Queen Anihata the Immaculate sat in state atop the Gilded Throne of Red Mountain, the vast magnificence of the throne room stretching out before her. The mile long chamber constructed of chiselled stone and the smooth red rock that gave the mountain its name was almost empty. Lit from above by dozens of giant infinite candle chandeliers and with golden braziers jutting out from every one of the towering stone pillars that lined the room, the throne room was the size of a small town.
The only other occupants of the room were a few dozen Guard of Kemel Ze, one by each pillar and a small group of Tonal Architects scurrying around an ornate golden archway at the far end of the room-one of the Dwemer's advanced Tonal Bridges. In any other room the amount of guards and attendants would have made the place seem as crowded as the Imperial City, but in such a vast open space, Anihata was almost alone atop the dais.
The High Queen was dressed in a flowing robe of bright purple, a courtesy on her part out of respect for the Tonal Architects working away at the far end of the chamber. Around her chest and arms were the golden bands of her ceremonial armour, two wide bladed daggers sheathed at her narrow hips and a delicate crown of gold and Dwarven metal atop her long black hair. If anything, she thought to herself, she was underdressed.
She still remembered the majesty of this throne room when King Dumac had been ruler. Back then every pillar had been adorned with silk banners and the chamber had resounded with the noise of countless individual conversations on everything from science and engineering to the best way to distil mead as dozens of Dwemer nobles and commoners milled about. Long rows of tables and chairs to the sides played host to banquets and feasts of all kinds, while the entire route from the King's throne to the doors at the far end of the room had been lined with elite Dwemer warriors in glittering armour. All of that was gone now. No more laughter echoed in that chamber, and there were no feasts or festivities any more.
"Dumac is gone now," she said quietly to herself as she tried to make herself comfortable on the hard stone throne. "Nothing will ever bring him back."
It had been during the battles of Hircine's Hunting Grounds that Anihata had seen Dumac fall. When the werebeasts led by Romulus Fenrir himself, the King of Werewolves, had broken through the Dwemer lines after days of almost nonstop battle, it had been Dumac and his Brass Men who had led the charge. With Cuolec the Red at his side Dumac had carved a bloody swathe through the hordes of werebeasts. But Anihata still remembered seeing him fall. Even though she was deployed back with the rear guard, she had watched in horror as Dumac had charged Romulus Fenrir, his greatsword held high. The werewolf had almost casually batted him aside, swatting him away with one sweep of his huge arms. She had seen Cuolec rush forward and slash his sword across the werewolf's chest, but the monster had easily thrown him aside, raking a blood-stained claw across the brave Dwemer's face and leaving him howling in agony. The King of Werewolves had then, after tearing through the Brass Men in seconds, picked Dumac's broken form up in a firm grip and, with a howl of triumph, torn the noble Dwemer king in half, spattering the defeated form of Cuolec in a shower of bright crimson.
She shook herself slightly, trying not to think back to those dark times, when the Dwemer had seemed close to extinction, with their rulers all systematically hunted down and tortured by the Daedra, and the Five Councils cowering in fear and useless. When she had marched into the crude chamber of the Council of Masters, little more than a cave crudely hacked into a hillside in the Hunting Grounds, with the Guard of Kemel Ze at her back, the ancient Dwemer leaders had bowed before her in seconds, proclaiming her High Queen as they stared at the spears levelled at them.
Anihata took a deep breath, shaking her head slightly before absently picking up the golden form of the lexicon divination cube that sat on the arm of her throne. Balancing the fist sized cube in the palm of her hand, she looked over it for a second, running her gloved fingers across the delicate grooves and intricate carvings in its otherwise smooth metal surface. Her parents had both been involved heavily in this kind of technology, with her mother being a Tonal Architect, her father a respected craftsman and artisan. Part of her still wished to follow in their footsteps, but circumstances had stopped that dream from being anything but a fantasy.
She moved her fingers across the cube one last time before placing it in the small lexicon receptacle built into the right arm of the throne. The cube set into the carved stone and metal plinth with a soft metallic click, the sides instantly hovering off in a small field of blue and white light, revealing a glowing hexagonal centre.
"Now for the hard part." She said to herself, closing her eyes and opening her mind to the innate physic ability all Dwemer had- the Calling.
