The view was breathtaking. In all of its tragic emptiness and slow decay, Ma'aseh Merkavah was still a beautiful city to behold. Not that Oak had anything even remotely similar to compare it to.

There were no such cities in the North, and never had been.

They had stopped to take a short break and talk about what had transpired in the square. Oak had argued that they really should get off the street, and Ur-Namma had suggested a nearby balcony. A broken door and a set of stairs later, they found themselves looking across the roofs of the City of God, straight towards the great ziggurat at the heart of Yam-Nahar's domain.

Oak leaned on the railing and took in the sight. Most likely somewhere in that ziggurat, or under it, slumbered the calamity of the age. Yam-Nahar. The Dragon Who Feasts on the Flesh of God. The Great Wyrm was bad enough on his own, but he had gathered formidable allies to his cause.

A Swarm-Priest of Abaddon. A giant. What horrors are you still hiding, Yam-Nahar?

"Kurigalzu," Oak said, and looked to Ur-Namma. "What do you know of him?"

"Sadly, very little," Ur-Namma replied. The elf leaned against the railing next to Oak with a pensive look on his face. "Kurigalzu never visited the Empire during my sister's reign, and I have never met him. I know only hearsay and rumors."

"I'll take hearsay and rumors over complete ignorance," Oak said. "Spill it."

"As you wish. The giant hails from the Bone Deserts of the west, and from what I have heard, he is a great warrior," Ur-Namma said. "The rumors differ on what Choir or demon his family worshiped originally in the place of his birth, but they agree he converted to the cult of the demon Molek on his journeys to the western reaches of the continent. What happened there centuries ago, I do not know."

Oak considered what he had just heard. There was not much to go on. It's not like they did not already know the giant was very dangerous. The only interesting tidbit was Kurigalzu's connection to Molek.

"No mention of him being an archmage capable of miraculous feats of healing?"

Ur-Namma shook his head. "None. Many tales of him consuming his enemies, though."

"Figures." Oak sighed. "Would have been nice if you knew his secret weakness."

Ur-Namma's smiled wide, showing all of his needle-like teeth. "No secret weaknesses to offer here. On the contrary, I have only bad news to share," the elf said. "I suspect Kurigalzu is a Chosen of the Demon of sacrifice and cannibalism. A Warlock of Molek."

"Right. Absolutely fucking fantastic," Oak replied, and scratched his beard in agitation. "What brings you to that marvelous conclusion? The healing magic?"

"Yes. Even an archmage would struggle to accomplish such a feat."

"Fuck. That's bad, right?" Oak asked. "Like, totally terrible for our continued existence?"

"Very much so," Ur-Namma said with a ravenous look on his face. "A worthy enemy. I want to make that giant watch as I eat his heart."

Ur-Namma's bloodthirstiness felt comforting. The elf was not discouraged in the least, which lifted Oak's spirits a little. If the ancient general was willing to spit in the eyes of fate and take the long odds, so was he.

The weight of their responsibility rested heavily on Oak's shoulders, but having another person to share his worries with helped.

Still, Oak wanted to poke the elf's certainty a little. "What about the Choirs?" he asked. "You wanted some time to think about their plans of cleansing all sentient life from the face of the continent. Have you collected your thoughts?"

Ur-Namma straightened his frame. "I have. You seemed surprised by my muted reaction to the news of the Choir's treachery," he said. "By all rights, I should have been horrified. But I found myself relieved instead."

The elf turned fully towards Oak and looked into his eyes. "This is not just about revenge anymore," Ur-Namma said, his voice laced with iron. "The stakes are so high now that all means are on the table. I had feared, no, detested the very thought that I could not do what needed to be done to kill the dragon. That concern has vanished from my heart."

That was fitting. The old monster had been afraid he might have developed a conscience. Oak could sympathize. It was like a trick of the light. A moral mirage. A man could grit his teeth and commit horrific acts in the name of vengeance. But in the name of the greater good? Men built castles out of cadavers and smiled while they did it.

"Our circumstances are precarious indeed. We stand upon the edge of a knife. My favorite place to be," Ur-Namma said, and there was a wild look in his gray eyes that Oak had never seen there before. The usually measured and calm gaze of the ancient elf was almost feral.

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"My tribe is dead, Northerner. My lands are lost, and my empire is dust. The enemy is insurmountable, and the consequences of failure are unthinkable. I feel alive. For the first time in centuries, I believe. A greater purpose lies before me, just waiting for me to reach my hand and grasp it."

Oak could feel the conviction behind Ur-Namma's declaration, and it stirred the complicated feelings welling inside his own heart. On the one hand, the fear and weight of the task given to him. On the other, a glorious sense of meaning.

