Viv felt her daughter’s worries gnawing at her through their sympathetic bond.

They will be fine!

It was not a lie, just a wish. Viv parried another series of attacks without too much fear. It had grown easier lately because Oleander had patterns he rarely deviated from, and also because [A Light that Never Dims] had been working overtime.

She could do it.

“Go,” Viv said, looking at the arcing artillery spells.

What?

If you die, all is lost.

“I am what I stand for, and what I stand for is helping each other. Trust your old lady for once. I will hold him back.”

But…

This sounds silly.

The risks…

“I can stand against him. Let them see us duel while you save your precious Children of the Scale minions. Come on.”

Don’t die!

Arthur veered off while Viv jumped down. She didn’t need strategy skills to see that the Maranorians were throwing everything they had at her people. That old asshole Jaratalassi must have felt it because all of the other Alliance armies were switching to the attack.

Viv allowed gravity to win again. She landed softly in the middle of a group of retreating Sheem with Nero close behind. The soldiers scattered with cries of damned souls but Viv didn’t kill them. She allowed the sphere of panic to spread unimpeded.

They were dead anyway.

Oleander took his sweet time coming to a stop. With his red wings spread wide, he looked like a vengeful angel coming to smite her ass. Despite the wear and tear of his armor and the slowly closing wounds over his body, she had to admit he was pretty impressive for a manchild with delusions of grandeur who’d lost his shield sometime during the battle. When his feet touched the corpse-strewn battlefield, the ground hissed. Viv moved her shoulders.

“Are you finally accepting your fate?” he asked her.

[A Light that Never Dims] had been overcharging her for over thirty-six hours, barely fading when she’d caught a thirty-minute nap. It meant that right now, she had more power at her fingertips than she’d ever had in her entire life. She was so filled with it, it was almost painful.

Viv breathed out. Black mana leaked from her every pore. Shadow scars in the world hissed from the tips of her anchors.

She could hold him back if she could cast her strongest spells, and right now, it was possible. She’d trained for over ten years for this specific moment. She’d built the spells she needed to win. And now, her title was making her fast enough to confidently use them in combat.

A second breath and her vision turned gray, not from distress, simply because the black mana concentration reached critical mass.

“You know what?” she replied. “I think I am. [True Aspect of the Dragon] heightened repertoire: [Mantle]”

Viv manifested blades around her like a porcupine. With a frown, Oleander held his sword in guard position. He must have felt something coming. It wouldn’t make a difference. She cast her next spell.

“Heightened repertoire: [Locus of Perfect Control]”

Her black mana aura expanded in a pulse, the spell that had blighted the arena, strengthened a hundredfold. The fleeing soldiers were zombified then disintegrated in an instant. All moisture left the corrupted ground under their feet. The air became still and oppressive.

Oleander threw a blade crescent at her. Viv lifted a hand. A void spell carved the attack.

She manifested another in her spare hand.

She was ready.

“Alright. You wanted a duel? Let’s dance.”

The two of them charged each other, exchanging a flurry of attacks that carved the ravaged ground. Viv merely had to rotate on herself to allow her mantle to cleave through Oleander’s offense. He was still surprisingly predictable despite clear signs she was reading him. Viv’s online friend Gevaudan would have said she had memorized his attack patterns. The thought made her smile. Oleander must have felt it, because he struck harder. It made little difference since he had not yet realized that the locus was disrupting the mana structure of all of his attacks, weakening them.

“You waited a long time to find your courage and make this fair,” Oleander mocked.

“Fair? You poor delusional fucker.”

Viv finished casting her next little surprise. It started with a ball of void, then a sphere of portals around that ball of void. Oleander backed up with a frown which Viv could only assume meant he hadn’t sparred against Crest in recent memory.

The receiving portals manifested all around him. Void blade tore through the soil again, hissing through the air. Oleander still managed to dodge most of them, and only took a glancing blow but that was what Viv had expected. With a flex of her will, all the portals rotated in random directions.

The cage of beams around the blade master moved erratically. Viv smiled when Oleander screamed.

“[Reign of Terror]. Do you like it?” she asked.

“FUCK YOU.”

The spell faded. Oleander raced away, bleeding a shocking, vivid red in the gray background. That almost made Viv miss a step.

She… had gotten him? Really? All of her previous attacks had felt like hitting a brick wall with a mallet. The fact that he was finally seriously wounded was enough to give her pause. Hope ballooned in her chest.

Alright maybe not too much hope; that shit was dangerous.

“If you think you’ve won… [Second Wind],” he yelled.

