Dreadgod, p.1
Dreadgod, page 1
Copyright © 2022 by Hidden Gnome Publishing
Book and cover design by Patrick Foster
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Ebook ISBN 078-1-959001-90-4
HiddenGnome.com
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CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Bloopers
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Also by Will Wight
PROLOGUE
Iteration 001: Sanctum
Even for Judges, it was impossible to travel directly into the Hall of Judgment. For security reasons, Suriel had to escort Ozriel back to Sanctum’s only entrance from the Way before they could travel to the Hall.
The central planet of Sanctum was so covered by one city that every landmass shimmered silver and gold from orbit. Pockets of green here and there were carefully cultivated gardens designed to keep the planet in balance, though tourists tended to prefer visiting pocket worlds or other Iterations if they wanted to explore wilderness.
The eight Judges drifted down into the atmosphere like shining meteorites, though they barely disturbed the air they passed. Floating obelisks the size of skyscrapers hovered in orbit, dormant as the orbital security Presence recognized their origins.
Though Ozriel had been berated by most of the other Judges non-stop, he hadn’t said a word since leaving Cradle. There was a good reason for that: Gadrael, the Titan, had sealed his mouth. The scripted metal band covering the lower half of Ozriel’s face was so powerful that Suriel herself would have to exert her full power to remove it.
At least Ozriel was cooperating, though she didn’t like the glimmer in his eye as they descended on Sanctum.
The Vroshir had never made it here during their intrusion, but the effects of their war were obvious nonetheless.
Crowds massed around the greater Hall of Judgment complex, some crowding the streets while others hovered in the air. The Hall itself was a shining golden tower on an artificial hill, a palatial structure that existed to radiate confidence and security throughout the Iteration. In most worlds, it would be large enough to hold a city itself.
No one down there dared to push into the Hall borders, but Suriel could feel their fear like a stench behind the air. When the crowd saw the Judges, their relief was like an audible sigh that gusted over the whole planet.
Normally, there would be Abidan among them. Most Abidan Divisions were headquartered here in Sanctum, so it was hard to travel down a street without seeing at least one figure in smooth white armor.
Now, she felt only a handful in the entire world, and most were here only to recover themselves before returning to the fray. The ordinary citizens could tell the difference, and they had panicked more by the day until the Judges returned.
Then Suriel sensed a spark of anger ignite beneath the blanket of relief, and she knew they had spotted Ozriel.
It wasn’t hard. He was the only one among them who wore black.
As the Judges descended to the golden apex of the Hall of Judgment, a cry went up all around. A cry for vengeance. For justice.
The crowds were miles away, but Judges could hear anything.
And Ozriel, with most of his power locked away, would hear their voices whether he wanted to or not.
The golden roof of the Hall melted away as the Judges drifted down. Each of them descended to their seats, tall silver-and-gold spires that loomed over the center of the room. Suriel’s seat was marked with a spread-winged phoenix, and she let her armor disappear as she settled into a plush seat designed specifically for her comfort.
Seven seats, facing the center.
An eighth seat had been added, one marked with a crescent-bladed scythe. But the Reaper didn’t descend there.
He was shoved down into a cage at the center of the room. The Seat of the Accused.
Telariel, the Spider, caused his cane to vanish as he settled into his spire marked with eight stylized legs. The prim man shifted a tie that he had just manifested and pushed up glasses that needed no adjustment.
“They haven’t retreated,” the Spider said. “We can spare no more time on this than necessary.”
In his cage, Ozriel rolled his eyes ostentatiously.
Makiel glared down on the Seat of the Accused. “This won’t take long.”
The Ghost, Darandiel, toyed with some construct that resembled a cat’s cradle of string, but which Suriel suspected was made from enough power and possibility to rewrite worlds. “We should unseal his mouth so he can speak.”
“That’s the one seal I want to keep,” Makiel said.
“He’s guilty!” Zakariel snapped. She shifted in her seat and slapped a hand down on the metal surface in front of her. “Hurry up and toss him in Haven. We can get everything else out of him later.”
“Half of the defenses in Haven were designed by him,” Gadrael said. The Titan’s blue-gray fingers were interlaced as he stared pure hatred into the Reaper. “I’ll need to overhaul them myself before I can be sure they’ll hold him.”
Ozriel wiggled his eyebrows, and Suriel was sure she could read what he meant to say: how sure were they that Gadrael could hold him?
The Titan interpreted that signal too, because his hand came up and complex blue symbols began spinning in his palm. A working of the Way, a seal no doubt intended to inflict further pain on Ozriel.
The Wolf snarled at him, her fiery hair blazing up with her anger. “Gadrael! Control yourself! You too, Makiel. Every second counts, so remove his gag and let’s hear what he has to say.”
