The Odin Empire, on the site of the former imperial palace of the O'Brien Empire.
Late at night.
A towering palace stood beneath the moonlight. Its black walls were covered in runes of the Rules of Death that glimmered faintly in the dark. The runes writhed slowly as if alive, giving off a sickening air of decay. Gray-black mist hung around the palace, so thick it was almost solid. Any intruder who entered it would be detected at once. This was the defensive system Odin had spent centuries building, and it covered everything within ten miles of the palace.
Deep inside the palace, Odin sat on his throne with a glass of scarlet wine in his hand. He looked about forty, with a sinister face, high cheekbones, narrow eyes sharp as blades, and the trace of a sneer forever at his lips. The throne was carved entirely from obsidian. Nine fist-sized Soul Crystals were set into its back, each imprisoning the soul of a Highgod and glowing faint blue in the darkness. They were trophies he had claimed in the Gobada Plane Prison.
"Your Majesty," a black-robed Highgod said as he emerged from the shadows and bowed. His voice was respectful and low. "Word has come from the border. There have been unusual movements in the Baruch Empire."
"Unusual movements?" Odin raised an eyebrow and brought the glass to his lips. The scarlet wine reflected his cold eyes. "What sort of movements?"
Odin gave a cold laugh, cutting the Highgod off. "Does that useless Wharton still think he can take revenge? I spared him twenty years ago out of respect for Beirut. If he doesn't know what's good for him, I wouldn't mind taking another life from the Baruch Clan."
His voice was perfectly calm, but the black-robed Highgod felt