3 days. 3 days after crashing to earth after being thrown through hell knows how many different alternate universes. 3 days since Markus had been declared a messenger of salvation, and paraded through a million strangers.

And after all that pomp? He was forced to park his ass in the Castillo de las Sombras, and do nothing.

It was comfy at least. After spending eternity hiking from unnaturally idyllic home life to exploding stars and back, a stay at a grand manse should have been welcome. Indeed, the "Castle of Shadows" was a relic from before the United States was even conceived. In an age when Kings and Emperors battled on fields and oceans, mighty Spain cast its ambitious eyes on the New World.

Though many a Conquistador fought and prospered under imperial patronage, other powers sought refuge on this new shore. The Castle of Shadows was the culmination of such efforts. As Markus walked through its immaculate halls and gazed upon the eclectic collage of ancient war banners and far-future touch screens, he could only guess how much his own life, how much of his entire world's history had been at the mercy of Zenith and his followers.

From the outside, Castle Sombra seemed a generic if also opulent tourist attraction. A spotless edifice of renaissance glory, with just enough modern amenities to keep guests happy. Behind the reinforced, pressurized, and ensorcelled "Staff Only" doors, was another world entirely.

In the castle libraries, housed in the highest towers, merely touching the ancient texts kept within would summon the ghosts of their deceased authors. The chained soul would quiz the prospective disciple on their worthiness. Upon final judgment, the spirit would either whisper its secrets or wail them aloud in a maddening cacophony.

Within the inner keep were the barracks, training fields, and even classrooms. Marksmanship, engineering, and even the ethical philosophies of different cultures both earthly and unearthly were ingrained into the fanatics gathered within. And of course, much to Markus' displeasure, there were also live-fire exercises.

"Those who fall will be taken into the Void and repurposed anyway." That's what one officer told him. She was an older woman, looking in her fifties, and answered all of Markus' concerns in a cold and resigned voice. "It is no great loss."

The normalcy of these people was unsurprising. What was surprising was the fact that the Zenith's influence had been here for centuries or more. In his world, in his country, and so frighteningly close to where his parents lived.

"At least where I remember them living." With so much free time, Markus was left to wonder about his parents. He'd hadn't been able to say goodbye, and as far as they knew: he'd died in the line of duty, and had now fallen from heaven itself. They deserved to know the truth though. They needed to know what had happened to their son, not to mention their daughter-in-law and grandchild.

What would that conversation sound like though? What would it amount to?

"Hey Mom! Hey Dad! I'm not really dead! I've just been enslaved by a monster beyond the powers of gods. I need to get back to breaking the universe now, bye!" Gallows humor aside, Markus knew that seeing his parents here was a disastrous notion. Giving them any real answers would only put them in more danger.

Yet that was not the issue at hand. The best way to avoid such a meeting and keep his parents safe was to complete the mission. Right? B wanted to cause global upheaval. Yet she repeatedly promised that destroying project Chronos would prevent worse conflicts down the line. History preached otherwise though. How many people would be trampled underfoot by this new world order?

This was among the many issues Markus intended to take up with Hector. The would-be prophet lived in the underground portions of Castle Sombra. Passing through more secured doors and beneath the eyes of oddly proportioned statuettes of ravens and moths, the indentured marine came to the final door.

"Welcome, Champion of Starlight." The great obsidian doors spoke with uncountable voices. Fell whispers and despairing lament twisted into an orchestra of shackled malice and fury. Each syllable spun from the blackened glass also alighted the hieroglyphs that stained its pointed facets. "Thou art expected in-"

"Just let me in." But to someone like Markus who had flown through time and walked across universes, the novelty was lost. "Now, please."

Wasting no further time, the doors parted. Though a disappointing rumble shook them as they did.

The actual sanctum beyond the doors was an odd contrast. Palatial gardens and even clear waterfalls dotted this subterranean idyll. It seemed more like the retreat of a Roman emperor or the hidden monastery of esoteric monks.

Passing by the children tossing around bolts of lightning and flames as if they were baseballs, Markus figured it was the latter.

The innocence of this place... was like Gottheim in The Void. Why give children and their families places like this, and then send them into the horrors of war? It was unfair.

More and more problems with what he was doing and the people he served. But he was still here, he was still helping them. What choice did he have? Could he really preach about protecting innocent lives if his own family were hostages? Worse still, were those strangers, however innocent, even worth the risk?

"I never used to ask these questions. I was never this cold."

But at last, he found a chance to voice his personal toil, and bring his questions to bear. Hector was bathing in the hot springs, kept at the center of the underground. He was even accompanied by some of the recent converts who'd followed Markus "The Herald" into this new world.

"Brother Markus! Wonderful of you to join us!" Hector Sombra seemed the picture of a gentle giant. Six foot eleven, young, and black-bearded with the body and confidence of an Olympic boxer, one would have wondered why the man wasn't in movies or professional sports.

"Alright everyone, Markus looks more ready for talk than leisure." He gestured with his massive hands towards the converts, as if he were herding sheep. "Think about our discussion today, and speak with the others here. I'm sure they'll answer any lingering questions."

The converts did just that. Young, old, and of all different races, they hurriedly marched from the hot spring. They walked and talked amongst themselves, some shyly and others brashly. Yet each and every one of them was smiling or showing some amount of joy, and what few words could be discerned were hopeful and ambitious.

