Morning came with the sound of boots on cobblestone and steel scraping steel. I had spent the night in a state of reduced consciousness, not quite sleep but a meditative stillness that allowed my mind to process the information I'd gathered. My body required no true rest, but the mental exercise of cataloguing this world's peculiarities had its own value.
The sounds below were purposeful. Organized. Military.
I moved to the window and looked down into the street. Two dozen soldiers in the livery of Count Julius, formed in neat ranks, blocking both ends of the alley. An officer stood at their center, a man with grey in his beard and scars that spoke of actual combat experience. He held a piece of parchment in one hand, comparing it to the building's facade.
They'd found me. Faster than expected, but then I suppose a purple haired foreigner in exotic clothing wasn't difficult to track in a city like this.
The door to the inn burst open below. I heard shouting, the innkeeper's protests, heavy footsteps on the stairs. They were coming for me with numbers and confidence. How delightful.
The door to my room shuddered under a heavy blow, then another. On the third impact, it burst inward, revealing four soldiers with swords drawn. Behind them, the grey bearded officer stepped into view.
"You," he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Purple hair, foreign dress, matches the description. You're to come with us. The Count wants words with you."
I remained seated on the edge of the straw mattress, studying them. The soldiers were tense, ready for violence but hoping to avoid it. The officer was calmer, more experienced. His eyes flickered over my frame, noting details, making assessments.
"An invitation," I said mildly. "How courteous. Though the manner of delivery could use refinement."
"This isn't an invitation," the officer replied. "It's an arrest. You're wanted for questioning regarding the murder of eight citizens on the merchant road two days past."
"Citizens," I repeated, tasting the irony. "They were mercenaries. Torturers and murderers. Hardly citizens worth mourning."
"That's for the Count to decide. Now stand up, slowly, and keep your hands where we can see them."
I stood, taking my time, watching how they reacted to the movement. Weapons came up fractionally. Muscles tensed. They were afraid, though they hid it well behind professionalism.
"If I refuse?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Then we take you by force," the officer said flatly. "Though I'd advise cooperation. The Count is offering you a chance to explain yourself. That's more mercy than most get."
Mercy. That word again, used by creatures who understood it least. But the situation intrigued me. A local authority figure wanted to speak with me rather than simply executing me. That suggested either wisdom or weakness, and I was curious which.
"Very well," I said. "Lead the way."
The officer's eyebrows rose slightly, surprised by my compliance. He gestured to his men, who moved to flank me, maintaining careful distance. Smart. They'd been briefed on what I was capable of.
We descended the stairs to find the common room cleared of patrons. The innkeeper cowered behind his bar, watching with terrified eyes as I was escorted out. In the street, the soldiers formed a box around me, spears and swords creating a perimeter that suggested I was extremely dangerous or extremely valuable.
Perhaps both.
And so the Perfect Being was led through streets that parted before him like water before a ship's prow. The citizens of Windham, sensing that something significant was occurring, gathered at windows and doorways to watch. They saw a prisoner being taken to judgment, unaware that what walked in their midst was no prisoner at all. Unaware that their definitions of captivity had no meaning to something that could reshape reality with a thought.
The fortress that served as Count Julius's seat of power dominated the northern quarter of the city. Thick walls, heavy gates, murder holes and arrow slits designed by people who understood siege warfare intimately. We passed through three separate checkpoints, each more heavily guarded than the last.
The soldiers never relaxed their vigilance. Good discipline.
We entered a courtyard where more soldiers drilled, their movements precise and practiced. A training yard occupied one corner, where young men beat at wooden posts and each other under the watchful eyes of veterans. This was a military installation first, a noble's residence second.
The officer led me into the keep itself, through corridors lit by torches and decorated with weapons rather than tapestries. The aesthetic spoke clearly: this was a man who valued function over form, strength over beauty.
We stopped before a heavy wooden door bound with iron. Two guards stood at attention, opening it at the officer's approach.
The room beyond was a study, walls lined with maps and military treatises. A large desk dominated the center, covered in documents and correspondence. And behind that desk sat Count Julius.
He was perhaps fifty years old, his hair more grey than black, his face weathered by years of campaigning. But his eyes were sharp, calculating, the eyes of someone who had survived through intelligence as much as strength. He wore simple military dress, no ostentatious displays of wealth or rank.
