Chapter 829

The Warlock method of creating a Death Knight had a fairly simple purpose: give physically frail spellcasters a powerful body, turning them into soldiers capable of fighting at any range.

Whether that body was alive or dead was irrelevant.

All that mattered was that it was empty enough for a new soul.

Biogenic Cradle technology had originally been developed to repair damaged human tissue. Think of it as printing a replacement for whatever part of the body had been damaged, down to the smallest detail. Missing limbs, organs, even sections of the nervous system could be reconstructed without difficulty.

Rebuilding an entire human body from scratch was another matter.

It could be done, but the result was essentially a biological corpse.

Every cell would be alive. The organs would function. With external support, the body could maintain a heartbeat, breathe, and display every other sign of biological activity. Remove that support, however, and the body would immediately fail.

In other words, it was a living shell without a soul.

Biogenic Cradle could print a body with near-perfect biological fidelity, but it couldn’t print a soul. If it could, Evenson would have had Helen Hailun running the machines around the clock, churning out bodies by the thousands. He could harvest their souls one after another and have an effectively limitless supply of soul fragments.

That would have been convenient.

Unfortunately, reality wasn’t that cooperative.

So the body reconstructed for the Ancient One was alive, but empty, waiting for Evenson to put her soul back inside it.

That also made her something unprecedented.

As far as anyone knew, she was the first—and only—living Death Knight.

There was, however, an important distinction to make.

The Burning Legion, the origin of Warlock magic itself, could have accomplished something similar. They didn’t have Biogenic Cradle technology, but restoring a corpse to biological activity was hardly beyond the capabilities of the Legion.

They simply had no reason to bother.

From the Legion’s perspective, Evenson’s elaborate effort to create a living Death Knight was the sort of thing someone did when they had far too much free time.

The original Death Knight creation method devised by the orc Warlock Gul’dan was practically redundant by Legion standards.

Demons returned to the Twisting Nether when they died. They had no need for this elaborate process of putting a soul into someone else’s corpse. And if a demon really wanted a mortal body—or needed to wear a particular identity to carry out some scheme—powerful demons, especially Dreadlords, could simply possess the target and take over.

Highlord Alexandros Mograine’s fate was one example of just how effective such possession could be. A Dreadlord could do more than simply animate a body. It could even wield the abilities of the person it had replaced.

As for mortal Warlocks serving the Legion?

Well, if someone managed to kill you, that meant you weren’t good enough.

If you weren’t good enough, you weren’t useful.

And if you weren’t useful, why should anyone waste resources bringing you back?

Die wherever you like.

That was the Legion’s philosophy.

"Hmm. You really went to a lot of trouble just to drag me back from the grave."

The Ancient One sounded genuinely impressed after hearing how Evenson had resurrected her.

"Hold on. You never made it into a grave."

Evenson raised a finger. "This body is completely new. And even your old one never made it into a morgue freezer. My people moved fast. So technically, you’ve never even been in a coffin."

"How disappointing."

The Ancient One sounded almost regretful.

Then she smiled.

"But none of that matters. What I really want to know is why you went to so much trouble to bring me back. I arranged everything before I died. From that point onward, the world should have been perfectly capable of surviving without me."

"Don’t sell yourself short."

Evenson chuckled.

"Your ability to plan for the future has never been as impressive as you think it is. You believed you had arranged everything perfectly. That’s not quite the same thing as actually having done so."

"Fair enough."

The Ancient One sighed.

"My original plan was for Clea and Strange to support one another. One handling matters openly, the other working behind the scenes, together protecting the Sanctums."

"And now Strange has less authority than a constitutional monarch," Evenson said. "At least those kings get to celebrate their birthdays twice a year."

"People make their own choices."

Evenson shrugged.

"I merely put power inside a cage made of institutions. It’s for Kamar-Taj’s own good. You should be thanking me."

"Heh."

The Ancient One gave him a dry smile.

Sure. He had put Strange in a cage.

And what about Clea?

Permanent First Minister. Absolute authority over Kamar-Taj’s affairs.

That wasn’t exactly a constitutional government.

That was a dictatorship with excellent paperwork.

If Clea ever felt like feeding Strange to Stalin, there probably wouldn’t be anyone around with enough authority to stop her.

"So the Kamar-Taj I spent more than a thousand years building now belongs to the two of you."

Her tone carried unmistakable resentment.

"You’ve already divided up my legacy. What exactly do you need an obsolete Sorcerer Supreme for?"

She sounded like an elderly widow whose ungrateful children had taken the family fortune, sold the house, and somehow managed to dig up the grave afterward.

"Kamar-Taj..."

Evenson sighed.

"There was a time when I was extremely wary of Kamar-Taj’s existence. I went out of my way to avoid your attention. If you don’t believe me, ask them."

He gestured toward the Eredar Twins.

Aureses was sitting nearby, filing one of her hooves with a high-manganese alloy file.

Without looking up, she said, "He’s telling the truth. When we first arrived in this world, he warned us to be careful around you."

"But..."

Evenson’s expression became serious.

