Epilogue

      It was a place that didn’t actually exist.

      Some called it the Core.  Others referred to it as the Nexus.  Still others called it the Crossroads.

      Its formal name was Concordant Opposition.

      This, this was the crossroads of the Outer Planes, even more so than the Astral.  Where a being could travel from the material planes to the Outer Planes using the Astral, they could travel from plane to plane without ever entering the Astral here.  Every Outer Plane had a gate here, opening somewhere within the plane.  If someone wanted to go anywhere in the Outer Planes, this was the place to go.

      It was a place that would be very, very deceptive to any mortal who had visited for the first time…and mortals did visit this place  The air was sweet and fresh, the sky blue, the sun yellow, the clouds fluffy and white and hanging lazily in the sky.  But when one looked closer, when one studied closely, one would see that the sun never moved, that the clouds never moved.  It was a place that looked like any number of material planes, but it was not a material plane.  Many of the Outer Planes had a feel, would remind one of a mortal world.  Many had forests, and grasslands, and oceans, and mountains, and denizens, though those denizens would look quite strange to a mortal.  But many were utterly alien to a mortal, like the pearl-worlds of Tarterus with their bridges joining them together, or the gray waste of Hades, or the endless mountain slopes of Gehenna, or the interlocked discs which formed the clockwork which powered the plane of Nirvana, or the unbridled geographical chaos which was Limbo, where even the land itself was chaos personified.

      Those planes were the homes of beings with powers beyond mortal comprehension.  They were the abodes of gods, the domains of Demons and Devils, they were the homes of those creatures who were born and raised in the Outer Planes, and saw all of this, saw what a mortal would see as fantastic, as merely normal.

      Every dimension in the Outer Planes had its indigenous population, all except one.  This plane, this world, it was devoid of sentient life, but it was very much populated.  The Crossroads was very much like a trade city on a mortal world, where the denizens of both the Outer Planes and the material planes could be found, buying and selling, trading and bartering, engaging in trade and commerce where absolutely anything could be found for sale…for a price.  And just like any trade city, it had certain districts which separated the rich from the poor, where the goods being traded were either rare or common.  Generally speaking, the closer one was to the center of the plane, which was rumored to be the pathway which led to that place where the God of Gods made his home, the more important and richer one was.  The cities near the center of the plane were grand, extravagant places, rich beyond rich, where the most powerful and important beings in the Outer Planes dwelled.  It was where Elder Gods of the material planes might come and stay when they sent a projection here, or where the mightiest of the citizens of the Outer Planes resided, a place where one would never find a mortal.  As one got further and further away, the quality and richness of the cities slowly eroded, and mortals who had come from the material planes would become more commonplace, more visible.  Grand cities gave way to large cities, which gave way to neatly kept towns, which gave way to small, tidy hamlets, which gave way to rustic villages.

      This particular section of the Crossroads, far from the center of the plane, was nothing but a small settlement built up around a brook that bisected the well-maintained dirt road, a few buildings and an inn.  It had a permanent population, several dozen human-like beings from the Outer Planes called archons.  Archons were the “humans” of the Outer Planes, the most numerous of the indigenous peoples except for Demons, who were actually alive.  They were born, they lived, and they died, all within the bounds of these upper dimensions.  Many of them looked rather fantastic, with strange colored skin or glowing eyes, but some of them looked so normal that they could walk down a street in any human-dominated material plane and draw no attention to themselves.  Some actually followed gods who made their homes within their home planes, some did not.  Many moved to other planes to find more room, or find better conditions, such as the ones who had moved here.  Most of these archons were originally from Arcadia, but had moved here to the vast open lands of the Crossroads, where they could grow their crops without the magic of the plane endlessly growing over the land they meticulously cleared with thick forest.  This was a small, reclusive settlement, far from the nearest gateway, which rarely saw a strange face.

