By Walter M. Smith

Forward by the Author

Betrayal & Loss was originally written in July of 2017, written around a version of the Second Generation of Archangel’s Heroes that is no longer considered accurate. A refined version of the story was written in July of 2019¹.

Although the story is indeed canonical overall, several details in the story may be subject to revision or retcon; as Legere’s history and the mythos of the Archangel’s Heroes continues to expand, elements of this narrative may need to change.

What you read now is the third iteration of the story, further polished to adopt the more developed canon of Legere as of August 2026.

Please enjoy.

Trigger Warning

Betrayal & Loss includes some references to sexual assault. Reader discretion is advised.

Chapter I

The wind howled across the desert, blowing sand across the arid landscape. Emerging from this dying remnant of a sandstorm was a man on a horse. The rough, tattered cloak covering his frame billowed in the wind. He gripped the reigns of his horse with one hand, and his other hand—wrapped in rough cloth from the base of his arm—steadied the straw hat that threatened to blow off from the wind. It wasn’t designed for the desert, but it kept the sun off of him all the same.

The man’s lips from under the hat were dry and cracked. He’d run out of water an entire day ago. His life—and his horse’s—was on the clock.

The man cursed himself for his eagerness to find this supposed “lost village of Dimox”. There was nothing this deep in the blasted wastes of the Kaktis Desert. The Pharaoh had scoured this land of life.

But hope returned to the man as a shimmering manifested on the horizon. A mirage?

The man slapped himself, hoping to correct his vision. He couldn’t afford to hallucinate now. But the vision didn’t dispel—it was there, clearly: several dusty buildings, leaning palm tress… and beyond, sparkling water.

It wasn’t a mirage.

He urged his horse into a gallop towards the town.

The man’s arrival was noticed by all. The village folk of this settlement stopped what they were doing as he passed by on his horse. As he passed, his ears picked up the whispers of the people around him: they whispered of impossibility, that he might be a spy, that he must have been some fort of mage.

He dismounted his horse, leading it by the reigns to a well where he began to water both himself and his steed. The cool water bestowed long-awaited relief to his parched tongue and lips. He knew it was just water, but it was as sweet as honey.

The man’s bliss was broken by the words of a dark-skinned Jinifarian man behind him.

“Greetings, traveler!” the Jinifarian spoke, his voice thick with a Ghilit accent. He was a soldier of some kind, with his hand gripped loosely around a spear. His head was covered by cloth, shielding him from the sun that was still beating down on them. A thick black beard poured out from under his head wrappings. An enormous grin remained on his face, as if he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“Greetings,” the traveler croaked, his voice cracking as it adjusted to the moisture.

“We don’t get a lot of traffic out here,” the Jinifarian continued. “The Pharaoh’s domain has claimed every settlement in all of Jinifar… well, if you can say Jinifar even still exists. Ah, forgive me! My name is Horbajar.”

Horbajar cocked his head, looking at the cloth that encompassed the man’s left arm like bandages.

“Are you injured, friend?” Horbajar asked.

“No,” the man answered hurridly before changing the subject. “Is this… Dimox?”

“Indeed it is. I am… surprised you know.” Horbajar answered, giving a quizzical look. “When I was a boy, this village was like an accidental smudge on the map of the kingdom. Now that Jinifar has been erased… its name is remembered? Curious.”

“Rumours spread fast across Legere,” the man answered, slumping down in the shade of the well. “And thanks to the Jonsuuls, they die rarely.”

“Hmm! Well, may the good Creator bless me! This is fortunate for us. You look Isutan. Are there more of you coming from the Eastern Provinces? Why are you here?”

“I’m not from the Eastern Provinces. I had to know if the rumours were true.”

“A silly reason to come so far, regardless of where you are from!”

“Well, my source was reliable. I knew that if Dimox really existed, it would need my help.”

“Oho! Your help, you say?” Horbajar threw his head back in a mighty guffaw. “What kind of man are you that you can provide relief from the horrors that my village faces?”

The man lifted his head in contemplation for a moment. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he rose to his feet while casting off his hat. The face underneath the hat was scarred, telling a tale of a man who had lived through countless fights. A thin beard covered the bottom part of his face while long, unkempt black hair hung from his scalp. His brown eyes reflected both tiredness and an unceasing determination. A momentary flash of deep indigo, like the night sky, reflected off his pupils for a split second.

“I am Jado, the Inuzumatako… Hero of the Archangel.”

There was a quiet was as gust blew through Dimox’s stout, dusty buildings.

“Who?” Horbajar asked, tilting his head in confusion. “What is that?”

Jado blinked. Perhaps he’d taken the widespread fame of the Archangel’s Heroes for granted.

“You… you don’t know the Archangel’s Heroes?!” Jado sputtered. The ubiquitous chronicles of the Archangel’s Heroes meant he hadn’t needed to define himself to others for years. Had this village been this isolated from the rest of Hohm for this long?

“I… we… well, this is strange. Um…”

“Archangel’s Heroes, you say?” Horbajar pondered. “Divinely appointed to some extent, perhaps?”

“Well, I suppose that’s the short of it. You… have you heard of the Legerian War?”

“My people and I,” Horbajar said, extending his hand in a sweeping, dramatic fashion, “we have not heard of things beyond the limits of Dimox for an age. We once sent out messengers to seek for aid, but they never return. The desert—which serves Pharaoh—swallows them whole. You are the first to come to to Dimox from the outside world since I was a boy. Perhaps… perhaps you are divinely appointed, ‘Hero of the Archangel’“.

Horbajar ran his fingers over the head of his spear. He turned his head towards the oasis, but Jado watched his eyes look towards the horizon beyond.

“I suspect we have much to discuss. But that can wait. You are undoubtedly weary from the journey you’ve made.”

“You’re right about that.”

“Come, I will give you a place to lay your head and regain your strength. If you are indeed here to help us, you will need your energy.”

Jado awoke the following morning with a renewed vigor. The comfort of a bed beneath him and a belly full of food and water nourished him greatly. His saddlebags rested against the wall, still packed: for sleep had descended upon him swiftly last night. Jado took a quick glance at the equipment bundled up tightly with a roll of grey cloth, debating in his mind for a second whether or not he should take them with him. He opted not to, exiting the small house and into the sunny streets of the town.

Jado took a moment to drink in the sights of Dimox—this small settlement hiding deep within the heart of a dead kingdom.