"The defenses of the three Sanctums were never enough to trouble me. And your disciples? I never considered them a serious threat. I wouldn’t even have needed to fight them myself. I could probably have sent a single husky and watched it wipe out the entire order."

"That dog eats magic."

The Ancient One immediately came to Kamar-Taj’s defense.

"Calling it a mage hunter isn’t even an exaggeration. Take away that ability and see how well it does. I’ll cook it and send it back to you."

"Well, thank you."

Evenson laughed.

Then his expression hardened.

"But that’s not the point. The reason I feared Kamar-Taj was you."

He looked directly at her.

"You, the Sorcerer Supreme."

"I’ll take that as a compliment."

The Ancient One raised her martini in acknowledgment and took a sip.

"But if that’s true, wouldn’t my death have been better for you?"

"Hostility comes from ignorance."

Evenson smiled.

"Once two sides actually communicate and realize they don’t have any irreconcilable differences, cooperation becomes possible."

He gestured between them.

"Just look at us."

"Cooperation?"

She raised one eyebrow, the long strand of curled hair falling across her cheek.

"I’d say you need my power."

"That’s exactly what I’m saying."

Evenson didn’t bother denying it.

"This world is facing threats from every direction. Internal and external. Visible and invisible. Threats that have already arrived, and threats that haven’t arrived yet."

He leaned back.

"I don’t like being caught unprepared. So I make preparations."

His eyes settled on her.

"And you’re the strongest insurance policy I could ask for."

From the beginning, Evenson had understood one simple truth.

He lived in a catastrophically unlucky world.

Earth seemed almost suicidal in its determination to attract disasters. Every cosmic tyrant, interdimensional entity, alien invasion, secret organization, and mystical catastrophe eventually seemed to look at the planet and think, That one. Let’s ruin that one.

Evenson had no intention of dying simply because Earth had a death wish.

So he had to cut the noose before the planet managed to hang itself.

"Think about what I told you before."

His voice grew quieter.

"The coming darkness."

The Ancient One’s expression sharpened.

"It had already begun showing signs of emerging while you were alive. Now your death has been announced across the multiverse."

He spread his hands.

"How many beings who once feared you are going to start thinking Earth looks vulnerable?"

"How many are going to come here looking for trouble?"

Evenson’s smile was cold.

"My plan is to turn Earth into their graveyard."

He paused.

"An open-air graveyard."

"I see."

The Ancient One narrowed her eyes.

So that was his real plan.

He hadn’t resurrected her simply because he needed another pair of hands.

He was setting a trap.

Announce to the universe that Earth’s guardian was dead.

Make every predator watching from the shadows think the planet had finally become vulnerable.

Let them come.

Then reveal that the guardian hadn’t actually disappeared.

It was the oldest trick in the book.

Feign weakness.

Lure the enemy in.

Then destroy them when they had nowhere to run.

The Ancient One plucked the cherry from the rim of her glass, chewed it thoughtfully, and slowly licked the juice from her lips.

A good plan.

Almost perfect.

Almost.

"Hmm..."

Evenson studied her.

Something had been bothering him ever since she woke up.

After a long moment, he finally asked, "You’ve changed."

She looked at him.

"Is it because of death?"

"Oh, you finally noticed."

She clapped her hands happily, then ran her fingers through her hair.

"Thanks to you, I have hair now. It’s actually quite stylish. Though I assume you’re not planning to reimburse me for shampoo."

"That’s not what I meant."

Evenson shook his head.

Though he couldn’t deny that her hair was strange.

The long, naturally curled strand falling diagonally across her face was particularly odd. Most people’s bangs grew from the front of their scalp.

Hers seemed to originate almost from the center of her head.

He wasn’t entirely sure whether to call it a bang or a cowlick.

"Not that?"

She bit her lip and gave him an apologetic smile.

"I thought I could hide it a little longer."

She lowered her gaze.

"I’m sorry. I’ve already ruined your precious insurance policy."

Her smile faded.

"I’m not as powerful as I used to be."

The Ancient One was a mage.

Her unusual combat style didn’t change that fact.

Her strength came from her magical power, from her mind and spirit rather than her physical body.

The body Evenson had recreated was biologically identical to her original body. A DNA test would have confirmed it without hesitation.

But death and resurrection had still taken a toll.

Her magical power had diminished.

Evenson wasn’t surprised.

He had personally handled her resurrection. He was an inexperienced practitioner using Warlock magic, not one of the Scourge’s perfected necromancers creating a powerful undead through decades of established techniques.

A reduction in strength had always been part of the equation.

"That’s not a serious problem."

Evenson waved it away.

"Your memories and experience are still in your soul. Your body is essentially identical to the original. Recovering your old strength shouldn’t be difficult."

"Of course not."

The Ancient One smiled.

"All I have to do is draw power from the Dark Dimension."

She took another sip.

"Piece of cake."

Evenson rolled his eyes.

Drawing power from the Dark Dimension.

Right.

Dormammu was probably so terrified of receiving another message from Earth that he’d started throwing his phone into the ocean.

But that wasn’t what concerned Evenson.

"Let’s speak frankly."

He studied her for a moment.

