Once again, I tasted ash. It wavered in the air, descending from the hot torrents of dark smoke from buildings all around. Somehow in the chaos, they had taken to flame, though I did not hasten to stop it. Let Nova feel the pain of fire and blood at justice's hand. Let all those who benefited from a legacy of evil face reckoning. Face equilibrium.

For as I strode through the city I'd once entered centuries ago—then little more than a walled coastal town of arrogant barbarians—passing by great structures of marble; fountains, baths, and cisterns fed fresh water from towering, Sorcery-infused aqueducts; arenas and stadiums; and temples celebrating gods once only peripheral… As I marched by these things on my quest toward this equilibrium, I found disgust welling in my gut. These people who'd purchased such extravagance and excess with the sacrifices of mine lived as aristocrats, gaudy and obscene with their blood-stained wealth. The sight of it all made me want to put it to the sword. To see their so-called great city smashed into dust and smoking rubble. But I was not a villain. I was more merciful than they. So I didn't light buildings ablaze as I went, nor did I target their storehouses or poison their cisterns or run rampant through the densely-packed buildings with my Dead and ravage the vulnerable. If I so wished, I could have created chaos unmatched, then placed my Soulborne at the few bridges and massive ferry exits, slaughtering all who sought escape. I could have sacked the city with as few as a hundred of my creations, ending the lives of hundreds of thousands. But I didn't.

For that, I ought not be considered merely merciful but benevolent, gracious as any god. Who else would offer such a kindness to so horrific an enemy? What victim of Vasia, if given the chance, would do as I intend and go no further? I was set, then, in my goodness, my righteousness, and it was in my certainty that we met our first true resistance.

It was a messy, ill-formed group of city militia. Some bore proper arms, but most were men in tunics wielding crooked spears and passed down heirloom blades. There was not a single mail shirt among them, not a horse, nor a bowman. Is this what Vasia opposes me with? I asked myself, observing their thin line. A few hundred peasants to defend themselves? It was arrogance, conceit, and most of all, an insult to my people. Did they truly think they could get away with it all and not prepare for some reckoning? Were they so comfortable in their throne, unable to resist even the most hurried of assaults from a sole Sorcerer?

With a scoff, I sent forth my Dead. They broke from their tight column into a ground-shaking charge that spread across the street, covering the surface of the militia's entire front, fifty Soulborne wide. Within moments, before the humans could form up properly—if they even could—my Soulborne smashed into them like heavy cavalry through routing skirmishers. Their axes swung in wide, brilliant arcs, devastating all in their way. Within mere moments, the militia broke, men running for their lives, abandoning their comrades. I could have let them flee, possibly regroup with others to present a reformed opposition, but that would be erroneous and derived from egoism. It was the same matter as when I dealt with the sailors who fled to the sea. These men were, unfortunately, necessary sacrifices to the cause. And so, they fed my Soulbornes' hunger.

"This is for every conquered people," Feia said, standing close to me, "for every abandoned subject, every razed town, every enslaved civilian."

"It does not weigh upon me."

"Are you certain?"

I did not reply, but forced myself to watch as the militia were consumed. Throats torn open, limbs ripped off, ribcages smashed and split. I watched as my Dead broke open bones and scraped the marrow clean, as they slurped the brains from severed skulls, devoured muscle meat. They were monsters, yes, but ones under command and control. Just because they appeared beastly, seemed loose of all decency and order did not make them evil. Some still escaped my Soulborne, but they were few and far between. Out of the two hundred or so militiamen who opposed me, I saw less than twenty escape alive—and they had broken quickly. I, of course, suffered no casualties. If anything, my host was only strengthened with fresh Soul energy from the killed.

We marched further into the city, bearing toward the palace. It was not long until I was greeted by my next opposition. They were smaller in number, but far better armed, and clearly more trained, forming a shield wall with bristling spears and swords. A few men were mounted on the flank and bore lances, axes, maces, and swords. In all, around a hundred warriors before me. Druzhina, perhaps? Or just trained men with a few landed professionals to keep rank and order? I knew not the classification of my opposition, but it didn't truly matter.