Markus was left alone with two guards in uniforms matching his own, and Hector himself.

"They are in awe of you, Champion of Starlight." Hector still beamed with confidence, he even seemed relaxed. He sat back against the wall of his little pool and breathed the steam in through greedy nostrils. "You are still agitated?"

"I don't like this."

"My bathing?" Hector strummed his hand along the waters, looking perplexed and even mildly offended. "This is my family home; I see no reason I should not enjoy it. Besides, I find it a useful place to ease tension with new arrivals and-"

"Not the spring. I don't care about the spring!" Markus surprised himself with his loss of temper. He had half a mind to let his temper out further, he was here for a mission after all. But that wouldn't help anyone, least of all him. And if Hector was trying to be coy, he would get no further satisfaction from it.

"I didn't agree to be a messiah." Just voicing his frustrations seemed to ease Markus' temper. "And I don't like getting benched."

"The Soulbinder already-

"Yeah, B gave us her plan." Markus inched closer to the pool, seriously contemplating whether to step in and beat the information he needed from yet another frustrating asshole. "You've been very quiet about it. To me at least."

"You are the appointed agent of our glorious master. Your task is singular and precise." That soothing voice of Hector's, the same voice he used on the converts... "You should not be burdened with the petty dealings we-"

"No." Markus glanced at the two guards, who made no move towards him. In fact, they didn't seem ready for any sort of fight. So he continued with his words and walked along the edge of the spring till he was close to Hector.

"B threw me into the deep end, I don't like it, but there's nothing anyone can do about that. She's a god-killer after all." Markus walked until his boots were inches away from Hector's face. Purposefully preparing to kick the preacher further into the spring, only if he needed to of course. "But we're just men. I only need to stop Project Chronos, I do not need to be your poster boy. And I will never let you drag me through your political bullshit wearing blinders."

There was silence, and Hector's smile faded. He was not frightened, but he was finally taking this conversation seriously. He also looked towards his guards, who remained still as statues and made no move towards this confrontation.

"My apologies, Brother Markus." The preacher's tone was businesslike, and he stood straighter in the water. "I'd mistaken you for a more spiritual soul. I will include you in all future plans and dealings I make. I hope you will know that all I've done was only meant to-"

"Include me now then." No apologies, no social dueling. Markus was tired of these games; these false courtesies and wordplay between egos bigger than galaxies. He tolerated it from gods, he would not take it from his fellow man. "What've you done behind my back?"

"First, I talked to those public officials and private executives who've been friendly to our Lord's cause. They have made guarantees not only for our safety but also for certain agendas to be pushed forward. Most of these are focused on pressuring the current administration to take official and most likely unofficial action concerning their extra-dimensional activities. As was the command of the Soulbinder."

"And me?" Markus would have to ask others about these officials. The lack of alertness from the guards told him that their loyalty to Hector was at best a formality. So he pressed his current advantage. "What are your plans for me?"

"You are the exact proof of our cause. You are a herald sent by the one true master of the universe. You are an angel, intent on chastising us for our greedy defilement of existence. We shall soon speak together on live broadcast, before the entire world with a group of panelists." 

Not even Morgan was as in love with her own voice as Hector was with his. The orator's droll was starting to creep into his speech again. "We shall answer their questions, all of which have been planned for, and rally the world around you and the suffering you have endured."

"I'd like to see those questions."

"I am already in the middle of writing-"

"We'll write them together, same with the responses." Markus would take no refusal. He wasn't a stranger in a strange land anymore. And he would not let fanatics play with his life. Not when he had his own task to perform. "This isn't a debate. And you're never going to speak for me ever again."

"Of course, Brother Markus." Hector's tone was respectful if also cautious. But he seemed to accept this new state of affairs. Perhaps he was even enthusiastic at the prospect of collaboration. He stood from the pool at last and put on a robe, even as he spoke his parting words. "I shall have part of the library prepared for us. That should be a suitably focused setting."

He left with that, accompanied by only one of his guards and leaving puddled steps in his wake. The other guard stood at attention, staring at Markus from behind his helmet. He was a Void Legionary, the frontline of Zenith's elite corps. Sheathed in black polymer and royal purple fabric, they were nigh-invulnerable to most small arms fire. Yet it was their conditioning that made them dangerous.

"Soldier?"

"Yes, Prefect?" He remained at attention but had clearly anticipated this conversation. "What do you wish of me, sir?"

"I stepped up to your charge, and not in any friendly way." Markus wasn't angry anymore. Most legionaries were in a similar situation to his own. They weren't backstabbers and plotters by nature.

"Indeed, sir."

"Why didn't you defend him?" Markus hadn't asked this in front of Hector, as it might put the preacher on edge. But his own curiosity urged him to ask now. "Aren't you sworn to defend him?"

"Those are my particular orders, yes."

"Then why didn't you move to protect him?"

Not one nervous movement or trace of emotion from the legionary. No indication of where his thoughts might lie. But even still, Markus swore he could see the glow of amethyst starlight from behind the visor of the man's Corinthian helm.

"He is only of the flesh." Reflexively, the legionary brought a clenched fist to his chest and lifted his chin in pride.

"We, are of the Void."