A ball of crimson light flooded the newly made deadlands. Divine mana coursed through Oleander’s body, closing dark gashes and even regenerating his white armor. Of fucking course. She should have expected something like this. There had to be immortality-related skills in his toolset. It still meant he couldn't move for a few seconds. That gave her some time to prepare her next move.

***

Nero was reborn again. The power tinted with Maranor’s divine presence filled his limbs, rejuvenating them and renewing his desire to win. As the shield faded, hungry black mana returned to gnaw at his resolve with a vengeance. The witch didn’t realize it yet but he could never —

Portals opened around him again. The same attack? Really? This time, he wouldn’t try to dodge. He stabbed his sword at his feet.

[Enduring Orb]

She was using her strongest skills so he would, as well. Gritting his teeth, he cursed himself for selecting such a defensive path.

[Reign of Terror]

The blades bit into the sphere around him, carving through defenses that should have been impregnable. Even the air leeched red mana from his defenses. After half a breath, the shield cracked and a new, fresh line of pain cut across his shoulder. He couldn’t let her cast freely. It was a mistake to keep his distance against a space mage, and he had to resign himself to the realization that she, too, was a space mage. Perhaps as good as Crest.

“Fine!”

He charged ahead, using one of his rare offensive skills to form a spear of mana. Even keeping it formed was difficult.

The ball of murderous black spikes that was the witch didn’t move. He could only spot the green circles of her eyes behind multiple layers of protection. He couldn’t read any emotion in those.

She formed a rectangle with her fingers, so that only one eye remained like one of the moons seen from the bottom of a well. Nero felt something latch onto his soul. He immediately switched to a defensive position. He would never reach her before she finished casting. Despite this, his danger sense screamed in alarm.

[Enduring Sphere].

“[Solipsist’s vista]”, she whispered.

The spell hit him in a wave that ignored all of his defenses, like a ghostly hand passing through his heart. He gasped in pain and surprise when he felt as if a layer had been peeled from who he was. The meaning behind the spell stabbed him next.

YOU DO NOT EXIST.

From the corner of his eye, he saw shapes puff into nothingness. The sentence coursed through his mind, chasing away all other thoughts. He focused.

It felt wrong.

The familiar warmth of Maranor’s favor shone like a fire at the end of a tunnel. He merely had to reach it. He merely had not to give up. One step. After the other.

I exist.

I do exist.

I have a purpose.

The spell failed. He was back. Where was he? Oh, right, the battle. And the witch. Moving forward with a punching motion. He parried, but her fist disappeared into a portal.

Another opened right in front of his face. Still disoriented, he didn’t react in time. Knuckles landed on his nose. Black mana streamed into his nostril, choking him. He slashed the threat away but the portal had already closed.

***

Viv felt a visceral satisfaction putting years of research into punching people in the face from afar into practice. Didn’t do much damage or his danger sense would have helped him block it, but fucking hell did it feel good to deck the asshole. A whisper of fate told her to retract her arm before it could be cut.

It was a psychological victory. Totally worth it.

Now to do it again.

***

Order Master Ered of the White Orchard, the world’s most elite heavy cavalry order, wiped Duke Stelan’s blood off his spear. He’d attended his daughter’s wedding the previous summer.

“Never liked the man anyway,” he grumbled.

“Sir?”

Ered turned his gaze on the ‘radio operator’ lad by his side. It was a shame having to change proper traditions on the fly like that, but at least the boy could ride, fight, and follow orders.

“What?”

“Sir, General Jaratalassi respectfully suggests that you charge the Shadowlander cavalry five hundred paces in front of us, and to our left.”

Ered huffed. Light cavalry. They’d retreat and he would have to withdraw at some point as well. That back-and-forth dance was getting tiring. And risky. He looked towards the demigods duking it out in the distance. The witch cast another strategic spell that could wipe out half a city like it was nothing.

He harbored no delusion that the winner of the conflict would eventually rule mankind. There were no armies capable of stopping either of those monsters. At least, with the girl, he knew she could take part in a cavalry charge. He remembered riding down the Hallurians with his spear loaded with black mana. That had been something.

“I just want an open field I can cross from one end to the other. Is this too much for a man to ask?” he complained.

His second and his herald chuckled. They understood. This was a shit war when he couldn’t charge another knight with the wind in his beard.

“Humph! Well, let’s ride. Now where are those accursed shadowlanders?”

“Between the giant spider matriarch and the wasp throwers, milord.”

All Ered could do was sigh. Was something wrong with old-fashioned war?

“What a time to be alive.”

***

Marruk stood next to her father. The Red Spear shone like a beacon at the head of the formation, the artifact's power fueled by the love of his people. She signaled, and the Red Tribe heavies formed a gauntlet of barbed steel around her. The pakar riders moved to the right flank, the very edge of the formation. A forest of steel tips formed right behind them. Above, the shield deployed by her shamans added a blue radiance to the cold winter air. They were ready.

