I hovered above the battlefield, scanning the remains of the legion of the Golden Bull. Smoke rose in thin trails. Bodies lay scattered across the sand, twisted and charred. My lightning had done its work, shattering their formation. The Kharsons had finished the rest, leaving almost no one standing. It was a scene of blackened sand, broken weapons, and the stink of ozone. The air around me sizzled and hissed from the storm I had unleashed.

The Kharsons stood below, each one calm, swords still humming with residual energy. They looked up at me, waiting for my next order. My gaze swept the carnage. I couldn't see any survivors from this vantage, but a flicker of movement caught my eye near a twisted cart.

I dropped to the ground, boots crunching on fused shards of glass. The smell of scorched flesh stung my nose. I strode forward, holding [Mjolnir] at my side. The Kharsons fanned out, heads turning left and right. The heat of smoldering debris clung to the air.

A single man groaned near that broken cart. His armor was cracked, half-melted by lightning, revealing charred cloth beneath. His skin was burnt and red in many places. He coughed, a wet, rasping sound, and tried to push himself upright. His left arm was ruined, his right leg twisted beneath him. He smelled of blood and burnt hair.

I knelt beside him, ignoring the metallic tang that filled my mouth. Up close, I saw fear flicker in his eyes. He tried to back away, dragging his useless leg, face contorted with agony.

"Stop," I said, voice low. I pressed my gauntleted hand on his chest, keeping him still. His breathing hitched, panicked. He reached up with a trembling right hand, fingernails scraping the scorched sand.

I glanced at the Kharsons, who watched silently. Then I turned my attention back to the wounded man. One of his eyes was swollen shut. Blood trickled from his lips. He tried to speak, words lost in a hacking cough.

He had answers I needed.

I closed my eyes, letting the power of [Flesh Shaping] ripple through my palm. I guided it into the man's torso, knitting just enough tissue to keep him alive for a time. He gasped, some color returning to his cheeks as all the lethal wounds stabilized. He blinked rapidly, chest heaving, eyes flicking around in confusion.

He tried to speak again, only managing a choked whisper. I leaned closer, pressing a finger to his lips.

"Quiet," I murmured. "You'll talk when I let you."

He froze, eyes wide. Another cough wracked him. I moved my hand from his chest to his damaged arm, letting the glow pulse. Flesh twitched, searing and realigning under my influence. I made sure it hurt, though I didn't let him slip into shock. His mouth opened in a silent scream, but he found no words.

I locked my gaze on his. "You belong to the Golden Bull. I have questions."

He swallowed, breath ragged. And, to my surprise, his eyes hardened with something that might've been close to bravery. But then that surprise faded as I was quickly reminded of the fact that, indeed, such a thing was inherent to humanity. To see no honor or bravery upon the eyes of my fellow man would've been an impossibility.

"Kill me," he whispered, voice strained. "Just… kill me."

"Not yet." I glanced at his limbs. His left arm was basically useless, the leg as well. With a burst of [Flesh Shaping], I severed the last good connections. The flesh peeled away, and the limb dropped to the ground. His eyes bulged, a raw scream tearing from his throat. He would not have felt any pain, but I suppose the sensation of suddenly losing a limb could not have been pleasant.

I felt no triumph in his agony. Instead, I felt a hollow numbness. This was necessary. He was loyal to the ones who murdered innocents. The ones who burned entire villages and gathered their bones and formed small hills with them. And yet, he was human. I hated his actions and the faction that he represented, but I could not hate him as an individual–not really.

He tried to thrash, but I pressed him still with my free hand. I didn't need to, since he wasn't going anywhere without any of his limbs, but it was an act of dominance–of exerting power. I disliked the feeling it brought me.

"Talk," I said. "Where is your settlement? The real heart of the Golden Bull."

He shook his head, teeth chattering with pain and terror.

"N-no," he mumbled, tears mixing with the streaks of blood on his cheeks. "I won't… betray… my family!"

I exhaled, swallowing my revulsion. I glanced at the stump of his left arm; I'd already removed everything from the elbow down. Maybe, he needed just a little more motivation. A flicker of power, and I removed it, too. His screams rose to a higher pitch, ripping through the night air. The Kharsons stood back, watching with impassive stares.

