Orderbreaker：Ascent

Six days remained before the Centennial Conclave.

On the sixth day of the sixth month, the High God entrusted with receiving the words of the Ancient Gods knelt alone in the innermost chamber of the Godrealm's Upper Hall.

The chamber had no windows. Twelve pillars rose around a circular altar, their pale surfaces worn smooth by centuries of use. Above the altar hung a ring of silver, suspended without chains or visible support. It had been turning slowly since dawn.

The voice had stopped several minutes ago.

The High God remained on his knees, a sheet of parchment spread before him. He had written every word exactly as he heard it. Nothing had been omitted, and nothing added.

He read the message again.

Then he reached for the seal.

A low vibration passed through the silver ring overhead. The god looked up, waited until it became still, and pressed his signet into the softened wax.

The parchment was rolled and placed inside a narrow ivory case.

Only then did he rise.

"Enter."

The doors opened.

A divine envoy stepped into the chamber, his white robes brushing the polished floor. He was young by the standards of the divine court, though he had served in the Godrealm long enough to recognize when he had been summoned for something important.

He approached the altar and knelt.

"My lord."

The High God handed him the ivory case.

"Take this to Cecil."

The envoy accepted it with both hands.

"To the First High God himself?"

"Yes. Do not leave it with his attendants. Do not allow anyone else to open it."

The envoy glanced briefly at the seal.

"Does it concern the Conclave?"

"That is for Cecil to decide."

The answer was enough to end the conversation.

The envoy bowed and stood. He placed the case inside his robes, fastening the inner clasp that would keep it from shifting as he walked.

At the doors, the High God called after him.

"Go directly to the western tower."

"Of course, my lord."

The doors closed.

For several moments, the High God stood motionless before the altar.

The silver ring above him had stopped turning.

He looked once more toward the doors, then began gathering the remaining instruments of the ceremony.

A faint sound came from the passage outside.

Metal against stone.

He paused.

The corridors of the Upper Hall were rarely silent, even during private ceremonies. There were always guards changing posts, attendants carrying messages, or other gods passing between chambers.

Now he could hear nothing.

The High God set down the instrument in his hand.

"Who is there?"

No answer came.

He walked toward the doors, but before reaching them, he noticed a shadow moving behind the carved screen to his left.

Someone was inside the chamber.

"Show yourself."

A figure stepped out from behind the screen.

It wore dark traveling clothes, with its face concealed beneath a fitted mask. A narrow blade hung loosely in one hand.

The High God stared at the intruder.

"A mortal?"

The figure did not answer.

Another appeared near the opposite wall.

The High God raised his hand.

A pale radiance gathered around his body, spreading across his skin like a second, translucent layer.

"Guards!"

The first assassin moved.

The High God drove his hand forward. A wave of force struck the attacker and hurled him across the chamber, breaking part of the screen. Before the god could turn, the second assassin closed the distance.

A narrow blade flashed toward his throat.

He did not bother to evade it.

The divine ward surrounding his body should have stopped an ordinary weapon long before it reached his skin.

Instead, the blade entered the light.

There was a sharp hiss.

The ward folded inward around the edge, and a line of darkness spread across its surface.

The High God jerked backward.

The blade grazed his neck.

Blood touched the white floor.

For an instant, he could only stare.

Then the first assassin rose from the shattered screen.

The god struck again, sending fragments of carved stone flying across the chamber. The second attacker dropped beneath the blow. A third figure entered through the open side passage, followed by another.

They moved without speaking.

The High God retreated toward the altar, summoning another layer of protection over the damaged ward. The light had barely formed when one of the dark blades struck it.

Again, the protection gave way.

He caught the attacker's wrist and threw him against a pillar. Stone cracked beneath the impact, but the assassin remained conscious. The others were already closing in.

The god seized the nearest man's weapon arm.

"Who sent you?"

The assassin twisted, driving a second blade upward.

The High God broke his wrist.

The man made no sound.

A different blade entered the god's side.

He released the assassin and stumbled.

The weapon had passed through the ward and reached the flesh beneath it.

He had been wounded before. Gods were not beyond injury. But it had been a very long time since a human weapon had drawn his blood.

