Thaddeus didn’t grimace as he took his knife to the wrinkled skin of his forearm.
Blood dripped down the length of the enchanted blade, splashing quietly in the still pond where Thaddeus meditated. The rock that he sat upon was cool even after the hours he’d spent atop it. It was a strange symptom of magic Thaddeus had employed around this pond, forming a bubble through which even time struggled to permeate.
He silently continued his work, carving yet another rune into his flesh. It joined the hundreds of similar etchings he’d been adding to these past centuries. He would get it right. He would figure out the right combination, no matter how many decades it took. It had already unlocked so much inside of his core—magicks forbidden by even the gods.
Thaddeus’s pulse quickened at the thought of it.
He was close now. The solution to this single dilemma that had propelled him to the top of what mortals could achieve in this life without stepping into godhood was so near he could almost taste it. It was what had urged him to form the Godshard Brotherhood all those decades ago.
The old man etched another rune into his skin. It glowed red, and he allowed himself to feel a touch of pride at the progress. The final drop of blood that slid down his arm slowed in its descent as the rune activated. Thaddeus watched its fall, enjoying the slight increase to his power.
Closer, indeed.
Muted footsteps neared his private domain, and Thaddeus nearly lashed out at the intruder for ruining his moment of triumph, small though it was. He really needed to stop killing every person that sought his counsel.
“Enter,” Thaddeus’s hoarse voice called out, and he was surprised by how much it hurt to use his voice.
It had only been a few months since last he had need of it. The old man made a mental note to use it at least once a month from now on. It wouldn’t do to become a god only to be unable to speak his decrees. Then again, it might let him foster a reputation for silence around him. He would consider this further.
“Master!” a young subordinate of his Brotherhood declared with a steep bow.
Thaddeus noted the exposed skin of this young pupil’s arm. It was covered in a complex tattoo of broken manacles.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“What?” Thaddeus rasped, already eager to move past this conversation and return to his work.
“Hugh. Hugh McCleary… He’s dead.”
The words stirred something deep and hateful inside of Thaddeus, though he couldn’t decide whether it was because he wasn’t the bastard that finally killed that worm of a man, or because one of his most effective disciples was now dead.
“How?” Thaddeus demanded, and he directed the full scope of his aura on this bearer of ill news.
The young man shuddered, unable to resist the flow of Thaddeus’s magic across his body. His movements slowed, down to the hair follicles across his head and chin. The man strained, shoving his own aura to ward against the old man’s influence. It was useless, but he nodded at the effort.
“Henry’s boy did it. It happened during Elysia’s destruction,” the pupil ground out.
Another name Thaddeus had not expected to hear. “Henry’s boy, you say?”
That confirmed one rumor he’d been given in the latest report. Stormhollow’s son was suspected to be responsible for Elysia’s annihilation and the exposure of the gods’ centuries long plot. He remembered when Destruction’s Dominion had been purged from their world, and was grateful to have it back in play. It would certainly work as an excellent smokescreen for his own plans.
“Shall I send a team to murder the boy for killing Hugh?” the student asked, malice aglow in his eyes.
While Thaddeus enjoyed fanning such cruel flames, now was not the time.
“No. I applaud his thoroughness in Elysia’s ruin, and anyone with that level of talent for chaos should be tested, not squandered in something as insignificant as retribution,” Thaddeus ordered.
He could see his young pupil bristle at the dismissal of Hugh’s value, but he didn’t care. Let this initiate avenge him once he reached godhood.
“Yes, master,” the man finally answered.
Thaddeus nodded, satisfied. “Good.”
The old man stood up, enjoying the strain it took to force himself through the self-imposed restraints he’d put in place nearly a year ago. The young man gawked at Thaddeus’s full form. Countless scarred runes glowed as the leader of the Brotherhood broke yet another pair of shackles.
“I think it’s time we reached out to our old friends, don’t you think?” Thaddeus inquired with a cruel smile.
He could see it now. This Stormhollow would kneel or die. But he had a feeling that he could harness this new child of ruin. Control him. He just had to find the right reins.
Thaddeus left the sphere of magic, the pupil on his heels. Right as he reached the edge of the pond, he heard a single tiny splash. He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that it was only then that the drop of blood reached the pond’s surface.
Soon, Thaddeus thought. And that Oakthorn Throne will be mine.
Without a word, the diamond-ranker reemerged into the world and smiled at what he would do to it.
What's Thaddeus's REAL hobby besides carving weird runes into himself?