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I sent half of my Soulborne to the rooftops flanking the streets. With a few shouted orders, I had my thirty-some Soulborne on the ground throw their javelins and then charge; when the first projectiles hit, the ones atop the roofs followed. The result was a decimated front and side rank of warriors. Nearly all the mounted men were dead or atop dying horses. With critically injured, dead, and shaken men composing the front, my armored Soulborne bore only slight damage from their decimating charge. I stood back with Feia and one guarding Soulborne and watched. A few of the warriors seemed to recognize my position and tried to sally forth to engage me, but none made it more than a dozen steps before being cut down by long axes. It was, in short, exactly the outcome I expected of my Soulborne when meeting even professional warriors.

They routed only a little later than the militia, but this time, I was more thorough in my cleanup. One must understand that an important part of war is the management of morale. As it was hardly a concern for me, I could entirely focus on the opposition's. As such, I left a gap at the rear of my encirclement with flanking Soulborne to allow escape rather than promote a fight to the death. This, of course, was a rouse. When the warriors fled, I simply cut them down as they dashed out, unprotected, unaware, and vulnerable. As such, I let none leave the field of battle alive. Such command was manageable with my halved numbers and elevated Soulborn commanders.

We moved on before my Dead could consume them. I wished to waste no time, and they were full enough on Soul energy from their feastings thus far, only stopping to retrieve their javelins—most of which were still intact and properly functioning. It was a good thing I did, for when we reached the palace, and archers threatened us from the walls, I had my Dead harry them with javelins before climbing the ill-maintained stone ramparts and slaughtering the enemy.

Inside the palace grounds, evidence of conflict was clear. Bodies, abandoned arms, and shouts and ringing iron from further in.

"It is as I've said, Daecinus Aspartes," Feia muttered. "Fate is with us here."

I did not argue with her. Whatever the cause, internal disorder would certainly be useful. And so, I pressed further in with my host. Inside the palace itself, there were scattered battles underway—all of which quickly dissipated at the sight of my approach. And yet, as I pushed in, there was no committed defense, no rallying around a common foe, nothing that threatened me. Were the Vasians truly so weak? So vulnerable? I hoped the Column's attack was going as smoothly. I felt pulses of Sorcery in the distance, tingling in the back of my mind. I was tempted to leave Feia here with a small group and reinforce the Column attack myself, but such a move exposed her too greatly, and I could not leave her with more than a half-dozen Soulborne, for she could bear no more. In the end, I sent twenty Soulborne toward the Column to assist in the attack. Whatever enemy would oppose me here would be a diminished, feeble one. I doubted it would even be sufficient to force me to utilize my Sorcery.

Still, both the palace and the Column had to fall for this to be a success. I could not risk a fortified opposition, not with my numbers. If one position held, it might be a rallying point for any enemy. This, I would not stand. This, I would not allow.

"Disperse," I commanded, sitting upon the throne in the large hall, "you know your instructions. Capture first, then kill if impossible. But I want the tsar alive!"

Most of my remaining Soulborne dashed off into the innards of the palace like hounds after a felled fowl, executing the plan I'd relayed in detail before. Take the crown, and the rest will follow. Then, when all is in hand, I would see my justice done. But to avoid a sloppy clean-up, I would prefer to have as many in hand as possible.

Feia stood at my side, a hand on the high back of the throne. "If this is a treasonous rebellion, some voivodes will not answer your call."

"Perhaps."

"What will we do in such an eventuality?"

I leaned back in the throne and closed my eyes, comforted by the presence of a score of Dead guarding us. I didn't want this. I would have preferred it be bloodless and simple. It was they who forced my hand. Was I tired already? Were the ugly necessities of the day already so heavy upon my shoulders? No, I was centered in the necessity of it all, in my role to play.

"Will you sit and wait forever?"

I cracked an eye, finding Feia staring at me with a mix of concern and annoyance. "If they do not obey, we must search them out."

"Nova is no hamlet. Such thoroughness will take time and coordination—"

"I know!" I shouted, then took a deep breath. "I know. If it comes to it, I will do what must be done. Are you satisfied?"

"I hunger for the same as you, Dear One. But I require finality to leave here whole."

"Then we shall achieve finality."

I sat in the throne forged of the bones of my people and more, awaiting the ones who may come to challenge my demands. Awaiting the weak who call themselves leaders to be brought before me, bearing chains of defeat, broken and feeble as their fallen empire.

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