He looked up from a document as we entered, his gaze fixing on me with uncomfortable intensity.
"Leave us," he said to the soldiers.
The grey bearded officer hesitated. "My lord, this one is dangerous. The boy's testimony—"
"I'm aware of the testimony, Captain Aldric. I'm also aware that if this being wanted to harm me, your presence wouldn't prevent it." Julius's eyes never left mine. "Leave us. Wait outside."
Captain Aldric clearly wanted to argue, but discipline won out. He bowed stiffly and withdrew, taking his men with him. The door closed with a heavy thud, leaving me alone with the Count.
Silence stretched between us. Julius studied me with the same intensity I was studying him. This was a test, I realized. A measurement of nerve, of who would speak first, who would show weakness.
I had nothing but time.
Finally, Julius smiled slightly. "You're not what I expected. The boy who stumbled into my city two nights ago, babbling about a purple haired demon who slaughtered eight mercenaries with his bare hands, I assumed he was mad. Or traumatized. Seeing things that weren't there." He gestured at me. "But here you are. Exactly as described. Purple hair, strange clothing, an appearance that belongs in legend rather than reality."
"And yet here I am," I replied. "Reality has a way of exceeding legend's limited imagination."
"Indeed." Julius stood, moving to a table where wine and cups waited. He poured two measures, offering one to me. I didn't take it. He shrugged and drank from both cups. "Demonstrating they're not poisoned. Though I suspect poison wouldn't work on you anyway."
"An accurate suspicion."
"The boy said you killed eight armed men in less than a minute. That swords shattered against your skin. That you moved faster than the eye could follow." Julius returned to his desk, leaning against it casually. "Normally, I'd dismiss such claims as hysteria. But I've learned to trust my instincts, and my instincts say the boy was telling the truth."
"He was," I confirmed. "Though his estimate of the time was generous. It was closer to fifteen seconds."
Julius's expression didn't change, but I saw the subtle signs. Increased heart rate, slight dilation of pupils, the almost imperceptible tensing of muscles. Fear, carefully controlled.
"You're very forthcoming," he observed. "Most people in your position would deny everything, plead innocence, try to bargain."
"Most people are in a position where such tactics might matter. I am not."
"Because you believe you can kill everyone in this fortress and walk away."
"Believe is the wrong word. I know I can. The question is whether I'll need to."
Julius was quiet for a moment, processing this. Then he laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to surprise even him. "Gods below, you're either the most arrogant being I've ever met or you're exactly what you claim to be. And I'm beginning to think it's the latter."
He moved back to his desk, shuffling through documents until he found what he was looking for. A report, densely written.
"The mercenaries you killed," he said, reading. "Ragnar's band. I knew of them. Scum, all of them. They've been operating in my territory for three months, raiding villages, robbing travelers. I've had patrols looking for them, but they were careful, never staying in one place long enough to pin down." He looked up. "You did me a favor, eliminating them."
"I wasn't doing you a favor. I was satisfying my curiosity."
"Even so." Julius set the report aside. "Which brings me to why I brought you here rather than simply trying to execute you. I'm a practical man. I've held this fortress for twenty years through practicality, not idealism. And when something unprecedented walks into my city, I don't waste it. I use it."
Now we were getting to the interesting part. "Use me how?"
"The war with Tudor," Julius said simply. "It's been going on for over a century. Stalemate after stalemate, countless lives wasted, resources depleted. Neither side strong enough to deliver a decisive blow, neither side willing to surrender. It's bleeding both kingdoms white."
"And you think I can change that."
"I think a being who can slaughter eight armed men in fifteen seconds could change a great many things." Julius leaned forward, his eyes intense. "I'm offering you employment. Fight for Midland, for me, and I'll provide you with whatever resources you need. Coin, information, protection from those who would see you destroyed out of fear."
"Protection," I repeated, amused. "From what, exactly?"
"From the Church, for one. The moment word spreads of what you are, they'll declare you a demon and call for crusade. From other nobles who'll see you as a threat to the established order. From adventurers and glory seekers who'll try to make their name by killing the impossible being." Julius spread his hands. "I'm offering you something valuable, whether you recognize it or not. A place in this world's structure rather than outside it."
