Chapter 132: The False Absolute
The power that granted Ketheric Thorm resurrection would demand an explanation for his failure. His rage proved as useless as his tactics.
The three Primarchs overwhelmed him. Even his immortality became meaningless; each death brought only fresh agony as his tormentors found new ways to inflict pain.
"Tiresome," Mortarion growled, his massive scythe cleaving the general's body in half. Black and crimson mist swirled around the corpse as Thorm's form rebuilt itself, whole and unmarked.
"Unkillable?" Lorgar observed. "He bears the mark of false divinity."
"What matters if he cannot die?" Perturabo hefted his warhammer, shattering bone and sinew. "Pain remains real. Let us test his endurance."
The Iron Lord's weapon pulverised Thorm's limbs, then crushed his skull when the curse restored him. With each resurrection, the general's arrogance crumbled. Immortality had become torment, endless brutalisation at the hands of these transhuman monsters.
"Witness the Absolute's true power!" Thorm raised his hand, the netherstone embedded in his bracer pulsing with eldritch energy.
Moonrise Tower shuddered to its foundations.
A mountainous tentacle erupted from the earth below, its alien flesh sweeping the Primarchs aside like toys. The ground split with thunderous cracks as something vast stirred in the depths. A mind flayer elder brain of impossible size rose through widening fissures, a living mountain of pulsating neural matter crowned with writhing tentacles thick as trees.
Psychic flames wreathed its form like a malevolent aurora, each pulse of thought rippling through reality itself. Upon its massive cranium sat an ornate crown of dark metal, crackling with energy.
"Eliminate these interlopers," Thorm commanded, leaping to land atop the elder brain. Two other figures emerged from the shadows and joined Thorm atop the elder brain.
"Behold Ketheric's true allies," Raven whispered through their psychic link.
"The crown upon that abomination is Karsus' Crown itself. Those three wield netherstones to command it, controlling the elder brain through ancient magic. The 'Absolute' they serve is nothing but their own manufactured godhood."
The information flowed into the Emperor's mind. Karsus, the most brilliant and damned arcanist of the lost Netherese Empire. His ambition had driven him to attempt the impossible: the theft of divine power itself.
Karsus had crafted the ultimate spell through years of research, one capable of stealing a deity's essence. He targeted Mystryl, the first goddess of magic. The spell succeeded catastrophically. His mortal frame could not contain divine power, so Karsus triggered a magical apocalypse that nearly destroyed the Weave itself. Mystryl sacrificed herself to prevent total magical collapse, and the stolen divinity consumed Karsus.
Yet the Emperor felt no desire for such power. What interested Him was knowledge, understanding the principles that governed this realm's arcane forces.
"Destroy that creature and claim the crown," The Emperor commanded His sons.
Reality shimmered as a portal tore open beside Him. Elminster emerged, his robes billowing with residual magical energy.
"Stranger from distant stars," the wizard said, "defeat the false Absolute and deliver Karsus' Crown to the Goddess of Magic. In return, you shall receive Mystra's divine favour."
"A simple exchange," The Emperor replied, His golden gaze meeting the archmage's eyes. "Grant me knowledge of the Weave's essence, and the crown is yours."
Elminster's features creased with concern. "Surely you desire other rewards, power beyond measure, wealth beyond counting, dominion over, "
"Such trinkets hold no value," The Emperor replied. "I require only knowledge. If your goddess cannot provide this, then do not waste my time."
The wizard's shoulders sagged. "Your obstinacy shall earn the gods' enmity."
"Then let them come," The Emperor declared. "They will learn to regret making an enemy of humanity's future."
His words echoed through dimensions beyond the physical, reaching the divine realms where immortal powers observed this drama. More than one celestial brow furrowed at such audacity.
"Big Guy, perhaps diplomacy might serve us better," Raven transmitted privately. "Some of these deities possess... vindictive tendencies."
"Their petty nature matters not," The Emperor responded through their bond. "I have faced gods across countless realities. They are, without exception, bullies who prey upon the weak while cowering before true strength."
"Display sufficient power, demonstrate adequate threat, and they will abandon their divine pretences to treat you as an equal."
Elminster's eyes widened as he grasped the scope of this outsider's arrogance. The stranger dismissed not merely Mystra, but the entire pantheon.
An unwelcome vision flashed through the wizard's mind: this golden giant striding into the gods' own halls, slamming his fist upon their council table, and declaring, "I speak not of Mystra alone, but address you all; every deity gathered here is beneath my notice."
"Such hubris invites catastrophe," Elminster warned. "The last mortal who dared challenge the gods still writhes in eternal torment. Would you repeat Karsus' folly?"
"Our conversation serves no purpose," The Emperor dismissed the wizard's concerns. "Provide knowledge of the Weave in exchange for the crown, or hold your tongue."
His attention turned to the abomination hovering above, the enslaved elder brain and its three controllers. Through Raven's perception, their identities became clear.
The woman was Orin the Red, servant of Bhaal, Lord of Murder. She embodied her patron's portfolio perfectly, a sadistic killer who revelled in creative brutality. Her shapeshifting abilities allowed her to wear any face she chose, making her the perfect instrument of assassination and betrayal.
The man was Enver Gortash, champion of Bane, the Black Lord of Strife. His domain was Baldur's Gate itself, where he commanded the Steel Watch, an army of magical automatons forged from enchanted metal and arcane engineering.
Each construct possessed devastating combat capabilities, making them ideal enforcers for his tyrannical ambitions.
The third figure was indeed Ketheric Thorm, though his true allegiance lay not with any single member of the Dead Three, but with their collective scheme. His immortality stemmed from profane bargains and divine curses, making him nearly impossible to destroy permanently.
Behind each mortal champion stood one of the Dead Three, gods who had once been mortal themselves before claiming divinity through treachery and ambition.
Bhaal, Bane, and Myrkul had initially been served by the ancient death god Jergal, who had grown weary of his cosmic responsibilities. When three ambitious mortals challenged him for power, Jergal had simply divided his portfolio among them, creating the trinity of dark gods.
The Dead Three's hunger for power had ultimately led to their downfall during the Time of Troubles, when their theft of the Tablets of Fate from Ao, the Overgod, resulted in divine punishment.
Now they sought resurrection through the Absolute's cult, using their mortal champions to gather enough worshippers to reclaim their former glory.
Their plan centred on the elder brain, one of the most terrifying entities in existence.
These creatures commanded vast psychic networks, capable of dominating any mind infected with illithid tadpoles across continental distances. A single elder brain could establish a colony spanning multiple kingdoms, reducing entire populations to willing thralls.
"Reaching that altitude presents tactical challenges," Perturabo noted, studying the floating monstrosity.
Without their complete genetic enhancement or awakened primarch abilities, conventional assault methods would prove inadequate.
Mortarion and Lorgar surveyed their surroundings, seeking anything that might provide vertical advantage against their airborne foe.
The battle for the crown, and the fate of this world, was about to begin.
[End of Chapter]
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