Swarm and Steel

ONE

Sanity is a delusion, reality a myth.

—Versklaver Denker, Gefahrgeist Philosopher

OPEN YOUR EYES, MEHRERE.

Eyes open.

Mehrere? A name?

No, she thought, Geisteskranken manifesting as multiple people. She knew that but not how or why.

Her back against an uneven wall, stones jutted against her spine. Confining alleyways, deep in shadow, wended away in every direction. The street, filthy, thick with garbage and human waste, looked unfamiliar. Thick vomit, once warm but cooling quickly, covered her thighs and snug black leather pants. She blinked, vision smearing in and out of focus, trying to remember how she got here.

Nothing.

She stared at the mess in her lap, the regurgitated remains of a meal; hard to tell now what it was, but there’s lots of red. Hopefully wine or tomatoes rather than blood. An empty scabbard, simple and unadorned, hung at her hip on the left side.

The street swam, and for a moment she saw double. Her head, resting against the wall, throbbed with blinding pain.

Had she fallen, struck her head against the stone?

No. Someone hit me, tried to cave my skull in.

Raised voices echoed down the alley, people screaming panicked orders. She heard the distant crash of splintering wood.

Leaning forward, her head came away from the wall with a wet sucking sound. Nausea pulsed in hot waves. Had there been anything left within, it too would now be on her lap. She reached her left hand to the back of her head and found it hot and wet. Her skull felt soft, soggy. The hand, petite and delicate, came away spattered in blood and tangled clumps of black hair. Beneath the mess, dark lines of swirling ink peeked through. Wiping the hand on her vomit covered pants, she stared at the intricate tattoo of a closed eye on the palm. It looked like it might open at any moment. She dreaded what she’d see.

Leaning back, she closed her eyes. She could die here; let it all go. That wasn’t quite right, she would die here.

Or maybe she already had.

More voices, louder this time.

Open your eyes, Mehrere.

Leaning heavily against the wall, she pushed herself to her feet and stood bent, hands on knees as spasms of nausea twisted her guts leaving her gasping and retching bloody drool. She stared at her feet, at well-made but simple boots. Bloody ropes of black hair hung past her face, dripped bright crimson to the cobblestone street. The boots told her nothing of who or what she was. Her left hand strayed toward the empty scabbard.

Where is my sword?

With a grunt she stood straight, still leaning against the wall as waves of dizziness threatened to topple her. The voices grew in volume, desperate and loud.

Were they searching for her?

God, she wanted to sink back to the ground. Lie down. Let the world go on without her. She had nothing more to offer. Everything she’d been was gone, stripped away by violence.

This, she decided, told her something of herself.

You’re the kind of person who gets their head crushed in dark alleys.

She searched through her clothes, finding hidden knives, a book of poems by someone named Halber Tod, and a folded sheet of thick vellum. Her body she found well-curved yet hard with muscle. The sheet was a bank note from the Verzweiflung Banking Conglomerate, a promise of payment to one Zerfall Seele. The numbers swam before her eyes, and she gave up trying to read them.

Zerfall. Is that me, or did I steal this? Was she a thief? That would explain the knives and all the black.

Shoving the bank note and book of poems back into a pocket, she pushed away from the wall and stood, knees wobbling. She’d had a sword and there were knives hidden about her body. And someone recently tried to kill you. Resisting the insidious desire to reach back and test the softness of her skull, she felt less than certain they’d failed.

Angry voices echoed off stone from somewhere to her left. Turning in the other direction, she stumbled down the alley, leaning against the walls. Blood ran from her hairline, stung her eyes, stained her blurred vision red. Two turns later, she found herself blinking in bright sunlight. Before her, a wide street lined with shops and stalls. Gone was the stench of poverty. The people, fat and soft, wore their wealth in looping chains of gold, their skin studded with inset diamonds. She found no such ostentatious displays on her own flesh. Was she among the city’s poor?

The thief angle looked increasingly likely.

The few people noticing her shied away, eyes wide; no doubt she looked and smelled awful.

