Vitan stood suspended in space, looking down at a painful, haemorrhaging memory. 

Voswurn was a place of so much pain, of so much vanity and death. Its surface crawled with Godless creatures, who had forsaken the Creator, to pursue their own unholy path to Godhood. His freedom from his self enacted imprisonment was a mixed blessing; yes, he was free to live once more, as he had done for millennia, but at what cost? 

When the mortals rose up against the Gods, Vitan had naturally sided against his kin - against his father. He did not savour the idea of reaping millions of lives. He did not savour the prospect of waging a war that went against his very existence. So, instead, he aided the mortals. He did this, because Vitan was foolishly steadfast in the belief that he could salvage the situation, that he could show his father that the mortals were worth saving. 

Giving Tanarius the Wise, a Mage Lord of great strength, immortality, was an erroneous move. Tanarius was able to copy the celestial blueprints of Vitan's powers, and rework the spell a hundred fold - creating an army of significantly powerful Mage Lords. This army was key in throwing down many of the Gods, but it was Vitan's grief and selfless sacrifice that stopped them. By banishing himself from the plains of existence, he took with him the very powers that Tanarius had used to enhance his own vitality, restoring the Mage Lords immediately to their mortal forms. Though this, he did too late, and by then the war was a pre-concluded affair.

Vitan shuddered at his stupidity. 

Perhaps it was best to leave Voswurn to the others. To let them destroy it as they willed. 

[i]"Papa, no!"[/i]

[i]"Henryd! Put down that blade! Have you Gon-"[/i]

[i]"I'll kill them all, those wretches, who killed my son!"[/i]

Vitan listened patiently and sullenly to the inumerable anguished cries of the mortals. They were so angry, so blood thirsty. With no Gods to lead them, they had descended into a repeated revolution of civil war and murder. For every great city, there was an endless field of head stones; for every act of kindness, there were three acts of selfishness. Vitan wept slightly at the monstrosity, his shimmering form momentarily passing from existence, then back again. 

[i]"By order of the high courts, the accused is to be handed unto death."[/i]

[i]"Send in the cavalry, break their flank! Run them from the field!"[/i]

Such anguish, such reckless hate.

[i]"Father, who art in the Hallowed Realm, come to us in our darkest hour. I beg thee, help us!"[/i]

Vitan's attention focused entirely on that last cry - a plea for help. He saw trees blossoming with silver leaves, he saw a tower of white marble, and a blue banner bearing a golden ball in its centre. He saw men-at-arms, clad in shining mails, carrying hammers and leather bound books. He saw an old man, cancerous and deformed, clutching a ball of solid gold that hung from his neck, kneeling before a plain alter of obsidian rock. 

At an extension of his will, he was there, standing before the man but unseen. His curiosity had been peaked - did the mortals still cling to memories of those they had banished? He was inside the marble tower, looking down on the old man who wept with the pain that racked his body, but also with the pain that racked the world. Vitan instantly looked into the old man's soul, a swirling mist of purple, blotched with darkness. 

Not a good man. Not a pure soul. A repentant soul, perhaps?

There was a thunderclap, as Vitan made himself visible, using the guise of an aged, white robed mortal. 

"You summon me, mortal?" Vitan asked, speaking with a voice of iron that echoed through the halls. "You wake me from the slumber that I subjected myself to, that you and your kin forced me undertake?" 

The old, dying man recoiled, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. Trembling lips managed, "with which Mage Lord do I speak?" 

Vitan let loose a powerful sigh, just as the solid oaken doors at the back of the chamber burst open, and in surged a group of heavily armoured knights. They froze when they saw Vitan, unsure of how to proceed. 

"You have commanded much evil, Trinton, son of Trint, Grand Master of the Holy Order," Vitan roared, in a voice that defied his semi-mortal appearance. "Murderer of children, of men and of women. Rapist. Thief." 

The old man fell to his knees, clutching the golden ball at his throat. "Ho- what? I do no-"

"The GODS see ALL, Trinton, and you have disgraced my name by proclaiming to head an Order of murderers bearing the flags of my righteous form," Vitan continued, his features twisting in disgust, his yellow eyes blazing with fury. "And you have the nerve, to beg for help." 

The knights at the back of the room lowered their weapons, and one by one fell to their knees. The old man, tears flowing from his eyes, struggled to get words through. "I am sorry, so sorry- please, do not kil-"

"KILL YOU!?" Vitan snarled. "Is that all you have learned from my legacy? From what I tried to teach your kin?" 

The old man, cancerous and deformed, collapsed to the floor as his heart gave way. Vitan saw his chance, and stooped low alongside the dying mortal. 

"I will save you, Trinton, though you do not deserve my blessing. I will save you, that you may spend your last years of life striving to undo the bad you have committed," he hissed through shimmering white teeth. He held up his staff, and tuned himself to the life forces in his immediate bounds - namely the knights, and some of the flora beyond the marble walls that he could reach. Power surged through him, not much, but enough for his needs. He touched the dying old man, the Grand Master and murderer, with the end of his staff and stood back. 

"Arise, Trinton, son of Trint, and reclaim the conscience you held in earlier days," Vitan said, his voice growing soft. 

The old man lost twenty years, in a mere instant, and hopped to his feet in a flash of youthful vigour. His deformations gone, his cancers removed. He looked at Vitan, brown eyes full of vitality, and then fell to his knees. 

"Oh master!" the revived mortal called. "Oh master, how wrong I have been, how stupid I have been. I thought you lost to us. I did all that I could to keep your memory alive," he paused, "I killed many, to achieve this end." 

"And no more, shall you kill," Vitan retorted, before looking at the knights. "Nor will any of you."