"In light of recent events and tensions it is necessary for political reasons for Mirshal to - officially - denounce the Adma. Their raids on the Invictan parties in the south have aided us defensively, but have come at a great cost. People flood the city, fleeing from destroyed villages, destroyed by the Invictans in part because the Adma`s raiding parties focus on destroying the enemy, not on saving those in the Vale. They are allies in our cause, yes - they share our ways and our laws and our knowledge of the Veil and the Aether, but they`ve forgotten the highest law of all, the preservation of life, and for that we cannot look on blindly. Their scorched-earth tactics have made it difficult for our Mirshalites to conduct rescues and targeted operations. Where we aim to be a sharp and hot surgeon`s knife, the Adma is a cold, blunt cudgel against our shared enemies.

　　It is a difficult situation for Mirshal, and for Kivv especially, because we need the Adma. The defense of Kivv cannot succeed without them, and we will be crushed. But this relationship is to be unofficial. Let the Adma of the south believe they`ve been betrayed by us. It will hardly matter until after the Invictans are defeated, and we must focus on immediate matters.

　　-Letter of Antonin Voloshko

　　That evening: the headquarters of the Holy Alchemical Society

　　 Ensconced in his office Beren Avci tapped away furiously at his desk`s computer terminal. It was enough that he had been staying awake day and night trying to manage the city`s response to increasing unrest, to ensure that things did not get out of hand and that - vitally - the upper districts did not see what was happening in the lower, so they were not inspired to rise themselves. The regular outages of the Holy Alchemical Society`s private network had not helped matters.

　　 Angrily Beren reached out and flicked the nail of his finger against the screen, to quell the urge to punch the machine in front of him. It would raise questions if he had to go to his superiors again and ask for a new terminal to be installed in his office.

　　 Beren had control - he could still feel the city within his grasp, the pieces held together by strings and tape yet holding together nonetheless. But there was no denying that the city was fraying, and with it his nerves. The lower districts were in absolute unrest - that much was acceptable, for now. But it was the way the unrest threatened to spread that had Beren distressed. The Vertical Corridor was doing a good enough job of keeping the districts separate for now. A few people might pass underneath, but the Corridor had been kept busier than usual these past few days, making the passing more hazardous and keeping the people on their proper side of the city. Above or below, everyone was encouraged to move about the city in the way which benefited Beren and the Holy Alchemical Society.

　　 But it was not a perfect solution. It never was - even Beren had to admit that to himself as he sat, pondering, in his office, staring at the documents on the Society`s computer system, grasping at straws that might, possibly, help him with this mess he`d allowed the Adma to create. If there was one saving grace in all of this, it was this simple fact: those who stand in the halls of power know that no one has the control they believe themselves to have, let alone the control their subjects believe them to have. The one who styles himself a master manipulator is, himself, manipulated by the collective whim of those he considers beneath him. And those who, in him, see the ultimate enemy, the singular cause of all woe, are sorely disappointed when they slay their enemy only to find that it has changed nothing. This grace made it easier for Beren to cover his tracks. He knew that his superiors knew of his presence at the inciting violence in the lower districts, and despite the delays - inevitable delays - he was sure that by now an internal investigation against him was proceeding.

　　 But there was some disorder to be expected - from those investigating him, and from Beren himself. His tracks were sufficiently covered. He`d be fine, ultimately.

　　 The thought, I will be fine, brought a smile to Beren`s lips as he continued to type, expanding on the report to his superiors. His recommendations - continuing the tightening of the Vertical Corridor, keeping lower-district publications blacklisted, increasing the presence of Enforcers in the lower districts while decreasing their presence in the upper - were likely to be accepted. He might have to be very careful what he said and did while this investigation continued - but he had no recognizable tie to any seditious group. He would be fine.

　　 The smile fell from Beren`s face when he felt something cold and sharp and foreign rest against his throat, heard a breath, felt hot air brush through the hair on his head. He stiffened, reaching out instinctively with a hand toward the desk drawer in front of him, but he stopped with his hand in the air, fingers outstretched, when he felt the figure behind him shift, the sharp intake of breath that indicated a strike would come in a moment.