Voices from the alley behind her drove her forward. Pushing herself from the wall she staggered into the crowd, hoping to lose herself within. People parted around her, staying well clear and avoiding eye contact.

Do they know me? She reached toward a man, trying to catch his attention. When he noticed her he sobbed and fled into the crowd.

What was that about? Am I some kind of outcast?

A tall woman wearing long chain hauberk, a sword hanging at her side, pushed through the mass of people. Her eyes widened and she yelled, She’s here! I’ve found her!

Oh thank the god, she must be city guard. Maybe—

The woman charged, sword drawn.

The street narrowed to a tunnel of focus.

The woman’s sword, held in her right hand, glinted in the sun. Step to her left, force her to attack across her body. Knife in hand—how did that get there?—feint high and stab low with a second knife—what?—concealed from sight. There, thigh exposed in a slit on the hauberk designed to allow freedom of movement. Slash the thigh, opening the femoral artery. Kick out a knee and hear the joint pop. Wet sob of agony cut short as the second knife, finish as dull as the edge was sharp, stabbed upward into the woman’s throat.

She stood, barely breathing, over the corpse. The crowd, as yet unaware of the violence, had yet to react.

That was fast. Easy. If not a thief, perhaps she was an assassin.

An elderly woman spun, screaming, She’s here! I’ve found her! The old lady rushed forward, arthritic knuckles and wrinkled hands forming bony claws.

Drive the knife into her heart and spin away, free. Send the corpse toppling with a shove.

Only now were people beginning to react, mostly in confusion. Bodies. Blood.

She’s here! I’ve found her! A young boy no more than eight years old charged, arms outstretched like he meant to tackle her. His body toppled past her, the weight tearing the knife from her hand. Not to worry, there are three more where that came from.

Armed men poured from the alley from which she’d come.

She fled, stumbling into yet another narrow street choked with garbage. Someone followed, screaming, She’s here! I’ve found her! and she spun a knife, perfectly weighted, into their throat without even taking the time to register who they were.

In the distance, towering structures of marble and granite loomed over the poverty surrounding her. Churches and banks, it was difficult to tell them apart. The people lurking here were dirty and poor in sharp contrast to the soft luxury of those on the main street. She leapt something that was either a corpse or someone sleeping facedown in the middle of the lane.

Momentarily out of sight, she turned into another alley.

‘She’s here! I’ve found her!’ The words, always the same. Always just one voice screaming them.

She’s here! I’ve found her!

The lone voice pursued her through narrow streets, growing ever closer.

Ducking into a detritus-strewn alcove, she stopped, pressing herself into the shadows. No breath. No sound. Deathly calm, heart doing its lethargic thump thump. Shouldn’t I be scared? How often did this happen that her body took it all in stride? Approaching feet. A young woman, face flushed and still bearing the last of youthful baby-fat, came into view.

No time for thought. Crush the nose with an elbow strike. Lean into it, put your full weight behind the blow. She felt the satisfying crunch of shattered cartilage through the sharp bone in her elbow. The woman’s feet came off the street and she sprawled like a doll thrown to the ground, her mouth opened to yell. A brutal kick to the stomach kept her gasping for air.

Knife hard against throat, drawing blood.

Why are you chasing me?

The girl snarled hatred, teeth bared in a psychotic grin. Go ahead, Zerfall.

She’s taunting me, she doesn’t care if I kill her. At least she knew her name now.

We’ll hunt you forever, the girl said. Swarm awaits.

Why? What did I do? Who am I—

Hölle will never forgive your betrayal.

Hölle?

She’s not dead, she survived. The girl grinned triumph. Didn’t expect that, did you?

The clattering of armour grew closer. Zerfall severed the girl’s hamstrings, careful not to nick arteries lest she bleed out too quickly, and fled.

Why did I do that? Why did I leave her alive? She didn’t know, but it felt like the right choice.

Spotting the city wall in the distance, she left the claustrophobic alleys behind. I have to get out. With no knowledge of who or what she was, she had to escape, leave this city behind. Anyone and everyone could be an enemy. She ran past boutiques selling scarves and trinkets as pretty as they were useless. Clean streets. Marble and brass framed every shop. So much wealth just a few strides from such poverty.

