Reaper(Cradle #10)(44)

Beginning record…





The Abidan didn’t know what to do with Ozmanthus Arelius.

Even his initial compatibility tests came back with unprecedented results. He had maximum potential in six of the seven Divisions. It quickly became clear that he could inherit the Mantle of any Judge.

Except one: Suriel. He had no compatibility with the Phoenix at all, as though his very existence was in opposition to the concept of restoration.

Naturally, Ozmanthus was not satisfied with these results.

He dedicated himself to fixing, building, creating, healing, and restoring. He couldn’t join the Phoenix Division, but he worked with them as closely as possible. He thought that surely his skill in crafting and engineering would be his pathway forward, but when that never worked, he branched out.

He learned the arts of many worlds, took on ancient riddles, repaired governments and relationships. He lived for a time as a pacifist monk wandering the streets of Sanctum, though he quickly grew bored with that.

No matter what he did, the nature of his origin didn’t change.

Not that anyone else from the Abidan minded. Warriors and killers could both be put to work in the service of order, and if Ozmanthus didn’t want to bring death, there was always his other great talent of detection.

The Spider of the Abidan works to find instances of chaos and disruption among the Iterations, and to bind the Abidan together with communication. Ozmanthus joined his Third Division and was declared the successor to Telariel in record time.

In this capacity, he continued to have a special fascination with the Phoenix Division, as they were those who could do what he could not. He struck up a friendship with a woman expected to succeed the Mantle of Suriel.

She advised him not to ignore his talents. A true Phoenix would contribute to the greater cause of restoration however they could.

He kept that in mind when he and his fellow Spiders encountered a Vroshir trap.

It was an ambush intended to wipe them out. The enemy had taken over an entire Iteration, then cut it off from the Way when the Abidan arrived to investigate. Upon entry into the world, his entire team was eradicated.

Except him.

He escaped, but the disparity bothered him. With a weapon on the level of a Judge, he would have been able to defend his team, but such weapons were highly restricted and forbidden to create.

Ozmanthus began to gather materials.

He stole, unearthed, or recovered weapons of absolute destructive authority. Obsolete Judge weapons, like the prototype Razor of Suriel, and the Shears of a previous Makiel that had once snipped threads from Fate. Weapons that had been used against Judges, like the Bane of the Titan—made by the Vroshir to kill the second-generation Gadrael. Even the greatest weapons used by the Vroshir: Sha’irik, the absolute curse, and Auctarius, the Blade that Sundered Heaven.

Finally, he added his own original creation. An improved version of Penance, his old creation, the arrowhead of absolute death.

He bound these together in the depths of the Void, so far from the Way that even Fiends could not last long, in a zone of pure nonexistence and annihilation.

He forged them in the energy of a stolen Worldseed, with enough power that it could have birthed an entire Iteration.

By doing so, he indeed created a peerless weapon: a Scythe that would let him fight like a Judge. But he did not expect the recognition of the Way.

He became the avatar of true Destruction, the opposite of lost Creation. And when he was taken into custody by the Court of Seven for his creation of the Scythe, the Court was in awe.

Unwittingly, Ozmanthus had achieved a goal that the Court of Seven had pursued since antiquity. He had manifested another absolute aspect of reality. He had become the Judge of Destruction.

With the exception of Makiel, who urged that Ozmanthus be executed, the other Judges agreed that Ozmanthus should be given the mantle of the Reaper and raised up as their peer.

He was even granted a new name: Ozriel.



Record complete.





Back in the Ancestor’s Tomb, Lindon faced the door marked with the symbols of the four Dreadgods. He still had a headache, but his vision and spiritual sense had largely returned. In fact, this was the clearest his perception had ever been in Sacred Valley, now that the suppression field was gone.

He could sense panic all over the Valley. Their spirits were weak, and their populations were depleted, but they scurried everywhere. He could sense techniques of every aspect and Path used from here all the way to the remainder of Mount Venture in the west.

Including a presence cloaked in light and dreams. Lindon turned from the door to face Elder Whisper as the fox dashed up, five tails lashing.

“What have you done?” Elder Whisper demanded.

Mercy, Yerin, Eithan, and Ziel stared at the fox. Even Orthos and Little Blue, on Lindon’s shoulders, faced him down.

None of them were intentionally threatening—Eithan was unsurprised at Whisper’s appearance, while Little Blue gave a little gasp, and Mercy waved—but Lindon could see the realization dawn over Elder Whisper as the sacred beast realized he was facing down a group of sacred artists far more advanced than he was.

That must have been a serious adjustment to make, after centuries of being the strongest in many miles.

“Apologies,” Elder Whisper said quietly. “If you don’t mind telling me, I would be grateful to learn what happened to the suppression field.”