Another sound came from the neighboring chamber.

A heavy impact.

Then something crashed through a door.

The High God looked toward the passage.

He recognized the voice that cried out. Another of the High Gods had been attacked.

He tried to reach the corridor, but the assassins blocked his way.

The nearest attacker slashed at his chest.

The High God caught the blade between his palms. Light erupted from his hands, and the weapon began to tremble.

For a moment, the assassin was unable to move.

Then the blade cut deeper into the radiance.

The god's hands opened.

The weapon drove forward.

He fell against the altar.

The silver ring above him shuddered. One of the twelve pillars split from top to bottom, spilling stone fragments across the floor.

The assassins withdrew as the pillar collapsed.

When the dust settled, the High God was still breathing.

He struggled to raise himself.

One of the masked figures approached.

The god tried to summon his ward again. A thin shimmer appeared across his chest, but it failed before it could cover his shoulders.

The assassin placed the point of the blade against him.

"Wait."

The figure did not stop.

The blade entered his chest.

The High God's hand fell from the altar.

Beyond the broken doors, the fighting continued for several minutes. The remaining gods in that section of the Upper Hall resisted with powers that shattered stone, burned through the corridors, and brought down part of the eastern gallery.

The assassins had come prepared.

Their blades found gaps in defenses that should have been impenetrable. Wounded gods lost their protective wards, and once the wards failed, the attackers did not give them time to recover.

By the time the last door was forced open, no voice remained to answer the alarm.

The Upper Hall fell silent.

The envoy did not go to the western tower.

After leaving the inner chamber, he passed through two guarded corridors and descended a narrow staircase used by the palace attendants. At the bottom, he waited until a pair of servants had disappeared around the corner before entering an unused gallery.

The windows there looked out over the lower reaches of the Godrealm.

Far below, the towers and courtyards lay beneath a bank of white cloud. Beyond them, the horizon was almost lost in sunlight.

Someone was waiting at the far end of the gallery.

The figure wore a black robe over white armor.

The armor was unlike the ceremonial plates favored by the divine court. Its surface was plain, without a house crest or the ornamental gold carried by many of the gods. Only faint lines ran beneath the white metal, so subtle that they were almost invisible in the dim light.

The envoy approached.

"I brought it."

The figure turned.

His face was partly hidden by the shadow of his hood.

"Was it opened?"

"No."

"Did anyone follow you?"

"No."

The envoy removed the ivory case from his robes.

He hesitated before handing it over.

"You remember our agreement?"

The man extended his hand.

"I remember."

The envoy gave him the case.

For a moment, the black-robed figure studied the seal. Then he broke it with his thumb and withdrew the parchment.

He unrolled it beside the window.

The envoy remained a short distance away.

He could not see the writing from where he stood.

The man read the oracle without speaking.

When he reached the end, he turned the parchment over and examined the reverse, as though checking for something that might have been concealed beneath the writing.

Then he read it once more.

His expression barely changed.

He rolled the parchment and slipped it inside his armor.

The envoy shifted uneasily.

"What did the Ancient Gods say?"

The man did not answer.

From beneath his robe, he produced another sheet of parchment.

It was already covered in writing.

He laid it on the narrow stone ledge beneath the window and checked the lines one final time. Then he rolled it to the same size as the original and placed it inside the ivory case.

The envoy stared.

"You're replacing it?"

The black-robed figure adjusted the parchment so that it sat properly inside the case.

"Yes."

"But Cecil will know."

"Will he?"

The envoy looked at the broken seal.

The man pressed his thumb against the wax.

A dark red line appeared beneath its surface.

It branched into several fine marks, spreading through the seal before fading from sight. The wax softened briefly, then settled into its original shape.

When the man lifted his thumb, the case appeared untouched.

Only a tiny crimson mark remained beneath the emblem, almost invisible unless examined closely.

The envoy swallowed.

"What did you put on it?"

The man closed the case.

"Something that belongs to me."

He handed it back.

The envoy accepted it but did not put it away.

The gallery was quiet. Somewhere beyond the open windows, a distant bell began to ring.

The envoy looked at the ivory case, then at the man standing before him.

"I've done everything you asked."

"Yes."