Businessmen bartered with each other while women gossiped. Elderly members of the village sat by the roadside gambling what could very well be the last pieces of Jinifarian-minted coins. Camels strut across the dusty roads as donkeys pulled carts of fruit and produce. And beyond it all, the lush oasis that gave life to this pocket of civilization glinted like a jewel in the light of the harsh sun.

Jado smiled at the view. This place was as alive as anything… no one would ever guess that Jinifar had already died around this place.

“Good morning, my friend,” the sound of Horbajar’s voice fell on Jado’s ears again. Jado turned to the sound of the voice, seeing the soldier alongside several others like him. They were all poorly equipped, wearing armour that was battered and scratched. Much of it fit poorly. Dimox probably didn’t have a metalsmith of any kind—melting down armour into better-fitting sets was probably out of the question.

“Horbajar! Thank you for your hospitality.” Jado looked around at the men. “Are you the governor or mayor of sorts around here? The owner of the house you gave me listened to you without question when you asked for them to let me sleep there.”

“Well, I’m a leader by necessity,” Horbajar explained, “My father was a guard captain in Siman before it was conquered. I suppose the ounce of leadership experience that I inherited from my father was enough to make my people push me into the role of leader.”

“Siman? That was the capital. I thought you grew up in Dimox?”

“Indeed. My father was wise enough to move our family back here to Dimox when rumours of The Pharaoh’s actions began to creep across Jinifar. This was his hometown when he was a boy.”

“Right. Well, I commend you for rising to the occasion, Horbajar.”

“Speaking of leadership… I’m sure you understand the gravity of our situation with respect to the Pharaoh.”

“Yeah. How did you survive this long? Why isn’t this land barren? Why does your oasis still exist?”

“Come, Jado. Allow me to show you something.”

Horbajar turned and led Jado and his fellow soldiers into the center of town. From there, the group descended into the basement of one of the buildings.

Cool air rose from the interior of whatever place they were going into. Jado welcomed the reprieve from the scorching heat.

The stone steps they paced down went deep. Deeper than what was necessary for a simple basement or wine cellar. Jado watched the walls change from contemporary Jinifarian construction to ancient brickwork.

Eventually, the group found themselves standing in a chamber bathed in blue light. The stone lining the walls was clean and built with purpose—whoever had built this place had done so with extensive resources and clarity of purpose.

Jado’s eyes were drawn to the center of the room where the light emanated from a glowing object. A four-sided triangular pyramid wrought from gold. Each of its surfaces were completely smooth—it wasn’t clear where the light poured out from.

“What is this?” Jado asked.

“I wish we knew,” Horbajar replied, kneeling on the ground next to the artifact. The azure glow of the object twinkled in his eyes. “Beautiful isn’t it? This thing… it protects us.”

“From the Pharaoh?”

“Yes, my friend. It has fended off the profane energies that emanate from the Undead Despot’s temple. It has also protected us from his scrying eye as he searches his domain for intruders.”

“How have you survived for so many years?”

“This artifact has kept us safe, but in addition to this; you spoke of the Legerian War. Perhaps this conflict was large enough to pry the Pharaoh’s attention away from the desert and towards other regions of Hohm.”

“The Dead Sand Lectors did provide reinforcements at the Battle of Gong.”

Horbajar spat on the ground at the mention of the Lectors. His fellow soldiers did the same.

“Foul servants of the Undead Despot. Curse them. May the Creator heap upon them many punishments in both this life and the next!”

“Based on conversations I have had with… certain people, I think that’s definitely in the cards.”

Horbajar and Jado stepped onto the street, the cool underground air having given way to the dry heat of the Kaktis. They had made their way through the town until they arrived at a walkway overlooking the oasis.

“I suspect you have powerful allies,” Horbajar asked as he set down his spear and sat on a bench. “Allies that may relieve us of our isolation and constant vigil against the Pharaoh’s fighting dead.”

“I have many allies,” Jado answered with a sigh, sitting next to Horbajar. “Some of them powerful. But all of them very helpful. And loyal.”

“When can we receive their help? Now I know you’re a Hero of the Archangel undoubtedly blessed with divine powers and whatnot—”

Jado laughed. Horbajar squinted at him, confusion returning again.

“Why do you laugh? You said yesterday you were a divine warrior, no?”

“Divinely appointed warrior, Horbajar. I carry no heavenly fire in my hands.” Jado paused, looking down at his left arm, still wrapped in cloth. “But I do wield enough power to help you protect your village until help arrives.”

“How will you send your message for aid? We have no messengers here, for the desert’s hostility opposes anyone who leaves the oasis’ area. And surely you do not intend to wander back into the desert yourself?”

Jado grinned, pulling a pendant out from under the cloth mantle hanging from his shoulders. It was carved stone, with flickering white light sparkling from within the intricate script engraved on its face. He tapped its face 5 times in a rhythmic pattern.

“They’ll find us soon.”

Horbajar stood up suddenly. Jado looked around in confusion.

“What is it?”

“The air grows still. Can you feel it?” Horbajar hissed, gazing into the distance. His typically jovial voice was now flat, like a stone that halted skipping. “The rotting of souls in the air.”

A chill crept down Jado’s back. A familiar feeling… the presence of pure, unmitigated evil.

A din rose from the town as ram’s horn trumpets began to sound. Townsfolk began to scream and hurry through the streets, ushering loved ones into buildings.

“A raid… his dead are here.” Horbajar spat on the ground again. Jado didn’t need to ask who the Jinifarian man meant.

“We will have to fight,” Horbajar said, snatching his spear up. “And we will have to pursue the Pharaoh’s forces. None of them can be allowed to escape.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before,” Jado said, standing up.

“Too many times. And every time, we lose more and more good men.”

“Let me help. I just need my weapons. They’re at the house.”

Horbajar nodded. “Go, Hero of the Archangel. Meet me and my men on the south side of the oasis.”

The air had indeed gone still. But the stillness was broken by a sudden rush of air that flooded through Dimox’s vacated streets. Window shutters rattled as Jado ran past them. A tailwind at his back seemed to carry him forward almost as he were floating. In mere minutes, he arrived at the south side of Dimox, past the oasis, where Horbajar and a platoon of no more than 50 poorly-equipped men stood. Jado took note of their stances—they were not afraid. They stood tall and defiantly.