“My people,” she roared, fury making her louder than ever in her life.

The Red Tribe roared back. Their cries eclipsed even the distant detonations. The kark had always been loud, too loud sometimes, but today?

Loud was good when you needed to make a point.

“We have not pushed the Pure League back to be taken down by some other assholes. Today we repay our debt of honor to the Black Witch - our friend! Today, we show the humans that we will never be crushed again! We are the Red Tribe! We are risen and never again will we fall, not from the Lutenese, and not from those upstart Maranorians either. I declare… BLOOD FEUD!”

The kark warcries reached a crescendo that made the reserve troops in front of them pale, and others turned worried glances in their direction. The Red Spear in her father’s hand burnt crimson with Arthur’s gifted dragon fire.

“CHAAAAAAARGE!”

Maybe it was a skill or maybe it was just pure rage, but Marruk felt she had wings at her feet. She took off towards the enemies’ panicked lines like a ball of steel and vengeance, and when her gaze met that of the enemy officer, she smiled.

“You should have killed us when you had the chance.”

Then she was in the middle of them, past the shield wall, braining foes left and right and her people weren’t far behind.

***

The Hopecrusher was a little concerned because the Harrakans were singing. Their war machines and mages were moving out of the so-far impregnable fortifications while the crossbow bitches unloaded barrel after barrel of those armor-piercing bolts into his best troops. He had a plan though: kill their lead formation. He led his city’s palace guards into the fray, the Shadowland’s best infantry. If only more vanguards had survived the campaign! It would take decades to refill their ranks.

The Harrakan lines weren’t far now. Their war machines had stopped shooting on his meager shield. That would have been their only chance. Now he was going to —

The heavies were moving. The wall of shields was getting closer, with the white masks of their holders peeking just above the line. By the goddess, those fuckers were big. And coming at him very fast. A quick inspection returned something about ‘Imperial Guard’ and ‘One Hundred’ but he barely paid attention.

“Hold!” he ordered. Brace!”

It was a wall. A wall was coming at him. A quick glance to the side showed imperials wearing red-turbans demolishing a hastily formed shield line. Why were his soldiers behaving like such amateurs? He would show them. With confidence, he stepped forward, axe ready. With one hand, he grabbed a shield and with the other, he struck.

A spear hit against his chestplate, eliciting a grunt of pain but the enchanted piece held. The enemy soldier tilted his head, the axe blow sliding along the helmet to bite on the pauldron, carving through it and his clavicle. The Hopecrusher couldn’t capitalize on it because he’d expected to flip the shield like a piece of flatbread but that had failed. Stopping the wall failed as well. He was pushed back. He almost fell, feet stumbling. His palace guard didn’t fare well either. They were not line holders.

His troops were thrown in disarray.

“Reform!” he screamed. “Reform and hold!”

Three spears went for him. He was forced to block and sidestep the attacks, letting them glance on his heavy armor instead. His attempt to finish off the wounded heavy failed when the man simply stepped to the side, letting the next person replace him. It was a woman with the flag attached to her back.

Finally, a lucky break. He recognized her as the obnoxious bitch who kept resisting his skills. Now with her as his single focus, he could finally get rid of that pesky aura of fearlessness. He focused all his monstrous intimidation in a tight wave and unleashed it upon the flagbearer. At the same time, he struck with [Crushing Blow].

“Hoh!”

The woman deflected the hit. His axe’s blade banged on her shield. As for the blast of pure hopelessness, it just… didn’t find purchase. It wasn’t resisted so much as it seemed to have missed. This had never happened before.

“What the —”

Furious, the Hopecrusher pressed on. His skill lashed out with all the rage he felt, but found no purchase. It was like waving his arm in an empty room, and yet he felt her presence. He knew she was there, right in front of him. His intimidation just couldn’t find her. Her attacks were pathetic and predictable but his own were blocked without fail.

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“Hoh!”

“Why. Don’t. You. Just. DIE!”

“Hoh!”

Another deflection, another strike arrested by her shield. Its runic protections were flagging. He just had to keep at it.

“It can’t be…”

The Hopecrusher was forced to fall back when his men started to run.

“What the fuck are you DOING? Are you not Maranorians?”

But they still ran. He first refused to retreat because his pride couldn’t take it, but as the Imperial Guard smoothly closed in around him, he knew he had to disengage. As he stepped back, however, the black ones closed in much faster.

[Champion Slayer]

Mad with rage and humiliation, the Hopecrusher turned on the one who’d led him to be caught. In his grim face and muscular body, the Hopecrusher recognized a kindred spirit. The two engaged in a furious duel.