"Look at me," I said, voice cold. "I can keep you alive as long as I wish. I can rip each limb from your body and keep your heart beating. You will be in agony forever. Tell me what I need to know, and I might return what's yours. Or you can die here, slowly."

His breathing came in ragged sobs. Blood spattered his lips. He stared at me, eyes wild, desperate.

"Please," he whispered, trembling. "I'm afraid…."

I forced a thin smile. "Then speak."

He swallowed, blinking away sweat.

"It's… south. A valley beyond the black mountains," he rasped, voice quivering with each breath. "They have guns… many guns. The Warchief… took them from ancient vaults. Big guns that shoot crimson bolts. Tanks. He hoards them."

I leaned in, letting his words sink in. I felt a twinge of concern–not for myself. If they truly had advanced vehicles and weaponry, then the primitive tribes that dwelt in this desolate region of Terra would be severely outmatched. But that did not matter now. I would kill them anyway.

"How many?" I asked, letting a spark of [Flesh Shaping] burn against his stump of a left arm, just enough pain to keep him honest.

He moaned, half-delirious.

"Thousands… tens of thousands, maybe more…" he gasped. "Women, children, warriors… it's a fortress."

So they had a proper city. Guns, possibly from the Golden Age. My anger grew, though I kept my tone level. "How do I approach?"

He coughed. "They have watchers in the cliffs… artillery. Snipers. Mines. That's all… I know."

I nodded slowly, then lifted my hand from his stump, letting him slump.

"Very good," I said. "You've done well."

His eyes fluttered, tears of pain shining.

"Fix… my arms?" he stammered weakly. "You promised."

I stood, looking down at him. The emotion that flared within me was… ugly. And yet, I listened to it. For a moment, my anger took hold. "I lied."

His trembling lips parted, horror flashed across his features. I let out a slow exhale and reached out with both hands. My [Flesh Shaping] flared, turning his entire body into malleable biomass. He tried to scream, but it choked off as his throat dissolved. His body liquefied, a swirl of red and pink, merging with my reserves. I felt a surge of energy, a wave of new nutrients flooding my system.

I let the last of him vanish. The desert fell silent again, save for the crackle of scorched sand cooling. I stared at the ground, feeling a flicker of disgust at my own brutality. But I forced it down. The Golden Bull had no honor, no mercy, and I would show neither to its warriors.

I turned to the Kharsons, each standing tall in the darkness. They waited, swords powered down.

"We head south," I said. "They have a fortress, advanced weaponry, and thousands of defenders; I care not. We end them. All of them."

The Kharsons bowed.

I nodded. "Leave nothing alive. Is that understood?"

They inclined their heads again, silent. I lifted [Mjolnir] and took to the air, summoning the storm. The Kharsons followed by bounding across the sand, though they could not fly. They would keep pace on foot, each step carrying them over dunes at a tireless run. One odd advantage they had over the true Custodes was that the Kharsons were far lighter and faster than a Custodian in full gear.

I soared through the night, heading south, letting the hammered map in my mind guide me. The black mountains rose on the horizon, jagged silhouettes under a starlit sky. There were no trees–nothing green. Surrounding the mountains were fields of ashes and gray dust, where jagged obsidian crags arose and jutted out to the sky. All was silent in the absence of life and, in that silence, I wondered if I could destroy an entire civilization, if I could snuff out thousands upon thousands of human life and feel no remorse afterward…

Yes. I could.

The hours bled away as we traveled. The desert turned to rocky hills. The wind grew colder, slicing through the cracks in my visor. I felt no fatigue, only a constant burn of rage. Eventually, I spotted lights far below. Flickers of campfires and electric lamps strung along walls or watchtowers. The city sprawled in a valley between two great peaks, ringed by metal walls. The silhouette of giant guns perched on parapets. A labyrinth of shacks, bunkers, and ancient metal structures. At the center of the large settlement was a massive statue of a bull that glimmered gold even under starlight. Did they worship that statue? What was it to them?

I hovered at a distance, and landed atop a tall boulder. The Kharsons arrived below, their footsteps hushed by the wind. I could see from here how large the city was. Thousands of rooftops, flickers of movement, watchtowers scanning the horizon. Banners of the Golden Bull hung from tall poles, illuminated by searchlights. The gates looked thick, reinforced by plates of welded steel.