　　 Beren heard feet shifting behind him, boots on the tile floor, and he heard in his assailant`s breath the moment of determination, the moment that would doom Beren if he didn`t move. A tickle at the back of his panicked mind: those footsteps are familiar. But then the knife-hand started to move and Beren leaned back forcefully, tipping his chair over. The knife drew over his skin but came away with only a surface wound - hot, painful, bloody - as Beren tumbled to the ground, lashing out with his arms to try to push his assailant further away from him. The figure, in the garb of an Invictan soldier, leapt away, long knife trailing Beren`s blood. As his chair crashed to the ground, Beren rolled up to his feet, stopping his momentum by throwing out an arm to brace him against the window behind his desk. He risked a quick glance out the window - the street below filled with people, wandering, normal people going about their daily lives. Beren started to lean toward the window, pulling at the fastener with one hand and pushing up hard. He opened his mouth to shout, "Assassin! Help!" but never got the words out.

　　 A fist narrowly missed Beren, and he pushed against the wall, staggering out of the way of the knife that came just a moment later, crossing the room with uneven pace and poor balance, pushing against the opposite wall - only it was not the wall he reached, but a bookshelf. Books tumbled from above, upended by the impact, and Beren threw up his hands by instinct. When he turned around, his attacker was waiting, having crossed the room while the rain of books kept the two of them separated.

　　 Beren thought of the door a mere few paces from him, but he didn`t dare look at it or make a run for it. His eyes stayed fixed on the eyes of his assailant, and for the first time in those scant few seconds of the fight he had a good look at her.

　　 It was the Adma woman, the one who`d started this whole mess, wasn`t it? The one who`d lit the powder keg so eagerly, splattered that poor man - a pawn, nothing more, but still a man - across the street in spite of Beren`s explicit instructions.

　　 "You," Beren growled, adjusting his uniform as he stared down the attacker. "Why are you here, to take revenge on me? After you mucked up your own plan?"

　　 She lunged at him, leading with the knife, leading leg bending as she stretched out her arm. It was an expert thrust, but she made a simple mistake - expecting that it would be the killing blow. Beren and his opponent hadn`t had much time to gauge each other`s abilities, but the Adma girl was still too eager, too sure of herself, too confident in her own skills over Beren`s. He slipped to the side, avoiding the knife, and let Kotire`s momentum carry her forward. Then he reached out quick as a snare, grabbed Kotire`s arm just above the elbow, and raised his free hand for a bone-breaking strike. The strength of his grip on her arm was such that she dropped the knife from suddenly-nerveless fingers. It struck the floor, but the sound of it was lost to both of them in the rush of battle.

　　 She pushed off from the bookshelf with her forward leg, and instead of breaking the Adma soldier`s arm, Beren found himself flipped through the air, landing hard on his back behind Kotire. He groaned and pushed against the ground while the Adma went for her knife. By the time he had sat up, she had the knife in hand again. Blood rushed in Beren`s head. He finally registered the sound of the knife clattering to the floor. The knife thrust toward him.

　　 Beren caught Kotire`s arm between his two hands, and the knife`s tip stopped an inch from his eye. Instinctively he turned his face away. On the floor next to his desk, the length of his body from him, he saw his knife on the floor, still settling to the ground after its fall an instant before. The sound of it was still echoing in his mind. Beren twisted his arms, throwing Kotire to the side, and kicked out. He felt his foot strike and heard Kotire grunt. Beren scrambled away, grabbed his knife off the floor, and rolled up to his feet.

　　 "You people never take responsibility for your own mistakes!" Beren said aloud. "You thought you could use me to get to the Emperor? Even if I`d wanted to help you" - he added for the benefit of the secret listening devices that were no doubt planted in his office at this moment - "even if I`d genuinely been on your side" - he hoped that such a thing, said in a moment of such great danger, would help get the investigators off his back - "what you did screwed up your own plan!"

