Chapter Three:

The Engine rumbled terribly beneath my feet before I had even stepped onto the
reddened soil. Sands from the Blasted Land washed through the city, filling
every crease of skin and forcing me to pull my robes tighter and my hood
further over my head. I walked slowly to the southern gates of Magnagora,
gazing at the strange architecture. I had never stepped foot in Magnagora's
prime city. The sleek metallic buildings were a strange comparison to the
glittering domes of New Celest, and I noticed some other old buildings, which
looked saggy and droopy.

"Those are buildings that survived the Taint Wars," Bhaio, the Ambassador of
Magnagora, said. His voice was grainy like the sands that blew past us, and his
golden eyes glittered from the red skin of the Viscanti as they gazed evenly at
me. He was not a tall man, nor known for his fighting ability, but his presence
was clearly one not to be questioned. His robes were rich and silky, and I could
see his opulent jewelry that showed his status of being a member of a Great
House.

"I've read of those."

He smiled, his teeth glowing yellow behind his cracked lips. "I was wondering
whether they taught you of such things." Usually I would have felt insulted at
such a comment, but at this time, I felt numb. Orra walked quietly behind us,
observing silently. Ambassador Bhaio lead me past the gates, and the guards
looked at me wearily, hands gripping their swords harder. The Marshal snorted
at me derisively, grinding her hoofed foot into the ground and snorting, the
sands blowing off her nose.

As we walked into the junction past the gates, a unique scent caught my nose. I
stilled for a moment, sniffing, before Ambassador Bhaio gave a grainy chuckle.
"You smell it, then," he said, leading me further into the city.

"Smell what?" I asked.

"That unique scent of the undead."

The scent suddenly made sense to me, and I smiled at this personal discovery.
We walked through Clothos Lane, Atropos Plaza, and visited the Wailing Woman
Inn, among other shops, although I longingly watched as smoke rose from the
Megalith of Doom off into the distance. Orra was constantly behind us, mingling
with others as we passed, but never far away. Finally, I was to be lead straight
to the Necropolis. As we approached from the east, I saw the powerful energy
radiating from the black marble arch, the sky darkened and black, and casting a
red glow around everything in sight. My eyes stung already from the heat of the
Engine, and my skin was unnaturally dry from the lack of water. Mugwump would
not do well here, unless I were to carry many canteens of water.

As Ambassador Bhaio led me to the archway, he placed a hand on my shoulder,
saying, "Do not be alarmed."

The humming of the Megalith was loud and rang in my ears. The ash in the air
mixed with the sand made breathing difficult. The pulsing Megalith roared and
the colors were dark and foreboding. I looked towards the Ambassador. "Does it
ever get any easier?"

With another sly smile, he slowly shook his head, gazing to the purple pulsing
of the Megalith of Doom, a sight to behold. I wondered that if these people had
to endure this every day of their lives, surely they must be stronger than those
of Celest, who are spoiled with their clean air and soft noises. I felt sudden
hatred for Celest wash over me, and wondered half haphazardly where that sudden
feeling came from. I turned to see Orra walking down the steps to touch the
Megalith, and speak to the Keeper, Ardrak. He nodded and smiled cruelly,
looking at me before turning away to monitor the Megalith. I wondered how he
could have heard Orra so easily, when the roaring of the Megalith still
impaired my hearing.

Ambassador Bhairo beckoned me and lead me to a tower with steel doors and an
impressive vertical architecture.

"The Tower of the Dark Fates. This is where you will reside, seeing as you are
now a Nihilist." I nodded slightly.

"You are not allowed in there unaccompanied," he finished. I looked at him
evenly and he smiled that twisted, cruel smile at me again. I looked back
towards the tower, somewhat awestruck by it. Magnagoran's buildings seemed
ridiculously designed, all tall and immense towers, nothing sensible and
horizontal.

Thus it was my introduction to Magnagora. I was led by the Guild Administrator,
the Mystagogue of the Dark Fates, to the guild tutor, Veritus n'Rotri. The
Mystagogue sat in a chair and opened a tome, immediately burying herself in its
pages. She mumbled over her shoulder at me, "Begin learning this," and tossed a
scroll to me. Veritus looked at the scroll, then at me, and smiled with his
yellow teeth. His golden collar gleamed with a high shine, and he offered to
teach me what I needed to know.

I spent many days, even months, learning the ways of the Nihilists. Opening my
eyes to the Demon Lords' teachings and understanding, finally, what all these
things we had been taught to hate in New Celest meant. I understood how we
misinterpreted everything taught here. These people were scholars, and did as
much work as we did, but more so because the Taint had twisted them to see the
truth. New Celest lived in denial, entirely afraid of being raided or hurt by
those who didn't follow in the Light, exactly as they did.