I hesitated once again. Here was a bastion of progress and resilience, a reminder to all that humanity would stand proud, even after its own doom, even after its fall. Truly, what difference did this… civilization have from the Imperium itself? Did the God Emperor not conquer his lessers? Did he not sail out into the stars to unite humanity by fire and blood? What right did I have to judge these people for what they did?

What right?

I thought long and hard and found an answer.

I had the right to judge them, because they offended me–because their conquest brought them against me. My right to judge and destroy them was just as valid as their right to conquer and kill their neighbors.

Fortunately for them, my method of annihilation was not nearly as barbaric or as cruel. Fear will take them–that was unavoidable–but I wouldn't go out of my way to inflict pain.

I closed my own eyes, letting Mjolnir drop into my [Inventory]. Then I let my mind drift to that dark place. My [Eldritch Form]. The one that turned me into a shapeless mass of horror, capable of devouring entire armies without pause. It was a power that I would've preferred to never have to use. And yet, it remained my most powerful and most efficient ability.

I breathed in and willed forth the power. Every cell in my body shifted. Bones melted into fluid. My chest expanded. My arms warped and multiplied. I let out a low groan as flesh bubbled, forming tendrils, spines, and claws. Eyes sprouted along my sides. My entire being surged upward, growing monstrously large at impossible speeds. The Kharsons stepped back, giving me room. In seconds, I towered over them, a gargantuan mass of teeth, limbs, and gaping mouths. My mind swam with the shift, but I held it together, forcing the abomination that I had become to obey my will.

A hiss escaped my largest mouth, an echo of the hunger I felt. My every nerve tingled with the desire to consume. My eyes—thousands of them—darted in different directions, taking in the fortress below. Alarm bells began to ring. The city had spotted me, or glimpsed my towering outline. Searchlights swiveled, catching glimpses of my writhing silhouette.

Shouts rose from the walls. I heard orders barked, saw muzzle flashes as they fired. The night lit up with tracer rounds, bullets bouncing off my hide. Some shells tore chunks of flesh, but I felt no pain, only a distant awareness that I was being shot. My body regenerated at once, tendrils weaving back together.

I let out a roar from all of my mouths, releasing an unholy sound. It reverberated across the valley. The Kharsons advanced at my side, swords drawn, but I gestured for them to hold back. I wanted to handle this personally. They nodded, stepping aside.

I slithered forward, an immense wave of flesh. My tentacles slammed against the city wall. The metal buckled with a screech, men on the ramparts tumbling off. Some fired rocket launchers or threw grenades, explosions flaring in flashes of orange. My mouths absorbed the impact, regenerating from every blast. My form twisted around the watchtowers, crushing them in my grip.

Screams filled the air. A flood of defenders poured out from the gates, guns rattling, blades raised high. I lashed out with countless tendrils, spearing them, ripping limbs from torsos, and devouring all. Blood rained on the dust, painting the ground dark. My eyes caught the shapes of tanks rolling from hidden garages. Their turrets swiveled, cannons thundering. Each shell slammed into my flesh, carving gouges, but they sealed within moments, patches of new muscle forming. The hunger roared louder in my head, urging me onward.

I lunged over the wall, crashing into the city center. Buildings crumpled under my weight. Civilians, warriors, and slaves all ran in panic. Some begged, dropping to their knees, hands raised. My writhing limbs did not stop. I could not stop, even if I wanted to. I devoured them, mouth after mouth snapping them up, pulling them into my fathomless core. My biomass reserves soared, fueling me further.

Shots ricocheted as chain stubbers opened fire from rooftops. My lesser eyes swiveled, targeting them. I spat a wriggling mass of teeth upward, which latched onto the gunners, dragging them off the edge. More men scattered, shrieking as I crashed through a bunker. Tanks fired again, their blasts rocking my central mass. Chunks of gore splattered the streets, but I re-formed, unstoppable.

Within minutes, the outer defenses collapsed. The city's population tried to flee deeper into winding alleys. Artillery pieces along the inner walls spat shells that boomed across the chaos. Each impact rocked me, but the flesh recovered. I raked massive claws across the ground, uprooting entire blocks. My tentacles slithered into underground bunkers, dragging out screaming defenders.

They shot me with advanced energy rifles I hadn't seen before. Laser bursts sizzled as they scorched my hide. I snarled, sending a barbed limb crashing down, splitting open a group that fired from behind a barricade. The stench of burning meat flooded my senses. I devoured them, bone and all, their pleas drowned by my monstrous roar as their bodies were reduced to little more than raw biomass.