The enemy spearman was a peerless fighter, able to face him like a duelist as easily as he faced the palace guards in the line. The two exchanged deadly blows while the Hopecrusher kept an eye on the other foes who, so far, had kept a respectful distance.

“Is that the best Maranor has to offer?” the captain asked in Imperial. “Where are your elites?”

That sent the Hopecrusher over the edge.

“You presumptuous fool! We will —”

“Hoh!”

The Hopecrusher’s knee gave way with a crunch and a terrible pain.

“You!”

Another spear found his flank as he collapsed, then another. The captain slapped his axe arm down. The Hopecrusher tried to rise but there was just too much agony, too many forces pushing him left and right. He longed to insult the enemy captain, and he would as soon as he could clear his throat from the liquid. He just had to cough it away. More blows fell.

The last thought that crossed his mind was disbelief.

***

Ban Junior ordered the line to reform, though there were no enemy formations around. Somehow, the One Hundred were always lacking enemies. Their dedicated shield array waited nearby with one of the mages puffing smoke from his pipe. Ban Junior threw him a nasty glare but the man just shrugged.

“Brick, how are you? You’re looking a little pale.”

The guy she’d stopped had felt pretty important, but that unstoppable force had met the immovable dumbass. Brick closed her eyes. A single tear rolled down her ruddy cheek.

“Shield arm hurts.”

Shit, it was definitely shattered.

“Medic?” his second in command yelled.

Several heavies moved to prop up the poor girl on her good side.

“You are to return to our backlines and get healed immediately. Do you understand?” Ban asked, suddenly quite worried.

“Okay…”

“Don’t worry sir. We got her.”

Ban Junior watched her go. She would be fine but it was annoying how he had to ask her if she was hurt or she would just soldier through pretty much anything. Now where to go.

Looking right, the Mountain Lords had managed a pincer move with the Red Tribe, catching hundreds of Maranorians. They didn’t need help.

Looking left, the remaining heavies were far in front of them. Beyond that, some enterprising fool had charged the priest village, only to find it reinforced by retired Harrakan warriors including his own dad. It had gone exactly as he’d expected.

Looking forward, the palace guards were running away. His ‘radio’ was silent. There was, once again, a terrible dearth of enemies around. One of his men sighed.

“It’s kinda bor —”

“Shut up.”

***

Crest watched the seventh circle’s shield collapse under the combined effort of two dragons and Harrakan air mage cadres led by an old gray mage whose beard floated like a cape.

He’d read about them in books but he couldn’t believe their techniques and doctrines had survived the collapse. It should have been impossible! The offensive he’d suggested had collapsed. All of the front was in full retreat. The kark army, against all odds, had managed to envelop a Shadowland regiment. Baranese cavalry was crushing every formation that tried to gather in order to stop that massive spider, one that was protected from artillery spells by a dense network of shamanic casters. The Maranorians still held the number advantage but… would it matter? They’d thrown their best troops at the alliance and failed to breach even one part of their line.

A cold realization washed over his shoulders like melted ice. His eyes roved over the carnage of the battlefield, confirming what he refused to believe.

“Are we… are we… losing?”

***

Viv felt the battle shift. The first sign was Oleander’s increasing disbelief as he was pushed back, bleeding, towards his mages’ shields. The second sign was that surviving vanguards came to reinforce him.

“No you don’t.”

She infused the land at her feet with monstrous amounts of change mana.

[Harvester Wall]

Earth rose like a wave. That wave traveled forward in a tide of screaming faces and misshapen limbs reaching for their next victims. Predictably, the vanguards turned and ran. Oleander didn’t. Viv was forced to teleport before attacking again in a torrent of void blades. He attacked, left right left left and —

Viv jumped to the side when a half-assed strike almost stabbed her arm. His follow up missed her completely, then she riposted. He was growing more erratic. Weirdly, that made him more annoying.

A portal opened in the air. Arthur flew out.

Now where were we, you stupid feathery snack?

Viv jumped on her back again. Dragonfire splashed over Oleander who was forced to retreat. They followed with fury but also patience. The fight was far from won. Still looked good though. They even got closer.

Viv stabbed with a dozen blades. Oleander ducked, sidestepped, and tried to strike only to catch a tail whip in the flank. She opened a portal behind him as he slowed down, cast through it and closed it. Oleander twisted on the side to dodge most of the blades, but not all of them. That made him miss the air blade coming from the front. Before he could recover, Arthur clawed him. His counter bounced against a newly erected shield. A hail of sharpened stone slammed into his face.

“Ngah! [Wave of domination!]”