For a second she felt myriad thoughts and feelings from other Dwemer filling her head. One second she was feeling the pain of a warrior on some distant battlefield, the next the confused thoughts of an engineer deep in thought and then what felt like the thoughts of Lord Kagrenac himself as the ancient Dwemer busied himself with a complex string of calculations. Instantly she felt herself being dragged away from the random thoughts of other Dwemer, as she finally focused herself on the lexicon, allowing the advanced technology within to anchor her own thoughts on the lexicons energy.
When she opened her eyes she felt various different images at the back of her mind, all gathered by the lexicon ready for her to review. She focused her mind, breathing in deeply like Lord Kagrenac had taught her, then, with a thought, selected the first of the images.
Instantly she was looking down on the plains of Vvardenfell, watching as a long column of Dwemer warriors and automatons marched down a wide Imperial-made road. The sun shone on their golden armour and weaponry as Anihata watched from above like some omniscient god. Behind the soldiers trailed hundreds of prisoners, mainly grey skinned Dunmer but also scores of defeated Imperial soldiers and hulking Nords with bowed heads.
As she watched the prisoners marching in sullen silence, groups of Dwemer on automaton mounts watching over them with spears at the ready, she cast her mental gaze out over the shifting hills of ash and burnt trees beyond, along with the empty shells of ruined Dwemer buildings. She remembered when this had all been lush farmland and open countryside, when the fields had been filled with farming automatons and their masters tilling the crops and tending their herds of livestock. Now that was all gone, replaced with a desert of grey ash and dead towns, here and there a few pockets of civilisation behind high walls or in near desolate plots of farmland.
Suddenly there was the blaring howl of a war horn and the battle cries of what sounded like hundreds of Dunmer and, like a wave of vengeance, a horde of Dunmer and a few scattered Imperials, armed with little more than farming tools and the odd suit of battered armour, rushed the column. With a slight sense of shock, Anihata watched as, from both sides of the road, the hordes of vengeful Dunmer streamed out, men and women dressed in rough farmer's clothes and the odd set of leather or chitin armour.
The Dwemer didn't even flinch. The High Queen felt a slight sense of pride as the Dwemer instantly rushed to ready themselves, the warriors at the edges forming two parallel shield walls of shining bronze to protect the main body of troops while their comrades took up positions behind them.
The Dunmer surged forward, seemingly emboldened by the Dwemer's supposed lack of an aggressive response. The horde was barely ten metres from the column, a few throwing large stones from slings or firing off arrows despite the fact their attacks merely pinged off the dwarves' thick armour. And then, at a signal from the officers scattered throughout the column, the Dwemer warriors opened up with a hail of crossbow bolts and arrows.
With a loud snapping of bones and crunching of flesh, the Dunmer were torn apart, dozens of them going down in seconds. The heavy bolts punched through multiple targets as if they were paper, while others fell to sharp arrows that sent them screaming to the ground. It took mere seconds for the Dunmer to break. These were not warriors, as was obvious by the few that had somehow managed to keep rushing the dwarven shield wall and were easily impaled on bronze sword blades or had their chests crushed by heavy shields.
The High Queen felt no joy as the remaining Dark Elves retreated haphazardly, throwing down their weapons and running as fast as they could. The Dwemer didn't pursue but their archers simply nocked new arrows to their bows and shot the Dunmer down as they ran. At the far end of the column the few brave prisoners who had made a break for freedom were ridden down and impaled on spear tips or shot in the back.
Taking a deep breath Anihata pushed the image out of her mind. She had already known the lack of any real resistance on Vvardenfell besides the odd holdout of Imperials or Redoran troops in their crumbling castles. The Council of Warriors had assured her that the island was almost theirs, and that General Bahrma would soon be leading an army of nearly fifty thousand warriors out to the fringes of the island to secure the ports and harbours for their subsequent amphibious invasion of the mainland.
With the thoughts of the general in her mind, she searched through the myriad images and thoughts the lexicon was streaming into her mind, and mentally selected one of General Bahrma.
She opened her eyes again to see, yet again from a large height, a squat Dwemer fort of stone and bronze, still under construction on the foothills of Red Mountain. The fort was nothing special, a large square of thick stone walls topped with thick battlements and four short towers, the interior courtyard filled with regimented lines of square tents and the odd stone building.
