If the vast majority of the population were not so utterly willing to subsume their own wants and needs, were they not so desperate to be led, freed from the burden of making real choices, there would be no civilization. But civilization only works—only exists—because there are those willing to step forward, willing to take on the burden of leadership. Civilization only exists because there are Gefahrgeist willing to turn their valuable talents to the needs of the masses.
—Verborgen Liegt, Gefahrgeist Philosopher
Morgen, god of the Geborene Damonen, sat alone in the Leichtes Haus, surrounded by Stehlen’s dead. Had she even recognized her victims? She’d shown no hint. Not that he expected remorse, but perhaps a flicker of… What? Regret? He tried to remember seeing any emotion on her other than hatred, suspicion, disgust, and self-loathing.
Those could be acts.
Morgen stopped picking at the table top and willed it to perfection. It was perfect. Flawless.
If only people were so easily changed.
Eventually. Once everyone believed in him. Once everyone in all the world knew he could make them perfect, make them clean, he would do that. High Priest Konig—Theocrat of Selbsthass—thought to make for himself a god he could control, a god he could twist to his own selfish Gefahrgeist ends. He mistook Morgen’s naivety for stupidity. Everyone did. He thought the boy’s sheltered upbringing would make him easy to manipulate. Morgen remembered how desperate he had been to please the High Priest and cocked a rueful grin at the perfect tabletop. Bedeckt and his friends ruined the Theocrat’s plans and set Morgen free. Well, almost free. Bedeckt killed Morgen, bringing about his Ascension to godhood.
Cold pain stabbed through his ribs at the thought, sharp steel parting flesh.
And those whom you slay must serve.
Morgen remembered convincing the old warrior to slip the knife between his ribs. Even then he knew he couldn’t trust the man. Had anyone else survived Gehirn’s fire to do the deed, Morgen would have turned to them instead. And so he manipulated an old man who wanted to cling to the few things remaining on his precious list of things he wouldn’t do.
What kind of man defines himself by the crimes he is unwilling to commit?
He knew the answer: A man willing to commit every other crime.
Could that sad little list have been Bedeckt’s path to redemption? Had Morgen blocked that path with his manipulation?
Reasons should matter.
But what of Morgen’s own reasons?
He’d lied, of course. Lied to all of them. Even Bedeckt, the man who both killed and saved him. Funny, as it was Bedeckt, Stehlen, and Wichtig who taught him the art of deception.
I’ll be the god humanity deserves.
Was Nacht lying about Bedeckt’s reason for escaping the eternal grey of the Afterdeath? Was not returning to life reason enough?
Why would Bedeckt work against me?
Redemption.
Morgen cracked a slight smile at the thought. No, not Bedeckt. He was as mercenary a man as any Morgen had ever met in his short life. He’d only plot against Morgen if there was something tangible in it for him. Had Nacht offered Bedeckt something to seek Morgen’s downfall or was all of it a lie?
I told my own lies and I sent Bedeckt’s friends to kill him. And they would. Of that he was sure. Stehlen would never forgive Bedeckt for killing her, and she could never forgive him for abandoning her in the Afterdeath. In truth, sending Wichtig was unnecessary, a back up plan he didn’t expect to need. But the Swordsman arrived first—it was so annoying that these mortals couldn’t be moved like he moved his toy soldiers about the tabletop—and Morgen made the best of the situation. In all likelihood, Stehlen would catch and kill Wichtig long before the Swordsman made it anywhere near Bedeckt. Once the old man was dead and returned to the Afterdeath, Morgen would see his soul was moved quickly along to whatever came next.
Morgen’s friends taught him well. From Wichtig he learned lies and deception, manipulation of even those closest to you; especially those. He learned thievery and a willingness to violence from Stehlen. As the deadliest of the deadly trio, she taught him the fastest way to victory was to kill before your opponent knew the fight started. Preferably before they even knew there was going to be a fight. And from Bedeckt he learned betrayal. Abandoning his friends in the Afterdeath was his most recent treachery.
Morgen would win before his opponents—Wichtig, Stehlen, and Bedeckt—knew they were in a fight for their lives. Of course he stacked the odds in his favour. Trusting these devious deranged to kill each other in a neat and predictable manner would be insane.
Where are you now, my friends?
He reached into a pocket to caress the three figurines—one for each of his friends—carved as if pieces of some strategic board-game.
And found nothing.
Morgen stopped in the street and the dead moved around him, parting as if he were a stone in a river. Or a god.
Had someone robbed him while he sat in the tavern? No, impossible.
“Shite,” he swore in ungodlike anger. “Stehlen.”
Could she have lifted the carvings without his noticing? Surely not. She might be a powerful Kleptic, but he was a god.
There must be some other explanation. Had he left them somewhere? He might be a god, but he was still fallible. Sometimes he got distracted, sometimes he—