I was never left alone, whether it be with Veritus and his knowing gaze, or
with the Mystagogue, or Orra. I was not to be trusted. I was to be looked upon
with curiosity. The Geomancers wanted to break open my skull and see what made
me believe in the Light, but Orra was vehemently against it; for what reason, I
do not know, but I did not argue with her on any level.

I was not allowed to be of the Viscanti race. I had once complained of the
dryness of the city and how I wasn't used to it as a Mugwump, and then forced
to endure the labors of my tongue. I didn't regret this decision and followed
orders as I was supposed to, slowly working my way to ordainment within the
Nihilist guild, with the blessing of the Heresiarch.

Eventually I became immune the mechanical clankings that jarred beneath the
city, and the Geomancer's testing their chasms within or very near to the city.
The sands roughened my skin up, made it red with rash, and my eyes were
constantly puffy, watery and squinting just to see a few meters ahead of
myself. The frustration only made me stronger, I reminded myself.

Time did go by quickly with my studies and exploration of Magnagora. I did not
do the janitorial duties I once did in the Celestines, and found myself taking
any anger I had out on the angels of Celestia. Their choruses grated my nerves
and made me grit my teeth, and I slew them in many armfuls, bringing them back
to Magnagora to butcher them and use them for whatever experiments Orra and I
felt like doing. Very few we took alive, although we often required aide to
chain them down. They were usually taken in by the Geomancers, never to be seen
again, although it was always a fantastic spectacle.

It wasn't until I was of more substantial rank within the Engine that I was
allowed to have a family. If I had only known of what was to come, I may have
decided much differently than I had then.

---

Chapter Four:

The day was like any other. My blackened robes were caked with sand and mud
from wallowing in the Gloaming with the homeless. My hands had blood and slime
from slaying specters and powering the Necromantate, and I wiped them on a
handkerchief from my satchel, though sand and dirt was perpetually stuck
beneath my fingernails. As always, Orra was with me, never leaving my side
unless it was to study. I turned to her, watching her listless undead eyes,
looking at her skin.

"It's been a decade and you have never left my side, Orra. Why can't we wed and
begin a family?"

She smiled sweetly at me. "We can wait, my dear." Her voice was slightly grainy
from the sands, but she took my hand anyway. Her flesh was cold against mine. I
felt flustered, but then I was suddenly fine, feeling as if all was right;
although deep down, I knew something was wrong.

"Let's go to the Blasted Lands," I said, my body shaking slightly. I diagnosed
myself. Nothing was out of the ordinary. My limbs were okay, there was no
bloodloss. But what was this? This everlasting screaming in the back of my
head? This feeling of hatred, of greed, of need? I felt so hopeless. I thought
to myself, perhaps a hunt would make me feel better.

Orra nodded, looking at me knowingly. She had a way of telling what I was
feeling, whether or not I was outspoken with it. Thus, we exited Magnagora by
the south gates and made our way to the skull near the Blasted Lands, just to
have a look around.

"Orra, I have been thinking…"

"Oh?" she said, climbing behind me with her delicate steps that made her look
ethereal. Her robes fluttered in the wind as we made our way up the mountain
path.

"How come you never let me be?"

She laughed softly. "I do leave you alone."

"I have been noticing a trend. You never fight beside me when we fight other
people of the Basin. We can go for a hunt, but we cannot raid Celestia
together." I paused. My mind was playing the mechanical clankings of Magnagora,
despite the fact that we were far, far away from the city. I looked back, barely
able to see the smoke rising from the Megalith of Doom. I sighed and turned back
to my trekking. "You are always with me. If not you, then the Mystagogue or
someone else just as important." I paused to take a breath, suddenly having
inhaled sand.

I looked back towards Orra, who was resting a foot on a rock ledge. She looked
at me coolly, as if I were finally unraveling some puzzle she had laid out for
me.

I continued with my roughened voice: "It was understandable when I was new, I
needed looking after. But now? It's ridiculous, Orra. You won't marry me. I am
never left alone. I raid Celestia and kill angels as anyone else. I am devoted
to the Demon Lords. I make my prayers in the Silent Cathedral and pay my
respects." I glared at her. "Yet, I always feel as if I am being laughed at
behind my back. I cannot walk into the Wailing Woman without that drunken
bastard wanting to tell me some secret, but having the barkeep tell him to shut
up."

