At the rubble that sealed the entrance, a wave of the once-dead advanced as a single crowd.
Yet they did not move like the undead described in old tales. Their condition was not something one would recognise immediately. They appeared ordinary. Only the patterns of their movements hinted at the truth of what they had become.
The Supreme Leader had used this ability many times before, and each time he had learned to make its effects more subtle.
In a place like this, it did not matter how the undead appeared to their victims. His greatest works, when it truly mattered, were carried out in the great crowds of the Realms ruled by the Lords.
Not even Bethryl, with her visions, knew how many of the people she had grown up with, those she had spent her closest moments with, had in truth been infected by the Supreme Leader's ability long ago.
The effect itself was simple.
A person who inhaled the poison would transform into a being completely identical to their former self. Nothing in their outward appearance changed. If such a being were struck, argued with, or told a joke, they would react exactly as any conscious person would.
But it was only a reaction.
The more one observed them, the more something strange became apparent. Their values always revolved around what could be measured and possessed, what was physical and immediate.
Beyond the senses there was nothing absolute. There was no identity beyond what had been assigned to them within the Realm. Most importantly, there was no inner force, nothing shaping the life and self of a being from within.
This was the great vision of the Lords, and the reason they had enlisted the Supreme Leader in secrecy.
Long before the creation of the Shadow Clan, the Lords had foreseen the rise of people like them. They had foreseen someone like Shenric. Perhaps even someone like Ashar.
Because of this, their strategy was never to wait for conflict.
Instead, they chose to change the very nature of their subjects so that conflict could never arise at all.
They understood that if their people became purely material beings, they could be controlled easily.
And so the Lords began to remove their spirit.
They knew that a Realm founded upon fear and anxiety allowed for domination. They rewrote the philosophies of their people and taught, through the Faceless Mentors, that this world was one of strength alone, and that only the strongest deserved to survive. They taught that their people descended from beasts and animals, and that this meant slaughter, servitude, and hierarchy were all natural and justified.
The undead were the final result of the Supreme Leader, the Faceless Mentors, and the Faceless Conjurers working together. It was the perfect expression of their ideal.
The great spiritual servants of Axios were long gone. In their place were the grey people, those who lived only for the Lords and would perish when the world of the Lords perished.
Throughout Bethryl's life she had known nothing beyond the awareness of her body and her consciousness. That was why she had struggled so deeply with the idea of the Axiom spirit and of a higher realm.
Perhaps it had been her father's will that saved her, and perhaps he had been guiding her toward this path all along.
Bethryl still remembered how difficult it had been to even speak about such matters.
It was as if the people around you were designed to conceal a truth from you. They mocked you, and they isolated you, and they punished you, and if a conversation ever approached the truth, something strange would happen. Some hidden instinct would take hold, and the discussion would suddenly shift to another topic, as if the truth itself had to be buried immediately.
Bethryl had never understood how people could live among nothing but symbols and lies and accept them as part of themselves. And yet this had become the nature of the enlightened citizen of the Realms.
Bethryl had always wanted her father to teach her the truth, but perhaps, in all her doubt, it had been her father planting those questions inside her.
Recently she had seen a vision of Jinvar approaching Shenric of the Shadow Clan. He had asked what should be done with the people in the cities.
"Let the dead bury their dead," Shenric replied.
And he said nothing more.
Who had first taught that when the people of the Realms drew their first breath, they possessed no greater life-force than the birds or the beasts Who had burned the teachers of the Axiom spirit alive and buried their teachings beneath the earth? Who had constructed a world in which a person was born, developed an ego, and then spent their entire life satisfying it?
This was the great work of the Lords.
And it was their greatest victory.
You would never know that the people around you were undead. After all, they were just like you. They married; they had children; they knew the names of the popular plays, the famous wrestlers, the celebrated actors. They had respectable jobs and comfortable homes. You would never think of them as anything more than rational people, and whatever actions they took, it was because that was simply what people did.
You would never know that this was the final victory of the Lords, because you did not even possess the capacity to imagine their existence, let alone their victory.
In the end, the final generations of the undead, the subjects of the Lords, would hardly have any reason to leave their beds.
There would be no truth, no observations, no self, no thought. It would be a comfortable life for the last generation of mankind. There would be no more struggle. Every person would be equal, because every person would lie together in the same abyss, bound by the same chains.
Now the undead tore apart the rubble and marched forward.
Bethryl remained hidden.
She had seen in her vision that she would only have one chance.
Through the crowd of the undead, Kareth approached. But this was no longer the same Kareth.