　　 She didn`t respond - she simply charged at him, knife in hand again. With his own blade Beren parried, he dodged Kotire`s thrusts, he ducked under her swipes and lashed at her feet. But, now on even footing, neither fighter could get the upper hand on the other. Kotire leaped onto Beren`s desk - her boots striking and shattering the terminal there. Beren grunted. "You wanted to turn people against the Emperor? Well, you only managed to turn them against the Alchemical Society!"

　　 "You, the Emperor, it`s all the same to me," Kotire said, leaping down from the desk with her knife in hand.

　　 "Ah, so now you talk?" Beren ducked and slid forward, letting Kotire crash to the ground behind him. He turned toward her, his back now to his desk, his hand opening the drawer he`d tried to reach for before and sliding inside. If Kotire was continuing to attack with a knife - Beren was sure the Adma soldier must have had other weapons on her - it was because she wanted this to be quiet. Beren did not wish to oblige her in any way. His hand closed around the grip of his pistol and he smiled. He did not remove the weapon from the desk, not yet - his back concealed his hand as he leaned against the desk. Kotire approached again, but slowly, calculating, with careful and uneven steps. Beren flashed a smug grin and said: "you just have to be the righteous one, don`t you? Never mind that it`s you who live a life built on hate and vengeance. Never stop to think."

　　 Between heavy breaths, Kotire whispered, "I`m right to hate you. How many people have you murdered by your own hand, Enforcer? How many children have you cast out of this beautiful` city?"

　　 Beren shorted. "You never see past your own hands. It`s why you`ll never win. It`s why you`ll always just be an irrelevant wanderer killing to survive, killing and stealing and calling the world your own."

　　 Kotire stepped forward.

　　 Beren laughed, not far from her now. "And if I have to kill a hundred of your friends to improve the lot of one of mine, I`ll do it without regrets."

　　 He dropped his center of gravity, pulling his hand and the pistol free from the drawer at last. As his arm swung around and he fell toward the floor, Beren smiled. It was all falling into place, all falling into -

　　 The pistol fell uselessly from his hand and struck the ground. The echo of the sound repeated in Beren`s ears a hundred times. Kotire`s eyes were bright with tears and blood. Everything was red. Beren`s eyes - red. His hands - red. The window - red. The sun - so bright, so hot, so red. Red ran from his mouth. Red ran from his chest, around Kotire`s fingers, over the blade of her knife where it thrust through to Beren`s heart, onto her feet where she knelt next to him. And the knife was so warm, it was like his whole world was centered on that blade. It was his only love in the world, and it had struck him through. He wrapped his hands around the crossguard like they were the hands of his own child. A crooked smile came to Beren`s face as he embraced the strange fire Kotire had offered him.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it`s taken without the author`s consent. Report it.

　　 When Beren breathed his last, Kotire went to work quickly and silently. She stripped Beren of his uniform - except the ripped shirt underneath his gold-trimmed kaftan, which was of course unsalvageable. In Beren`s desk drawer Kotire found his mask, and she fastened it onto her face. She took his weapons, not only the sidearm he`d dropped but the fuse-fed Enforcer gun hanging on the wall. She barricaded Beren`s door - with the bookshelf, with his desk, with her own bloody knife soaked and stuck with the ripped pieces of Beren`s heart keeping the bolt shut.

　　 She opened the drawers of Beren`s desk. There were papers - old papers, by the look of them, the corners stiffened and curled. Kotire glanced over at the computer terminal, but it was broken, thin shards of the glass covering spread across the desk from the fight.

　　 Kotire looked up at the vent in the ceiling, then back at the bloody body. Slinging the weapon over her shoulder, she looked up, reached up, jumped.

　　 She was out of the building before the alarm began to blare.