Turning a corner she spotted the city gates, half a dozen lounging guards and a young squire leading a horse. The gates were open, the guards bored and inattentive.

Zerfall wanted that horse, needed it.

A score of heartbeats later, the squire and guards were dead or dying and she rode east, the setting sun warming her back. Ahead, the land rolled in verdant hills dotted with sprawling farms.

What lay beyond that serene landscape?

She didn’t know.

Eleven dead in half as many minutes. Only death lay behind. She couldn’t go back, not when anyone and everyone might be an enemy. If she didn’t know herself, how could she know her friends? Do I even have friends? The word felt strange, alien.

What did she know?

My name is Zerfall and I kill, quick and easy. She thought about the people she cut down and felt nothing. I’m a remorseless killer.

Or had that been expedience?

No, you didn’t have to kill the city guards or the squire. The sound of her voice, husky and deep, startled her. So, that’s what I sound like.

Zerfall rode in silence, her hips rolling with the movement of the chestnut horse. Reaching forward to stroke its ears, she realized her fingers felt numb. Not lacking strength, but the sensation of the horse’s hair felt oddly distant. She turned the left hand, examining the thin fingers, black nail polish shellacked thick enough to look wet. The palm. A closed eye. What a strange thing to tattoo on one’s hand. She wondered what it had meant to her; it must have hurt. She closed the hand into a fist, shutting away the closed eye. Something about the tattoo left her uncomfortable. It meant something, said something about her. Something she should know.

If that eye opens, what will I see?

Clenching her teeth in the expectation of pain, she reached back and probed at the rear of her skull. The blood had dried, caking hair and god knew what else into rigid clumps.

God knew … God, singular? It felt right, and yet wrong. Like an affectation. So much was missing. She spoke a language and knew nothing of its origins. Had she been a native to that city, or a visiting foreigner? Try as she might, she could think of no words in other languages. Come to think of it, how would she know what words belonged to what language?

She pushed fingers against the back of her head. An area the size of her fist felt soft and spongy, but with the mass of blood and hair, she couldn’t tell how much was broken bone. I shouldn’t be conscious, much less standing and fighting. She blinked, half expecting to topple from the saddle. Nothing. She felt fine, if distant and numb. Considering her head had been hit hard enough to leave her unconscious and incapable of remembering anything about herself, the pain was muted.

Zerfall picked at the black polish on her fingernails; she hadn’t noticed starting. Was this some old habit so ingrained even now she kept it up? Perhaps it meant someday she might remember more of her life.

With nothing else to think about, she recalled the few moments she remembered. The woman in the hauberk, the old woman, the young boy, and the girl she hamstrung: Somehow they were all the same person. That made no sense. Did it?

We’ll hunt you forever, the girl said. Swarm awaits.

What the hell did that mean? A swarm of what?

Hell. Singular rather than plural? Could there be only one hell? That felt wrong much in the same way god felt wrong.

The girl mentioned another name: Hölle. Apparently Zerfall betrayed this woman and attempted to kill her. That she failed rankled. She wanted to turn the horse around and ride back to—whatever that city was—to finish the job, but she had no idea who Hölle was, no idea what she looked like, and no idea where to find her. If she decided to follow through with the desire, nothing and no one would stop her. She’d kill everything and everyone who got in her way.

I’m not the kind of person who takes failure well.

Hölle. The name meant nothing and everything.

HÖLLE LAY ON HER side, curled around the agony in her stomach. She drown in torment, physical and emotional. Each breath shook with shuddering sobs. Her heart and soul were riven, torn in two. Not just her heart and soul, her very mind had been sundered.

Less than an hour ago her sister, Zerfall, had tried to kill her, stabbed her in the gut with that damned sword, Blutblüte. It was a miracle she didn’t now stand in Swarm—the Täuschung hell she’d hallucinated into existence—surrounded by the seething crush of naked humanity. If Zerfall and Blutblüte couldn’t kill her, nothing could.

The One True God protects me; my work here isn’t finished.

Still, she felt broken. Betrayed.