Passing her gaze over the dozens of Dunmer labourers and Dwemer engineers, accompanied by hordes of spider automatons carrying stacks of stone and metal, crawling over every inch of the fort, she found the general by the main gate.
Bahrma stood with his lieutenant, Volendun and about ten others officers and soldiers, around a small map table, evidently deep in discussion. The general, unsurprisingly, didn't look the slightest bit concerned or on edge as he laid out plans and gave orders to various messengers standing by with communication lexicons. The man was obviously in his element. Anihata had always known the general to be a cautious and thoughtful type, much happier directing the armies from behind the lines than leading the charge and grabbing glory for himself. She had been very surprised to hear of his exploits during the battle against House Redoran's forces. Normally he tried to stay as far away from the frontlines as possible, not out of any sense of cowardice- she had heard of his bravery leading a shieldwall many times- but due to a genuine desire to actually direct his forces properly and not let them be killed needlessly while he tried to go for glory himself.
She didn't linger too long on the image of the fort under construction. She had already heard from many advisors and messengers on the state of Red Mountain's defences. If her advisors weren't exaggerating too much, the entire base of the vast volcano was once again protected by the ring of forts and watchtowers that had protected it from the Chimer long ago. Even she had been surprised at the speed of the undertaking, with the Council of Engineers ensuring her that their new models of automatons, and the hundreds of prisoners working as labour, had ensured a fast rate of construction.
For a second her concentration wavered and the images all disappeared into nothingness. She blinked several times, once again the vast throne room spreading out beyond her gaze, before she steeled herself, gritting her teeth slightly and closing her eyes again. Her personal physician had already cautioned her on excessive uses of the divination lexicon, citing the countless cases of Dwemer scholars and Tonal Architects near killing themselves with exhaustion by overstretching their minds or ending up descending into madness from the near overwhelming amount of images the untrained mind was subjected to. The High Queen had been trained in their use long ago, back when she had been the message runner of King Dumac himself in the First Era, but she had her limits as well.
"Just once more." She said to herself, taking another deep breath and selecting another image, this one showing the location of Cuolec the Red.
Instantly she felt the familiar slight tug on her mind, then she was looking down on another undulating plain of grey ash. This one was different though. The skies were choked by black smoke and clouds of ash that had definitely not come from Red Mountain, all focused on the sprawling form of a large town. And yet, as Anihata's gaze grew closer and closer to the town, she had a view of the battle raging within its high walls.
The sounds of screams and cries for mercy filled the air, along with the wet gurgling noises of Dunmer being impaled on sword blades or spear tips. Many of the buildings were wreathed in flame, while the whistling of arrows and crossbow bolts punctuated the clattering of metal and clash of blades.
And at the centre of it all, riding down the wide main street with a blood spattered greatsword in one hand and a battle scarred shield in the other, was Cuolec the Red. His crimson armour had taken on an entirely different hue as Dunmer blood coated very part of it, and his arrogant booming laugh echoed off the curved stone buildings on all sides. Leaning into his saddle, Cuolec raised his sword and cleaved through a shell shocked looking Redoran guard in battered armour, who feebly raised his sword at the Dwemer warrior before falling face first into the dirt, a gaping wound in his back. The corpse had barely been on the ground for a second before a whooping crowd of Riders of Dahaka trampled it into the ground, their mechanical steeds hissing and clanking.
Behind the cloaked riders came scores of Dwemer on foot, the armoured warriors kicking in doors and rushing into buildings, the sounds of their bloody work coming in the form of strangled cries and shrieks. Here and there they would drag out terrified looking Dunmer civilians, mostly children and the elderly, the rest evidently preferring to fight to the death than risk capture.
Cuolec's booming shouts echoed across the town as he reined in his automaton in the main square, the spider's bladed legs stabbing and squelching into the bloated corpses of Redoran Guard and Dunmer mercenaries in an eclectic mix of various armours.
Anihata felt herself fell more and more disturbed at the Dwemer commander's actions as she panned her gaze over the devastated town. But she mentally shook herself, knowing that it was necessary for the Dwemer's victory to make harsh attacks like this, to break their enemies both on the battlefield and at home.
As she centred her gaze once more on Cuolec, the Dwemer commander seemed to sense her watching him, raising his blood soaked sword to the sky and saluting.
"Long live the High Queen!" He roared, his cry taken up by the rest of his men. "Victory for the Dwemer!"
