All The Dead Gods

Annum 378 : 12M/28D

Tension clung to the command tent like smoke.

"Brax is dead!" Captain Lethin barked, pacing between crates of gear. "The bastard was a lot of things, but he wasn't easy to kill. And he was a true Thesian, pure as a diamond."

"He was murdered," spat Lieutenant Nire. "And the blood from his chest means it must've been a stab, whilst he was resting."

"He was in his tent," Vannor muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "I saw him last night. Loud, drunk, and—well, Brax. Then this morning—"

"Just a corpse." someone whispered.

A silence passed through the group like frostbite.

"Could be Uolian assassins," Nire said flatly. "Maybe they slipped past the outer watch. That'd explain the clean job."

Lethin shook his head. "No signs of breach. Perimeter's intact. Our people were up all night ensuring such a thing couldn't have happened."

"Then one of ours did it," hissed someone near the back. "Think about it. Brax wasn't exactly loved. Half the army hated him."

"That's enough." Lethin slammed a hand on the table. "We don't start turning on each other. Not now. I definately believe the Uolian assassins were the cause."

But the muttering didn't stop. The ranks were frayed, tired, cold—and now they were scared.

Through it all, Slothi sat in the corner, silent as rot, flipping slowly through the black grimoire in his lap.

Page after page: blank.

He didn't look up. Didn't need to. The voices swirled around him like wind around a still stone.

"Who commands now?" someone asked, finally giving shape to the question they were all avoiding.

"Brax had no second," Nire said. "We need to elect someone—quick. Before word of this reaches the men."

"Lethin—"

"No." The captain shook his head. "I fight well, but I don't lead armies. I tried and hundreds died at my hands. I need someone else to do it-."

"Then Nire?"

"Too young. Too foolish."

"What about Vannor—?"

The tent flap opened.

Everyone turned.

A figure stepped in, cloak heavy with frost and trimmed in black silk. Thesian colors. The man's face was pale and narrow, marked by hard angles and no patience. His boots were polished. His eyes, cold.

"I'll decide," he said curtly.

Mouths opened, then closed. The official bore the crest of the Inner Court. Nobody questioned those who carried it. He was a Thesian official. One who carried power in his words.

"The new field commander will be Usii," the man said. "By decree of Commandant Ovrun. Effective immediately."

A murmur passed through the tent. Surprise. Confusion.

Then: Usii stepped forward from behind the official — lanky, awkward, wearing a blade too long for his hip. His face was smooth, barely scarred by age or war. He grinned as he approached.

"I'll take the honor," he said cheerfully. "I've trained for this. I've studied the tactics of four wars, and I'm already at third stage qi. I'll lead us to victory for the Thesian Empire."

His hand went to his sword hilt with pride.

"I swear it."

Slothi finally looked up.

Still silent.

Still turning the pages of a book that refused to be read.

A scoff broke the silence.

"Third stage or not," Nire said, stepping forward, "you're no commander just because some silk-sleeved courier says so."

Usii blinked. "You're challenging the word of the Inner Court? Lieutenant Nire, I respect you. But surely this is unacceptable!"

"I'm challenging you," Nire growled. "Nobody respects you in this camp. They need a leader like me."

A few gasps rippled through the tent. Lethin's hand went halfway to his blade, uncertain. Then, without even looking, the official raised one thin hand.

"I'll allow it," he said flatly. "If your soldiers want to settle command by tradition… so be it. The result will be honored."

His voice was cold iron — bored, unimpressed — but not dismissive.

He stepped back into the shadows of the tent.

The silence broke in murmurs.

Nire drew his dagger with a hiss of steel.

"Trial by steel," he said. "Winner leads. If you're a leader, now's the time to prove it."

Usii's fingers hovered over his longsword's hilt. His smile returned — sharper now.

"Good. I just hope you don't regret this."

They stepped out into the cold.

The camp stirred like a waking beast. Soldiers poured from tents, boots thudding over hard-packed snow, drawn by the whispers of a duel. Torches were shoved into the ground. A crude circle of light and shadow formed around the two figures at its center.

"They're really doing it."

"I heard Usii trained with some strange swordsmen in the South."

"Nire's quick, though. Fought in the Halan raids. Real killer. He took 10 heads last year."

Slothi remained sitting near the supply tent, the grimoire in his lap closed and pulsing faintly. His green eyes flicked toward the circle.

In the ring, Nire crouched, dagger reversed, stance low and coiled.

"Come on, don't look so scared." Nire cackled. "A leader should be fearless at the least."

Usii stood tall, sword gleaming, confidence in every line of his body.

"I'll try not to kill you Nire."

The duel began.

Usii moved first — a smooth, cutting swing that exploded into a Qi Wave, the arc of force surging forward like a golden crescent. Nire rolled beneath it, enhanced by a burst of Qi Speed, snow spraying in his wake.

He darted forward, dagger flashing. A strike to the ribs. Blocked. Another — low and spinning. Usii's blade caught it. Sparks flew.

"Your strikes are simple, obvious, novice." Usii muttered, causing Nire's eyes to light up as he began attacking with even more ferocity.

The clash became a blur. Blade and dagger. Sword and speed. Qi dancing along their limbs like lightning in fog.

Nire was relentless — his form like a shadow lashing out. But with each strike, his breath shortened. With each dodge, the shine of his qi flickered dimmer.

Usii, calm, patient, adjusted. His stance narrowed. He stopped blocking — and started controlling.

And then it came.

Nire lunged one more time, desperate, a final stab aimed for the throat—

Usii pivoted, blade slipping under his arm and snapping upward.

Steel touched Nire's neck.

The dagger slipped from numb fingers and sank into the snow.

Cheers exploded around the circle. Stomping. Laughing. Applause.

Usii held the pose a moment longer, then stepped back.

Nire fell to one knee, panting.

From the shadows, the Thesian official gave a small nod.

"So be it. Commander Usii, by duel and decree. I picked him for a reason, now you all can see that reason."

Usii raised his blade, panting lightly, but smiling as the noise grew.

"I swear," he shouted to the men, "we'll end this war on our terms! Uolian blood will water the snow before the next moon rises!"

Nire walked away, lonesome.

More cheering serenated the new commander.

Slothi blinked slowly. The grimoire pulsed in his lap again — faint, like a heartbeat.

He didn't smile.

He just watched.

His qi was still at the first stage, he couldn't use it to enhance his body.

Seeing them fight like that... Made him thirsty. 

"For power..."

He looked at the Grimoire, seeing sights of him murdering Brax in his eyes once again.

"I would do anything."