"The message will never reach Cecil. Whatever happens in the Upper Hall, I had nothing to do with it."

The man said nothing.

The envoy stepped closer.

"You promised me power."

For the first time, a trace of impatience entered his voice.

"I've spent years serving gods who barely know my name. You said I wouldn't have to bow to them forever."

The black-robed figure watched him.

The envoy lowered his voice.

"I want what you promised."

A dark red drop fell onto the floor between them.

The envoy looked down.

He had not noticed any blood on the man's armor.

Before he could speak, the drop lifted from the stone.

It stretched into a thin thread.

The envoy stepped backward.

The thread moved.

He felt a sharp pain at his throat.

One hand flew to his neck.

He tried to shout, but only a broken gasp escaped him.

The blood-red thread tightened.

His knees struck the floor.

The ivory case slipped from his fingers and rolled across the gallery.

The envoy struggled for several seconds. His feet scraped against the stone, and his hands clawed at the narrow line cutting into his neck.

Then his arms fell.

The thread withdrew.

His body collapsed beside the window.

The black-robed figure walked past him and picked up the case.

He examined its seal.

The small crimson mark was still there.

Footsteps sounded at the entrance.

Eight figures emerged from the adjoining passage.

They wore dark clothing and carried narrow blades. Several were wounded. Blood stained their sleeves and the folds of their masks, though none seemed badly hurt.

The one at the front lowered his head.

"The Upper Hall is finished."

The black-robed figure turned toward them.

"All of them?"

"Every High God inside. None survived."

"Good."

The assassin glanced at the envoy's body.

"Is there anything else?"

The man looked at the eight figures.

They had accomplished something the divine court would once have dismissed as impossible. Eight human assassins had entered the Upper Hall of the Godrealm and killed gods whose protective wards should have made them untouchable.

And they were still standing.

The man lowered his gaze to one of their weapons.

Its dark edge was stained with blood.

"May I see that?"

The assassin approached and offered the blade.

The man took it, turning it slightly toward the light.

A faint, irregular pattern ran along the metal. Near the edge, the material had darkened where it had passed through divine protection.

He touched the flat of the blade.

"A remarkable weapon."

The assassin waited.

"Without it," the man continued, "you wouldn't have reached their flesh."

"No, my lord."

The man returned the blade.

"Even gods can be killed when their wards fail."

The assassin lowered the weapon.

"That was what you told us."

"Yes."

The man looked toward the distant entrance of the Upper Hall.

Then he raised one hand.

Blood began to move across the floor.

At first it was only a thin line seeping from beneath the envoy's body. Another appeared near the wounded assassins, creeping from the dark stains on their sleeves.

One of the men noticed it.

"My lord?"

The lines rose from the stone.

They stretched into narrow cords.

The assassins reached for their weapons.

Too late.

The first cord struck the man nearest the entrance, passing through his throat before he could draw his blade. Another wrapped around the wrist of the assassin beside him and pulled him off balance.

The others scattered.

One tried to flee through the doorway.

A red strand caught his ankle and dragged him backward.

Another raised his sword against the blood, but the blade passed through the shifting cords without stopping them.

The entire struggle lasted only moments.

When it ended, all eight assassins lay motionless.

Blood gathered beneath their bodies.

The black-robed figure stood where he had been, his white armor untouched by their weapons.

He looked down at the nearest corpse.

The man's mask had slipped aside, revealing an ordinary human face.

The figure considered him for a moment.

Then he bent and retrieved the fallen blade.

Its edge was still sharp.

The blood that had gathered on the gallery floor rose slowly into the air.

Some of it approached the man's armor.

Thin crimson lines appeared across the white plates, flowing beneath the surface like veins. They spread from his wrists toward his shoulders before gradually fading.

He watched the patterns settle.

"Another step," he murmured.

The gallery fell quiet again.

Only the distant ringing of bells remained.

The man returned to the dead envoy.

He knelt beside the body and turned it onto its back.

The envoy's eyes were open.

He had died with one hand pressed against his throat.

The black-robed figure removed the man's hand and straightened the collar of his white robes. He wiped away the blood that had gathered beneath the chin, then drew a small amount of it into his palm.

The blood moved between his fingers.