She remembered Zerfall pacing the room as she laid out her plans for the church. Her sister had been increasingly distracted and distant for years, becoming less and less involved in the running of the church. In the last decade Zerfall did little except recruit new Geisteskranken to their cause. A powerful Gefahrgeist, it was easy for her to convince people to join them. As more of their holy work fell to Hölle she realized how good she was at this. The long hours left her continually exhausted, feeling stretched thin, but her own suffering meant nothing in the face of saving all humanity. While it bothered her, she assumed her sister needed space and left her alone. Doing the work of the One True God was a life-long task, often brutal and grinding. If Zerfall needed some time to herself, Hölle understood.

Hölle shied from the memory of her sister drawing that terrible sword and her even more terrible words: You’re trying to replace me. You’re trying to kill me.

Why would she say that?

For over four hundred years she and her sister stood together, bound to their purpose by the One True God: Once humanity suffered for their sins, they would be freed to once again become the gods they were always meant to be.

Lost in thought, she stared at the detritus heaped in the corner of her room. Dust, discarded articles of clothing, and a considerable amount of long dark hair, both hers and Zerfall’s, had been piling up for years. Maybe longer. The entire Täuschung compound was a chaotic mess, had been for as long as she could remember. She didn’t care; a religion of suffering had little call for cleanliness. And none of the millions of worshippers spread throughout the city states would ever see the inside of this church, the true core of the Täuschung. For the sane masses, the church presented a very different front. To them, Swarm was a heaven of belonging, a collection of righteous souls awaiting the final day when all humanity had been saved. The sane could never understand that torment and suffering were the keys to redemption. If lies had to be told, it was for their own good.

They don’t even know they’re already in a prison. We’ll make them gods again, set them free.

Still, she had a dim memory of things being different. Cleaner, like once they’d taken pride in their holy mission.

Four hundred years of living in perpetual misery. Four hundred years as the Voice of Wahrergott, the One True God, with only her sister to stand at her side. Centuries of suffering, each and every day seeing this prison for what it was and knowing it would take millennia more to free humanity.

Her delusion, driven by the will of Wahrergott, birthed Swarm. For four hundred years the Täuschung religion, the one hidden beneath the public façade, fed her child with souls. Millions now populated Swarm and more were sent every day.

One of the Täuschung priests, a doctor who lost his mind after losing too many patients, had bandaged her belly, said she’d survive. He’d had her carried to her chambers and laid in bed. Though he offered narcotics to ease her pain, she refused. She wanted to feel this, needed to. Suffering was everything.

Tears had run, damp and hot. Now her eyes were dry, her face tight, lips tasting of salt, the sodden sheet beneath her cheek cooling. She embraced the discomfort as if it were a cherished lesson. Suffering and penance, as well she knew, was the key to unlocking everything.

And, oh, how she suffered.

Four hundred years with but one driving purpose, sacrificing everything she was and could have been to bring about the Ascension of Humanity, and here she hid, arms wrapped around a wound that should have killed her. Had her faith in Wahrergott faltered for but a single moment, she would surely have died.

Four hundred years and still I live.

The memory of cold steel sliding into her gut, the wrenching twist as the hand holding that sword tore it free. The tortured moan ripped from her lips as she pitched to the ground. Numb recognition as she rolled over to stare up into her sister’s face.

Four hundred years we stood together, never once wavering. How did this happen? What changed?

You’re trying to replace me. You’re trying to kill me.

Had Zerfall completely lost her mind? Had she finally fallen to the Pinnacle, the fate awaiting all Geisteskranken? Did the One True God no longer extend his protection to Hölle’s sister?

Hölle gritted her teeth in a snarl and the ice in her gut turned hot. Clutching her arms tight to her stomach as if relaxing them would allow her guts to fall free, she pushed herself into a sitting position.

Zerfall, why?

This physical pain was nothing in comparison to the soul-shredding agony of betrayal.

