"Wegr has existed before humans. Did you know this? Firstly, a history lesson—prior to final evolution of the homo sapiens species there were other intelligent beings in this world. According to the Monk Jewatungga of the Sable Priory, humans used to be beings of light that regressed as they lost Gnosis. In their regressions, their rebirths became no different from that of the Animal Path—in the same way that sometimes Gods and Demigods did not seem like two different paths. Indeed, this phenomenon—of two paths merging together and splitting apart as the masses of their constituents altogether arose in Gnosis and Bodhi—is actually very much common in the measure of aeons and kalpas. But this is besides the point.

What I'm trying to say is this: before the gods, the demigods, the humans, and the animals of this earth, there has been Wegr. Its very stone is a measuring tool for the lifespan of this planet. Of Hingsajagra. What strange gods, before even the very aeons of our worlds, fought and created this island? The blackstone is so different, so alien and strange. It does not match any of the material found on this earth, and no meteorite has been able to match the blackstone-like metal alloy it has.

Even more daunting is the fact that very recently, geomancers have attuned to empty hollows containing eldritch mandalas and alien geometries, working with a mathematical system more indicative and more accurate in measuring the physical world than our arithmeticks are right now. Perhaps if we manage to look into this and unveil the mysteries of this strange arithmeticks then we will be able to traverse the heavens... and not just strike it down.

The Ebon Priory organizes a joint effort with the Ivorian Eschatonists of South Selorong and with the help of mercenaries working for the Swordhand's Union to delve deeper into Wegr's mysterious insides. May the Teachings be a lamp unto our feet."

From The Gazetteer Of Pemi by Vajra Nun Malakindat of the Ebon Priory.

Lazuli Council Room, Heaven 102, of the 9th Lunar Mansion

The Lazuli Council Room was so named because of the stark blue stone it was hewn out of. Advanced paper talismans were magickally melded into the stone to create an infinitely light kind of skystone. This stone was known as akashite, and it could change color depending on its attunement at any given time.

Upon this council room, which overlooked the great planet of Hingsajagra, only one of the many planets of the World-System of Whorl—otherwise known as a Universe—the great Five Triumphant Immortals sat.

The council room had a grand table hewn out from the very akashite that the room was made of. Chalices and plates. Gold. Arrayed perfectly. New food and old food brought in and out by demigod avians—bidaree. Celestial dancers and songmakers, turned into slaves for the Immortals. They did their job without hurt nor pain, however. No complaints—they were rewarded with pure bliss, after all.

It was a sight to behold. Under an eternal star illuminating everything in conditions so perfectly for keeping one awake without creating too much heat. Within this empyrean abyss, the Five Triumphant Immortals met. They would have to be quick, and they would have to be decisive with what they do now.

We all know one of them, of course. Saint Ashtasi. Otherwise known as Zanashtasi. The All-Cutting Knife. The Godkiller. The Brandisher of the vaunted Eight-Edged Blade. She sat wearing divine regalia: sarong and kemben with a floating feather sash—a translucent scarf that flowed all about her, always in the air even without wind or movement. Her feet and her hands were bare, but wrapped in adamantine jewelry—armbands, wristbands, rings, chains, anklets, calve ornaments, and so on.

The Godkiller was the dream of a thousand dead soldiers.

Hidden within her feather sash were glass knives, translucent and impossible to see. These glass knives was the All-Cutting Knife. Daggers that only broke upon the skin of the Awakened. It could cut mountains, they say. It could cut God, they say.

She sat on the chair closest to the head of the table.

Next to her was a man with a long shock of white hair. He was tying it up in a bejeweled adamantine hair ornament that looked like a little fire-bolt. His mien had the look of a fierce beast—sharp, angular facial features. Long severe eyes. Sharp ears. Fangs that twisted out of his mouth and jaw. He was clad in nothing but layers upon layers of kalpa-cloak—cloaks and capes woven for a kalpa each by ancient gods, now lost to time. These stardust-dense kalpa cloaks were surprisingly light. Most importantly, it gave him usable Ardor required to reach his 108 Divine Transformations.