At his gesture, it divided into several thin strands.

They slipped beneath the envoy's clothing.

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

Then the dead man's fingers twitched.

His right hand slowly closed.

The black-robed figure stood.

The envoy's body moved with him.

It rose from the floor in an awkward motion, pausing halfway before straightening completely. Its head hung to one side.

The man adjusted his fingers.

The head lifted.

The envoy stood upright.

There was no breath in his chest.

His eyes remained open, fixed on nothing.

The black-robed figure walked around him, inspecting the result. A little blood had stained the front of the white robe, so he drew it away until the fabric was clean.

He retrieved the ivory case and fastened it inside the envoy's clothing.

Then he picked up one of the dark blades left by the assassins.

He placed it in the dead man's hand.

The fingers closed around the grip.

"Go."

The envoy turned toward the passage.

His first steps were stiff.

After several paces, his movements became steadier. Blood shifted beneath the skin of his wrists and ankles, pulling the body forward.

The black-robed figure followed at a distance.

They passed the dead assassins lying near the entrance to the gallery.

The figure paused to look back at them.

Their bodies would be discovered soon enough.

He left them where they were.

Smoke drifted through the corridors of the Upper Hall.

Part of the eastern gallery had collapsed. Broken columns lay across the marble floor, and the doors to several chambers hung from damaged hinges.

The envoy stepped over the rubble.

His movements had become almost natural.

Only the blankness of his eyes betrayed anything unusual.

The black-robed figure remained behind an archway as the dead envoy entered the innermost chamber.

The High God's body still lay beside the altar.

Blood had dried across the white stone.

Above him, the silver ring hung motionless.

The envoy approached the corpse.

He stopped at its side, lifted the dark blade, and drove it into the dead god's chest.

The sound echoed through the chamber.

He pulled the blade free.

Then struck again.

The weapon entered flesh that had already been cut open during the earlier struggle. Blood stained the envoy's sleeves.

He withdrew the blade and turned toward the doorway.

Another High God lay in the adjoining passage.

The envoy walked to him.

Again, the blade rose and fell.

The dead body moved only when the weapon struck it.

The black-robed figure watched from the shadows.

He could hear hurried footsteps somewhere beyond the ruined gallery.

The guards were coming.

He drew his hand toward himself.

Farther down the passage, the blood beneath the dead envoy's clothes tightened, pulling the body toward the next chamber.

The man took one final look at the scene.

Then he stepped backward into the dark.

By the time the first guards reached the upper corridor, he was gone.

The captain of the Divine Guard had never seen the Upper Hall in such a state.

He had served there for decades.

Even during the most violent disputes among the gods, the inner chambers had remained untouched. No servant entered without permission, and no mortal had ever been allowed to carry a weapon beyond the ceremonial gates.

Now the gates were broken.

His soldiers moved past the bodies of several black-clad men lying in the outer passage.

"Humans," one guard said.

The captain crouched beside the nearest corpse.

The dead man wore a mask.

A narrow blade lay beside him.

The captain picked it up.

Something was wrong with the metal.

Even in the poor light, he could see dark traces running along the edge. He turned the blade over, examining the strange markings.

Then a sound came from the inner hall.

A wet, repeated impact.

The captain stood.

"With me."

They entered through the damaged doors.

One of the High Gods lay dead near the altar.

Another had fallen beside a shattered pillar.

At the center of the chamber stood a man in white robes.

A divine envoy.

The captain recognized his clothing immediately.

The envoy was facing away from them.

In his right hand was a dark blade.

He raised it.

Then drove it into the corpse at his feet.

The soldiers stopped.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

The captain stared at the man.

"Envoy!"

The figure did not turn.

He pulled the weapon from the dead god's chest.

Blood dripped onto the floor.

"Put down your weapon!"

The captain drew his sword.

The envoy slowly turned his head.

His face was pale.

His eyes were open, but he did not look directly at any of the guards.

One of the soldiers took a step back.

The captain raised his blade.

"By order of the Divine Guard, you are under arrest!"

The envoy made no reply.

He turned back toward the altar.

Before the captain could reach him, the dead envoy raised his knife and plunged it into the High God's body again.

End of Chapter One