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TO THE ASPIRING-MAGE ASTRID THRICEBLOOD: I am always taking students. Come to the walls of Hexicanum, and submit yourself before Gashadokuro. I will show you the height of magic of the Void. -THE VOIDAL LICH AZ'REKASH

We approach the full-automation of powergaming

FERRYMAN JOHNSON celebrated his promotion by incinerating many heartlanders, some of whom had actually been the ones who had killed him when he wasn't a rotting corpse, but he didn't remember that. He tripped on a rock and fell, patting his ally Lyulen on the back as he was aided to his feet.

Power. Rats scurry in a dark chamber, clawing at each-other not for necessity but because they can. For irrational fear or for want of something they cannot have; it remains there there is no rationality to it. Struggle, and struggle endlessly. Own others, destroy them. Save them if you wish, but that's just another way of owning them. This is the way of power. So said Lanre Cerusil. 'I would have saved you from such a fate.' is also a thing he might have declared. Well, that might have just been another form of this. Eternal war. The power to go back and incinerate yourself in the eternal battle against those who have wronged you. . . . But that man is no more. Power. It is because there is no reason behind it. Destroy because you can - power is mathematical consequence, and that which exists outside of it is resistance in the slow-circuit of culling. Indulge your whims, but at the end of the day, destroy because it satisfies your nature. Have we not all done this? Red-orbs, caught in the confluence of active embodiment of his ideology, turned to the north-east. Sermi is slain. It is the natural way of the world. Perhaps she would return, as I had, and endless war will continue through her. Or perhaps she will be free from it in death. Az'rekash.

Silwyn watched the sea surge and recede in idle contemplation.

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Saldora's core writhes with hatred towards those invaders, with shattered pride towards the ones who had made her flee. They would all die. They would all die. They would all die, painfully and slowly, as would anyone who stood in her way.

"I imagine I'll be seeing you again soon, on more equal terms." bade the Voidal-lich Az'rekash to no-one in particular.

In a sanctum of the un-dead, a horrible once-student of Sarrion Divadri stirs with a strange annoyance, foreign and unexplainable to him. "Tsk."

"The tear creators are getting creative these days. . . I should try this." declared Az'rekash.

Az'rekash, the Former Lanre Cerusil, twice-commenter, uncontested murderer of Sixtus and newly Gerard, recent raider of Reinmar and Aaun and foremost among Gashadokuro's host screams with fury. "STOP LETTING ME WIN! STOP LETTING GASHADOKURO WIN! COME KILL ME PLEASE! RALLY THE ARMIES! RALLY THE HEROES! WHERE ARE THE HEROES???"

"Those poor outcasts. . ." A creature laughed at the misfortune of those cursed Descendants. "The walls of Hexicanum are always open, should you find no-where else to go. I could use some more proper students of the Void."

Az'rekash abandoned that battlefield, the corpse of that great defender behind him, fallen now as that late pontiff had before him. He had fought when the rest of the light's champions had not. How many more would die before this would change?