Viv and Arthur were pushed back by a massive wave.

Mother, please take the locus down.

It’s affecting me as well.

“Oh sorry.”

Viv stopped and finished the spell. The moment she did so, a larger portal manifested by Oleander’s side. He slashed, only for the strike to be deflected by another blade.

“You’re such a second rate duelist,” Eron of Solar huffed.

“I’ve had enough. Of this!” screamed Oleander.

Viv watched Nero rush into the portal towards the blurry form of Sidjin but he never made it. A steel and silverite freight train named Junior forced him back at cruising speed. Watching the golem pin Oleander against the eldritch wall she had raised earlier felt cathartic. The pair did their best to dismember him.

“[Wave of Domination!]”

They were pushed back. Oleander was no longer winning but they were struggling to land a lasting wound on him. With time, people would tire, and then they wouldn’t lose but they’d have losses. And Viv wasn’t willing to allow it. At the moment, she wasn’t casting. She was praying.

“Please, Enttiku. It’s now or never. Let me do it.”

A caress made Viv jump. It was a cold hand on a feverish neck: comfort without judgment.

“You must promise me that you will face the consequences. That you will not run from your destiny.”

“I never run. I… only strategically reposition. Sometimes.”

“Good enough.”

Something was removed from her soul.

Finally.

“Keep him down, boys!”

Viv started casting. Solar performed a maneuver that allowed him to grab Oleander’s sword arm without getting hurt. Junior grabbed the Champion of Maranor from behind, lifting him. They couldn’t hurt him but they could hold him back for a moment. It looked like his [Wave of Domination] couldn’t be cast in quick succession.

Viv was ready. The spell took the form of a triple spell orb centered on a dark mass hovering above her palm. The spell array looked very complex but it wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was that only she had the mastery over black mana to cast this abomination.

Solar’s expression soured. He had good instincts. Only Junior didn’t flinch when she rushed forward, leaving a paralyzed Arthur’s behind. It was a testament to Oleander’s self-control that he managed to raise his left arm to block the strike before it could hit his chest, but even he struggled against the hex’s revolting aura. Viv had never engaged in necromancy. This wasn’t necromancy, or flesh crafting, or any of the dark gods’ domains, no. It was simply much worse.

[Forbidden repertoire: soul warp.]

Oleander’s left arm twisted into a mangled mess. The scream that erupted from his throat carried a lifetime’s worth of dread. It was enough to allow him to break free from the golem with a creak of tortured servos, then he was fleeing. Viv didn’t try to run after him. Fate coalesced into a terrible warning. She jumped back on Arthur’s back. They took off.

***

Pain horror pain horror pain horror. His body wasn’t his. That thing wasn’t his. But his soul recognized it as his, as if it had always been this way, and it was wrong. It was wrong!

No no no no that bitch was dead. She was dead and then he was going to cut off his arm and then Maranor was going to fix him.

Nero’s intact right hand closed on the hilt of the Slayer.

It was time.

***

It wasn’t fear grasping for She-Who-Feasts-And-Collects’ heart. Fear was for humans. And people who didn’t know what to do. The blade that killed Judgment was being drawn and that was Bad. She would know what to do very soon.

Mother.

Mother, what shall we do?

Motherrrrrrrr.

“Don’t worry,” Viv said. “I have a plan! Go over there!”

The pair flew at a right angle until the alliance army was no longer at their back. Arthur did not panic at all.

Mother, what now?

Silence. She-Who-Feasts-And-Collects felt very weird, like she was missing something. She looked back towards mother.

Her back was bare of pesky relatives.

Mother?

***

Viv hit the ground when the Slayer fully cleared its sheath. She had to admit, the power it radiated was absolutely impressive, and in a way, also tempting. It was the tool that had propelled humanity towards a civilization that, despite all odds, had spread throughout several continents. In any other circumstances she would have wanted to enjoy the show, but it was impossible. The blade was drawn for her. It was going to strike her. She felt it like a pain in her stomach, as if she’d already been stabbed. It was going to hit her and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The world grew silent. All the fighting stopped as the combined forces of mankind held their breath. Her own came ragged and short from the sheer pressure. A red radiance permeated everything, blinding her.

There was no plan.

No one could stop a divine artifact. It was fine because Nero would be broken by this. The alliance would win this battle. Her people would survive. And then, assuming Nero ever recovered, the mysterious orphan adopted by one of Arthur’s children would avenge her. She was the mentor figure, and the girl was secreted away with enough teachers to turn her into a juggernaut. Viv’s succession was also secure in the person of her daughter.

Only she had the power to force Nero to draw that sword and she’d done it. Her role was complete.