      The inn’s common room was almost empty at this time…since there was no night here, the locals kept their own time, which often differed from settlement to settlement.  In this particular settlement, it was considered to be midday, and many were out tending their crops.  They farmed to feed themselves, and would trade the extra for those things they couldn’t get for themselves, be it either by craft or by magic.  There was only the innkeeper and his two daughters, preparing for the afternoon surge as farmers finished their tasks and sought a hot meal and an enjoyable evening with friends and neighbors, and no visitors.  There were rarely visitors, not at this time of the season.  They would have some wandering merchants as guests when harvest time came, but not right now.  They cooked the meals they would offer later that day, prepared their drinks, cleaned tables, and prepared fires.

      Then there was someone in the doorway.  The dark-haired innkeeper looked up, as did his two daughters, one of which had glowing white eyes instead of what would be considered the human norm, betraying her archon heritage.  They looked at this stranger, and immediately realized two things.  First, they saw that this was no archon, this was a god…which was very, very strange.  Gods never came here.  This was what they called a mundane place, where living beings—not even archons were called mortal, they were spared that insult—did what living beings did and basicly stayed out the gods’ way.  This particular god was not a very strong one, barely stronger than a mortal, or the more powerful archons…just a minor godling.  He was probably a sycophant, a servant of a greater god, with just enough of a following to be considered a god himself.  Despite that, though, it meant that his was a power to respect.  The second strange thing they saw was that this god was really here.  This was no projection of power…this god did not send a projection of himself, he had come in person…which was extremely unusual..  He stood before them, and if someone ran a sword through him, he would be dead.  That was why it was so unusual.  This minor godling took an awful risk by coming here in person.  The body he had built for himself when he entered the plane was a permanent creation, and he would occupy it from that moment forward.

      It was certainly an odd form.  Most gods of the mortal realms went for two extremes:  human-like or utterly non-human.  This creation was close to being human, but not quite.  It was a very tall body, human mostly, but with oversized hands that were covered in black fur, fur all the way up to the elbows, and strange oversized feet that looked more like an animal’s paw than a human foot, also covered in black fur.  His head was capped with triangular ears, and ominous green eyes with vertically slitted pupils.  The creature was wearing a simple black vest that left its tanned torso bare, black trousers, and he carried a simple wooden staff.

      He padded in on silent feet, and the innkeeper waved his arm.  “Welcome to the Whispering Brook Inn,” he said grandly.  “It’s not often we get visitors, and certainly not one of your stature, your Lordship.  Might we offer you something?  Ale?  Food?”

      The intimidating fellow came in and sat at the bar, setting his staff against the bar beside him.  “Thank you.  I’ve walked a long way,” he said.  “I’m not entirely sure where I am, or where I’m going.”

      The innkeeper looked at his glowing-eyed daughter curiously, but she only shrugged.

      “Well, you’re quite a long ways from the center, my Lord,” he said.  “Have you somehow become lost?  Should we have one of our windcallers send a message into the cities to have someone come get you?”

      “No,” he said, holding up a large hand, with long, wicked claws recessed into the fingertips.  “I’d rather not have others know I’m here.”

      “Ah.  What would please you, my Lord?”

      “Please don’t call me that,” he said.  “My name is Tarrin.”

      “Well, we, don’t get very many gods in this region, my—Tarrin,” he said with a smile.  “And certainly not in person.  I must say, you’re an overly brave individual.  The risk you take, just like us bloods, it’s impressive.”

      “Bloods?”

      “A term the extra-dimensionals use for us,” he chuckled.  “We have flesh and blood, so they call us bloods.  Most gods simply project their consciousness into this dimension, but you’ve come in person.  With all due respect, Tarrin, that’s quite bold.”

      “I, I don’t have much choice,” he chuckled.  “Though I find your respect for my bravery flattering.”

      “If you don’t mind my asking, why come here in person?”

      “Because I can’t do what you were talking about.  Project, you called it.  I can’t do that.”

      “Interesting.  You have the feel of a god, but if you can’t project….”  He shrugged.  “Interesting.”

      “I’m rather unique,” Tarrin said mildly, as the innkeeper set a plate of strange bluish vegetables before him.  “I’m afraid I have no idea what you use for money here,” he warned.  “And if I did, I don’t have any.”

      “My, you’re certainly a curious one,” the innkeeper smiled, producing a simple silver disc.  “This is what we use for money here, my good fellow.  The krin.”

      The strange creature looked very closely at the silver disc.  “It’s…not metal.”