Almost 180cm in height, the beast-knight's broad-shouldered frame and muscled, sinewy body was brought about not by years of Physical Cultivation but thorugh the perfect modeling of his own body through a mix of Divine Transformation Magick and Flesh Warping Magick. Lounging there, he loomed like a true beast. Like a wolf or a lion. Almost like a gang boss, even. Or perhaps a gang boss' right hand man.

This was Mentra. The Spiral Beast. The Moondancer. The Impervious Wizard of the Three-Billionfold World, master of 108 Magicks, and sole harnessor of the 108 Divine Transformations. So true was his Adamantine Womb that he himself constantly shifted in form, but all kept that same transhuman-beast demeanor.

He spoke with the cadence of a Holy Fool. "So your boytoy has failed us yet again, eh?"

A laugh from across the table. This one was from a man clad in close-fitting armor. It flowed around him, solid platinum glinting against a black suit. But their armor moved as if feathercloth. It was made completely of starmetal—a powerful metal that was not only feather-light and held magick-channeling properties, but also had the ability to wrench fate and bend time as needed. Starmetal armors never faded. They never withered. They never broke. Their durability was infinite. It was mixed with what looked like nightcloth to create a shimmering sable hardsuit. On top of their hardsuit they wore a feather garment and a full-body talisman robe-coat.

He was beautiful. In the same sense that beauty could kill you, or in the same sense that light could blind you. His face was immaculately pale. His ears perfectly sharp. His face triangular yet still soft. His platinum blonde hair framing his beautiful mien like a halo, complete in a hime cut. His eyes long, sharp, and azure. He was the ideal Sorehnese, Ratenese, and Shennin man. Almost androgyne in his appearance, but with an edge of brusque masculinity to make him fit the Sorehnese and Ratenese beauty ideal.

This was Dang Hwan Atthur, the Lord of the Atmost Palace of Raten, the Royal Prince of Soreh. The Peerless Golden Demigod, worshipped by all as Dang Hwan Thura, the God of Gold and Beauty.

In truth, an immortal who has cultivated and accumulated immense power. Enlightenment calcified into physical bodies and magopsychical formations. More than that, Dang Hwan Atthur was a peerless wielder of the Merciful Shield Cultivation and a Grandmaster of the Devil Tiger Cultivation. With or without armor, they were impervious to all forms of hurt. They were immortal in all the ways... and in this their mind was twisted into the soul of one... inhuman.

After laughing, he said: "He's no boytoy, great Mentra. Remember, we all believed in him. It is simple, really. He failed us."

Mentra leaned back and sniffed his feet. Then he shrugged. He looked dirtier now, for some reason. "He wouldn't be the first one. That other one... Silver Wind Witchdog? Fucking died. What a waste to promote that one to Heaven 1!"

Dang Hwan Atthur's beautiful face did not change. He kept a perfect smile. "There are 106 more. Great Ashtasi, what is our dear pawn up to now?"

Ashtasi sighed. "Trasan is readying to travel to the City of Blacklight. To chase after Raxri." She folded her hands across her chest after saying so.

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"Ha!" Mentra shook his head. As he shook his head, five other heads—each one a different animal or semidevil—apparated, and then disappears in a blossoming of crows just as quickly. "Good luck to him. That's the territory of the Ultramystic."

"Hm. Sutasoma." This voice came from a tall man. No, tall was an understatement. A giant. His face was peerlessly handsome—a bearded man with rowdy and messy hair pulled together into three ponytails arrayed vertically. His skin the color of night so black it glistened. His body moved, sinewy and bulky, motion like a boar. His muscles rippled like an earthquake. He wore no armor and only a sarong around his waist, and sandals on his feet. The only armor he needed were the scars of his wars. Despite his hulking appearance, he wore circle spectacles, highlighting his sea green eyes.

Even while sitting down, he towered over the rest of the Five Triumphant Immortals. His body was for sure already around 170cm in height. This meant that his true height was double that. And this was from a man whose body was already hunched over.

The only other notable thing was that, far behind him, a giant and wide blade lay. It was longer him. It had a blade as wide as he was. Where the shaft ended and the blade began, one could not ascertain. It for all intents and purposes looked like a shard of heaven, taken out and sharpened.