I considered his offer, turning it over in my mind. The proposal had merit from a certain perspective. Embedding myself in this world's power structures would provide access to resources and information I couldn't easily obtain alone. It would give me legitimacy, a framework for operating without constant interference.
But it would also mean subservience. Answering to this human, following his commands, becoming a tool in conflicts I had no investment in.
"What makes you think I have any interest in your war?" I asked.
"I don't," Julius admitted. "But I think you have interest in understanding this world. In finding whatever it is you're looking for. And I think you're intelligent enough to recognize that having allies, or at least non hostile authorities, makes that search easier."
Perceptive. More perceptive than I'd given him credit for.
"You mentioned the Church," I said. "Tell me about them. Their power, their reach."
Julius nodded, recognizing that the negotiation was continuing even if I hadn't accepted. "The Holy See controls spiritual authority across both Midland and Tudor. Massive wealth, political influence that reaches into every court. They're the reason the war has dragged on so long, honestly. They profit from it, selling indulgences and blessings to both sides."
"And if they declared me a demon?"
"They'd mobilize their own forces. Warrior monks, inquisitors, possibly even one of the legendary Holy Knights. Thousands of zealots convinced that killing you is their path to salvation." He paused. "You might be able to kill them all. But it would make your existence here considerably more complicated."
"Unless I had a powerful noble vouching for me."
"Exactly."
I moved to the window, looking out over the fortress courtyard. Soldiers continued their drills, unaware that their master was negotiating with something that could reduce their stronghold to rubble. The morning sun painted everything in shades of gold, almost beautiful if you ignored the underlying rot.
"You're right that I'm searching for something," I said without turning. "Beings called the God Hand. Five entities that exist beyond the mortal realm, that grant power through sacrifice. Do you know of them?"
The silence behind me was profound. When Julius finally spoke, his voice had changed, lost its confident edge.
"Where did you hear that name?"
"I have my sources. Answer the question."
"The God Hand are legend," Julius said carefully. "Myths told by madmen and heretics. The Church burns anyone who speaks of them too openly, claims they're demons of the highest order."
"But you believe they're real."
Another long pause. "I've seen things I can't explain. Heard testimonies from men I trust who claim to have witnessed transformations, sacrifices. But I've never seen proof, nothing concrete." His voice dropped lower. "There are artifacts. Behelits. Cursed objects that supposedly summon these beings. The Church hunts them down when they surface, destroys them along with whoever possessed them."
"Yet they persist."
"They persist."
I turned back to face him. "If I were to accept your offer, I would require complete access to any information you have on these beings. Any rumors, any artifacts, any witnesses. Everything."
Julius nodded slowly. "That can be arranged. Though I should warn you, investigating the God Hand draws attention from forces far more dangerous than mercenaries."
"I've noticed this world has an abundance of things that consider themselves dangerous. So far, none have lived up to the billing."
"Your confidence will either be vindicated or it will get you killed," Julius said. "But that's your concern, not mine. So, do we have an agreement? You work for me, and I provide you with resources and protection?"
I considered the offer one final time. It was a cage, however gilded. But cages could be useful, providing structure while I learned this world's deeper secrets. And unlike a true prisoner, I could leave whenever I chose. No bars existed that could hold me, no authority that could compel me.
"Conditional agreement," I said. "I'll eliminate threats to your territory as needed. In exchange, you provide information on the God Hand and ensure I'm not hindered by Church or state. But I'm not your soldier. I don't follow military command, don't participate in your war unless it serves my interests. I'm an independent contractor, not a subordinate."
Julius considered this, clearly not thrilled with the limitations. But he was practical, as he'd claimed. "What happens when your interests conflict with mine?"
"Then we renegotiate. Or our arrangement ends. Peacefully, if possible."
"And if I try to force the issue?"
"Then you join your mercenaries in whatever hell awaits the foolish."
Julius laughed again, that same surprised sound. "You're a terrifying being, you know that? No pretense, no diplomatic softening. Just cold statement of fact."
"I see no point in deception. You're useful to me alive and cooperative. Dead, you're simply a corpse. The choice of which you become is entirely yours."