The ultimate test of a sovereign was to allow their nation to prosper after their end. This was it. She cast her strongest shields, layering them.

She grabbed her old shield. The unwieldy block of metal represented everything she stood for. With gloved fingers, she caressed the uneven surface. Above, Arthur was screaming but that was ok. Children would never be ready for the loss of a parent anyway. Fate narrowed to a single line in her mind.

Nero struck.

It was a deceptively simple attack, one she’d seen knights perform countless times in the training yards. It was almost slow. The slayer looked almost too old and too rustic to be a sword, really. It left a red cut in the air.

Viv tasted her own blood before it could even travel, and when it did, she couldn’t move. A heat of the soul crashed against her, forcing tears out immediately. She gathered just enough strength to move her head to the side and even this was almost too much. The feeling of being on fire intensified until it became too much, and she screamed. Even with pain tolerance and all the willpower she could gather, she screamed. It was that painful.

The traveling line obliterated all the shields Nero hadn’t ever managed to dent like they didn’t exist. The physical shield in her hand was vaporized into floating particles in an instant. Even Judgment’s scale wasn’t spared.

She was dead.

“Have a little faith,” a long forgotten voice whispered in her ear.

The barely conscious part of her mind remembered a certain inquisitor who had perished on Sardanal’s cradle. The old man had never given up. Even when he’d shielded her from the spider goddess’ blow.

“Denerim?” she managed to croak.

BONG.

The red line stopped against an ethereal circle of golden light. Blinking through the pain, she could hardly believe her own eyes. It looked like Nero couldn’t either. Then something yanked on her mana and swallowed several strategic spells’ worth of power in an instant.

A mana vortex formed around the golden circle, first strong, then stronger until even the wind roared in, dragged along with the gray mana. Pennants and flags whipped towards her while the vortex rotated ever faster, swallowing mana at an impossible rate. Skills failed. Spells wavered. Even the distant shields of her arrays flickered. The superheated cloud of particles that used to be her physical shield coalesced into an incandescent disc that spun, white hot yet comfortably toasty for her. Slowly, it cooled, revealing a silver targe with a black and white finish. Thirteen bands linked to the center where the flag of New Harrak was stamped, still cooling. Just like the Slayer, it looked deceptively simple, but the sheen on it burnt with an inner light that left no doubt about its nature.

The Slayer’s blow had faded. Viv was still standing. Under the stupefied gazes of the two armies, she allowed herself to smile through the pain, a figure of legend backlit by golden energy.

And then, very slowly, she fell on her ass.

***

Despite his wounds, despite the atrocious pain of a mangled soul, Oleander still managed to move forward, still approached her. He used his intact arm to grab his other sword and almost struck down the squirming form of Viv even as a portal opened to disgorge help. He could see her exposed flesh, then he could see nothing but white scale. A fury of claws forced him to retreat, but she was too young to stop him. He cut through the mana of her spell. He aimed for her throat.

A shield stopped him, then he was looking into the burning hatred of her crimson eyes.

You may not.

“[Third Wind]”

He tried to activate his final recovery skill but it partly failed. Partially Twisted and twice strained from his use of the relic, his soul cracked, he pushed against her with all that was left of his might. She stood against him. The fire of Maranor burnt in his soul still, but the dragon was suddenly stronger, her strikes more certain. Even her spells were more potent than her age should allow.

“That… is impossible. Impossible. Impossible.”

The Slayer should have killed her. It should have. He couldn’t accept that he’d sacrificed his soul for nothing.

“Give her to me. Give her life to me. GIVE IT!”

A white clawed hand grabbed him, slammed him into the ground. The dragoness twisted and whipped his face down with her tail as he was rising again.

“Get away!” he screamed.

You may not have her.

All that is mine, is mine.

All that is yours, I will take.

For my name.

Is AVARICE.

The ground under Oleander buckled and kicked him mid air where he was engulfed in dragon fire. It was too much for him. Even with the witch disabled, he couldn’t get through.

The last nail was the clouds parting. Oleander looked up, and ran.

***

“Oooooh that hurts,” Viv gasped. “Ow ow ow ow ow.”

That was going to leave a mark. On her face. At least she was already going steady so even if she was disfigured, it would be fine. Hey, Sidjin had a scar too! Now they were a proper match.

Maybe she was in some sort of shock. Anyway. Oleander had drawn. He’d wasted his secret ace and now it was Viv’s turn to use her own and finish this once and for all. She reached for her earpiece.

“Solfis, Solfis can you hear me?”

//I COPY, YOUR MAJESTY.

“Solfis, he did it. He drew the Slayer. And I lived.”

//AS I HAD FULL CONFIDENCE YOU WOULD.