　　 It wasn`t too far from the Holy Alchemical Society to the Tower of God, but getting close was difficult. Kotire passed through three gates on the way to the tower. None dared approach or question her, with the disguise she wore, the mask on her face and the weapon slung over her shoulder. Yet every time she saw an Invictan soldier glance her way, she nearly froze with fear. Even though she was sure the soldiers were more afraid of her than she was of them. There were so many people - the streets felt so crowded, more so than ever despite the seasons she`d spent here. If she fought, she`d be caught, and she couldn`t hold out forever - without allies, without the hope of sympathy anywhere.

　　 Though it was difficult, and though she was afraid, soon she stood at the foot of the Tower of God, checking the pocket of her uniform to make sure Beren Avci`s identification was there.

　　 When she entered the tower, se saw the entrance to a circular lift flanked by two soldiers in the uniforms of Enforcers. They stood calmly, watching, and when she approached they saluted. She stopped and returned the salute, then walked up to the lift and stepped forward. The gate opened before her. The guards didn`t even ask to see her identification.

　　 As it lifted, Kotire glanced down. Once of the guards returned the look, and Kotire was suddenly very conscious that she could not read the expression under that mechanical mask. The elevator lifted slowly, painfully slowly. Kotire folded her hands behind her back. The mechanical mask below stared up at her impassively a few more seconds. Kotire saw motion within it - the turning of gears, their metal teeth grinding quiet together. The first ceiling approached Kotire as she rose, the circular lift clicking into place as a part of the floor for half a second before continuing. Doors surrounded Kotire, and she looked up - above her, a tunnel stretched up as far as she could see. More doors lined the edges of that cylinder.

　　 The tower was taller than Kotire had imagined. Her heart pounded in her chest from the anticipation, the adrenaline, the blood still rushing in her ears. When she closed her eyes, flames danced before her. Beren Avci. The man whose name she`d never learned, who`d died in front of her in the lower districts. The Invictan soldiers she`d killed while fighting in the wilderness, and the ones she`d slain on the run from their hunters.

　　 Each memory haunted her from behind, chose this moment of all to come and lay spectral hands on her shoulders. She shuddered, remembering a dozen groans of anguish cut short, the cracking of bone, the squelching of the knife, and worse - the terrible cleanliness and simplicity of a soldier at the end of Kotire`s rifle, falling with wounds hidden beneath the folds of clothing. Screaming, agonized, staccato shouts with breath cut off.

　　 Kotire breathed in deep and steadied her hands. One hand rested on her knife, the other on the strap which kept the Enforcer weapon slung over her shoulder. She pushed the memories aside, feeling instead the specter of death over her. When she`d turned away from the others and decided to hunt down the emperor she knew what it likely meant - failure and her own death. Kotire might be foolish, she admitted to herself silently - terribly foolish - but she was not stupid. Yet when she breathed, deliberate and slow, letting the air pass in her nostrils and out her mouth, feeling the rise and fall of her chest and shoulders over tens of seconds, the knowledge of her death did not weigh on her so much.

　　 She`d known death for so long, and she had danced with it. She would be lying if she said she did not fear. To be afraid is to be alive. Yet it wasn`t fear that she fought against with each breath, it was sorrow. The earth did not deserve this blood.

　　 It would receive it, nonetheless - impassive, accepting, the arms of the earth so open and -

　　 A door above Kotire opened and she heard it. When the gold-clad Enforcer stepped into the elevator`s shaft, Kotire heard the click of a rifle readying to fire before she opened her eyes. Hand tightening on the strap of the Enforcer weapon she positioned it so the barrel pointed up, reached her arm around and flicked one of the fuses protruding from the weapon`s barrel. The shield sprung to life just intime to save Kotire`s life. Blue hardlight covered her like an umbrella and the Enforcer`s rifle-shot echoed in the narrow elevator shaft.