The cloth-bound weapons in Jado’s hands rattled as he strode up to Horbajar. He gave a nod to the Isutan, pointing towards a mass of dark colour that lurched along the horizon.

“The Pharaoh’s mummified warriors wander across the desert, patroling for life to extinguish and bring back to the Pyramid, where they are resurrected as filthy additions to his armies,” Horbajar said through gritted teeth. All traces of the man’s previously upbeat demeanor has evaporated. Jado was looking into the face of a man who had been at war for most of his life.

“They will attack the town. We will defend it. They will flee. And we will pursue them so that no word of our existence reaches the Pharaoh’s rotted ears,” Horbajar continued. “This is how it has been, for years.”

“And you lose men every skirmish,” Jado spoke.

“Sadly, yes. The fighting dead are formidable.”

“I will make it my mission to stop any spear of the Pharaoh from piercing you or your men today.”

Horbajar blinked, and for a moment, the vibrant sparkle of joy manifested once again in his eyes.

“Jado… you truly are a hero of sorts. You, a foreigner, having never met us, is willing to fight for people you have met not more than a day ago.”

“Been doing this for years. Call it a habit, Horbajar.”

Horbajar laughed. His men around him seemed almost startled—they had never seen Horbajar relax like this on the eve of an attack.

He clapped Jado on the back.

“After we finish this, a feast at my house, yes? I will introduce you to my father-in-law, my wife, and my daughter… who is looking for a husband, by the way.”

Jado grinned back. “Alright, alright. Let’s focus on turning these monsters back into the dust they’re supposed to be first.”

Horbajar bellowed commands in Ghilit to his fellow soldiers, and they began to march forward, their shields and spears clattering together as they moved in formation.

Behind them, Jado cast off his mantle, revealing a set of sandblasted Isutan armour. Its eastern design stood out dramatically from the Jinifarian men’s equipment. Jado’s armour was chipped, the dark red lacquer coating exposing the metal underneath. A brilliant flash of light emerged from the armour whenever the reflective metal caught the light of the sun.

With another motion, Jado unwrapped the weapons in his hand, revealing a curved sword resting in its sheath, and a folded polearm with a vicious blade like that of a waning moon. He tucked the sword into his belt before unfolding the larger, scythe-like weapon.

“You’re a nakai?” One of Horbajar’s men asked Jado.

“Well… I suppose I am.”

The enemies of Dimox were close enough for Jado to see properly now. They were indeed grotesque—desiccated corpses wrapped in bandages and hastily equipped with bronze blades and poor armour.

But the mummified assailants more than made up for their equipment with their numbers. It was like an ocean of corpses, shambling slowly, unrelenting, towards the town.

I’m gonna have my work cut out for me, Jado thought.

As they neared, Horbajar raised his spear and unleashed a battle cry, reciting some sort of Ghilit phrase to rally his men. Before Jado knew it they were charging into the ranks of the mummies, screaming wildly with abandon.

The release Jado had been waiting for. His favourite feeling—unleashing his power and skills against an undisputed force of evil.

Sand flew into the air as Jado leaped across the battlefield, landing in the middle of the mass of mummies. As he touched down, a graceful sweep of the scything polearm eviscerated a dozen undead, their tarlike blood making the sand slick. Horbajar and his soldiers withdrew for a moment, mesmerized by the grace of the Isutan warrior. It was like watching a gruesome dance, with ribbons of the mummies’ black ichor trailing behind Jado as he carved through their ranks.

Eventually, the initial wonder wore off, and the Dimox guards joined the fight with renewed vigor, inspired by the ferocity of the Isutan warrior—this nakai.

As Jado swung his massive blade towards another revolting enemy, a massive bronze khopesh seemed to appear from thin air. The scythe dug into the edge of the hooked sword, which flared with pink light as profane sigils across its blade exploded with power. Jado was thrown backwards across the sand, but stayed on his feet.

Jado shook the sweat from his dark hair and looked up to face this new assailant. A Dead Sand Lector, in the flesh. Their monstrous body was an unholy fusion between the rotting corpse of a woman and a serpent—where her legs should have sprouted from her torso, only the armour-clad skeletal body of a snake existed. The ghoulish face of the Lector leaned forward, framed by a headdress embroidered with gold and jewels.

“And ssso we meet our fearlesss defendersss…” she hissed, like a snake. “No wonder hisss eternity’sss sssoldiersss kept disssappearing in thisss area.” The Lector waved her enormous sword about effortlessly, as if it weighed nothing.

“Look at thisss quaint little haven. An oasssisss! A town teeming with life! My king ssshall be mossst pleasssed with my dissscovery here today. And you…”

The lector leaned in closer to Jado.

“A nakai, fighting against usss? A warrior of the Ganpoumi Fi?”

“So you don’t recognize me either, huh?” Jado replied.

“Ssshould I recognize a pathetic, flessshbound whelp sssuch as yourssself?”

“Perhaps it would be good to know in your line of work. Introduce yourself, fiend. Then we’ll settle with with our blades.”

“Ssso… fiery! I will enjoy watching the life fade from your eyesss… well, my name isss Sssahmetra, Eternal Lector of Bladesss!” Sahmetra’s body coiled and swayed, like a cobra debating whether or not to strike. “I ssserve the Pharaoh until hisss final conquering of death!”

“Sahmetra, huh? Nice to meet you. I’m Jado.”

At the sound of the name, Sahmetra froze. Her grip on her sword loosened, and Jado saw. With a burst of speed, he rushed towards her, his enormous scything weapon suddenly crackling with lightning. Arcs of electricity leapt from the blade, glassing patches of sand that he dashed past into fulgurite. Wind blasted outwards as Jado jumped into the air, twirling the weapon as he ascended. Horbajar and his men covered their eyes as lightning sparked from Jado’s weapon.

Jado landed, and the lightning crackling violently from the weapon died down. In front of him, the twisted body of Sahmetra shuddered before crumbling into a heap of dust, bone, and metal.

“Inanimate as your bones should be,” Jado whispered, before standing back onto his feet. He looked around—most of the mummies encircling him and Sahmetra a moment ago were decimated, either fried by electricity or lacerated by the sharp gust of wind. A few stragglers remained, shambling slowly away on damaged limbs. Horbajar and his men saw that they were dispatched quickly.