//I NEVER DOUBTED.

//IT IS TIME.

//UNLEASH US.

“Solfis you are clear to engage.”

//COMMENCING FINAL APPROACH.

***

Crest knew something was wrong the moment the witch didn’t die. He soon had something else to worry about.

The clouds parted, dark vapor fading like mist, and what he had thought was the grasping hand of the deadlands disappeared to reveal a mountain. A floating mountain. A moving, floating mountain. No one knew what to do, even as reserves threw themselves at the alliance to stop their advance. It was a pitched battle in front of them, but all the eyes that were not locked down for their own survival were up now, staring at the terrifying shape.

“Is that… the Chalice?” the nearest Helockian warmage whispered.

It was the chalice. Crest recognized it from his own stays within the city, only it was the Chalice in the same way the Slayer could be called ‘a sword’. Gone was the verdant and messy rock. In its stead was a smooth surface of stone, steel, and silverite marked by the patient hands of hundreds of workers over millions of hours. It was an engraved, sublime castle shaped like a lozenge. The very sight of it, an object so large, so regular, floating in the air, induced vertigo. Crest could see panels peeling back in the lower part of the main body. Despite his better judgment, he inspected it.

[Harrakan Experimental Flying Fortress. Designation: Solfis. Danger level: ERROR. Adjusting scale. New danger level established: Apoc̴̛̙̤̤̈̽̔̀͐̂̽̊̈́̒̄̒̕͜͠ͅa̶̜̾̔͌̊̾̂̕l̵̨̛̝͙̙͈̞͇͈͙͔̀̿̆̎̏̉͒̌̔̇ÿ̷̠̬͉̮̮̹̫̩͍̱͍̜́̋͋͛̄̏̈́͐͠p̷̧̘̠̜̓̇̓̂̐͂̒͊̉s̵̛̛͍̜͇̽̍̑͊ͅẽ̸̙̤͈͎̞̩͕̬͕͐̊//DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW?

//IT IS TOO LATE.

//TO RUN.

//MEATBAGS

Crest blinked. Blood dripped from his nose. In the distance, puffs of smoke erupted from the flying fortress. Explosions tore through the rallying Maranorians. Crest knew that they had enough soldiers who hadn’t fought yet to win, if they stopped the enemy advance. It was a critical moment.

“That thing has cannons! Forget about everything else,” he told the archmage. “Can you shoot it down?”

“We would need to redraw our arrays! That thing is far and high. We can’t even aim at it right now!”

“Well, do it then!”

They had to stop it, or, or…

Oleander landed next to him. He looked terrible, burnt, exhausted. His face twitched with nervous ticks and there was something terribly wrong with his left arm. Despite all of the anger he’d felt those past few weeks, he stepped forward to help his old friend, but Nero batted his arm away.

“Sorry. S— sorry. Just. I just need a moment.”

Fuck. It was bad but Crest thought they might have to retreat.

The battle was lost. Unbelievable. As he looked forward though, he realized that the alliance soldiers were falling back.

“Eh?”

“That will buy us some time,” the Helockian warmage grumbled as he and his peers adjusted their arrays.

Crest looked ahead again. At the center of the lozenge four panels pulled back over what looked like a lens. It glowed with energy. Crest felt the mana shift around him. He tried to open a portal and failed. The area around them was spatially locked.

A bitter smile of resignation was all he could manage. Despite it all, he placed a hand over his lost friend’s shoulder and pushed. At first, space refused to bulge but a prayer to the Goddess of Order helped. Her divine sigil briefly appeared on her champion’s brow.

“What… are you… what?”

Nero was drooling. His speech was slurred and halting. Crest sighed, still smiling.

“You killed us all, you dumbass.”

But he saved his friend anyway. Unfortunately, the portal only worked to let the chosen one escape. He was left behind. Crest turned to face the end.

He should have stopped before returning to Param. Now he only had himself to blame for what would follow.

***

Viv was lying on her back watching the Maranorians fight. There were still a lot of them, and her people were still bleeding.

It was time to send a message, not just to them but to absolutely everyone present, even her allies who might later reconsider their allegiance.

“Solfis.”

//Your Majesty.

//Direct approval from the sovereign is required to fire the main weapon on Harrakan soil.

//Please give the order.

“Solfis. I want those fuckers. Off my land.”

//Order Acknowledged.

//Calamity Engine cycling complete.

//Preparing to fire at half power.

//Please stand by.

“What? Really? Now?”

“Well they could have just, you know, not invaded.”

“Why do I get this skill only after the hard part is over?”

***

In Solfis’ command room, Abe stood aside from his control panel. The redeemed lich frowned at the readings.

