Braided Sky
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Book 5 - Prologue
🕑 Added 2025-04-23 15:51:38 +0000 UTC“Something has changed,” said Onan, the Fate Mage known as the Prophet in many circles.
His thick, rubbery skin was far smoother than most orcs, but that was because he was a planner instead of a brute warrior like so many of his kind. Unfortunately, that left him far weaker than others of his generation.
Progressing through one’s profession was not viewed in a positive light for most of those living under the Collective, even if he did manage to earn several levels’ worth of experience through supporting other combatants in each tier.
“What now?” General Valnar, Supreme Leader of the Collective, growled as he chewed meat that was still warm from the heat of life.
The blood dripped freely from the haunch in his hand onto the table, but it was barely noticeable through the years’ worth of accumulated stains.
“The what is unclear,” Onan said with as much confidence as he could manage when faced with the General. It was only because of his unparalleled affinity for Fate magic that he was even allowed in the Supreme Leader’s presence. “But something now lets many Pinnacles remain who should be forced to ascend.”
The naga general scoffed at the weak Fate Mage and took another large bite of the haunch in his hand. His fangs cut easily into the flesh, and the blood-coated meat heightened his already robust bloodlust.
Soon, he would feast on the flesh of those who blindly considered themselves his superior. He would use their deaths to fuel his ascension, like his ancestors did in the time before their god abandoned them.
It was how things were meant to be. Why else would war provide such a bounty of experience?
Fools like the so-called ‘Prophet’ would languish in their weakness, dying before they ever reached the pinnacle. The Alliance was largely the same.
He had always been disgusted to hear how the Alliance embraced weakness, almost celebrating the mediocrity of its people. He’d sworn that one day, he’d grow strong enough to show them the error of their ways.
And that day had finally arrived.
“It’s a good thing. They will be worthy stepping stones,” General Valnar declared with an almost manic gleam in his eyes as he thought of fighting the Pinnacles who’d remained.
So few could challenge him now that he’d risen to level one hundred. He was nowhere close to earning the amount of experience needed to get over that final hurdle, but he had hopes that the challenges he faced during the war would push him over the edge.
He wasn’t concerned that the lesser Tier Tens among the Collective would withdraw their support for the war because of the news. Now that he’d gotten them to agree, they couldn’t back down without appearing weak.
Besides, they knew better than to challenge their Supreme Leader. He would crush them, and they all knew it. It was why he’d been given the title in the first place.
Nobody stood above Valnar, and he doubted it would be any different when he faced the strongest of the Alliance.
The orcish Prophet stood quietly next to the table. He felt far less certain about the upcoming campaign than the arrogant naga before him.
Even with his exceptional Fate affinity, Onan’s visions were never concrete. Fate was simply too fickle for such certainties.
He was still confident that there was a path toward victory, but that path had narrowed significantly because of whatever interference had allowed so many Pinnacles to remain.
“A delay may be good. The lingerers may give in and leave,” Onan said cautiously, nervous about the unfavorable odds he now foresaw.
“No delay,” the General snapped, slamming his hand into the table and leaving a thick crack behind. “I’ve waited long enough for this war. Ascend or die. There is no other choice.”
He was speaking solely of himself, of course. Valnor cared little about what happened to anyone else.
Seeing the distinct lack of meat remaining on the bone, the naga tossed it aside and shoved the table away as he rose from his chair. His thick tail shifted automatically, knocking the chair away.
“In fact, we go now. They get no extra time to prepare,” the naga declared, sliding past the Tier Seven Fate Mage without bothering to look in his direction.
Onan barely suppressed a flinch as the Tier Ten passed. He couldn’t afford to show such weakness in the Supreme Leader’s presence.
“General Valnar!” one of the Tier Ten Colonels exclaimed as he pounded his chest with a fist in salute. The action was echoed by every other warrior gathered.
“Give me the list of Alliance cities with infiltration beacons,” he demanded, holding out a clawed hand impatiently. It took only a moment for a thick piece of parchment to fill the empty space.
With barely a glance, the General selected five random locations. He knew better than anyone how to work around the type of Fate magic that their enemies relied on.
“Notify the handlers. Have them prepare to sabotage their city’s defenses. They’ll know when it’s time.”
In the years since the decision was made to attack the Alliance, dozens of demi infiltrators had spread beacons across the enemy worlds to facilitate their eventual invasion.
Each beacon and spy had been shielded by multiple arrays, preventing them from being noticed. Since all of the arrays were still active, the General was confident none had been discovered.
It was a little funny, considering the Alliance thought themselves to be so superior to the more monstrous races of the Collective.
Of course, the Collective universally saw the people of the Alliance as being monstrous. Their rifts were filled with unintelligent humans, gnomes, dwarves, and elves, after all.
The only real advantage the original Alliance races had over those in the collective was their longevity. Even that wasn’t uniform or consistent.
As far as the traitors went… well, their presence in the Alliance made the infiltration of their agents possible in the first place. Without those two planets bending to the Alliance’s will after their old god abandoned them, his plans would have never been possible.
Tens of thousands of additional forces had slowly been incorporated into the Alliance over the last few years. The sleeper agents remained waiting for the call to action, each shielded from detection by a variety of obscuring arrays, just like the beacons.
There was no worry about defection. The Soul contracts each warrior accepted as part of their conscription ensured their loyalty.
It was also the only way to prevent infighting and backstabbing amongst the chaff – and the leadership.
General Valnar was almost disappointed that he’d miss watching the slaughter when those sleeper agents activated. It was going to be truly glorious, and he had no doubt many of his people would be uplifted in the coming days and weeks.
But that was okay. He’d be busy with a slaughter of his own.
However, instead of sowing terror amongst the weaklings, the Collective’s Supreme Leader would be ensuring their victory by cutting down the enemies standing in his way.
Years of planning and preparation were finally coming to an end.
General Valnar couldn’t wait.
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