　　 By the time the echoing sound faded from a roar so that Kotire could hear the movements of the Enforcer next to her, he had already landed, and Kotire had already readied the weapon, shield held out in front of her. When she swung the rifle forward, the shield passed through the Enforcer`s body - permitting the slow man, blocking the rifle`s bullet. With the weapon activated, though, Kotire was shielded against the Enforcer`s knife. He stepped in, pivoting his body, and thrust with the blade, and it stopped just within Kotire`s reach, suspended in air with the blade pointed toward her heart. Unlike the axe-wielding man in the street - those many weeks ago - the Enforcer did not stand, trying to force his weapon through the barrier. Like lightning he moved again, and struck again and again, and each time it felt as though the knife got closer to Kotire`s skin, though it never touched her. She didn`t even feel the brush of air as the knife whipped and cut through the space between them.

　　 And still the elevator rose.

　　 Kotire dodged strike after strike, reaching out with a hand toward the Enforcer. Yet he was shielded just as she was, and the air did not permit her - she couldn`t grab hold of the man, nor could he strike at her. His weapon swung past her head and she ducked, just avoiding the barrel. He did not fire, not bothering to spend ammunition when he knew he would not hit - though Kotire was thankful for that. The force of the gunshot so close to her would have been disorienting. She stepped forward and pushed the barrel of her enemy`s gun further away, placed the barrel of her own gun in front of the Enforcer`s mechanical mask, and fired.

　　 Kotire stumbled away, clutching at her head, even as the Enforcer`s body crumpled. Her head swam painfully, as though her brain had been dunked into a pool of acid.

　　 When she touched her hand to her forehead, a vision swam before her. Names given formless shape, shapeless form. The figures danced before her - a bestial man, wild river-bank wanderer, clutching a bundle of leaves while the water flowed off him. His metallic skirt clinked as he dove toward Kotire, long and dirty fingernails outstretched. The elevator rose. A click above. Something fell to the floor beside her, but she did not see. An impassive stone-faced woman, clad in a simple robe folding infinitely on itself, with a wreath of wheat about her head setting back waves of hair. She stared coldly at Kotire, and it was as though icy fingers grabbed a hold of her throat. Winter flashed in the woman`s warm eyes. The elevator rose. A click above. Something fell to the floor beside her, but she did not see. A man so wrinkled and bent Kotire thought he must be a thousand years old, leaning on a bent staff, staring through her, seeing the world as it was. Clean. Unbroken. Unmarred by a hundred apocalypses. The elevator rose. A click above. Something fell to the floor beside her, but she did not see. A half-naked man with a long-beaked bird for a head, holding a thin scepter. Scripts and words danced in the air before Kotire. She seized up in fear, and the strange beak of the man smiled knowingly. The elevator rose. A click above. Something fell to the floor beside her, and Kotire shook her head to clear it, and the visions dissipated.

　　 Now the elevator was suspended in the air as it approached another ceiling, open air all around Kotire outside the railings. Beyond the open space, where grew many plants and vines, windows showed Kotire just how high up she was. The rest of the city was so far below, the tops of all the great buildings of Kurikuneku little more than bumps on the great rocky plain from which the city had sprouted. And all around her& the Enforcers menaced with their weapons.

　　 Kotire burst into action, and managed to take the first by surprise, discharging her Enforcer rifle under that one`s chin. The first body tumbled over the railing and fell down through the tower, landing among the verdant gardens below. The other three struck then, thrusting blades at Kotire while they readied their guns, but Kotire knew their moves before they started to move. She ducked and turned, and the blades went over her. When she rose again, the three Enforcers together were overextended, having nearly fallen forward toward the railing, and Kotire gripped one by the arm while with her free hand turning the barrel of her rifle around. Her weapon deflected from that one`s shield when she attempted to press the barrel against him, and she stumbled, and the three Enforcers pressed their weight against her, forcing her back to the railing.

　　 Leaning back against the railing, struggling against the Enforcers, Kotire glimpsed the gardens below where the first one had fallen. The fern-leaves were stained with blood and the body, lying among them, was twisted unnaturally, limbs bent back toward the body they splayed out from.