I was suddenly furious. I felt as if I had the fury of Lord Ashtorath, and I
found myself ordering my archdemon to kill Orra. I lashed out with Tarot cards,
finding it easier to fight her. It felt good to lash out at her. Her
specifically, for those mocking eyes, that sweet smile, those beautiful arms
and legs and waist; for her insolence, for her cruelty, for her secrets and
selfish greed. I bounded her with shackles and heard my archdemon snarl
maliciously, as if he had expected me to stop. I ordered him to keep attacking,
to obey his master, and while he hesitated, he did so. At last, I killed Orra.

Immediately, the city aether was alive with talk. I ignored it, the raging
screams echoing in my head, constantly. I grabbed my temples and fell to the
ground, screaming with them.

"MAKE THE SCREAMING STOP!!" I bellowed. I raised my hands and pounded them into
the sands. My skin was constantly cracked and dry. I missed the feel of water.
The feel of Celestia. I missed the Archangels singing their choruses over the
Archdemons snarling their protests. Raiding the water plane brought me joy, not
in slaying the Celestians, but from the feel of the soothing waters. Being on
Celestia made me so angry, angry enough to kill angels because I could no
longer summon my own to sing me a choir or a lullaby. I was not weak for that,
I was strong. I was strong for hoping, for caring, for missing others. For
missing the simple tasks, for not caring what family I was to be in, for not
caring about being a privileged citizen because of who my mother and father
were before me.

I knelt, the sands clouding my vision. I could sense the silence on the city
aether, and I knew they were looking for me. I had done badly. I was to be
punished. I looked up at Orra, but it was not Orra I saw. It was someone else.
A male Viscanti lay still, looking at me with his undead eyes, a smile on his
face. The same cruel smile Orra had. His horns twisted over his head, and his
jaw was clearly masculine with the rest of his body.

I blinked rapidly, not understanding, before seeing the Warlord of Magnagora
teleport to us, with a crowd of courtiers in his wake. His armour was
impressive on his massive form, glittering despite the definite lack of sun.
His voice rang clearly above me. " For the murder of Orra, Martus will receive
the death penalty."

I was grabbed roughly by the scruff of the neck and immediately taken back to
Magnagora, shackled and dragged to the executioner's. It was to be quite a
spectacle.

Quite a spectacle indeed.

The execution grounds atop the Northern Gate always sent a shiver down my
spine. I was to first be killed and stripped of vitae and lich, and suffer
through True Death. I did not say anything, as I was still quite befuddled from
seeing Orra become a man. But for the first time in decades, I did not feel
oppressed in my mind, or as if something else were thinking for me. I thought
of the Demon Lords and the Supernals. Thought of Celest. I missed Celest, for
all my sins.

The banners and pennants set up around the grounds flapped gruesomely in the
wind, mingling with the soot and sands. The silence was loud as the Warlord
spoke.

"Martus, you stand convicted of murder. You have admitted to the crime and are
to receive the death penalty and humiliation of public execution."

My heart was racing as I thought of the shame I was bringing upon the Nihilists
and the Demon Lords. I would never be forgiven for this, and my rank would drop.

"You foolishly shed the blood of a fellow Magnagoran outside of the city walls,
and failed to report why. You have been stripped of your lichseed and have no
vitae."

The Warlord turned to the Lady Valkira, who stood nodding at him.

The Warlord said to me, "By my order, you will be executed." Turning to the
Lady Grand Executioner, he said, "Prepare the execution for Martus."

The Lady nodded, and replied simply, "Very well, your Lordship. I shall prepare
an execution for Martus."

The bells rang to herald my execution. I swallowed hard, looking around myself.

In a flash, the Lady Valkira had donned me with a noose that fit perfectly and
set me above the trapdoor. The dirty beggars and Serfs gathered at the gates to
watch, acting as if it were in some festival. Never, not once in my time as a
Magnagoran, did I feel such utter disgust for the ways of these people, who
treated beggars like dogs and mutts even worse than that.

Lady Valkira kicked the lever and, unable to stop myself, I fell with a scream.
I closed my eyes before the end, and an image popped into my vision, before it
faded to black. I heard the disappointed sighs of the foul people of the city
as my neck snapped and I soon deposited back to the Megalith of Doom, stunned
beyond reasoning.

That was when I ran, for when I was near death, it was not Orra's face that
appeared before my mind, it was not Magnagora, Celest, the Demon Lords, or even
myself. It was Lady Raziela, who was smiling at me with such innocence and
forgiveness that I felt my heart swell. The Supernals aided me when no one else
would, and after I had been betrayed.

Now to seek redemption, despite my exiled status.