“All in favor?” Telariel asked, and the Spider’s hand was the first in the air.
None of them needed to raise their hands; they could radiate their intentions directly into the minds of the others. But tradition was tradition, so Suriel lifted her hand to signal assent as well.
Only three kept their hands down and their disapproval clear: the Fox, the Hound, and the Titan…who always voted as Makiel did anyway.
Four to three.
Gadrael slid down from his seat and placed a hand on the back of Ozriel’s neck. The clasp holding the metal band over his mouth unsnapped, with a subtle release of power that echoed silently through the courtroom. This artifact was worthy of holding a Judge.
Ozriel let out a breath of relief. “Whew! Thank you, Gadrael. You know, I never asked you, but now that I have the chance: how do you care for your horns?” He nodded to the row of short horns that served Gadrael instead of hair. “Do you polish them? I have to assume you wash them. Come to think of it, I never looked into why your people had horns in the first place. Was it a defensive adaptation, or—”
The back of Gadrael’s hand, covered in his gauntlet, cracked against Ozriel’s chin.
“—some kind of cosmetic mutation?” Ozriel continued without missing a beat. His skin was unmarred. “Oh, I see you found the kindness in your soul to help me work the muscles in my jaw! My thanks. A century or two in that thing and I would have gotten sore.”
“How dare you speak to me?” Gadrael’s every word seethed with rage. “I was here! You have given up your right to—”
“That’s enough, Gadrael,” said Makiel, who could have stopped his right-hand man at any time. He gestured, and Gadrael flew back to his seat.
Ozriel blinked widely as though something had occurred to him. “Wait, were you trying to hurt me? Surely not. You of all people should know something of that level could never hurt the Titan.”
The Fox threw up her hands. “This is why we should have kept the gag on!”
“We can seal your mouth again, Ozriel,” the Hound said.
“And I was up for the mantle of Titan,” Ozriel went on, ignoring the others entirely. “You remember, right? I was your predecessor’s first choice. That was true for…oh, I think five of you, actually. Guess I should have accepted. Too much to think a bunch of backup choices could handle things witho—"
“Stop, Ozriel,” Suriel said. “Just stop.”
Ozriel’s teeth clicked together. He looked to her, and while he didn’t address her, he didn’t keep making trouble either.
Makiel looked down on Ozriel while radiating contempt. “This is not an investigation. This is a sentencing. Explain any mitigating circumstances so that we can determine how you pay for your crimes.”
“Hm…what do you think about the Mad King copying my weapon?”
Suriel’s stomach fell. She and all the other Judges had put the situation together by now. Even if they were missing pieces of the puzzle, their Pres
The Mad King was certainly capable of creating deadly weapons, but his imitation Scythe had been too close to the real thing to be anything but Abidan make.
And there was only one of them who would have duplicated Ozriel’s weapon.
Makiel’s weathered face was expressionless. “I developed the weapon, yes. Circumstances you engineered forced my hand. I kept all prototypes and components under the strictest guard, which was nonetheless breached by the Angler due to a shortage of manpower you caused.”
The Hound folded his hands and leaned forward. “Do you intend to suggest it was my carelessness that led to this situation? I attempted to replicate your weapon because you hid the original. It was stolen because our security was weakened by your absence, and the Mad King used it to devastate worlds while you were not here to defend us. These sins brand your soul, not mine.”
Ozriel’s smile was blinding white, like he’d won the argument. Suriel understood why.
If the other Judges had been lesser beings, they would be shifting uncomfortably in their seats right now. Actually, Zakariel the Fox was shifting in her seat and alternating between glaring at Ozriel and at Makiel.
The Court was not pleased.
Suriel spoke up on their behalf. “Why did you hide it from us, Makiel?”
“I will hold myself accountable to the Court of Seven after this trial,” the Hound said. “I am not afraid to atone for my actions.”
“According to my predictions, the system still had decades of stability left, if not centuries,” Ozriel pointed out. “How was I to know that the Hound had ruined everything?”
Makiel slammed his fist down like a gavel. “You abandoned your duty. Now entire worlds lie dead.”
Screens appeared behind him, showing cracked planets, branches of Fate dissolving into nothing, bodies strewn into the Void, and hosts of feasting Fiends that twisted reality with their very presence.
“Their blood is on your hands,” Makiel declared.
“And your hands are pristine!” Ozriel shouted. His face was twisted with fury, and now he more resembled the man Suriel remembered. Not Eithan, but Ozriel. “All blood we spill is on my hands, and mine alone! Who else can decide when enough is enough? Who else has the right?”
“We are a Court!” declared Razael, the Wolf. “No one has the right to make such decisions alone! And you made our job impossible by leaving without informing us!”
