Arcane II Read Online Free

as simply the latest in a lifetime plagued with perfidy. Pizarr’s. Furimmer’s. But my own burned the deepest.
    What had I done that so displeased King Furimmer? Why was I even here? I suspected fear was the answer. I was a Pyrocast approaching my pinnacle of power, that moment when delusion would overpower the remaining shreds of my sanity. If only I had someone I could talk to, someone I could trust. Just one friend. My loneliness made me angry and my anger ensured I’d remain alone. No one befriends an angry Pyrocast.
    The men began hailing Pizarr as a hero. They lauded his previously much maligned decision to kill the Ship’s Councillor as an act of great bravery and foresight. Councillor Reizung would never have allowed this mad deterioration to have occurred. Though Pizarr showed little sign of being aware of the crew’s opinions, I noticed with some jealousy that the Captain was beginning to display Sociocast tendencies. Worship brings out the worst in people.
    Pizarr struggled to run the rapidly crumbling remnants of Hualpa’s kingdom with little or no understanding of what motivated its people. They clung desperately to their flawed world view. The masses refused to worship us as gods but saw us as both more and less than men. Intrigued by the natives, he began studying their religion; a bizarre concoction of inbred children, sun gods, and colourful birds. He would tell me about it on those rare days he deigned to see his closest friend. I think he found some comfort in their unshakable belief in an Afterdeath where redemption was always a possibility.
    “Surely,” he said, “if the uncounted millions of natives believed strongly enough, such an Afterdeath must exist.”
    I remained unconvinced.
    Hualpa continued to act as if he were still High King and not a powerless puppet-king. It was a delusion he didn’t have the lack of sanity to enforce. Noting our insatiable lust for precious metals, the High King offered to fill his prison with gold and silver if Pizarr promised to free him and leave Tawantinsuyu. Captain Pizarr, at this point little more than bone and dried sinew, promptly agreed. The gold was delivered and then shipped to King Furimmer who in turn officially recognised Pizarr as Steward of the New Lands. High King Hualpa muttered something about the wisdom of making deals with predatory cats, and remained our prisoner.
    Three months later, fearing revolt from the Tawantinsuyu people who vastly outnumbered our small and deranged crew, the Captain ordered Hualpa’s death. I was called forward to burn the High King. Upon hearing of this, High King Hualpa begged Captain Pizarr for another death. Fearing to anger Haulpa’s subjects, Captain Pizarr had the deposed monarch strangled as an act of mercy. I was sent away unsatisfied.
    It was too much.
    That evening I found Pizarr alone in his single-story abode, a clay brick home faded a warm amber by the sun. The Captain wore nought but a thin robe. The yellowing bones of his ribcage were clearly visible through the sheer material. His left arm hung at his side, bones wrapped tight in sinews blackened by the sun and heat. Several of the fingers of his left hand had fallen away at some point.
    “Captain, you look well.” Tears leaked from my eyes. Either he couldn’t see them or chose to ignore my distress. I grinned, showing my clenched canines, and my jaw hurt.
    “I’m dying.” Pizarr laughed humourlessly. “Actually, I’ve been dead for some time. Perhaps months.” He peeled a long strip of sun-dried flesh from his abdomen and tossed it to the floor at my feet. “But I’ve lost my fear. I now welcome the end.”
    “Just as well,” I said. He didn’t hear the quiet threat. Or he ignored it. He looked dry, like tinder.
    “I’ve come to believe as the Tawantinsuyu people believe,” he said. “There is an Afterdeath. A chance at redemption.” He squinted at me with filmed eyes from which all colour had bled. “Redemption,” he