“I’ve… I’ve never seen such power,” Horbajar said as he approached Jado. The nakai was seated on the corpse of a mummy, wiping the black ichor from his weapon. “Are you a mage? A practitioner of the arcane?”

“No, just a wielder of magic weapons,” Jado replied. “My rauwing polearm is made of a special arcane metal. I’ll spare you the details.”

“I see now why you were so confident in your ability to protect us earlier.”

“You might be in more trouble now though—that Sahmetra? You’ve never had an actual Dead Sand Lector show up on your doorstep before, have you?”

“No, we have been fortunate so far.”

“Well, the Pharaoh’s going to take more notice of a missing, deceased Lector rather than a few dozen slaughtered mummy soldiers. You’re going to need me even more until backup arrives.”

“Truly,” Horbajar agreed, placing a hand around Jado’s shoulders. “I think you will be a good friend to have around for the next while. Shall we feast? You will need your strength if you intend to continue defending us!”

Chapter II

Weeks passed, and the dead never returned. Every day, Jado stood at vantage points throughout the town, keeping a vigilant eye on the horizon for the return of the Pharaoh’s servants. But none came.

Horbajar continually fulfilled the role of nuisance for Jado, pestering him with a torrential flood of dry humour and offerings of food. Although Jado attempted to decline Horbajar’s hospitality, he would eventually succumb to his persistence. Over the month, Jado became well-acquainted with nearly everyone in Dimox. The town was big, but close-knit. Horbajar made sure to introduce Jado to everyone personally, placing special emphasis on the daughters of Dimox’s elders. It was clear to Jado that Horbajar was hoping he would stay in Dimox.

It was one day, like any other, where Jado was perched atop a watchtower, gazing into the distance while chewing on buttered flatbread when something on his horizon caught his eye. At first, he thought it could be the Lectors. But the sunlight reflected off of the moving shapes in a way it hadn’t against the shuffling hordes of undead.

Jado’s heart leapt. The reflection sparked familiarity—the sunlight was catching on the polished fire iron armour of the Holy Knights of the Righteous Order.

At last! Jado thought, hurrying down the tower.

“Horbajar!” Jado called as he ran past his friend, “my allies are here!”

“We will come to meet them!” Horbajar called out in response as he finished his business with a local artisan.

Jado rushed to the northern edge of town, where he stood in anticipation of the knights’ arrival.

Leading the column of knights was a clean-shaven Jinifarian man wrapped in elaborate, tanned robes. His head was wrapped in a headdress adorned with sapphire-inlaid gold chains. The fanciful garb upon the figure plus the ornate staff in his hand identified the figure to Jado immediately.

“Paulraj!” Jado announced with a grin, stepping forward to hug his old friend.

“Jado! I have not seen you for so long!” Paulraj embraced him back. They remained in the hug for a moment, savoring their reunion—the last time the two had been together, Paulraj’s unconscious body was being carried by Jado off of a battlefield.

“It’s good to see you,” Jado said, taking a step back. “Looks like you’re in fine shape after the war.”

“We are lucky to have good healers in the Righteous Order,” Paulraj commented as he leaned on his staff. “I have to say, Jado, it’s weird being back in Jinifarian lands.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“When I was a boy. I remember only a few pieces of my home village. Most of my childhood memories begin with me stepping off that boat in Gong.”

Paulraj turned to look behind him, past the column of armour-clad knights that were standing dutifully at attention.

“We passed by a lot of ruins on our way here,” Paulraj continued. “I don’t know where my parents’ village was, but I imagined to myself that every one we passed through was it.”

“No need to dwell on ruins,” Jado said, wrapping his arm around Paulraj and directing him towards Dimox. “This is Dimox. The Dimox. The last pocket of Jinifarian society. It needs our protection.”

“I figured. I brought some paladins with me. There’s 30 of them here.”

“Horbajar!” Jado called out as the knights began to shuffle into the town. “These are our reinforcements. Show ‘em around and tell them how to best defend your town.”

Jado turned to Paulraj.

“There’s a trinitium artifact here. Talk to Horbajar about it later. It’s protecting Dimox’s oasis from the Pharaoh’s necromancy.”

“I’ll make sure the knights know about it.”

“It’s going to be much easier for me to defend Dimox with these paladins around. I suspect the next time the Pharaoh’s forces strike, it’ll be in much larger numbers with several of his Lectors in tow. I’m sure you remember how nasty they can be.”

Paulraj stopped walking.

“What do you mean ‘for you to defend’?” Paulraj asked.

Jado stopped walking too.

“I’m staying here, Paulraj,” Jado answered. “I can do good here. These people need me.”

“Jado, I came here to bring you back.”

“I already told you—”

“Jado, just listen, okay? We need you back. The others miss you, sure, but they need you.”

Jado balled his fists but didn’t say anything.

“I know it’s difficult,” Paulraj continued, “but you have to let what happened go. We won the war.”

“I don’t want to go back. The world’s too big now.”

“The world has always been big, Jado. We just play bigger parts in it now. Come one—we need you. The remnants of the Ebon Alliance are moving.”

“That’s why I’m here. To fight the Pharaoh.”

“Jado, cut it out, would you? Do you really expect me to believe that you intend to defeat the Pharaoh with a handful of town militia and a garrison of paladins?” Paulraj rested a hand on Jado’s shoulder—his left one, wrapped in cloth. A slight shudder moved up the arm, the fingers twitching slightly.

“I get it. Things are strange now. You’ve seen—felt some horrors that I can’t imagine. Fighting the undead for this little town is a nice escape from everything. But that’s not what the Archangel assigned us to do.”

Jado sighed, looking up into the blue sky. Not a single cloud in sight.

“Alright.” Jado turned back to Paulraj. “I’ll come back, at least to listen to the latest updates.” Jado adjusted his sword tucked in his belt. “But that’s it, got it? Once I catch up and reassure everyone that I’m okay, I’m coming back here.”

Paulraj smiled. “You have a lot of friends, you know? Do not forget them. They will be super happy to see you.”

Jado said his goodbyes to a visibly disappointed Horbajar, but not before promising to return to visit Dimox within the next couple months. After ensuring that their paladin allies properly grasped the situation, Jado and Paulraj marched back into the Kaktis Desert, with Jado’s horse laden with a wide assortment of Dimox’s best food.