"I know what you speak of," Oak said. "I feel the gaze of my forefathers upon me. They watch from the Hells, all of them better men than me. But I don't think this one will be won by the righteous. There is a reason Ashmedai chose us. We are going to murder, lie, and cheat our way to victory."

"Yes." Ur-Namma growled. "Yes, we will."

Something moved in the corner of Oak's vision, and he turned his gaze towards the center of the city. He froze. A long and sinuous tail had emerged into view, and it circled itself around the ziggurat at the heart of Ma'aseh Merkavah. The scales of the tail were black, with some splatters of silver among them, and they shone like jewels in the gloom of the City of God.

The sheer scale of the beast boggled the mind. Never in his life had Oak felt so small and insignificant. He was a speck of dust on the face of Creation.

"Is that…?" Oak asked. "Is…is that what I think it is?"

"It is as Enmesarra said, before Kurigalzu ate him," Ur-Namma replied. All emotion had fled from the elf's face. "The dragon moves in his sleep. A year, a couple at most. It will not be long before Yam-Nahar wakes and continues his profane feast."

Everyone had a death waiting for them at the end of the line. Fighting the Age of Myth come again would not be a stupid way to go.

Fuck me.

Oak locked eyes with Ur-Namma, and extended his hand. "No half measures."

Ur-Namma glanced at the tail circling around the ziggurat, before looking back at Oak. "No half measures," the elf said, and grasped Oak's hand with his own.

***

A half eaten corpse of a giant spider lay on top of an overturned wagon in the middle of the foggy street. Ur-Namma led the way around the wagon, and Oak followed with Geezer in tow.

Instead of walking in the elf's footsteps, Oak hugged the rightmost edge of the street, trying to keep himself as far away from the disgusting smell emanating from the rotting monster as was humanly possible.

Geezer, on the other hand, would have liked nothing more than a chance to inspect the carcass more closely. Oak did not let him. There was no convenient river nearby, and he would need to throw Geezer into one if the hellhound got within touching distance of the corpse.

The area they were walking through was rundown and dirty. Trash filled the back-alleys, and Oak could see clear signs of monster activity, beyond the massive spider corpse they had just passed. A blind man would have noticed that one, based on smell alone.

Some windows had been broken through and he could spot claw marks on walls and doorways. Fairly clear signs that this was not a good place to be. More than ever, Oak was glad he had chosen the Ears of Amdusias as one of his first boons. At least he would have a chance to notice if something was stalking them through the district.

While he strained his hearing in search of anything creeping in the darkness, Oak's thoughts turned back to Kurigalzu. Was the giant truly a Warlock, just like he was? And if he is, what type of Warlock is he? Are all Warlocks and Chosen alike, Oak pondered. Or is every single one different in some way?

The need to know got the better of Oak. "Hey, Ur-Namma," he whispered. "Are all Warlocks alike? I mean, do we all grow our powers the same way?"

"Thinking about Kurigalzu, are you?" Ur-Namma chuckled. "To answer your question, no and yes. Every Warlock has different strengths and weaknesses based on the boons they have received, but most of the demons tend to prefer the 'infernal engine fueled by souls' approach to empowering their Chosen."

Oak bit his lip. "Is there a reason for that?"

"Yes."

"Oh, tell me already, you fuck," Oak whispered. He only saw the elf's back, but he knew the bastard was smiling that smug smile of his.

"Such an impatient savage," Ur-Namma replied. "Very well. I will satisfy your curiosity. Demons like to fuel the boons of their Warlocks with the souls of the slain, because it does not require as much power investment on the demon's part. Even the well of Ashmedai could run dry if he overextended himself."

"All right. Makes sense to me," Oak said. "What about the angels and their Chosen? I have never heard it mentioned that they collect the souls of their kills."

They reached an intersection, and Ur-Namma stopped for a moment to make sure nothing was moving on the road they would need to cross. Oak approved. There was no need to get careless this close to the finish line.

"Angels do things differently, for good reason. A Choir can easily afford to invest a larger portion of a single angel's power into a Chosen, and the angels have a very negative view of interfering with the departure of souls from Creation," Ur-Namma whispered. "Because of all of this, it is understandable that—"

Ur-Namma fell silent.

It started as a sort of pressure, building upon itself on the street. Oak's ears popped, and he could feel ripples traveling through the Waking Dream. Static electricity made his hair and Geezer's fur stand on end. The mist and the fog up the street across the intersection were pushed aside, squeezed against the walls of the buildings on either side. The ripples of the Unreal Sea became waves.

"What is this," Ur-Namma hissed. The elf took a step back, head on a swivel, trying to locate the source of the phenomenon.

Oak's mouth was dry like a desert in the midday sun. Something massive swam through the Dream towards them, and he had a horrible feeling he knew exactly what it was.

"A leviathan," Oak said. "It's a leviathan."

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