“I told you what I was going to do. I told you for centuries. Every time, I was forced to wait or face consequences. Just kill a few more for us, Ozriel. Disobedience is treason. Why would we try to find a better way when this one is working?”
Ozriel sneered up at Makiel. “If the burden is so easy to carry, do it yourself.”
“Arrogant!” Makiel shouted. “The weight of all worlds does not rest on your shoulders alone! You are one component in a system that—no. You know all this, you just blind yourself to it.” The Hound turned to the rest of the Court. “He has no excuses. He is a coward who hid while all existence fell apart.”
A crack echoed through the Hall of Judgment.
Fissures spiraled through the cage surrounding the Seat of the Accused. Reality warped and Suriel’s Presence squealed warnings as the air darkened around the Reaper of Worlds.
“There is one person here,” Ozriel said quietly, “who attempted to solve this problem. I even tried to do it within your rules. I looked for any solution, any at all, that didn’t start with burning your world to the ground.”
Cracks spread, and some of the other Judges had summoned their armor. Darkness spread from him like a tree of shadow.
Ozriel drew himself up to his full height and white hair spread out behind him. “I have but one regret: I was too weak to spill just a little more blood. I should have butchered you all!”
Intricate seals spinning with runes bloomed into sapphire light around the Seat of the Accused as Gadrael reinforced the defenses, Razael had her blazing sword in hand and was gathering enough power to crack Sanctum in half, and the Ghost spread her will out in a nebulous working.
They would subdue Ozriel. He might be a match for any of them individually, but not for all of them together.
But Suriel took over.
She spread her will out to the space around Ozriel and she exercised her authority to restore it. The cracks in the cage filled in, the darkness retreated, and the twisting space of the world faded to normal.
Ozriel gave up. He slumped in place, and weariness crossed over his face. Then he tossed Suriel an apologetic half-smile, and she saw a bit of his disguise in him. The new person he’d become.
He cleared his throat. “Ah, excuse me. You’d think I could control my temper better at my age.”
“Now you all see what I have seen,” Makiel said. He had his arms crossed and had made no move to subdue the Reaper. “He is a deranged child gifted with power, and his talents make him think he is the most important being in all creation. I move to strip him of his authority as a Judge and relegate him to what he should have always been: a living weapon.”
Suriel watched Ozriel. Before, he would have risen to the bait and struck back at Makiel. Her Presence could model it accurately.
Instead, he shrugged and grinned. “Can I keep the armor? A white set would clash with my hair, you see.”
Suriel examined him. She spun out the different versions of this trial. Then she picked her preferred one and turned to Makiel.
He had felt her reading Fate and was waiting for her to speak, though he had surely seen which path she would choose.
“What about the Executors he was raising?” she asked.
The Spider interrupted them, staring off into the distances through his glasses. “We have a further breach in Sector Seven. Sector Control is requesting immediate Judge response.”
“The children he raised in Cradle are not powerful enough to intervene in other worlds,” Makiel said to Suriel.
The Ghost manipulated the otherworldly strings of power between her fingers, creating a shape that resembled a balloon. “We could give a wooden bucket enough power to intervene in worlds. But if it were an Executor, it would be corrupted. Happens every time.”
Darandiel’s fingers stopped on her strings for a moment. “Corrupted bucket,” she muttered, and Suriel suspected the Ghost was considering the idea.
“The situation in Sector Seven is devolving rapidly,” Telariel said again, though he didn’t sound particularly urgent.
Makiel looked to Suriel. “We’ll table the issue of the Executors for now. In the meantime, I move we make immediate use of our delinquent asset to help make up for the problem he caused. We leash Ozriel and put him to use. Agreed?”
There was no dissent among the Court. Not even from Suriel.
Not even from Ozriel.
From the Seat of the Accused, he gave an approving nod. “I knew I’d have a mess to clean when I returned. It’s something of a tradition in my family anyway.”
Zakariel looked at him like she was hearing nonsense. She must have expected Ozriel to include a cutting remark about Makiel, or to angle for more freedom.
In a short time, compared to their total lifespans, the Reaper had changed. What Suriel knew, but the others either didn’t understand or didn’t recognize, was that this man had been inside him all along.
Gadrael returned with another artifact, this one a set of iron-and-crystal manacles that could tether entire worlds. He sealed them onto Ozriel’s wrists, but it was Makiel who tuned them with a decree.
“Your authority to alter and conceal Fate is revoked,” the Hound declared, and Suriel felt the shifting of reality as the manacles enacted the Hound’s will. “Your ability to view Fate is restricted to that of a three-star Hound. Your sight is restricted to a six-star Spider. You may only access your Mantle and Scythe with the explicit permission of another Judge. You are bound to follow the lawful commands of any other Judge. You may not free yourself from these restrictions, allow yourself to be freed through inaction, or flee your lawful duties.”