Four hundred years ago they’d been normal little girls, unimaginative and average in every way. A plague swept through their village, killing nine of ten people. Their parents and two little brothers died early, leaving the two sisters hallucinating, feverish and alone. The fever changed them. Wahrergott spoke his commands into their febrile minds as they lay dying:

This responsive reality is a hell. I am The One True God and Enforcer of the laws. To save humanity you must unite all in suffering. Penance for your crimes. Convince the world. This is your prison. Make your hell. Beyond this is paradise. You will be free, as gods.

Suffering, they learned, would set them free. Misery was the key. Someday, when humanity had suffered enough, paid for their heinous crime—and the even fouler breach of forgetting their crime—they would be free.

Hölle and Zerfall went to bed as two feverish sisters and rose, to the stench of their rotting family, as something more. Hölle awoke a Halluzin, and birthed a new hell with her hallucinations. Zerfall, a Gefahrgeist, bent humanity to her will, conscripting Geisteskranken and those meek sane in need of a religion into their priesthood. The Täuschung was born that night.

We were gods, she told the surviving villagers upon her miraculous recovery. Each and every one of us is an imprisoned god. I know how to set us free.

They mocked her, called her insane. Fools.

Four hundred years later, here she was. She’d built a church upon the words of Wahrergott. Penance for humanity’s forgotten crimes. The Täuschung were tens of thousands strong and growing. They had hospices in every city-state and preached words of hope and salvation to lure in the mentally stable. The Täuschung promised an eternity in paradise and the sane swarmed to them, proving their faith by pledging to die in a Täuschung hospice where devout priests could ensure their souls travelled to the Täuschung heaven.

That heaven was a lie. She’d dreamed of Swarm, a hell of endless suffering, and her Halluzin power made it real. Each hospice was overseen by sane priests who believed in the Swarm, the heaven. But within each hospice lay a dark heart, a core of Geisteskranken who believed in Swarm, the true Täuschung hell.

She and Zerfall had a plan and countless millennia to make it real. Belief defined reality. The delusions of one person, no matter how strongly held, twisted only local reality; the proximity of the dull and steady beliefs of the masses would limit even that. A powerful Gefahrgeist might bend the beliefs of a crowd or even a small city-state to their will, but to irrevocably change reality required vast numbers. Millions. Someday there would be more souls within Swarm than without and the balance would forever tip. Already there were more souls in their hallucinated hell than in Geldangelegenheiten, Geld to the locals, the city-state the Täuschung called home.

Hölle bit down hard on her lip, tasting blood. In recent years she found herself living increasingly in the past. She had so much past. Enough to drown in.

Focus. Embrace suffering as all Täuschung must.

Zerfall, soul of her soul, had turned on her. Hölle replayed their last conversation, struggling to understand why.

Aas gave me a book of poems, Zerfall had said, interrupting Hölle. Halber Tod.

Hölle was familiar with the poet. Talentless hack, she answered.

You’re trying to replace me. You’re trying to kill me.

Zerfall’s accusation had been so unexpected, so insane, Hölle had stood there, blinking at her sister, wondering who she was talking about.

And then Zerfall drew Blutblüte and drove the blade into Hölle’s belly. She stood over Hölle, watching her squirm with dead eyes. This is rotten, her sister added. Without another word she turned and walked away, leaving Blutblüte behind.

Hölle had nothing but questions. What did her sister’s senseless accusation mean? What had she meant by This is rotten? Why hadn’t she taken the sword? If it was a play for power, why hadn’t she finished her sister and claimed the church as her own?

Zerfall had always been quick to violence; her emotions ran hot, ever bubbling below the surface. She’d been the balance to Hölle’s steady temper and eternal patience.

Zerfall, we are nothing without each other, Hölle whispered.

Whatever her plans, whatever her reasons, Zerfall’s treason could topple the Täuschung, undo centuries of sacrifice and anguish. Zerfall must be stopped. No matter the cost.

Can you survive her death?

She twitched at the thought. There was something awful there she didn’t want to confront. Of course I’ll survive. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more excited she felt. Her sister had been holding her back. Maybe she no longer needed Zerfall as she once had. After all, she had been running the church with very little help for decades. I’m stronger now.

Zerfall had to die, and she knew just the man to do it: Aas, Zerfall’s lover. As a member of the Täuschung inner circle, Aas knew the church’s true mission. And Zerfall left him behind, abandoning him just as she abandoned Hölle.