The High Queen closed her eyes, letting the image disappear as she once more returned to the throne room, opening er eyes to see the chamber now filled with people.
The portal at the far end of the room was now evidently ready, as Tonal Architects and engineers scurried around it. And now, streaming into the huge chamber came rank after rank of warriors in gold armour bearing heavy tower shields. The soldiers quickly marched into positions and began setting up a thick line of shieldwalls in a U shape around the portal. With a clatter of metal and shouted orders, the warriors closed ranks and stood firm as dozens of crossbowmen and archers clattered into position behind them, arrows nocked and bolts at the ready.
For a second Anihata looked around blankly, the mental stress of the lexicon still numbing her thought processes. As she stared around the rapidly filling chamber, the leader of the Guard of Kemel-Ze, Hama of Clan Nanaja, her pretty face hidden by her equally striking helmet, came up the steps toward the throne, bowing low before the queen.
"My queen," she said from her crouched position, the long spear in her hands clenched in a tight grip. "I did not mean to disturb your divinations…"
Anihata shook her head, standing up from the uncomfortable stone throne. "No matter Hama. I take it by all the commotion that the last of our forces are incoming."
Hama nodded quickly, behind her the rest of the Guard forming up into a near wall of lowered spears around the dais. "The last of the civilians and regular troops have crossed over through the other Tonal Bridges. But the Black Prince was insistent on arriving with the rear-guard through the throne room's portal."
The High Queen took a deep breath, trying not to let her frustration show through on her drawn face.
"I'll let him. The prince abuses his…position in my heart a bit but I can overlook it."
"You know the prince…" Hama replied with what sounded like a quiet laugh. "He likes things done…"
"His own way," Anihata replied shortly. "I've known the man since he was born. He's barely a century old and thinks himself the greatest asset we have."
"Can't blame the man," Hama replied as the two of them descended the dais, stopping just behind the line of bodyguards in front of them. "You must have heard of his exploits! Slaying the Snow King in single combat during the War of the Crag! Battling the Chimer on the slopes of this very mountain! I've heard he…"
"This level of praise definitely goes beyond professional concerns doesn't it?" Anihata asked with a slight smile. She had seen Hama take on whole packs of Dremora with nothing but a spear and knew her as a merciless warrior. Seeing her gushing about a man like a love-struck teenager was- different- to say the least.
"Oh no my queen!" Hama said with an embarrassed bow. "I just…"
"The Tonal Bridge is active!" bellowed a voice from the far end of the room, and instantly Hama straightened up, gripping her spear and moving in front of Anihata without another thought, the rest of the Guard standing firm.
Every man and woman in the vast chamber seemed to tense as the dull hum of energy filled the air, fingers tightening on crossbow triggers, hands gripping shields and swords, limbs tensing up within layers of armour. The vast portal at the far end of the room, the same shape as a Centurion charging station but three times as tall, began to crackle and hiss, bolts of purple and blue lighting crackling across its bronze form and dispelling amongst the soldiers and engineers standing by. Here and there individual bolts jumped across the ranks of warriors, leaping from man to man like wisps, causing nothing but mere annoyance, but making unearthly hissing noises as they did so-as if they were alive.
Then, with a throb of magical energy and hum of machinery, more and more threads of lighting began to jump across the empty arch itself. They began to join in the middle into a ball of bright light until, when the ball of purple and blue had reached the size of the arch, sent out a blinding flash of light that caused every Dwemer in the room to flinch.
Anihata rubbed her eyes, blinking away the coloured spots and floaters that clouded her vision. For a second the portal was nothing but a blank space of shifting light and then, with an unearthly roar, figures began appearing from it.
For a second Anihata felt a spike of fear at the warriors outfitted in jet black armour rushing out, but then stopped herself as she saw that, besides the pitch black armour and a few odd spikes on their gauntlets and greaves, these were definitely Dwemer, and their weaponry and equipment was exactly the same.
The warriors in black paid no heed to the rank after rank of other Dwemer as they ran out, dozens of them, instead forming their own defence line around the portal. Barking orders at each other, the warriors readied swords and axes that glowed with an unearthly red light, as if the blades themselves were alive.
It was only when what looked like the entirety of the Black Prince's deadly force- the infamous Black Army, had come out, that the man himself appeared.
