Reaper(Cradle #10)(64)
“I’m not sure I can pay back an investment like this.”
“Oh, you can start paying me back once we’re out of Cradle. My investments are long-term.”
Information restricted: Personal Record 3349.
Authorization required to access.
Authorization confirmed: 008 Ozriel.
Beginning record…
When Ozriel reaped a world, perfectly eliminating it from existence, the Abidan could colonize nine others.
His work was vital to Abidan expansion, and there were even those who believed him to be the most valuable of the Judges. When an Iteration dies normally, it corrodes, breaking into corrupted fragments that tend to corrupt others and accelerate their own death.
With Ozriel, that no longer happened. He was the machete the Court of Seven used to beat back the wilderness of chaos, rapidly expanding their holdings.
More Iterations became habitable than ever before. It was an unprecedented golden age for the influence of the Way, and even Makiel admitted the utility of Ozriel’s Scythe. It was only the man behind the mantle that Makiel didn’t trust.
Ozriel’s own objections started to grow louder.
If he weren’t bound by the Eledari Pact, he could have gone in and saved that world. They had known for centuries that this Iteration was going to be corrupted, and he could have cut the cause off at the root.
That would itself be a deviation from Fate, Makiel argued. In the grand scheme of things, that would lead to an increase in chaos.
But manageable, Ozriel said. They could keep the deviations under control, which would rarely—if ever—rise to the point of having to destroy an entire world.
Unfortunately, while both models had their advantages, neither could be proven conclusively. By the very nature of the problem, there was no looking into the future to see how it would play out. So the two beings most skilled in reading Fate continued to argue.
Meanwhile, Ozriel discovered the restricted records of the Court of Seven regarding the Executor program.
This should be his solution, he thought. Raise up people from the Iterations, not sworn to the Way, who could interfere without compromising their oaths.
But from the records, he could see that it had failed. Again and again. Those who fought corruption inevitably became corrupted themselves.
So Ozriel decided to do some investigation of his own.
He traveled to Haven, the prison-world of the Abidan, where he used his authority as a Judge to gain access to the Mad King, Daruman. Once the greatest of the Abidan Executors.
He asked the Mad King what he thought. Why was the Executor program flawed?
It wasn’t the program, Daruman insisted. It was the Abidan.
Being sworn to order made the Abidan too inflexible, too bound to their own thoughts. Creativity and flexibility were beyond them, and the second that anyone started pushing at the boundaries of their rules, the offending party would be condemned.
Ozriel promised change. He wanted to revive the Executor program, but this time, they would be an official division of the Abidan beneath him. They would be unbound to the Eledari Pact, able to intervene in worlds, and personally selected and supervised by him. They would save worlds by eliminating apocalypses at the root.
He would call them Reapers.
And if he could get enough support from the Court of Seven to create his own official Division, he would even recruit Daruman. Ozriel was uniquely able to handle Class One Fiends.
Daruman and Oth’kimeth laughed together.
Mighty as Ozriel may be, as keen as his eyes were, he would never succeed. The Court of Seven could not be convinced, and they would be against him for this.
If Ozriel was really dedicated to his ideals, as he claimed to be, he should join the Vroshir. They, at least, saved human lives.
Ozriel brought his proposal before the Court, and as expected, there was heavy resistance. Only the new, young Suriel would have allowed it—a woman he had known for centuries by this point, as she worked her way up the ranks. And even she had misgivings.
Ozriel pled his case but was dismissed.
He accepted that. He had looked into the future and seen that this would not be an easy task. He would try again, and again.
As long as it took.
Record complete.
13
Yerin cycled her last elixir and focused on the layer of red aura around her. The Hydra blood that had caked her robes and splattered on her skin flowed off, leaving her spotless.
The same couldn’t be said for Ziel and Mercy. Ziel didn’t look particularly bothered by the dark spots that covered him and his gray cloak, but Mercy looked like a rat that had been partially drowned in mud.
Orthos had simply burned the blood away, but he was clearly unhappy. He snorted as he looked up at the entrance overhead. “How many is that now?”
Yerin had been keeping track. “Six. Bleed me like a pig if something’s not spitting them out.”
Every time they killed one, hunger spirits devoured it. They were repurposing the energy, she was sure.
She had tried to stop them as much as possible, but the hunger spirits were endless, and her power wasn’t.
The others were all tired, and she was still carrying the bulk of each battle. But her perception was warning her about what was lurking up above. It felt like the Tomb Hydras, but much deeper. Bigger. It felt like a mother, giving birth to each of the dreadbeasts that fell down.