Aas was an odd one, unique among her Geisteskranken priests. Unlike the others, he was plagued by a pesky curiosity. Before joining the Täuschung, he travelled the world. His inquisitive nature would drive him to dig deeper into what happened between Hölle and Zerfall. He might accept whatever she told him at first, but in time he’d question. His curiosity would be his death. That he was easily the most educated man she ever met did little for her willingness to trust him.

On the other hand, she’d know if he planned betrayal.

Hölle wiped at her face, making sure no hint of tears remained. She straightened her shirt, rigid with drying blood, and shoved her hair and clothes into place. Leaning forward with a grunt of pain, she pulled on the silk rope at the side of her bed. A bell hanging just on the other side of her chamber door rang. Captain Gedankenlos, a slab of muscle with a chin, cracked the door open, peeking only his head into her chambers.

Fetch Aas, said Hölle.

Gedankenlos nodded and was gone.

Hölle sagged back into bed. Her world felt thin, stretched to the point of tearing. Without Zerfall … If I close my eyes and let go I’ll fade to nothing. Her eyes snapped open, a rush of terror speeding her heart. I’m real. I’m alive. Then why did she feel so … she searched for the word … illusory?

It was Zerfall’s fault. Zerfall did this with her betrayal. She’ll pay. Once Zerfall was dead, everything would change.

HALF AN HOUR LATER, Aas entered and stood at Hölle’s side. His hands fidgeted nervously, the knuckles sagging with loose skin. You’d never know he was a merciless killer. He looked more like the kind of troll you’d find hoarding books in a dark library. The man was beyond heinous, abhorrent in every possible manner. He’d be bald if not for the few thick black hairs sprouting chaotically about his pale skull. The sallow skin of his face hung wrinkled, slack and swinging, in long jowls. Thick folds of yellow flesh dragged at his lower eyelids with their weight. A longbow of blackened bone and wood hung over one shoulder and a quiver of obsidian-tipped arrows, feathers thick and glistening sable, hung on the other. The bow he’d carried for years, but the fletchings on those arrows were something new.

I know where those feathers come from, thought Hölle. It might be a minor self-destruction, but Aas already suffered Wahnist and Therianthrope tendencies. If he became Trichotillic, it might mean his delusions were winning the battle with his dwindling sanity. Comorbidity often presaged a Geisteskranken’s imminent collapse.

Aas bowed low, and his eyes, black pupils surrounded by bloodshot brown and lacking any whites, examined her as if drinking in every detail. Did he search for weakness, or was he trying to see down her shirt again?

{She’s been crying. I want to lick those tears.}

Tell me you have her, said Hölle, ignoring Aas’ disgusting Wahnist tendencies. The delusional wretch believed everyone heard his thoughts and broadcast them endlessly.

{Was that a nipple? Did I just see a nipple?} Aas licked thin lips, glancing at Hölle, his horrid eyes beady and bright, to see if his fixation with her breasts had been noticed. One of the priests caught her, hit from behind with a cudgel.

Hölle’s chest tightened. She’s dead?

She killed him, escaped and fled the city. {Gods I miss her already. The way she cut me—}

Silence! She’s alive. Fear and jubilation wrestled for dominance.

{What if she knows I lust after her as I lust after her sister. What if she—} The stream of thought choked to nothing. Aas showed sharp white teeth in something between a desperate leer and an ingratiating grin.

Hölle knew all about the torrid little romance Zerfall maintained with this saggy-skinned and bloody-eyed vermin. Knowing of its existence didn’t mean she understood it. What did Zerfall see in this man? Was it part of some larger scheme? No, Zerfall had never been one for plans—that fell to Hölle.

Hölle might not have Zerfall’s Gefahrgeist power, but she understood manipulation. She watched Aas pluck one of his ear hairs and examine it in detail.

He stuffed the hair into a pocket. {Perfect. This will do nicely for Hexenwerk.}

Hexenwerk? What was the wretch thinking about now? Was he making something with his own foul hair? She shuddered at the thought.