"Fair enough." Julius extended his hand. A human gesture of agreement. I stared at it for a moment, then gripped it briefly. His hand was calloused, strong despite his age. He didn't flinch at my touch, though I could feel his tension.
"We have an accord then," Julius said. "Welcome to my service, such as it is." He released my hand and moved back to his desk, already shifting to practical matters. "You'll need quarters. Something separate from the barracks, given your, unique nature. And we'll need to establish a cover story. Can't have you wandering around claiming to be a perfect being. That'll bring the Church down on both of us."
"What do you suggest?"
"Foreign mercenary," Julius said immediately. "From the east, beyond the borders anyone's bothered to map. Your appearance and abilities are the result of exotic training and alchemical enhancement. Unusual, but not demonic. The Church doesn't like alchemy, but they don't burn alchemists on sight."
"And my demonstration yesterday?"
"Self defense against known criminals. The boy's testimony supports that. Ragnar's band had warrants on their heads. You'll be celebrated as a hero who saved a child from torture." Julius smiled slightly. "I'm good at spinning stories. It's how you survive in politics."
"Politics," I said, tasting the word with distaste. "The art of convincing insects they're not being devoured."
"That's a remarkably accurate definition, actually."
A knock at the door interrupted us. Captain Aldric's voice called through: "My lord, there's a situation developing in the market square. Your presence is requested."
Julius sighed. "There's always a situation. Very well, Captain. I'll be there shortly." He turned back to me. "Come with me. You should see how we handle daily problems. Give you a sense of what life is like in my territory."
I followed him out, past the nervous guards who tried not to stare at me too obviously. We walked through the fortress, Julius nodding to soldiers and staff, projecting authority with every step. He'd built something here, a power base carved from stone and steel and human loyalty. Primitive, but not without its own crude effectiveness.
The market square was in chaos when we arrived. A crowd had gathered, forming a circle around something at the center. I could smell blood, hear screaming. Julius pushed through with practiced authority, Captain Aldric clearing a path.
At the center of the circle, a man was being held by two soldiers. His clothes marked him as a merchant, though they were torn and bloody. His face was bruised, one eye swollen shut. And on the ground beside him, a woman's body. Her throat had been cut, blood pooling across the cobblestones.
"What happened here?" Julius demanded.
One of the soldiers, young and clearly shaken, spoke up. "The merchant, my lord. He killed his wife. Multiple witnesses saw him do it. Just pulled a knife and cut her throat in front of everyone."
The merchant was laughing. A wet, broken sound that held no humor. His eyes were distant, unfocused, seeing something that wasn't there.
"She made me do it," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "The egg told me to. Said it was the only way. Said I could have everything if I just, if I just..."
Julius's expression hardened. "He's mad. Take him to the cells. We'll hold a trial once—"
"The egg," I interrupted, moving closer to the merchant. "Describe it."
The merchant's unfocused eyes found me, and something like recognition flickered in them. "You can see it," he whispered. "You can see what it showed me. The five angels, the power they promised. All I had to do was sacrifice what I loved most."
My interest sharpened immediately. "Where is this egg now?"
"I threw it away," the merchant sobbed. "After she died, after I realized what I'd done, I threw it in the river. It's gone, it's gone, but I can still hear it calling..."
Julius was watching me, understanding dawning in his eyes. "A Behelit."
"So it would seem."
"The Church will want him," Captain Aldric said. "If word gets out he possessed one—"
"Then word doesn't get out," Julius cut him off. "This man is clearly mad, killed his wife in a fit of insanity. Tragic, but mundane. No mention of cursed artifacts or demonic pacts. Understood?"
Aldric nodded, though he looked uncomfortable with the deception.
I knelt beside the merchant, studying his face. He was broken, whatever the Behelit had shown him had shattered something fundamental in his mind. But his memories might prove useful.
"My lord," Aldric said warningly, watching me. "What are you—"
I placed my hand on the merchant's forehead. Neural filaments emerged, sinking into his skull before anyone could react. The merchant's eyes rolled back, his body going rigid.
"What the hell!" Aldric moved forward, hand on sword.
"Stand down, Captain," Julius ordered. "Let him work."