      “No, it’s solid energy,” he replied.

      “Nice.  Well, I don’t have any.”

      “Well, you seem an honest sort, and never let it be said that Medjren Kthraska was one to turn aside a hand held out in honest need.”  He pushed the plate towards the furry creature.  “Eat.  If you need a place to sleep this cycle, then you’re welcome to stay.  I’m sure that we can find a chore here and there to help you work off a cycle’s rest in a room that would otherwise stand empty.”
      “I appreciate your kindness, Medjren,” the creature, Tarrin, said gratefully.  “I may have to stay a couple of days—cycles,” he corrected.  “I have to get ready to move on.  I don’t have much time.”

      “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing?” he asked.

      The creature looked him in the eyes.  “I’ve come to kill a god,” he said with utter sincerity.  “And I don’t have much time.  I have to kill him before what he’s done causes a catastrophe.”

      “My.  That sounds…serious,” he said slowly.

      “It is.  It was serious enough for me to come here, and trust me, I did something big to get myself here.  He knows I’m coming, so I have to be careful.”

      “Well, then the first thing I suggest is that you don’t tell people what you’re going to do,” he said with a smile and a wink.

      Tarrin laughed. “Well, you deserved the truth, it’s the least I could give you for your kindness.”

      Medjren laughed.  “I appreciate that, Tarrin.”

      “I came here first, because I can get to where he is from here,” he explained.  “But first I have to find out where he is.  When I do, I’ll go to his home plane, track him down, and kill him.”

      “A very dangerous proposition.  Fighting a god in his home plane is not very smart, if you don’t mind an honest opinion.  You’ll be fighting him in a place where he can control the very plane itself.”

      “I know, but I have little choice,” he sighed.  “I know I won’t be able lure him out into a neutral area, so my only option is to kill him in his home territory.  But I’m a hunter.  It’s part of my nature.  I can find him, then stalk him, and then I’ll kill him.”

      “And then?”

      “And then the damage he did will be undone, and I can go home,” he said simply.  “At least if my mother is on her toes, anyway.”

      “You make it sound simple.”

      “Anything can be simple, if you approach it the right way,” he said, finishing the blue vegetables.  “That was pretty good.  Now, what can I do for you to work off that meal?  I feel the need to go do something.”

      “For now, nothing.  Sit.  Rest.  You are my guest.  Later, when the farmers come, I’ll have work for you to do, but for now, let the weariness of the road leave your feet and enjoy my hospitality.”

      “I appreciate that, Medjren,” he said with a nod.

      Tarrin turned in the stool and leaned an elbow on the bar.  Odd, that this place would seem so much like home…it was almost, bizarre.  But there were many differences, like the feel of this place, the scents of these human-looking creatures, and the very feel of the land itself.  This place was…pristine.  There was no other word to describe it.

      Not that he was here to sightsee.  He had come for one reason, and for one reason only.  Somewhere, somewhere out there in the multiverse, the One was trying to recover from the dreadful damage Tarrin had done to him.  He had lost his icon, and even now was suffering the backlash of that loss.  Very soon he would start laboring to create another, with the hope that Tarrin succeeded in destroying the Demons and driving them away.  By the time he completed a new icon, Tarrin may very well be gone, and the One could rebuild his empire and pick up where he left off.  Tarrin had done major damage to him and to his plans, but with luck and effort, he could rebuild.

      But his existence itself was now the very problem.  And Tarrin had literally sacrificed himself to come here, to reach this place of gods and extra-dimensional creatures, to be able to fight the One once more, and not just the One’s icon.

      There were three ways to banish a Demon.  Destroy its physical form, banish it using the power of a god, or kill the one who had summoned it.

      Tarrin could not destroy the Demon Lord’s physical form.  Tarrin could not have a god banish it, for it was too powerful.  So, his only option, the only option left, was to kill the one who had summoned him.  The One had summoned the Demon Lord to Pyrosia, and even though Tarrin had destroyed the One’s icon, the One still lived.  He had come here to finish the job, to kill the One, and in the instant of his death, the Demon Lord would be banished back to the Abyss, as would every Demon that the Demon Lord had himself summoned.