//FINALLY.

“Are you alright, Solfis? I am reading strange fluctuations in your energy output.”

//YES.

//I AM BETTER THAN ALRIGHT.

//I AM.

//PERFECT.

***

“What now?” Ered grumbled.

Someone was talking in his earpiece. It was a voice he didn’t recognize.

//COMMUNICATION ARRAY OVERRIDE ENGAGED.

//MAIN GUN IS ABOUT TO FIRE.

//SEEK SHELTER IMMEDIATELY.

//I REPEAT.

//SEEK SHELTER IMMEDIATELY.

“What does that mean?” he asked the radio lad.

“Means we need to fall back right away, sir.”

Ered looked at the enemy rank in front of him, ripe for the taking.

“Really?” he asked.

“Right away, right away.”

Something in the boy’s tone convinced him.

“Alright lads. Pull back! Pull back!”

For once, nobody complained.

***

The forces of the alliance stopped, turned around, and retreated. Now given a moment to breathe, the Maranorians oscillated between surprise and disbelief until they looked up. The fortress’ central lens turned white with energy, like a second sun. Some ran. Others prayed. Some didn’t know what to do as they reformed their lines with stoic determination. All could feel the pressure. They knew that something was coming, and they hoped that it would target someone else.

***

//FIRING SEQUENCE INITIATED.

//5

//4

On the fortress, the gun ports closed while the crew rushed to their assigned positions.

***

On the ground, Viv stood up. Slowly, because everything hurt. She was still ahead of her formation, and quite a few of the Maranorians were looking her way.

“Finally, I’ve always wanted to say this,” she gasped through the pain. “Witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational flying —hmph!”

Viv caught a faceful of dragon. Cursing quite loudly, Arthur covered her with her wings.

***

//3

//2

//1

//FIRING.

It started with a sharp crack, like a whip. Reality turned white and black, quiet, unmoving. A line of black energy hit forward at the perfect center between all the Maranorian’s shields where their remaining elites and rulers waited. The beam didn’t stop so much as pass through. The light bent, not behind, but inward. Those who watched struggled to process space seemingly warp on itself to form a funnel pulling down and beyond. The archmages still stood until the lines of their bodies turned to strings swallowed by the funnel, then the same happened to their neighbors and to their neighbors’ neighbors. Even the spells themselves were warped rather than broken. That strange hole that wasn’t one grew deeper. It was as if a mountain-sized child was poking his finger in a slate of putty. For a moment the funnel reached so deep, something might crack, but the cannon quieted, the beam disappeared, and space bounced back.

It also exploded.

It was more a loud ‘pang’ than the deep ‘boom’ of artillery.

The cataclysmic detonation obliterated the mage shields, their tents and absolutely everything else in a half a league radius. Every human nearby fell when the shockwave hit them. An expanding orb of fire and matter darkened the sky above the battlefield. Debris as large as houses rained down, some endangering the alliance line. It took twenty seconds for the last of the calamitous noise to fade and for the smaller rocks to land. Twenty seconds of horrified silence. Twenty seconds of pure, unadulterated terror at what had just occurred. That time was too short to comprehend how the balance of the world had irremediably changed and how this event marked the beginning of a new era. It was just enough time to remember that the battle wasn’t over just quite yet.

“Sahin?” Viv whispered in her earpiece.

“I. Ah. Yes?”

“Sahin, I think a red flag is called for now.”

“Ah. Hm. Yes. Yes, indeed!”

***

Ered resisted the urge to tsk. Truly, this was the end of war. What nation could ever refuse Harrak anymore after that? It was very lucky he’d chosen the right leader for Baran. They would need diplomacy in the coming years.

“All units, this is Sahin. Red flag, red flag, red flag,” a voice said in his ear.

“What does that even mean?” he asked the radio lad.

“That —”

The boy didn’t get the time to reply. A powerful knight on a massive black charger rode close, brushing dust off the blue roses of his armor.

“That means all units capable of charging must charge to the end of the other field, old man. It’s time to finish this.”

“Rollo,” Ered growled.

“So are you leading the charge or what? I’m waiting.”

Ered looked at the field in front of him where the Maranorians were picking themselves up. Besides the massive, glassy, smoking crater where their generals used to be, it was flat terrain all the way down. Flat terrain filled with enemies.

“Finally a good fucking order.”

Spider riders, pakar riders, and those annoying steel beasts roared forward loaded with infantry. Even the archers and those feral crossbow women were running ahead with ululating battle cries. The entire alliance advanced like an unstoppable wave. Ered led the heavy cavalry. The alliance took captives by the tens of thousand and, just as ordered, they only stopped on the other side.