The journey north was long. Sand gave way to a dry, grassy savannah. The savannah turned to lush green grass and verdant, tall trees. Eventually, all transformed into the rolling hills of Phovezila’s southern reaches.

At last, Jado found himself standing on a hill before the enormous Mount Moses—a grass-covered mountain with a sturdy fortress erected at its peak.

“Didn’t think I’d be back here so soon,” Jado whispered. There was always something so awe-inspiring about the lands surrounding the Righteous Fort. The skies were always the perfect mix of clear and cloud, and the wins always swept across the grass in an elegant, picturesque wave.

“Enough staring! Let’s go meet the others. Once you’re settled in, we can get you up to speed. Not to spoil too much, but our problem is with the Legion of Thunder.”

“Of course.”

“One thing at a time! Sir Dafern will be expecting us at the gate.”

Jado and Paulraj made their way up the mountain, following the well-treaded pathway leading to the castle gate. Along the way, swarms of merchants, farmers, and blacksmiths from the local city of Walwhite traversed up and down the path, eagerly and efficiently conducting their business with the Holy Knights. Jado recognized a few faces of the workers—some things hadn’t changed since he was last here months ago.

At the castle gate, a familiar man in a white tunic leaned against the brickwork. His pale skin matched his clothing while his fiery red hair aligned with the gold-trimmed vermillion cloth wrapped around his waist.

“Well, look at this guy!” he called out to Jado, stepping forward from the wall.

“Who is this weirdo lurking at the gate of the Righteous Fort?” Jado replied in jest.

“Only the greatest swordsman in all of Legere.”

“Shut the gaak up,” Jado laughed as he wrapped his arms around him. Sir Dafern—another Archangel’s Hero. All of the heroes were close, but Sir Dafern and Jado’s friendship was tempered from long days of fighting the enemy back to back in the Legerian War.

“It’s so good to see you,” Jado smiled. A tear threatened to spill over the edge of his eyelid.

“It’s been way too long,” Sir Dafern agreed. “Glad you didn’t fall in to doing what I did in my youth.”

“Been there already,” Jado chuckled nervously. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on coming back for a while. Needed to escape some things… but Paulraj convinced me pretty well.”

“I heard you actually found Dimox. Crazy man.”

“I’ll fill you in on it more later. Let me get settled in for now.”

“We’re actually about to have a meeting. It’s about noon now, so perhaps in an hour? Meet in the usual place in Walwhite.”

Jado nodded, entering into the Righteous Fort’s courtyard, leading his horse behind him.

The castle was abuzz as it always was, perhaps more than before. Classes of squires—fresh recruits to replaced those lost during the war—practiced their swordplay and battlefield formations in large displays while others practiced archery. From behind windows, other knights studied books and did other menial but essential tasks.

Jado couldn’t help but grin. There was such a positive energy about this castle. It was like its own little world, a community in a bubble far removed from the chaos of the world beyond. Why did he ever leave this place to begin with?

The answer returned to Jado as he made his way down familiar corridors, reaching a stretch of large, opulent bed chambers—the quarters fashioned for each of the Archangel’s Heroes to stay in while they graced the castle with their presence. Jado halted as he passed by the open door to an empty chamber. Anton’s.

The room was empty, and still. The bed was nicely made, as if expecting the Corian veteran to return home soon and collapse into it. The Corian artifacts Anton had treasured were no longer displayed around the room… where had they been taken? Given to Destrian museum curators? Stored in the vaults within the depths of Mount Moses? Shoved in a chest tucked into some unseen corner of the Righteous Fort?

Jado’s heart sank, his throat tightening as the reality of never being able to talk to his late companion about his discovery and defense of Dimox struck him. He turned away from the room, making his way to his own room, which was a more comforting sight.

It was exactly as he had left it, complete with Isutan artwork and furniture that reminded him of his home from before he became an Archangel’s Hero.

“Can’t believe you really gave up a councilor position with the Ganpoumi Fi to go off gallivanting for a potentially fictional town,” the voice of a familiar man spoke from behind Jado. “I’ve had frequent correspondence with Lord Chang San ever since he reconstructed the council and started reforming decades of Songkram law. He could use help from someone like you.”

“I’m a swordsman,” Jado said, dropping his travel bags and weaponry onto the floor. He turned to face the source of the voice—Knight Lord Sir William Veruas, a high-ranking leader of the Righteous Order. He was an old man with silvery hair tied back in a long ponytail, but his athletic build made him seem at least twenty years younger than his true age.

“I’m no good for politics, lawmaking, and the like,” Jado continued. “I’d be about as useful to Chang San as a sword trapped in its scabbard.”

“Ah, but you hunger for justice, and to protect the innocent, don’t you… Inuzumatako?” Sir Veruas grinned knowingly. “We all know what sort of… vocation you came from all those years ago. That sort of mindset is exactly what Chang San needs for his new council. The Songkram have inflicted years of injustice upon the Isutan people. This could be your chance to undo that.”

“That will have to be a discussion for another day, Sir Veruas.”

“Perhaps. Think about that. Anyways, how would you like for me to arrange a carriage for you into town?”

Chapter III

The Southern Monk Shayoon sat in the corner of the meeting room, basking in the dim light and smoky air. This tavern, Aks’ Tail, was deep in the southern neighborhood of Walwhite.

Shayoon leaned against the wall, spinning a small wooden top on the creaking floor. He was a bearded Endalan man, with dark skin draped with dark blue monastic robes from his homeland. His arms were adorned with iron bracers and rings, each engraved with elaborate patterns characteristic of Endalan quilting. Hiding his clean-shaven head was a knitted cap, woven together from fine Endalan silks in an elaborately artful manner.

Elaborate quilts depicting the heroics of Phovezilan Elementalists from ages past lined the bare wooden walls. On the flat side of the semicircular chamber was an enormous map of the entire world of Legere, with small wax marks pushed onto the map to designates points of interest.

At the center of the chamber, a long wooden table surrounded by chairs. Some of them occupied, but many of the congregants in the room were opting to stand. Music from the tavern below filtered through the cracks in the floorboards.

Shayoon, along with everyone else quietly murmuring to each other in the room, looked up as the chamber’s door opened. The familiar scarred face of an Isutan man peered through the doorway before entering.

Shayoon leaped onto his feet, with his knitted cap nearly falling from his head.

“Eh!” he exclaimed, “is that Jado!?”

