Chapter 49: The Shapeshifters

Jeanne originally wanted to ask him more about the Kron T'lan Imass, but it seemed that Chavazon Turan was not planning to reveal the so-called 'dispersion coming to an end', let alone how the T'lan Imass army of Kron would appear.

The shriveled skin and muscles of this warrior looked uncomfortable, and his voice sounded like a cat's claws scratching on the floor, which is why Astolfo professed an aversion to such beings.

He was tighter-lipped on certain information than expected. Although they talked about many historical anecdotes that humans lacked records of, he would only reveal trivial things and refused to discuss important details in depth. It was as if he was bound by an ancient oath he had taken at some point in the past.

For these T'lan Imass, something seemed to be approaching.

Both Salser and Jeanne could confirm this, and perhaps the high-ranking clergy, the Empress, and the gods also knew.

"Here, only those who relinquish all convene. Often, only the Bonecasters from my kin venture into dreams,"Chavazon asked them, "What task do you assign me in this location?"

Dreams were also a system of magic that Salser had not much contact with—human mages rarely touched on such things, and even newly born deities found it difficult to influence the dreams of mortals—if the information from the doll he spoke to was reliable.

"Are you referring to the same concept of dreams as I comprehend?" Salser asked him.

"I can answer your question, human who seeks knowledge of the Outer Gods," the T'lan Imass warrior replied to Salser. In this conversation, he was almost motionless, like a rigid statue. "The Bonecasters' witchcraft allows them to walk in the dream world of mortals, just like the ancient gods, and there is no real difference in this Dream Warren," Chavazon told him calmly.

"Oh, I daresay there's a considerable disparity," Salser remarked, "Furthermore, I had intended to inquire—"

"Salser! You moron, shut up!"

Jeanne glared at him fiercely, almost shouting, and from her expression and tone, the Dark wizard's endless curiosity about Chavazon was making her quite irritable.

Salser shrugged, it seemed his curiosity would not be fully satisfied.

Jeanne looked away again, towards the T'lan Imass warrior, "The priests of Hood are waiting for the evil god to descend, T'lan Imass, do you understand what I'm saying?"

The T'lan Imass warrior's eye sockets emitted a faint, flickering red glow. He gazed upward at the streets beyond, veiled in a gray haze, for a while, then said, "It seems that the followers of the Death Wanderer are still conducting their activities, for Hood has not lost control of the Warren for too long." He turned around, "I possess no mandate to guide the decisions of the clan's elders, I shall call the Bonecasters here, they will discuss with you and decide how to handle this matter."

"What do you think he really meant?"

Following the T'lan Imass's disappearance, akin to ashes being brushed away, Salser lightly tapped Jeanne's arm with the back of his hand.

A contemplative silence enveloped them, despite Jeanne having just conveyed to Chavazon what was necessary, as she reflected on the information he had disclosed, a subtle sense of unease lingered within her.

She shook her head, not answering Salser's question: "Fate is the decision of the gods."

Salser paused for a moment. "That's quite a statement you're making..."

...

Prior to witnessing the more malevolent clouds that eclipsed the overcast sky, Olga felt an unsettling premonition. The residual magic from the dark wizards who had fled the Senate whispered to her—a ominous presence lurked here. Despite her limited proficiency in wielding the magic left by the dark wizards, the eerie atmosphere caused the feathers at the nape of her neck to stiffen, and her blue-ringed eye sockets started to itch.

When she flew onto the roof and landed on the scaffolding, seeing the dust-like dark clouds passing overhead, Olga's face turned pale—although her owl feathers were already quite white. She cursed, spread her wings, and turned to fly down the street.

How'd the Silent Ones slip into this Warren? Weren't the Holy Cross Church's flock the only ones who were let in? They can't even tap into the Warren of Light here, yet they think they can halt Hood's priests from spreading the Ascendants' will? What the hell were Sacolas and his crew doing at the mountain gate, what kinda mess did they let through?

"Tuskar, what's with the T'lan Imass showing up?" In the dark hall, Olga landed on the ground. She turned back into the woman with dirty clothes, standing barefoot on a pile of gnawed bones, "You gonna claim you can take on the T'lan Imass army? Do you think you're Raest?"

"The T'lan Imass army has no business with the Hounds or the envoys of the Shadow Throne," Tuskar replied in his usual half-dead tone,"They heed only the commands of louder voices, and even alliances hold no sway over them."

"Louder voices?"

Tuskar seemed to smile: "I want to say 'hatred', but 'custom' will do."

"What about Caesar's plan?"

"The Empress entertains her own notions," Tuskar replied,, "So long as Hood's priests fulfill their duties, their ultimate fate—be it life or death—is inconsequential."

"The Empress's grand design also mandates that we safeguard those priests' lives before their encounter with the Outer Gods," another voice interjected.

"Please, Notella, weren't you hunting down those Holy Cross intruders? Now you're pinning the blame on me for not protecting those flies?"

"I found the trail of the Magistrate," the voice was like metal grating, "Igya found the trail of the Inquisitor."

"Are you aware of the number of T'lan Imass that have arrived? The Shapeshifters, they're swarming the city like a dense fog," Tuskar said slowly, he didn't seem to care about the Holy Cross believers at all, "What reason do we have to concern ourselves with those Holy Cross people?"

"The T'lan Imass army was ushered in by the Holy Cross's Magistrate; that spineless fool Sacolas was too afraid to confront the Magistrate and thus allowed them in!"

"And you dare to face them, Notella?"

"Why not!?" He roared.

Then, a storm like a tidal wave swept in, a giant beast with gray horns—its jaw slowly opening like a gate, wings spreading behind like warship sails, black scales reflecting an eerie light under the white glow of the bones—rose from a small shadow in the corner of the hall.

A dragon—no, a Shapeshifter, a Soletaken dragon.

Rising to his full height, his wings unfurled, the bones on the ground were scattered in all directions like coals flung from an overturned furnace. His bull-like chest loomed over Tuskar's head, his scales emitting smoke akin to a smoldering corpse heap, emitting a faint, foul odor.

Olga pinched her nose, stepped back, and crunched a white skull beneath her heel: "What's with the dragon shape all of a sudden? Gonna rip the walls apart or what?"

"Shapeshifter," Tuskar stared at him, "Stay here before the Moon Goddess descends, your impulsiveness will disrupt the Empress's plan!"

The black dragon's quicksilver eyes flickered. He slowly laughed, his voice like the wheezing of hundreds of tuberculosis patients, "Very well, I shall move once the Outer Gods have descended; what of your actions?"

Tuskar sneered, "I'll handle the Inquisitor alongside Olga; the Magistrate is, of course, your personal death sentence."

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