Perhaps that's what it was. It was dappled with specks of light, which looked like stars. Its color shifted and changed, from the multicolors of dusk to the gradients of dawn. No... this was exactly what it was. Leave it to the great and grand Galdasigwa, World-Shatterer, to steal a shard of heaven and wield it as a greatsword. The Chronophantasma. The Stormbringer. The Breaker of the One Hundred Hells. The Slayer of the Armies of All Earths. The Ultimate Warrior, wielder of Throne-shard. A piece of the Throne of God.

He continued to speak. His voice was the sound of a hundred blades grinding against basalt. "Even I would think twice about dealing with the Ultramystic Sutasoma."

Mentra nodded. "Such is her reputation, after all. What's worse is her one thousand and one goddamned students. That's en entire revolutionary army right there!" Mentra cackled. "But if we can get her off-balance..."

Dang Hwan Atthur nodded. "We have our own armies. Our own forces. Whatever the Ultramystic does, she will face the consequences of it in the people. And if we can surround her, get her isolated from the rest of her power-base, we can end her finally."

"Ha!" spoke Mentra, grinning. He scratched his armpit, devoid of hair. "Looks like you've learned your lesson after trying to face down an entire army on your own."

A first real twinge of irritation in the Golden Demigod's perfect face. "To have mistakes is the very proof that one is trying. Would you not agree? Besides—that army was well-armored, well-fed, and well-enchanted."

Saint Ashtasi tapped her chin. "Was this in the fields of Shen? Against the Warlord Xingzai?"

Mentra nodded for him. The Golden Demigod's face did not change. As if they had resigned not to talking at all. As if all this talk was beneath him. "Yeah," said Mentra. "Don't you forget, Mentra. You are not immune to the People. Nobody is. You need a People of equal force to meet the People."

A flash of scorn across Atthur's face, a thundercloud. "I know this to be true. I've no need for re-educational spiels. My army will be the greatest army in all of history. And you will reap its benefits. And we will attain the final glory we all wish to attain—the Orichalcum Rule of Devamaharaja Reyayu Koduka. And only then shall this world finally know the peace it longs for." Once again, the Demigod spoke all this in his perfect timbre, perfect voice, perfect face. The face that belonged to supermodels or to A-tier actors. No. Higher than even that— the face that belonged to ancient Kartikkan Gods. No wonder he was known as the demigod.

A man sat on the chair in front of the entire assembly. The head of the grand table. No armor. He was clothed in a tight-fitting military coat. His hair tied up into a messy bun atop his head. Itching at the seams to splay out into a black halo. His face was a perfect. Chiseled, like a statue. His thick forearms had veins that looked like they were karma-wires energizing his soul. His hair was the color of dried autumn leaves. His nose high-bridged, his lips perfectly sultry. His skin the color of caramel, or light light chocolate.

His eyes were aan entrancing ochre. Veiled by the large round black sunglasses he wore. His entire military coat was surrounded in jade pieces—armlets, bracers, belts, chokers. He glowed green, like the fabled Green Sun of legend. The Sun that faced the Heaven and won.

Reyayu Koduka. The Devourer of Enlightenment. The Shadow of Thrones. The Emperor. The Chakravartin. Demiurge of Demiurges. King of Kings. The Abomination. He Who Enforces Duality.

He flexed his fingers—the rings on each one sparkled. He leaned back. His face was usually relaxed, but now it was in a fierce scowl. A tiger looking for its prey. Or looking to pounce. He held no weapons—he did not need to show them. But his military coat strained to keep back his muscled chest. His body was all lean meat, sinuous like a lion.

"We do not have much time left," said Reyayu. The world shook. His voice the growl of a verdigris liger. Or perhaps, a sleeping dragon."We must move, now."

"The Heavenly Hegemony watches our every move," said Ashtasi, bending forward to lean her elbows on the table. "What will you do? We cannot just... jump down and hunt down Raxri Uttara ourselves. Politically, one of the worst moves you can do. All of Heaven and Earth will know that we failed to kill Raxri Uttara."