The room chattered excitedly as Jado stepped inside.

“Hey Shayoon,” he said.

“Yo I ain’t gonna lie, Osten thought you weren’t gonna show,” Shayoon said, pointing to another man in the room.

Osten, a fellow Southern Monk, bore similar robes to Shayoon but with dark, warm colours. A straight-bladed sword sat in its sheath, slung across his back. His head was covered in short, curly black hair. His powerful jawline, revealed by a clean shave, clenched as he grinned and pointed back at Shayoon.

“Hey, I figured Jado would get really wrapped up in whatever he was doin’ over in Jinifar that he’d forget about the Archangel’s Heroes entirely,” Osten said giddily. “Like don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy he’s back but I really didn’t expect his ass to drop everything he was doing in Dimox of all places. That’s like if Disruptis found a new world in the middle of getting eaten and he left them just to come to a meeting.”

“It wasn’t that serious in Dimox,” Jado replied. “Where’s Kurai?”

“Around,” Osten continued to grin.

“Of course.”

Shayoon watched as Jado scanned the room.

“Good to see you again,” a hulking shadow spoke to Jado.

“Cev! Gaak, you scared me a little.” Jado turned to face the shadow. A thin line of blue light appeared from within the darkness—the eye-slit of Cev’s mechanical body. “Well, good to see you too, Cev. Disruptis here?”

“No,” Cev answered. “He’s off doing… well, potentially what Osten just proposed.”

“Pretty typical of him,” a third Southern Monk spoke—this one was Leto. A mountain of a man, his robes barely containing his sinewy torso and arms. A thick tangle of dreadlocks poured from the back of his head like a river. He sat leaning back in his chair, the poor thing creaking in protest against his musclebound frame. “That guy’s void-soaked ass is always coming and going without warning. He has his own damn schedule to follow.”

Shayoon drummed his fingers on his wrist, looking at the tightly-wrapped left arm of Jado in front of him.

I wonder if he used it in Dimox, he thought.

“Alright everyone, settle down!” The door opened again, and Sir Dafern emerged alongside the Jinifarian mage Paulraj.

Shayoon pulled out a chair next to Leto and sat at the table.

“We’ll all have time to catch up with Jado and his Jinifarian antics after we meet,” Sir Dafern continued. “We have important stuff to discuss. Apologies if you’ve all heard things before, but I’ll do a quick review so everyone is on the same page.”

Shayoon laid his head on the table, but kept his ears available to listen.

I wonder if I can catch a quick nap while Sir Dafern updates Jado…

“As you know, the Legion of Thunder served as a military powerhouse for the Ebon Alliance during the Legerian War,” Sir Dafern began. “They hounded the western shores of Hohm with numerous invasions, effectively hamstringing Phovezila’s ability to support the land war with the Songkram Empire. When we launched our coordinated attacks to snuff out the Order of Darkness and assassinate Songkram leadership, the Legion pulled their forces out of the battle, making things much easier for us. We don’t exactly know the reason why. Councilor Chang San says it may have been because the Imperator had a personal grudge against the Songkram. Some of my fellow knights have thought that the Legion just foresaw the defeat of the eastern powers as inevitable and looked to cut their losses.”

“What about rebellion?” Osten asked. “The stability of the Cloudlands has always been kind of, well, trash. The Legion’s been putting up with rebels for years now.”

“Yes, that’s a possibility too,” Sir Dafern continued, “especially with what I know. Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to some special guests.”

Sir Dafern opened the door and two additional figures walked in. The first was a woman with her hair falling in inky black ribbons. The gown she was wearing was a dark, navy blue, sporting golden embroidery. Its design was unmistakable Cloudweller. A crest decorated the golden brooch at the top of the gown—the infamous symbol of the Legion of Thunder: the moon and bolt.

The Archangel’s Heroes in the room tensed up. Shayoon felt his desire to take a nap melt away quickly, especially when he saw Jado reach for the handle of his sword. Cev’s steel hand emerged from the shadows to rest on Jado’s shoulder, stopping him from doing anything rash.

Damn, can’t believe I almost slept through this, Shayoon thought. Maybe someone will punch someone in the face.

Shayoon turned away from Jado to look back at the woman. She was beautiful, with pale, fair skin and piercing blue eyes. The makeup on her face and the fine craftsmanship of her jewelry and clothing spoke for themselves… this was a noblewoman of some kind.

“This is Lady Sabina Tiama Domina,” Sir Dafern announced, confirming Shayoon’s suspicions, “the crown princess of the Cloudlands.”

Osten’s eyes widened. “You mean she’s the Imperator’s daughter? Hyperius’ daughter?”

“Why is she here?” Jado growled.

“I don’t know,” Shayoon whispered while turning to Leto, “but I’m ready to become crown prince of the Cloudlands, DAMN.”

Leto slapped Shayoon on the back side of his head, causing his cap to fly onto the table.

“Now then everyone, I know the concern you might have. But no, Sabina is here as a traitor. She’s discarding her loyalties to the Legion. And the best news is she’s not alone—with her is Bilus, a centurion loyal to her.”

The second figure, Bilus, remained standing near the door. He stood as still as a statue, but his eyes remained alert. He was a tall man, with dark, tanned skin underneath layers of gold-coated, segmented armour and a blue cape. The typical garb of a Thunder Legionary. His ears were slightly pointed, suggesting Cloudweller heritage. One of his hands, which lay still at his sides, was clad in thick, reinforced golden armour, making it clear that his lack of a sword was intentional; his fist was his weapon. He gave a short grunt in acknowledgement of his introduction.

“Bilus and Sabina are part of a new rebellion stirring from within the Legion itself,” Sir Dafern continued. “Sabina’s status has prevented the eye of the Tempest Inquisition from falling on her, at least for now. Sabina, would you like to continue?”

Sabine nodded to Sir Dafern before smiling to the room.

“My father has gone mad,” Sabina announced, “every since the Legerian War began his sanity has slipped away. His desire to conquer the lands beyond the Cloudlands has sent him down a dark path from which I fear there is no recovery.”

She sighed, casting a glance at the floor, remaining silent for a moment. Then, she looked up, extending one hand in a pleading gesture, her long golden nails splayed outward.

“I once saw eye-to-eye with him,” Sabina continued sorrowfully, “I saw him as the mighty king of a noble group of people.”

