouldn’t be in the second Realm, or have the United Front modifications Garioch had.

  He mulled over the tale in silence, the rumble of another ship passing vibrating through the ground like a minor tremor.

  A minute ticked by as the ash continued its insidious drift, coating his cybernetic eyes with a fine grit that he blinked away.

  "I, too, have slain many innocents," Angar said at last. "A volcanic incident. It was accidental, not deliberate. Or at least, not entirely so. From what you describe, you had no command over your actions in that moment. And consider how many more might have perished had you succumbed to full corruption and possession, becoming a vessel of great evil. Would that have been better, a fate more merciful to the innocent?”

  Angar held Garioch’s eyes, ensuring the man paid attention. "My father once spoke to me of what undoes a king, and I find it apt here. He said it’s not the failures themselves, but allowing those failures to define one's future, to eat away at the soul until fear paralyzes all worthy action, turning resolve to dust."

  Angar paused to let the words sink in before continuing. "I believe I understand why you fight so hesitantly now. Fear binds you in the past, dread of surrendering once more to the madness of bloodlust, embracing the slaughter as you once did, as Zerkers are forged to do. And the thought of corruption overwhelming you again, rendering you feral and mindless, has unmanned you, though such an event lies beyond your control."

  Garioch stared intensely, offering nothing, causing Angar to worry that he’d crossed a line. “I’ve glimpsed flashes of true brilliance in you during our spars," he quickly added. "In those rare instants when you set aside restraint, when you immerse yourself fully in the fray with unbridled passion, reveling in the clash of arms, the glory of violence, unleashing your spirit without fetter or doubt.

  “You possess the potential for greatness, but you stand in your own way, weighed down by doubt and regret. Cease fearing what has been and carve a new course for what shall be. Determine what you aspire to become, or what you must become in service to the Three, and allow nothing to hinder that transformation. Yield to nothing. Become unstoppable."

  Garioch continued to stare at Angar for a long moment, the words hanging heavily between them. Then, unexpectedly, he began to laugh, startling a nearby bush into snapping its thorns defensively.

  "Ah, and thus I uncover your secret, my young friend," he said, wiping at his eyes with the back of a gauntlet, his laughter like a font of release. "You simply resolved to be unstoppable, and so you became such, a decree of the will that bends fate itself. How simple."

  Simo paused in his typing to look over for a moment. Gariuoch's laughter faded into a genuine smile, rarely seen on the man’s face. "Still, there’s truth in your counsel. I shall take it to heart and ponder on it. At the very least, I must reconcile with my past. Thank you for your words, and for withholding condemnation, neither for my grievous deed nor for my origins in the United Front."

  "To scorn a man for being taken captive as a child is nonsensical," Angar replied firmly. “I commend you for discovering the light of the Holy Trinity amid such darkness and choosing to defect. Any who fail to do likewise are fools, and their opinions merit no heed.”

  He shifted onto his knees then, preparing for another assault on the hub-plane, his mind already turning inward, but Garioch's voice halted him. "What are your thoughts regarding Hidetada's intentions toward me? Perhaps an offer to join his chapter?”

  Though Hidetada's mind was a labyrinth of schemes impossible to truly untangle, Angar had a few ideas, and none of them were flattering to Garioch, so he’d keep them to himself.

  "I can't say with certainty," he answered, "not whether he’s considering you for the Smallest Spark or not. I’d say that he’s using you somehow, as he uses all others, so steel yourself against disappointment and shattered hope."

  To soften that, he added, “When my chapter is established and operational, you'll be welcomed without reservation. As I’ve said, if you rediscover how to embrace the slaughter once more, you’ll become a force to reckon with."

  Garioch grimaced, his features twisting in discomfort as he glanced off into the distance. "I’m grateful for the offer, but from what I understand, the children are a requirement. I never knew a father myself, and possess no knowledge of how to fulfill that role. Fatherhood is too vital a duty to muck up, or even risk botching. It would be unjust to the young ones, were I to join. Or join for misguided motives."

  Angar nodded understandingly, already having assumed that response. Fear, in all its many forms, was not easily conquered. "Understood. Just know that the option remains open to you."

  "Will you serve as the grand marshal?"

  "No," Angar answered. “My master seeks a proven leader and renowned Seraph for that position. I cannot legally helm both the cult and the chapter in any case. Titles notwithstanding, it will be my chapter. Or mine and Saint Hidetada's.”

  Garioch nodded, and silence reigned once again amid the camp.

  The Saint would join the Lord Hungers' Knightly Chapter. In time.

  First, Angar needed to rekindle the man’s lust for battle, awakening the dormant fury that fear had quenched.

  Overcoming that dread would have a cascading effect, or so Angar believed, granting him self-respect and confidence.

  And with that self-respect and confidence would come a desire to pass on his genes and hard-won lessons to a new generation, to become a glorious ancestor his descendants venerated throughout the ages, to do his part in ensuring the eternal future of the Holy Empire.

  All it took was faith, especially in oneself.

  Angar shifted on the cracked earth once more, his resolve hardened, ready to assault the hub-plane.