Leaping out of the portal came a figure dressed from head to toe in black, the only nod to colour being a dark purple cloak around his shoulders, secured with a brooch of gold and Aetherium, two curved swords in sheathes at his hips and a blackened Dwemer crossbow in hand.
"What is-"Hama began, but any comments were cut off as a group of Dremora exploded out of the portal in blast of red light and ran straight for the Prince.
Without even flinching the Prince fired off his crossbow, punching a hole through the neck of the lead Dremora and instantly throwing the weapon aside. The remaining two Daedra rushed forward, and for a split second Anihata saw every crossbow in the room trained on them, ready to tear them apart.
The moment never came.
With a harsh cry of defiance the Prince stood firm and, in a heartbeat, his gauntleted hands went to the two sheathes at his hip and, with a clatter of metal, he drew the two blades, revealing them both to be jagged Daedric swords, one glowing with a dark red light, the other crackling with arcane lighting.
Drawing the blades across his chest, their blades humming and crackling with energy, the Prince ran forward, almost casually slashing the throat of one Dremora with a flick of his wrist, then, with a dramatic flourish, bringing the other blade around and decapitating the other. As the two Dremora's bodies hit the ground simultaneously, and with the eyes of countless Dwemer warriors all looking at him with dumbstruck awe, the Prince bowed slightly and the portal cut out from behind him with a crack.
Anihata sighed and pushed through the line of her bodyguards, the Guard instantly forming up around her as she walked across the empty space to where the Black Army were already organising themselves into ranks, fists on hearts in firm salute, five hundred warriors all in perfect formation. At the head of them all, the Black Prince sheathed his twin blades and dropped to his knees, along with every one of his men.
"My queen," he said formally and sincerely. "We have successfully finished our rear-guard operations. The last of our people and resources are across the Tonal Bridge. The Black Army is yours to command."
As he said this the Black Prince removed his jet black helmet to reveal a surprisingly young and drawn face, thin and gaunt like the queen's, as if he had seen and done things that were meant for those far older. His skin was deathly pale compared to the gold of Anihata's, and his beard was little more than a short goatee with some stubble, suggesting he had only recently started growing facial hair.
The High Queen took a deep breath, feeling the eyes of every man and woman in the room upon her, straightened up and struck what she hoped was a regal pose before replying simply.
"It is good to have you back from the realms of Oblivion…brother."
000000
The chamber of the Council of Masters went from loud chatter to instant silence as Anihata walked in, the Black Prince at her side, his black armour replaced by an equally dark set of robes that seemed to hang off his wiry frame like a shroud. The queen however was as resplendent as ever, her hair freshly curled and filled with dozens of tiny jewels that reflected the light of the infinite candles and braziers that lit the high ceilinged council chamber.
The Council of Masters, the eight eldest and most distinguished Dwemer alive, was filled with two representatives from each council below it, the Warriors, the Engineers, the Tonal Architects and the Merchants. Each member wore the corresponding colour robe as his own council, with the green robed form of Lord Kagrenac alongside the haughty, blue robed, Lady Tanar the Gilded, of the Council of Merchants and Lord Asano, the venerable former commander of Blackreach's legions, a thin and wrinkled man in a stunning set of gold and red ceremonial robes. All of them bowed their heads as Anihata approached, the other occupants of the room, a large group of scribes and the Council Honour Guard, standing stiffly at attention.
All of them, except for General Bahrma, who looked half asleep yet still attempted a salute as Anihata came to stand by him.
"Cut the formalities my friends," Anihata began stiffly. "We have important work to do and our enemies will not stand by and wait for us."
"Of course my queen," Lord Asano said respectfully as he stood up, "Let me offer congratulations on behalf of this council to the Black Prince for his victory in bringing every one of our people from the Daedra's traps."
As the rest of the council echoed their agreement, Anihata noticed the Prince stiffen slightly, as if he wasn't used to praise like this.
"I personally wish to congratulate you…" Lord Asano said with a slight smile across his old features. "…on slaying Ranyu the Vizier and Amkaos the Elder. I see you carry their blades at your hip. I fought them myself once. Only managed to drive them off so I respect anyone who can take them on and destroy them."
The Prince smiled slightly at that as he drew the two swords, the guards looking slightly uneasy at the arcane weapons.
"Heartstopper and Fleshtearer," The Prince said with a nod at the two blades. "Fitting names, don't you think?"