He’s insane, but can I trust him? She knew one sure way to find out.

Reaching out a thin-fingered hand, she caressed Aas’ arm. I need you. She licked her lips suggestively, peering up from where she sat, dark eyes speaking promises she had no intention of keeping. Zerfall has succumbed to her delusions; she no longer rules her thoughts.

{She’s touching me.} Aas blinked myopically at her hand, small eyes intent. {Is this true?}

Already he questions me.

Hölle had to be careful. Aas might be insane, but he was far from stupid. She no longer hears the word of Wahrergott.

{Why did she flee Geld? Why did she leave me?}

I know you shared a bond, Hölle said before he spewed more of his vile thoughts.

{I love her.} A bond of suffering, he said. {She cut me.} I can’t believe she—

And that is why it must be you.

Me?

You took pleasure in the suffering she inflicted.

{Yes yes yes!} No, I—

The One True God sees everything. You love her.

{It’s true. After, for a few short moments, I feel forgiven.} I needed her to hurt me—

There is no forgiveness. The idea is offensive in the eyes of Wahrergott. Hölle removed her hand from Aas’ arm and rose to her feet, one hand pressed tight to her wounded belly. Though Aas towered over her he shrank back, cowering. "You shall not be forgiven until we have all been forgiven, until every single man, woman, and child has suffered enough to appease the One True God. She clenched her teeth against the tearing pain in her gut. You must suffer for your transgression."

{She knows. She knows everything.} Aas bowed his head in shame leaving her to stare at the puckered chicken flesh of his sagging scalp. I must make amends.

Doubt stalled Hölle, strangled her thoughts. When Zerfall is dead … Everything would be different. Better, somehow. Her sister … Zerfall will not despoil four hundred years of effort.

You must hunt and kill my sister. Wahrergott wills it. Aas would be the instrument of her vengeance. His past with Zerfall made this a desperate gamble, but knowing she’d hear his every thought guaranteed she’d know if he lied. It appalled her that there was no one else she could trust with this.

Aas stared at her, his bloodshot eyes as wide as she’d ever seen them. For a few heartbeats the endless puke of spewed thought remained quiet. Then, {Kill her? Kill my love?} Me?

She advanced on Aas, and the man retreated before her wrath. Wahrergott demands you suffer for your pleasures.

I shall atone for my sins. {Wahrergott, forgive me.} I shall kill Zerfall.

A start, but not enough. She needed to know he would kill Zerfall. She needed to hear him think it.

There could be no room for doubt. With Zerfall gone, Hölle was the will of Wahrergott. Wahrergott chose her. Wahrergott spoke to her. Nothing else mattered. It can’t all be for nothing.

Hölle let slip some small sliver of fear. Shadows danced and coalesced in her peripheral vision, scenes of an eternal hell with no feature other than the thronging souls who populated it. No trees littered the landscape, no mountains shimmered in the distance. No sun hung above. The sky gave off a harsh, unchanging light, illuminating the teeming crowd of souls. Distant screams echoed about her chambers. Swarm was a hell of souls with nothing to distract its denizens. Humanity, she knew from personal experience, needed nothing more than humanity to breed suffering. Scenes of endless rape and murder played over and over as tormented souls, some of whom had been imprisoned for hundreds of years, sought distraction from the unchanging nothing. Swarm, packed tight, shoulder to shoulder, went on forever.

Aas backed away, hands lifting as if to defend himself from the hellish vision. Is it real?

Belief defines reality.

Aas stared, appalled and excited by the scene he witnessed. But someone else could believe something different.

She said, "I believe, as if it ended all possible debate. Those millions of souls believe."

Aas’ breath caught and his eyes brimmed with tears. {Gods, no. I believe. I believe in Swarm.}

You shall be the assassin of The One True God, said Hölle. For as long as you serve Wahrergott you shall never die, she lied. Do you swear to serve Wahrergott with all your soul?

{Yes yes yes! Anything!} Aas knelt before Hölle, a single tear trickled down his sagging face, following deep folds. I swear I shall serve. Forever.

Zerfall must die.