There were talismans written upon orichalcum tablets carved into the walls of this grand hall. They blazed with bright power. To prevent any godly eye from seeing within. Even as the windows were open to allow for the heavenly breeze to enbalm their souls.

The entire assembly waited for Reyayu to speak.

This was the truth of all things. To be an Immortal—whether you be a Wizard, Alchemist, or some other Cultivator—is to be entrapped and enmeshed by the wicked weave of celestial politics in the Heavenly realms. The gods here—superpowered entities—wrestled with other immortals, other jade emperors, other demigods, other semidevils, vying for positions in the grand tapestry that is the Bureaucracy of Heaven. Everyone just wanted a job.

Heaven is so overburdened with tasks, personalities, need-to-signs, liquid signatures, and five-step confirmation and validation processes that it has become too overwrought. After you sign a paper to allow for a Blessing of Ripe Harvest for a town in Upper Yagdi, you need to bring it to the higher autocrat of Upper Yagdi. Then you have to bring it to the overseer of the particular Lunar Mansion where that village lives under during the greater part of the day. For the greater Blessings or greater petitions, one needed to petition even to the greater Zodiac! At times, all the citizens of Heaven felt like nothing more than intercessors to the heavily procedural universe of Whorl.

And even worse are the politics.

Power is the name of the game. And you gain power by holding not just land, but mostly people. Hold devotees. Disciples. Hold ancient secret manuscripts for martial art technicks or magicks that have no known counter. Hold a part of the planet that holds large stores of karmic potential or magnetite flow—ley-line nexuses. Manses of Essential Power. Places of overflowing Ardor that were left behind by now slain titans or gods or angels or devils. Deeds and great deeds. Networking and connections with important gods and important immortals. Politics and networking in Heaven is just as cutthroat as the underground dealings upon the earth—if not more so, due to the stakes involved.

Reyayu was a gamemaster. He knew how to play Heaven's game. How else did he become an immortal at such a young age? And so he thought. He focused. He leaned forward and steepled his hands and thought. His eyes stared at the warm blue stone of the akashite table.

How could he get out of this one? Should he just keep sending the Swords of Heaven against Raxri? Wait for one to slay them?

Or...

"Where is Raxri now?"

Dang Hwan Atthur said: "My spymasters have told me that they boarded the ogre war machine headed for Wegr, the City of Blacklight, last they saw of them."

"With that... witch?"

"Ah, the witch seems to be... dead."

"Good," said Reyayu, nodding. This one will be fun. And unfortunately it will be easy. It would be great to get to toy around with Raxri just a bit more. But if they were to do that, Raxri might Cultivate to their past power level, and they could not have that. Raxri had the greatest chance to slay them out of all the other would-be immortals and heaven dancers here. The Five Triumphant Immortals could not die—they were hotshots now. Dealing with the Monsoon Gods and the Four-Direction Lords, and the Sagaras and Creator Gods. They were at their peak.

Raxri's name was a splinter in his gum, a constant, nagging pain he couldn't work loose with his tongue. He had thrown her into the dark, a dog into a well, and expected the splash to be the end of it. But she was always a poor swimmer in silence. Now her survival was a sound, a ringing in the inner ear of his reign. To kill her would be a kindness, a finality. What he planned was different. It was the closing of a parenthesis in the body's text. He would make a footnote of her, a caution etched so small only he could read it. "We will deal with Raxri. We have some time before the next great Celestial Summit," said Reyayu.

Galdasigwa leaned backward. He crossed his arms across his chest. "Interesting. You are sure? This will cause a bit of a stir. The Ultramystic..."

"We will strike fast and quick, like lightning. End it before they even know what happened. Just the five of us will go. No armies, no great skyships. We move in silence, and end her in silence. Tossing her into that hole only backfired on us. We must kill her as soon as is possible."

Ashtasi nodded. They were smiling all the while. They really liked the idea of killing Raxri Uttara herself.

"Very well," said Galdasigwa, nodding. "And when do we do that?"

"It is the ends of our day's work, yes?" asked Reyayu. Everyone on the table nodded. For better or for worse. "Then we pay our old friend a visit. Now. Upon Wegr shall we end Raxri Uttara's fate. And whatever destiny karma beset upon her. And us."

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