You should kill him, God whispered.

Ivan Falk instantly squirmed at the sound of the voice, his eyes widening as he tried to resist the urges. He gritted his teeth, his left hand shooting to grab his right arm. He gripped it tightly, tight enough to cut off any blood circulation.

He is an abomination to our cause, God muttered. He should not be allowed to live.

"He is mine and alone to control!" Ivan hissed. "He is useful!"

"Jarl Falk," a hoarse voice called out, filtered by the ethereal magic of the Communicate spell. "Are you alright?"

The Jarl blinked and focused on the glowing crystal ball that was set before him. Eilif the Immortal stared at Ivan with what could be interpreted as a quizzical look, his head tilting as his goggles displayed no life.

"I'm fine," Ivan said in a breath. He sat up straighter in his chair, his head held high as he looked down at Eilif's visage. "What is your purpose for this meeting?"

"You called me," Eilif said bluntly.

"Ah, of course I did," Ivan let out a chuckle as he rubbed the sweat off his forehead. "I wanted to ask you the results of your mission. Did you succeed in your conquest of Yorktown? Have you killed Seamus Halvorson?"

He watched the bounty hunter with a careful eye, watching to see any slight movements or signs of emotion. Eilif showed none.

He has no soul, God growled angrily in Ivan's head. He is unholy.

Ivan shoved the voice back into the recesses of his mind, ignoring it. He instead focused on the immortal whose visage was reflected through the quartz glass. Despite having no weapons or runes on him, Ivan still found the man unsettling, his aura of lethality enough to make the man sweat. Hel, the Jarl had seen him at work during their ambush weeks back. He had seen the way the Bounty Hunter shrugged off a full-on strike from an orc, his body returning to normal not long after.

"We haven't succeeded in our task," Eilif answered suddenly, catching the old Jarl off-guard.

"What?" Ivan asked in confusion. "What the hel do you mean you haven't succeeded? You were gone for weeks!"

Ivan had sent out the bounty hunter with three vessels filled with his best men. Of course, they would've taken the recently acquired Frostbite, with its priceless Artifact Grade runes that were engraved on its hull, but it seemed as if neither Eilif nor his accomplice were capable of activating them. They were under the impression that Ivan had a court Wizard or something fancy.

He humiliates you. Looks down upon you. Kill him! Rip his spine out and burn it to ash!

Ivan strained as he ignored the voice of God, who angrily shouted and screamed within his skull. It sent out waves of pain that exceeded the possibilities of a migraine. The Jarl had to slam his fist upon his throne to silence him. Of course, this sudden act was enough to increase the tension in the room, Eilif's posture changing as he took a step back.

"We sent you with more than enough men to assist you on your mission," Ivan said slowly, trying his best not to coat his words with reprieve. "Why have you not killed Halvorson?"

"An opportunity arose," Eilif revealed in a soft tone. "One that will give us the opening we need."

"Opening?" Ivan scoffed at that. "I have no time for dramatic pauses. Speak!"

Eilif shrugged, disinterested, but relented. "Orcs have Yorktown under siege. It is inevitable that they will invade and slaughter every living thing."

"Orcs?" Ivan questioned. The brutish creatures weren't exactly uncommon in the south, but Ivan hadn't ever expected Holter's own base to be held under siege by the beasts. In fact, it seemed unlikely since it was assumed that Holter had a clan of orcs under his control.

'Perhaps the brutes have rebelled since his departure,' Ivan thought. That seemed the most likely to have happened.

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"To infiltrate the island would be tandem to suicide, regardless of my inclusion," Eilif said. "So I have decided to wait until the orcs raid. I believe that the chaos of such a battle would be ideal for me to slip into the conflict unnoticed."

"I see," Ivan muttered as he stroked his chin. He closed his eyes and nodded to the idea. While God screamed obscenities about the immortal man, Ivan was more or less thinking about how much of the island would be left when the orcs were through with it. Despite hating Holter and his clan with a passion, the Jarl still wanted to take over whatever little territory the Outlander had claimed.

"How are we to take Yorktown if the orcs have their way?" Ivan asked after a moment.

"I suppose we could always kill their leader," Eilif said with a matter-of-fact tone. "Then again, from what I've gathered about the brute, he's probably more than what I can handle."