　　 Fear surged through Kotire`s body and she twisted herself out of the grip of the enforcers, slipping aside so that they could not hold her without throwing themselves over the railing. One did not let go in time and fell, while the others stepped back and lifted their rifles. Kotire`s hands held the railing, bracing herself from falling back. When she saw that they were lifting their weapons to shoot her, she rushed forward, throwing up her arms and shoving the barrels to either side. In panic the two Enforcers fired their weapons. The recoil not only lifted their arms, but forced Kotire forward more, between them, and burned her hands. With a scream of pain Kotire let go of the rifle barrels and brought her hands in front of her body, grabbing hold of both Enforcers` throats in the process. She lifted them from where they stood. A surge of strength, born of pain and desperation, ran through Kotire. As she moved, she felt her muscles ripping apart inside her, arms burning and tearing agonizingly, as her burned hands pushed forward, forward -

　　 And forced the two Enforcers over the edge of the railing just before the elevator passed through the ceiling and into the tunnel above.

　　 Kotire felt the shift in the air and pulled herself back, letting go of the Enforcers. They saw their deaths coming, and scrambled to regain their footing, to get fully back inside the elevator. It was too late. When the elevator passed into that perfectly-shaped tunnel, the lower half of each Enforcer came with Kotire inside. Kotire stepped back, pressing herself against the opposite railing, and suppressed the urge to vomit as the elevator continued its inexorable climb toward the peak.

　　 Where God awaited.

　　 Kotire feared, yes, but the anticipation was a thrill unlike anything she`d ever felt before. The chance to finally be free. To have in her power one whose power she`d lived in the shadow of all her life. It had been almost simple to reach this usurper, and now&

　　 But the visions danced again before her. The thick-bearded man in the metallic skirt. The woman with her wreath of wheat.

　　 The tunnel above her opened again and the elevator clicked into place. She stood, surrounded by glass and crystal, at the very peak of the Tower of God.

　　 Immediately Kotire raised her rifle. In front of her was the back of a long couch, curving around the central elevator. Seeing no one there, she turned on her heel, twisting her neck to scan the room. Heart in her throat, she turned on her heel, and then she saw him.

　　 The Emperor of the Invictans, their God, their Sun, was a short man with thin, wavy hair and a coat that didn`t quite fit him. He leaned against the back of the couch, facing the south wall-window of the tower, staring out at Kurikuneku`s skyline. One of his arms was slung over the back of the sofa. His fingers shook, an essential tremor that made the man seem older than he appeared. When he turned to look at her - and Kotire let him turn, transfixed by the sight, her finger tight against the trigger of her gun but not squeezing - his face appeared young, almost childlike, except for his eyes. Haggard, ancient eyes. He smiled, a young smile, and raised a hand, almost casually. Waggling the fingers. "That was very, very impressive," he said, and his voice echoed throughout the room, rang painfully in Kotire`s ears. It took all her discipline to keep a hold of the weapon in her hands. Yet still, though she gritted her teeth and tightened her finger on the trigger she could not bring herself to squeeze it and fire and kill the Emperor.

　　 "Good show," God said. "You took out my least loyal servants for me. It`s convenient. When you`re going to war, you have to clean house. I appreciate your help, little heretic. I know what Beren Avci was doing. I know he helped you, and then betrayed you, and so you repaid his betrayal with blood. i& appreciate your help." His smile faded suddenly, then. "But please, stop bothering me now."

　　 Kotire`s teeth ground together and finally she felt the will to movement return to her hands, to her fingers, and she squeezed the weapon`s trigger.

　　 Glass shattered above her, and the shards danced down through the air, spinning, reflecting the light as they fell toward where the Emperor sat, watching impassively. Kotire sailed through the air as well - up, away from the Emperor, the weapon flying from her hands as the kickback proved too much for her when combined with the unexpected motion. The Emperor raised his hand toward her and waggled his fingers in a little mocking wave - goodbye, little one. Then her head struck the ceiling. As consciousness faded she heard the glass shatter around her, felt its sharp edges rake along her skin, saw the ceilings of buildings around her as she began her descent toward the street so far below. She struck an outcropping from the tower, a piece of construction that protruded out, and it took the wind from her lungs.