{Zerfall must die.} I will find her. I will kill her. {I’m sorry, my love. I must send you to Swarm to save myself.}

Zerfall betrayed Wahrergott, said Hölle, ignoring the puerile filth and chaos of Aas’ thoughts. She betrayed us all. I’ve done it. Her lover will betray her as she betrayed me.

Yes. Aas sobbed agreement. She betrayed Wahrergott.

She abandoned you as she abandoned me, said Hölle. Aas glanced at her, his lips stretched in anguish, tears flowing freely now. It hurts, doesn’t it? He nodded, his sagging jowls swaying. "Make her suffer."

Aas nodded again, saying nothing, his thoughts spewing a confused babble of sex and torture as if they were one and the same.

Stand.

He wiped his eyes with a sleeve. The skin on his face and skull seemed to have sagged even further. But something burned deep within his bloodshot eyes. Hunger. Dark glee. It will not be easy to find her and even more difficult to kill her. {Gods I want to see her again, to hurt her.} Perhaps I can talk to her? Discover why—

Beware her Gefahrgeist powers. You must kill her from a distance.

I always kill from a distance. {Coward!}

She must suffer as she has made us suffer.

{Did Zerfall hurt Hölle as she hurt me? The thought! I must escape this wretchedly insane bitch so I can relieve myself.} A hand strayed toward his groin and stopped when he saw her notice. I shall leave immediately.

Hölle, biting her tongue, watched Aas flee the room. The disgusting bug could barely refrain from touching himself. It mattered not. He’d kill Zerfall. She’d decide what to do with him after.

With the door firmly closed, she climbed back into bed, still clutching her stomach. She shouldn’t have stood, blood stained her bandages where she’d torn the wound.

She remembered Zerfall’s calm face as she drew Blutblüte, the utter lack of emotion.

Zerfall must have known I would never forgive her. She knew I would repay the hurt a thousand times.

The answer, while painful, was all too clear: Zerfall, a Gefahrgeist, didn’t care that she hurt her sister.

But she would. When Zerfall woke to find herself in Swarm, then she would care. Then she would regret betraying Hölle. When she is dead I will—

A warm hand stroked Hölle’s hair as Zerfall used to during those rare times when offering comfort.

Zerfall? Hölle, rolled over to stare up at the beautiful woman sitting at the side of her bed. She was surprised to realize it was disappointment and not fear she felt most. Is it really—

The petite woman shook her head, achingly familiar thick black hair wafting scents of honey. You are fragmented. Torn. You love her. You hate her. The woman smiled sadly. I am your grief. Call me Pharisäer.

Hölle understood immediately. Wahrergott sent you to replace Zerfall. The One True God has not abandoned me because of Zerfall’s failure. The god had given her back her sister.

I am your pain. I am your doubt. And I shall never betray you.

Hölle closed her eyes, enjoying the fingers working at the knots in her hair. When she’s dead it won’t hurt any more. When she’s in Swarm—

You don’t believe that.

Hölle sighed. Pharisäer was right. Still, I can take some pleasure in knowing she’ll suffer.

But that’s not why you want her killed.

Hölle scowled and sat up, pushing away Pharisäer’s hand. It’s not? Why am I so excited at the prospect of my sister’s death?

"When she is dead you’ll be free to finally be you. She held you back all these years, but now you’re ready to lead, to be the real leader of the Täuschung."

Real; the word resonated. Hölle stared at Pharisäer, examining every aspect. Her eyes were brown, but so dark as to be near black, her lips full and sensuous. She drew a deep breath. This could be Zerfall—

I’m not Zerfall, said Pharisäer. I am your doubt.

Hölle sighed. I know. She glanced at the door. What shall we do with Aas? He disgusts me.

Because he is disgusting.

Hölle decided. I want him dead.

But not because he is disgusting, said Pharisäer.

No?

He shared something with Zerfall, something you were never part of. Something you could never have. You’re jealous. Pharisäer offered a knowing smile. But once she’s dead …

Once she’s dead I’ll have it all. And she wanted it all. It would be hers. The church. Everything. She’d been doing everything anyway. When her sister