"This is very touching I presume," Lord Kagrenac said irritably. "But can we get to the matter at hand, my queen?"
Anihata tried not to glare at the old Dwemer for his complete disregard for any kind of respect as Lord Asano, grudgingly, nodded and continued speaking.
"Since we all know of your skills in battle, my prince, we have need of you for a special assignment."
"I'm listening…" the Prince replied simply as he sheathed his blades.
"We stand ready to invade all of Morrowind in force. General Bahrma here will be leading an army of fifty thousand in a direct assault on the city of Blacklight once we have established a sea route to the mainland. We all appreciate that your skills would be useful alongside the general's tactical expertise, or perhaps in…reining in...Commander Cuolec, but there is a much more important mission we need you and the Black Army for. Something more important than storming cities or crippling the Great Houses' ability to respond."
As he said this a servant in red robes spread a large map of Morrowind on the stone council table, the Council members and those they had summoned to stand before them all crowding in to get a better look.
"Our main sea route for the assault on Blacklight is here," Lord Asano explained, pointing one bony finger at a recently added settlement marker. "Imperial prisoners have identified this settlement as being a major Imperial port and staging ground called Fort Reclusion. I have personally despatched Commander Cuolec to take this vital harbour and, if possible, preserve any ships he can salvage. General Bahrma's forces will establish a safe sea route and transfer the majority of his troops to the mainland here…" he added, pointing out a bare section of coastline marked by several notes as containing good natural harbours. "By then we should have sufficiently armed and trained any remaining men and women of military age to support this main thrust with a simultaneous attack upon the scattered towns and forts to the south. Now, as for you, my prince, we need you to seize some vital intel from the site of one of our former strongholds."
As he said this he stabbed a finger into a small island just off the coast of Morrowind.
"Solstheim, as the local Nords call it. The city of Nchardak,the 'City of a Hundred Towers' there not only contains the largest automaton production facility outside of Red Mountain, but is also the largest of the Great Archives. We need you to sail to Solstheim and secure the city. Your primary objective will be to secure the Lexicon of Radac Stungnthumz, the greatest Dwemer weaponsmith in recorded history-tragically lost to us during our stay in Clavicus Vile's realm."
"You're sending me to recover the notes of a dead blacksmith?" The Prince asked with a smirk, folding his arms smugly.
"Of course not you arrogant fool. Know your place!" Anihata snapped, and the Prince instantly stopped and bowed solemnly as the queen continued. "Radac was the greatest creator of anti-magical weapons in Dwemer history. I never met the man himself when we last walked Tamriel but, if the stories are true, he was said to be able to make weapons that made the gods themselves tremble in fear. It was he that forged the hammer Volendrung and that created the Spellbreaker shield that King Rourken used to nearly slay Shalidor, the most powerful mage who ever lived. Acquiring his accumulated knowledge would help us immensely in our plans."
"If this man was able to forge such great weapons," Bahrma asked shrewdly. "Why is he not still with us?"
Anihata sighed. "Radac was, like most men who consider themselves 'the greatest' also terribly arrogant. Whilst we attempted to rebuild from the horrors of Hircine's Hunting Grounds in the realm of Clavicus Vile, Radac made a bargain with the Daedric Prince- that he would always be able to practice his work and that he would never fear death."
"What did Vile do?" Bahrma asked. "Daedric promises are never beneficial."
The queen smiled darkly. "Vile turned him into a spectre and let him wander the halls of Bamz-Aschend for eternity. Unfortunately that city is built underneath the current site of the city of Mournhold which, if our intelligence is correct, is currently occupied by a significant force of Argonians. Until we can secure the services of Radac himself, his lexicon will have to do."
"I will do it," The Prince said solemnly to the queen, his short lived arrogance lost beneath his older sister's impatient gaze. "We can be off tomorrow morning and secure ourselves transport when we reach the sea. But I have one question before we march for the coast. What exactly do you intend to do with this lexicon?"
Anihata smiled slightly as she spoke.
"Radac created many countless weapons of great power in his long life. Ones that made the gods themselves be afraid. But I don't want to make the gods afraid of us. I don't want the Daedra to run and hide. When we have the information from that lexicon I will show them all the power of the Dwemer. We will get vengeance, brother. We will show the Kar-Din that the 'gods' are nothing to fear. We will show the whole of creation how to kill a god."