      It was a very simple tactic:  crush the head of the snake.  And the head of this snake was the one attached to the One’s shoulders.

      Unfortunately, it had required a rather drastic action from him.  He knew he wouldn’t have been able to come here as a mortal, everything he’d read had warned him.  As a mortal, there were many places he wouldn’t have been able to go, and some of the gates in this dimension only worked for a god or a denizen of the Outer Planes…they simply wouldn’t work if he came as a Were-cat.  So he had been forced to abandon his physical shell, use the All of Pyrosia to catapult his soul into the Astral in the instant of his death, and then come here, to Concordant Opposition, and form a new body, almost exactly the same way that Demons formed physical bodies in the material plane.  But this body was more or less permanent, and within it he faced the same perils he would face as a mortal.  He lived within this body, but he could also die inside of it.  And out here, the physical form was only an expression of the soul within.  Killing the body would kill the soul, and his death would be irrevocable.  His very soul would be slain, and he would be dead beyond any definition or concept of dead.

      That was the risk he was taking.  But then again, that was the risk he took in the mortal plane as well, so it wasn’t a risk to which he was not accustomed, and the risk was worth it.  If this worked, he could banish the Demon Lord from Pyrosia without having to directly confront him.

      He hadn’t lied when he told the One that he would kill him.  He meant it.  He meant it to the point where he had cast aside his mortal form and his mundane life, and had come here, to the Outer Planes, where he would track down the One, go to him, and then destroy him.

      And when he did, the Demons would be banished from Pyrosia, and the duty he had to correct that grievous mistake on his part would be completed.

      It had to be done quickly.  The shadow Tarrin had left on Pyrosia would help slow the Demon Lord down, distract him, harass him.  And if it managed to live long enough, and if Tarrin failed against the One, it could complete his mission by growing strong enough to face the Demon Lord and then destroy him.  But Tarrin wasn’t going to depend on that.  The shadow had the ability, but right now it was very weak, and the Demon Lord would make destroying it a priority.  If it managed to survive long enough to pose a direct threat to the One, it would take a lot of luck.

      And while that was happening, the Demon Lord had free reign to move around on Pyrosia, and move his armies.  That army that Kang was going to bring to Pyrosia now really, really mattered, because his army would help Bragg and prevent the Demon Lord from taking out the Duran general and his army before he was in a position to do his part.

      Tarrin looked at the two creatures—archons, they were called archons—tending to the tables, and inwardly smiled.  This was not what he expected to see when he arrived in the mystical, mythical, Outer Planes…two barmaids preparing for the afternoon business.  It was a definite surprise.  My, the stories he would have to tell when he finally went home, after the Goddess took that duplicate of him she was hiding in a closet in Haven and brought him back.  He wasn’t sure how he was going to get his soul back to Sennadar, but he’d find a way…or she would

      If all else failed, he’d just go find her, he supposed.  She was a god, after all, and that meant that she had a realm out here in the Outer Planes as well, a place where her true self dwelled.  All he had to do was find her, and she could take care of it.

      He had faith in her.

      He closed his eyes, lacing his fingers together before him.  He had a long and dangerous road ahead, but he was confident that things would work out for the best.  He would find and destroy the One, he would banish the Demon Lord by killing the one who summoned him, and then the Goddess would find a way to bring him home.  It wouldn’t be easy, and there was no telling what wonders and horrors he would encounter on his dangerous path, but he was willing to endure the trials and face those challenges.  He would face them because he had a duty to uphold.  The Demon Lord was his responsibility, it was his problem.  And he would do whatever it took in order to correct that problem.  No matter what it took, no matter what he had to do, he would get that Demon Lord off of Pyrosia.  It was his duty.  It was his burden.  It was his responsibility.  And if there was one thing that Tarrin Kael could never do, it was turn his back on something that was his responsibility.  He would pursue the One to the ends of the universe, to the end of time, to the very edge of oblivion itself, until the One was dead, the Demon Lord was banished from Pyrosia, and his duty was carried out.

      Honor and Blood.  Duty was honor, and the cost of that honor was blood.

      He would carry out his duty, no matter what it took.

      It was just that simple.