The merchant's memories flooded into me. I sifted through them quickly, discarding the mundane. There, the Behelit. He'd found it three weeks ago, half buried in the mud by the riverside. Egg shaped, covered in human features, exactly as described. It had called to him, whispered promises of power and transcendence. But his despair hadn't been deep enough, his need not desperate enough.
So the Behelit had tried to create that desperation. It had shown him visions, poisoned his thoughts, convinced him that sacrifice would bring salvation. And when he'd finally broken, when he'd killed the woman he loved, the Behelit had rejected him. He wasn't worthy. Wasn't marked by fate.
And so it had moved on, looking for its true owner.
I withdrew the filaments. The merchant collapsed, unconscious. I stood, processing what I'd learned.
"The Behelit is real," I said to Julius. "He threw it in the river three days ago. It will surface again when it finds someone it deems worthy."
"You got all that from touching him?" Aldric asked, his voice tight with barely suppressed fear.
"I got considerably more than that. But yes, that's the relevant information."
Julius studied the unconscious merchant, then looked at the dead woman. "Take him to the cells. Quiet execution tomorrow, no public spectacle. And someone get this poor woman to the mortuary." He turned to me. "Can you find the Behelit?"
"Possibly. If it's still in the river, if it hasn't already moved on. But even if I find it, the artifact itself is useless without someone marked by fate to activate it."
"Still, I want it found. Something like that in my territory, waiting to corrupt someone else, it's a liability." Julius looked at Captain Aldric. "Organize a search. Drag the river if you have to."
"Yes, my lord."
As the crowd dispersed and soldiers moved to handle the bodies, Julius gestured for me to follow him back toward the fortress.
"You see now what I mean about this world," he said quietly. "Cursed artifacts that drive men to murder. Legends that walk out of tavern tales and into reality. Gods or demons or whatever the hell the God Hand actually are, lurking just beyond the veil." He shook his head. "I've fought men all my life. Men I can understand, predict, counter. But this, this is something else entirely."
"And you think allying with me will help you navigate it."
"I think having something as terrifying as you on my side is better than having you as an unknown variable. Or worse, as an enemy."
We walked in silence back to the fortress. I processed the morning's events, cataloguing new information. The Behelit was real, functioned as described, and was currently somewhere in Windham waiting for its destined owner. The God Hand existed, or at least their influence did. And I had successfully embedded myself in this world's power structure without compromising my independence.
Progress.
Julius showed me to quarters in a tower of the fortress, a circular room with windows overlooking the city. It was sparse but functional, considerably cleaner than the inn.
"Make yourself comfortable," Julius said. "I'll have servants bring you anything you need. Food, though I suspect you don't eat. Water, clothing, whatever."
"Information," I said. "I want everything you have on the God Hand, the Behelits, any supernatural occurrences in your territory or beyond. Reports, rumors, eyewitness accounts. Everything."
"I'll have it compiled and brought to you. Might take a few days to gather it all."
"Acceptable."
Julius paused at the door, looking back at me. "You know, I still don't understand what you are. Where you came from, why you're here, what you ultimately want. But I'm glad we're having this conversation as allies rather than as corpse and killer."
"A practical assessment."
"That's what I do." He smiled slightly. "Try not to terrify my soldiers too much. Morale is already low with the war grinding on."
He left, closing the door behind him. I moved to the window, looking out over Windham. The city sprawled below, a maze of streets and buildings, thousands of lives grinding away in their daily struggles. Somewhere down there, a Behelit waited. Somewhere beyond, the God Hand observed.
And I stood above it all, perfect and patient, waiting for the pieces to fall into place.
In the realm beyond causality, in the space where the God Hand existed, five beings stirred with something approaching interest. The anomaly had embedded itself in the world's structure, had allied with temporal power, had begun seeking them deliberately.
This had never happened before. In all the eons of their existence, nothing had ever sought them out. They were the seekers, the judges, the granters of dark ascension. They chose who rose and who remained fallen.
But this thing, this Perfect Being, it was choosing them.
The question was what would happen when chooser met chosen. When predator met prey, and neither was certain which role they played.
The answer would come. Fate guaranteed it. But fate, for perhaps the first time in this cursed world's history, was uncertain of the outcome.
And uncertainty, in a realm built on absolute predetermination, was the most terrifying thing of all.