"How should I address you now? ’The Ancient One’ doesn’t seem appropriate anymore."

He considered the possibilities.

"Arthur? Morgan?"

The woman lowered her head.

Then she began to laugh.

It was a sly, almost foxlike laugh.

"Why not Guinevere or Mordred?"

That was when Evenson finally understood what had been bothering him.

The Ancient One he knew had been extraordinarily disciplined. She had little interest in worldly pleasures. Her only indulgence had been tea with honey.

Alcohol?

She barely touched it.

Smoking?

Never.

Yet this woman had been steadily working her way through martini after martini.

Clea had asked Evenson to make sure the Ancient One enjoyed her second chance at life.

He’d actually wondered how he was supposed to teach someone who didn’t care about material pleasures to enjoy them.

Apparently, he hadn’t needed to worry.

There was something else.

Her mannerisms.

Her expressions were softer, more theatrical. Her femininity was far more pronounced.

The Ancient One had been a woman, technically, but gender had never seemed particularly important to her. It was simply a biological fact, not a defining part of her identity. Her personality had long since transcended conventional ideas of femininity and masculinity.

And Evenson knew something else about her history.

The Ancient One had once been host to several distinct personalities.

Four of them had essentially existed within the same person.

By ordinary medical standards, that would have been diagnosed as dissociative identity disorder.

She had eventually recovered, but fully formed personalities did not simply disappear. They could remain dormant.

And now, after death, something had clearly changed.

Evenson suspected that one of those dormant personalities had awakened.

Worse, it might have taken control.

"Who am I?"

The woman suddenly rose to her feet.

"That’s a question I’ve struggled with for a very long time."

She smiled.

"But I can finally give you an answer."

"I am me."

"Arthur is me. Morgan is me. Guinevere and Mordred are me."

Her smile widened.

"We were always one. Why insist on separating us?"

Evenson’s eyes narrowed.

"I know I can trust the Ancient One."

His voice hardened.

"But I’ve never met the others. I don’t know them. I can’t trust what I don’t understand."

He paused.

"If that’s who you are now..."

"For the sake of my plans, I may have to make some adjustments."

"Trying to turn me back into the Ancient One?"

She smiled.

"Don’t waste your effort."

Her expression became strangely serene.

"The Ancient One no longer exists."

Evenson stared at her.

The woman continued.

"You probably assumed the Ancient One was simply an evolution of Arthur."

"She wasn’t."

"Arthur was never nearly as noble as you believed."

She rested a hand against her chest.

"The Ancient One was the fifth personality I created."

"Protecting Earth for centuries is exhausting. So I created her because someone needed to be strong enough to do it."

Evenson could only smile bitterly.

And this is why you treat mental illness before it gets this far.

"So when her mission ended..."

He hesitated.

"Did that personality simply disappear?"

"Not disappear."

She shook her head.

"Merge."

She gave him a small nod.

"And I have you to thank for that."

"For thousands of years, we shared one body while remaining completely separate. The Ancient One controlled the body. The others slept."

"But when we died, you collected our souls."

"Normally, that wouldn’t have changed anything."

She lifted one finger.

"But your method of collecting souls was unusual."

"You condensed our souls into a crystal."

"And during that compression, the divisions between us began to disappear."

Her smile softened.

"We returned to what we were before the separation."

"One."

"The original whole."

Evenson stared at her.

"So... unity restored."

He couldn’t help marveling at the absurdity of it.

His standard method of collecting soul fragments had somehow accomplished what years of therapy apparently couldn’t.

"Exactly."

The woman placed her hands on her hips and tossed her hair back.

"You’re right. The name ’Ancient One’ doesn’t suit me anymore."

"None of my old names do."

She smiled.

"So I chose a new one."

"Gabriel."

Evenson considered that for a moment.

"All right."

A new life deserved a new name.

He didn’t particularly care what she called herself. Gabriel, Yahweh, Tilda Swinton—whatever worked.

The name wasn’t important.

The important question was whether she was willing to cooperate.

"So."

He leaned forward.

"What do you think about my proposal?"

"Continue protecting this world?"

Gabriel pretended to think about it.

"I suppose I could."

She shrugged.

"It’s what I’ve always done."

"But before that, there’s one thing I need to know."

"What?"

Her expression suddenly became serious.

"When I was still a young woman, I accepted the responsibility of protecting this world."

"I gave up everything for it."

"Family. Love."

She paused.

"Even my own sense of identity."

"I stood between this world and disaster countless times."

"I protected humanity."

She looked directly at Evenson.

"Is it really too much to say that I have spent my life defending mankind?"

Evenson suddenly pressed a hand against his liver.

"Not at all."

His expression was pained.

"Calling you the foundation upon which humanity rests wouldn’t be an exaggeration."

"Thank you."

Gabriel smiled.

Then the smile faded.

"It was never a pleasant job."

"But I kept doing it for more than a thousand years."

She looked toward the darkness beyond the room.

"Because I loved this world."

Her eyes returned to Evenson.

"But now I need an answer to one question."

The room fell silent.

"I love this world."

Gabriel’s voice was calm.

"But is this world worth loving?"