“Debatable,” Osten muttered under his breath. Shayoon stifled a chuckle while Leto scowled at them both, his gaze assuring the two that there would be physical repercussions if they didn’t shut up.

“The things that he has done… the lengths he’s gone to for power… it’s too much. He’s destroying our homeland. He has to be stopped.”

“You know the situation is bad when someone like her says Imperator Hyperius has gone too far,” Paulraj chimed in worriedly.

“I want your help to stop him,” Sabina said with determination. “I want you to help me overthrow him.”

“Eyo,” Shayoon breathed, “why the hell would we help you? I mean like we were probably gonna overthrow him anyways yeah?”

“That’s true,” Jado agreed.

“I mean… I could probably solo your dad to be honest. Like if I got him in a room and I had my quarterstaff it’d be OVER—”

“Shayoon, shut the gaak up,” Osten snapped.

“I agree with the Southern Monk,” Bilus finally spoke, his voice gravelly and unimpressed.

“Thank you,” Shayoon said smugly. “It’s nice to finally be recognized for my extreme fighting skill—”

“I was agreeing with the other one,” Bilus said, uncrossing his arms while taking a step forward. His face was scrunched up in a look that hid none of his disdain for Shayoon.

“Yo chill,” Shayoon said, “I didn’t know you were talking about him… you have to be way more specific!”

“Please,” Sabina begged, “I need you to listen. Even if you deposed my father—killing him or otherwise—the power vacuum and resulting civil war between the magistrates would cause so many lives to be lost. If you help me, I can assume control over the Legion and ensure the Cloudlands remain peaceful. And I would turn the Legion into an allied force for you as you hunt down The Pharaoh.”

Sabina slowly sat down in one of the vacant chairs, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I don’t recognize my father anymore. There is a Demon that has seized his soul… he’s someone else now. That’s why killing him wouldn’t grieve me anymore than I already am. The man who was my father has already died.”

“Look, your highness,” Osten said. “We have no problem helping you for the sake of offing your father, but how can we even trust you? The daughter of Hyperius in our place of refuge?”

“If her highness wanted you dead, you’d be dead already,” Bilus answered grimly.

Osten clenched his fist, a string of smoking black ink dripping out from between his fingers. A spark of electricity flashed for a moment between the fingers of the golden, armoured cestus Bilus wore on his right hand. Jado’s hand returned to the hilt of his sword, and Cev didn’t stop him.

“Okay everyone, I need you all to calm down,” Sir Dafern said, stepping between Osten and Bilus. “I’ve had correspondence with Bilus since the last days of the War. Sabina and those loyal to her have been plotting against Hyperius for a long time, and they’ve been begging for the Righteous Order’s aid for months. You can trust them.”

Sir Dafern turned to Sabina.

“I apologize for the animosity from my peers,” Sir Dafern said with a bow. “Perhaps we need some time to talk—just amongst ourselves—before we make any decisions. It would be best for you leave for now while we discuss in a more civilized manner.”

“Of course,” Sabina said, rising from her seat. “I am sorry for causing such stress. I understand the suspicion Bilus and I are under. Bilus and I have rooms here in Aks’ Tail. We hope to speak again soon.”

Sabina exited through the door, with Bilus holding it open for her with a bow. He gave one last scowl at the trio of Southern Monks before leaving.

There was a beat of silence before Shayoon broke it.

“Damn!” Shayoon said, leaning back in his chair. “That woman may be the spawn of the most evil emperor but she is FINE!”

A collective groan rose from the Archangel’s Heroes. Leto kicked out the legs of his chair, sending Shayoon rolling onto the floor.

“Shayoon, when will you learn when to not run your mouth?” Leto scolded.

“Hey, don’t be mad at me,” Shayoon responded with feigned hurt. He rolled on the ground to look at him. “I’ve been rejected by so many women so now I gotta look in other places.”

Leto scrunched up his face and exhaled with disgust.

“Yeah Shayoon you gotta cool it,” Osten said, flicking a mote of shadow from his fingers at Shayoon’s face. It splashed harmlessly against his face like a tiny ball of dry ice.

“You’re just as guilty,” Leto turned to Osten.

“What?” Osten slammed his hands on the table. A shadow cast from no visible object enveloped the tabletop. “I asked a perfectly valid question. It’s that bile guy who escalated things by threatening us!

“I really returned for this?” Jado questioned, turning to Paulraj.

“Admit it,” Paulraj replied with a smirk. “You kind of missed this.”

Jado said nothing, but the corners of his mouth were tugged upwards.

“If the children are done bickering,” Sir Dafern talked loudly over the arguments, “we can begin discussing the things of actual importance. Do the Archangel’s Heroes—and perhaps the Righteous Order—mobilize to support Sabina’s rebellion against her father?”

Silence falls upon the room again as everyone thought of their stances. This was no light decision—if the Righteous Order marched, it could mean plunging Legere back into war. Shayoon began spinning his top on the floor.

“Well the way I see it,” Shayoon said, “if we kill Hyperius then that’s good because he’s a bad guy. Sabina might not be good either—I mean, I know for sure she’s bad—but she’s probably not the same level of evil as whatever’s going on with her dad.”

“A moment of clarity from you, m’broda,” Leto said. “I agree.”

“Me too,” Osten chimed in.

“Same,” the deep voice of Cev emerged from the darkness.

One by one, the Archangel’s Heroes voiced their agreeance to the plan.

“I still don’t fully trust Sabina myself,” Sir Dafern admitted finally, “but at least we’re all on the same page about that. But after everything we’ve been through together, I think we’ll be okay.”

Jado nodded. Shayoon watched him look at the floor.

He’s wondering what Anton would think in this situation, Shayoon thought. He also wondered what the Corian would’ve said. There was an uneasy silence, and Shayoon realized that the entirety of the team was undoubtedly imagining the wisdom of Anton at this time.

“While our initial urge is to assist Sabina, I move that we take a day to think on this thoroughly before committing. We’ll meet again tomorrow morning, and unless anyone changes their mind overnight… we’ll begin to plan for the rebellion.”

Shayoon yawned. The meeting was at least interesting, but he was glad it was over. He needed a nap.

Chapter IV

The sun crept over the horizon, spilling light onto a new day. Jado sat in the middle of the paladins’ sacred vineyard, located just inside the Righteous Fort’s outer wall, watching the glorious entrance of the sun from beyond the horizon.