"What of that girl of yours?" Ivan said slowly. "It shouldn't be much of a problem for her. Especially with that… affliction of hers."

"Perhaps," Eilif muttered as he shrugged. "Then again, Kira's objective is that of Seamus. I cannot promise that she'll kill off the orc leader after her business with Halvorson."

Ivan grumbled at that but said nothing more. As convenient as the islands were, Ivan didn't really need them. Especially if those orcs were to continue their rampage to nearby settlements like Runargard and Vindis. Better he leave them to the other clans to deal with. Perhaps the brutes would cause enough chaos for the Jarl to swoop in and take what he could. That sounded ideal.

"I've sent your men back," Eilif's words cut through Ivan's thoughts. The Jarl blinked at that and focused his attention back on the crystal ball. "They are no use to me in this situation. If anything, their presence will draw even more attention. Best I remain inconspicuous for the moment."

"Fine," Ivan sighed. "But do not request for more when things turn sideways for you."

"I won't," Eilif said simply before the connection was cut out. His visage shimmered and dissipated, leaving Ivan staring at his dull reflection on the blueish glass. The sorcerer who brought the crystal ball gave him a bow before picking up the magical item. He then hurried out of the Jarl's main hall.

"He's a piece of work," a voice said to his right. "I think we should cut ties with him." Ivan shifted his head to look at the source, a man standing at his throne's side. Finn was a man who had no last name or title. He was a nomad when he joined the Hawk Clan, his past life as a bandit leading him to become a prisoner at the hands of Ivan's men. Yet, despite his criminal origins, Finn had become Ivan's most trusted pawn.

He did what was asked of him with no hesitation or argument coming from him. He was ruthless and loyal, perfect traits that had allowed him to climb the ranks. Finn was probably the one man that Ivan trusted more than the men who were allowed to serve his food and drink. Hel, he had brought him that accursed Holter and traitor Brant despite his brief service with the two. His actions had earned a place at Ivan's side.

"As much as I'd like to tie stones to his feet and throw him to the Abyssal Sea, Eilif is useful to us," Ivan said in a tired manner. He eyed Finn's left hand, which was wrapped in bandages. The bulbous wrapping hid the nasty injury that Holter had inflicted on the man during the ambush last month, which had left Finn nearly dead from loss of blood. The healers said it would take weeks to heal, and even then, the hand would most likely be useless.

Regardless, Finn still had his sword hand. That was better than nothing. Had Holter mangled that hand, then Finn would have lost most of his usefulness.

"He already helped us dispatch Holter," Finn argued. "What more use is he?"

Exactly, God whispered. The words tickled at Ivan's ears and made him stiffen. There is no use for that abominable creature. End his pathetic existence and kill him!

"Silence!" Ivan burst, body hunched as he squeezed his left forearm. He breathed heavily like he had overworked himself. It even felt like it. Ivan's body burned with exertion, his muscles tense, and his face hot. Yet, despite the sudden heat, there was a certain chill that ran through him. It was different from the bite of Frost's winds, the cold chilling the Jarl in a way that felt as if dread was looming over him.

His heart thumped like a drum, and his nostrils flared with a smell that was akin to rotting flesh. Ivan had no idea where such a stench had come from. He only knew it came whenever it made itself present.

Oh Ivan, do not forget who gave you a second chance.

God's voice was soft yet carried an edge that instantly made Ivan submit to its pressure.

"Yes," Ivan muttered. "I know."

"Jarl Falk?" Finn's concerned voice came a few seconds after the outburst. Ivan ignored him. He only focused on his left hand, which was covered by a thick woolen glove. He clenched it, watching as his fingers stiffly folded. He felt nothing from the action, which strangely did not worry him. It had been like this for months, after all. Ever since God had decided to spare Ivan from his deadly fate.

Tell your man to leave us, God commanded. Else, I'll force your hand and kill him myself.

Ivan nodded. "Finn. Leave me."

"Sir? I–"

"I said fuck off," Ivan growled as he turned to the confused man. "Leave us be!"

Finn hesitated for a moment but did what was told of him. He hurried out through the main doors, leaving the old Jarl by himself on the throne. The only other company he had were the crackling flames and the cold voice of God.

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