High-ranking Abidan could see through any disguise, so he would be found eventually, but he needed to make this chance last as long as possible.
The corruption of chaos would devour certain worlds while he was gone, so he set up shelters in the most vulnerable to preserve as much as he could. He would leave the Abidan, temporarily sealing off his powers, and raise up a team of ascendants loyal to him.
Then, when he was taken back by the Court, his team could save worlds.
It was while he was inside Iteration 216: Limit, arranging another of his shelters, that he discovered something odd. A subtle touch of chaos in the future that only he—or a Makiel sitting where he was—could have discovered.
His Presence dismissed it as a distant echo of the Void, but Ozriel took greater notice. If a Vroshir wanted to sneak into Abidan territory, Limit would be the perfect first step.
So Ozriel hid himself in Limit, lying in wait for his prey.
As he waited, he considered which world he should eventually hide in. He planned, he thought, he consulted his Presence. He ran simulations and predictions.
Ultimately, there was only one thing he was certain about: he was never going back to Cradle.
Not only would the other Judges check Cradle quickly, but there were too many bad memories. While it would always be his homeworld, a not-inconsiderable part of him hated Cradle.
He hated it for not being better.
While he crouched in Limit, calculating his hiding-place, his prediction paid off. A being of great power and destruction entered the world, so subtly that they had evaded the web of the Spider.
An old enemy, well-hidden.
Synchronization requested.
Synchronization set at 73%.
Synchronizing…
Ozriel waited in his shelter beneath the waves of Limit, Scythe in hand. He felt the Vroshir arrive, and was surprised not to recognize them. Judges recognized people by the origin of their existence, by the very essence that defined them, which was impossible to fake.
The world quaked beneath him, so this intruder’s power was incredible. How could this person be unknown? How could they have slipped past the Abidan web of detection?
Ozriel intended to find out.
He felt the moment when the Vroshir intruder detected him, sensing an Abidan in the world. The intruder instantly sealed off the world and pounced, a cat on a mouse, eager to find prey.
Ozriel smiled.
When the Mad King appeared before him, Ozriel splattered Daruman’s mortal body all over the opposite wall with one swing of his Scythe.
That had been nice and therapeutic, and a memory Ozriel would treasure, but he was still shocked. He hadn’t seen Daruman face-to-face in centuries, ever since the Mad King had broken out of the depths of Haven.
It had to be him. He was wearing one-of-a-kind armor, and he hadn’t changed his appearance at all.
But Ozriel still didn’t recognize him. His senses insisted that this couldn’t be Daruman. It simply wasn’t him.
The conclusion was as intriguing to Ozriel as it was impossible. He had found a way to disguise his own existence, even from Judges.
Ozriel stepped through space and into the upper atmosphere, where Daruman had created a new body for himself.
The Judge leaned his Scythe against his armored shoulder. “That’s a fine mask you have there. Where did you get it?”
Oth’kimeth, the Fiend sealed inside Daruman, snarled defiance. The red suns that were the Mad King’s eyes blazed, and he stabbed out with a bone sword.
Even as a mortal, Daruman had been powerful enough to challenge world-eaters. A blow from him should have blighted the planet.
But he was holding back. When his sword met the Scythe, space cracked and reality warped, but it didn’t break.
The Vroshir didn’t want to attract attention, which suited Ozriel just fine. He didn’t want the attention of the other Judges any more than the Mad King did.
The quiet battle between the two still obliterated stars and left holes in space.
With each exchange, Ozriel became more confident. This was certainly the Mad King. There was an extremely short list of individuals who could trade blows with Ozriel’s Scythe.
And if this was the Mad King, then he had created something that hid him from the Way. A veil on his existence itself.
Finally, as they drifted back down to the central planet of Limit, Daruman himself spoke. His voice was hollow, echoing with the emptiness of the Void.
“You hide as I do, Ozriel. Let us go our separate ways. Inquire no further into my purpose, and I will likewise respect yours.”
Ozriel gave him a mocking smile. “I can let you run…but I can’t let you keep that.”
He swung his Scythe through the veil that he’d finally isolated. A black cloth, like a delicate weave of smoke wrapped around Daruman’s soul.
The Scythe tore it to pieces, and it faded into visibility, drifting down toward the planet as scraps of cloth. They warped and twisted the world as they fell, each scrap more powerful and significant than this entire Iteration. If he left them alone, they would ascend to a higher world just by virtue of their existence.
He wouldn’t leave them alone, of course.
The Mad King took advantage of the strike on the shroud to flee, and Ozriel knew the man well enough to know that this defeat would burn his pride. Well, good. He deserved it.
Just in case, he looked into Fate to make sure that this wouldn’t prompt the Mad King to ruin his plans. He was certain that it wouldn’t. The Vroshir wouldn’t discover Ozriel’s absence before decades had passed, and the other Judges should keep them locked down.
Ozriel wasn’t leaving existence undefended, after all. Makiel and Razael were both able to match Ozriel in battle, at least when it came to open combat.
Only if the Mad King managed to find or create a truly devastating weapon could he be a threat while Ozriel was gone, and that possibility was vanishingly remote. It was only slightly more likely than Makiel disbanding the entire Court of Seven and joining the Vroshir.
So Ozriel put that prospect out of his mind and gathered up the pieces of the fallen veil.
This Origin Shroud would change everything. With that bound to him, he could hide under the noses of the other Judges themselves.
He would need to repair it, so it was a good thing he was the greatest craftsman Cradle had ever produced.
But now, his criteria for a hiding place had changed. He had presumed that he would be discovered in only a few years, but if not…if he could go without discovery indefinitely…
Then this was a chance to start over.
To make a new home.
Record complete.
Lindon desperately wanted to leave the labyrinth, but he held himself back.
He could leave. This place was only ever intended as a prison for one being: Subject One. With the Dreadgod’s borrowed authority, he could eject himself to the upper layers, and then leave on his own. Just as he had done to Reigan Shen.
But with his senses hooked up to the labyrinth, he could also vaguely sense what was happening above him.
Reigan Shen and his Sages had their spirits unveiled. Northstrider and Malice were there too, and Lindon couldn’t sense his friends.
He gritted his teeth and stopped himself from leaving. If he ejected himself from the labyrinth right into Shen’s control, he would have accomplished nothing.
[We are perched on the precipice of greatness,] Dross whispered. [Plunge over the edge, and see what you may become.]