Old Earth

+Why are you smiling, Eldrad?+

He heard that. Gahet had allowed it. He wanted answers.

‘Because…’ said the seer, his body straining with every iota of its transhuman strength, ‘I’m not Eldrad.’

Gahet’s eyes widened as the witchblade pierced his bloated body. A protest died on his lips as eldritch lightning coursed through him, reducing his bones, his flesh, simulacrum or not, to ash.

Eldrad, the true Eldrad, scattered the remains across the ziggurat with a sudden burst of violent telekinesis.