Extremity is not born in violence.
It is born in certainty.
Every human impulse exists within measure. Love may yield to reason. Faith may soften before doubt. Justice may temper itself with mercy. So long as moderation endures, the soul remains whole.
But when a single principle expands beyond its proper boundary—when it ceases to admit contradiction, hesitation, or compassion—it becomes distortion.
Distortion narrows the self. It sharpens it. It reduces the vast interior of a human life to a single, unwavering axis.
When that axis consumes the whole of identity, the first condition is met.
When that distortion produces irreversible harm, the second condition is fulfilled.
When death occurs at the height of that extremity, the third condition is satisfied.
If the soul, at that moment, refuses dissolution—if it rejects dispersal and clings to its final conviction—the fourth condition completes the alignment.
The result is not memory.
It is persistence.
Across centuries, twelve such distortions have emerged. They are not summoned. They are not conjured. They are born. Each arises from a life consumed by a single extremity and hardened by death into something that does not fade.
These twelve are recorded within a manuscript whose authorship is attributed to no earthly hand. Tradition assigns its origin to the Adversary, though the text itself offers no signature—only classification.
This manuscript is known as The Infernal Ephemeris.
Within its pages, the twelve distortions are arranged with meticulous precision. Each entry describes not only the origin of a manifestation, but its place within a greater design. The text speaks of alignment. Of convergence. Of a structure intended to gather and contain what humanity itself has produced.
It names this construct once, and without embellishment:
The Obsidian Orrery.
The Ephemeris does not present the Orrery as a weapon.
It presents it as a revelation.
It promises that when the twelve are brought into alignment within its geometry, the veil over human nature will be lifted. That all hidden motives, all secret impulses, all concealed truths will be laid bare. That knowledge—total and unfiltered—will become accessible to the one who completes the design.
It promises understanding without limit.
It promises sight beyond illusion.
It promises knowledge unbound by ignorance.
It records that the twelve must first be born.
Among them is a distortion that does not arise from appetite or vanity, nor from hunger or pride.
It arises from certainty.
When morality ceases to restrain itself with mercy, it ceases to be justice.
When judgment no longer tolerates doubt, it hardens into punishment without end.
This distortion is recorded without ornament:
The Iron Justicar.
Its origin lies not in chaos.
It lies in order—sharpened beyond measure.
And order, when stripped of mercy, does not preserve civilization.
It condemns it.