Some tried to surrender, dropping weapons and crying for mercy. My mass advanced, devouring them anyway. The commanding officers in gilded bull-shaped helms mustered a final stand near the center—a broad plaza where the gigantic golden bull stood. Tanks, heavy guns, and hundreds of soldiers formed a ring. They hammered me with everything. Their bullets tore chunks away, artillery bursts left craters in my sides. My teeth gnashed, eyes bulging with savage focus, but I pressed on. The swirl of biomass within me outpaced the damage they caused.

A handful of children cowered in the corners of that plaza. I paused for a fleeting second, letting my main eye fix on them. Then I remembered the bombs, the traps, the villages; all the death at the hands of their armies. This entire place was complicit. My hearts hammered, the hunger surging. I lunged forward, flattening the ring of defenders. Some tried to run. I pulled them in with writhing feeders, biting off limbs, swallowing them into my core. The tanks fired point-blank, but I slithered around them, crushing their turrets, wrenching open hatches. The crews inside died in a flood of rancid gore.

Screams echoed from every corner. I tore the statue down with a swipe of a claw, letting it crash in a twisted heap. Flames crackled among the ruins of buildings. The ground was slick with blood and broken metal. My tendrils slid through the rubble, finding survivors and dragging them to me. Some sobbed. Some cursed. Some prayed.

I devoured them all.

Their biomass poured into me, an unending torrent of flesh and bone. My form grew with each kill, though I controlled it, keeping myself a manageable shape. The entire city fell silent as I scoured every street, every bunker, leaving no living soul unconsumed.

At last, the gunfire died completely. The night reeked of death. Fires crackled in collapsed towers, the embers casting flickering shadows on pools of red. My limbs dripped with gore, eyes scanning for any final pockets of life. There were none. Not even the weeping children survived. My hearts pounded, adrenaline still coursing. The hunger roiled, urging me to keep going, find more.

But there was no more.

I gathered what remained of my will and let out a low, savage hiss. Then I forced the [Eldritch Form] to recede. My flesh shrank, bones re-formed. Extra limbs reabsorbed. Eyes vanished, dozens at a time. My teeth withdrew, leaving only my normal jaw. Soon, I stood there in my human form, still wearing my battered suit, soaked in congealing blood. The exhaustion hit me, not physical but spiritual. The silence pressed in, broken only by the pop of distant flames.

Radiation-laden rain began to fall, pattering against twisted metal. Drops sizzled where they hit hot embers, hissing into steam. The sky above glowed with faint radioactive clouds. I felt the cold drops on my cheeks, mingling with flecks of red. The rain's degenerative effects were easily healed or reversed. I didn't mind.

I took a step, boots splashing in a bloody puddle. Broken weapons lay scattered, stained with grime. A child's doll, half-melted, peeked out from beneath a twisted tank tread. My vision blurred. I let out a shuddering breath, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

I dropped to my knees, water running down my visor, washing away some of the filth. My tears came unbidden. I sank my head forward, letting the rain run down my neck, letting the night's darkness hide my weeping. The Kharsons stood some distance away, silent witnesses. They had arrived in time to see the last of my rampage. I was their lord, so they said nothing. But I sensed their watchful eyes. They had no hearts to question me, no free minds to protest. They were bound to my will, after all.

I inhaled a ragged lungful of radioactive air.

"I… vow," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I vow to free humanity from cruelty."

"I just… I don't know how to do that yet."

The wind shifted, and the toxic rain battered the ruins in heavier sheets, hissing off molten metal, seeping into the ash-laden sand. I crouched there, battered by guilt, battered by confusion, longing for a purpose greater than all this carnage. Each drop felt like acid on my skin, but I didn't move. I forced myself to endure it.

Lightning flickered in the storm clouds above, a distant echo of the power I once commanded so freely. My chest felt hollow. The city was silent but for the rain. I forced myself to stand, though my legs shook. I faced the Kharsons. Their eyes glinted behind their masks.

I looked over the sea of ruin one last time. Then I turned away, letting the black night swallow us. The vow lingered in my head: a promise to save mankind from itself. A promise I had no idea how to keep. But as I felt the hot tears drying on my cheeks, I knew I would try.

AN: Chapter 84 is out on (Pat)reon!