Jado rubbed his hands over his arm, which twitched under his fingers. Should he have stayed in Dimox? Should he go back to Dimox now? Was trusting Sabina the right call? What would Disruptis think about this situation? What about Anton?

Footsteps broke Jado’s reflective meditation. He spun around, ready to apologize to whatever squire had been sent to pick grapes. But he saw the familiar face of Sir Dafern instead.

“You’re up early,” Sir Dafern said, the sunlight framing his freckled face and setting his red hair aglow. “I figured you’d be asleep for longer. I mean, you just came back from a very long journey from the south.”

“Tried to sleep. Didn’t sleep very well,” Jado admitted, turning back to the sunrise as Sir Dafern sat down next to him.

“How’s the arm?” Sir Dafern asked, unshouldering a large cloth bag from his back.

“Fine,” Jado said curtly.

“Figured. What’s up?”

“Just uneasy right now… about a great many things.”

“Hmm. Well, maybe she’ll make you feel better.”

“What?” Jado turned towards Sir Dafern, who was holding the bag with its mouth towards him.

Even with his honed battle reflexes, Jado couldn’t react to the beast that leaped out of the bag like a northwulf descending on its prey.

“Rahh!” A howling ball of white fur slammed itself into Jado’s face, knocking him onto his side. Jado sputtered as the creature wrapped its fuzzy claws around his face.

“Ack! Pah!!” Jado struggled before giggling. He recognized the furry embrace all too well. “Softy!” He pried the creature from his face and held it out from him. It was a short ursine creature, no more than three feet tall. It was covered in white, fluffy fur, although patches of the fur were missing to reveal pinkish, scarred skin underneath. Two beady black eyes stared into Jado’s, with a line of drool leaking from the end of a short, flattened snout.

Jado pulled the creature into an embrace. Softy began to purr with satisfaction.

“jabo…” it muttered.

“I found some kids in Walwhite who were actually willing to look after a stoff like her while you went hunting for that lost village,” Sir Dafern smiled. “No sane person wanted to look after that rascal.”

“Hopefully you compensated them,” Jado said with a chuckle. “Sating Softy’s appetite is an expensive endeavour.”

“I also found someone to look after Deedsarus,” Sir Dafern hummed as he folded the bag up. “That was much easier to find a caretaker for. People were jumping at the opportunity to even touch the Inuzumatako’s horse.”

“He’s a good horse,” Jado said, stroking Softy’s fur as the stoff settled into his lap. “An old boy, but still a good horse. One day I hope to bring him back to the Eastern Provinces so he can rest where he was born.”

“Well, you’re not going to do that by hiding in Jinifar. Paulraj told me you were hesitant to come back here.”

“Yeah… well, can you blame me?”

“Must be rough. Seeing Anton’s room again… even just being with the others without him. I miss him. I miss K.C. too.”

Sir Dafern sighed and gave a glassy-eyed stare at the rising sun. “Sometimes I feel lost without Anton’s guidance. He was so wise. A good man.” Sir Dafern placed a hand on Jado’s shoulder. He quickly retracted it as Softy attempted to nip at his fingers. “But we have to let him go, Jado. I know you and him went way back, much further than the rest of us. But he’s resting now. He had a good life—a long life. Perhaps too long, based on what he told me. It would be selfish to demand he live longer.”

Jado closed his eyes, burying his face in Softy’s fur.

“I wish we could go back to the old days,” Jado said quietly.

“So do I Jado. But the old days are in the past. You can’t ever get back to them. You have to move forward.”

“Yeah…”

“You can’t spend the rest of your life running,” Sir Dafern said, standing up. “You… we’re called to more. You can’t be much of an Archangel’s Hero if you’re just trying to hide from your feelings.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be pretty pathetic, huh?” Jado looked up at Sir Dafern. He was grateful for a friend like him.

“The people in Dimox that I met,” Jado grunted as he stood up, “they’re a strong people. But the Pharaoh’s armies whittle away at them continually. Defeating the Pharaoh is the only way to truly save their village. If we can secure the Legion of Thunder under Sabina’s leadership as an ally against the Lectors, we can protect their future.”

“Come on,” Sir Dafern said, extending a hand to help Jado up. “It’s meeting time. Let’s go be heroes.”

Jado and Sir Dafern descended the steps into the deepest levels of the Righteous Fort. The darkness surrounding them was suffocating, with nothing but their torches holding it at bay.

In front of the two, black-robed Holy Knights escorted the group down the stairs.

The morning’s meeting had been productive—short. No one had changed their mind about helping the princess, and with Jado now fully committed, planning could begin.

“We’re almost at the bottom,” Sir Dafern reassured Jado.

Sure enough, only a handful of steps remained before they found themselves at a sizeable antechamber. Another duo of black-robed elite paladins—the templars—stood at attention by the archway inside.

As the group passed into the room beyond, they were met with the sight of rows upon rows of glass-encased objects upon stone pedestals. The Sacred Library. Each glass case was stamped with a wax seal displaying a divine rune of protection.

The last time Jado had been here was in response to emergency. His eyes traced a path to the back of the massive chamber, where the shattered pieces of a massive, circular stone door lay in pieces.

“Still haven’t cleaned that up, huh?” Jado asked Sir Dafern.

“You find me some knights willing to carry all that stone up those stairs and we’ll clean it up,” Sir Dafern joked. He turned and gazed into the empty chamber beyond, which descended into an endless darkness, with a howling cry not unlike a scream echoing from the distance. “By the Creator, this place is so quiet now without those monsters in there.”

“Let’s just find this thing and get back to the surface,” Jado said with a shudder. He started to understand why the rest of the Archangel’s Heroes elected to have him accompany Sir Dafern into the Sacred Library. This place was creepy.

“Okay—everyone, we’re looking for a key of some sort,” Sir Dafern addressed the templars. “There’s a lot of different artifacts to peruse, so let’s split up and comb through different sections.”

Sir Dafern turned to Jado. “Remember, don’t remove any glass without asking for my help or one of the templars. Those protective seals are loaded with divine flame. You wouldn’t want to be permanently scarred, would you?”

Jado’s left arm twitched.

“…right. Um, okay! Let’s search.”

The Sacred Library’s hall was long, and the hundreds of artifacts were a challenge to look through. Jado dutifully observed each artifact he passed by, but none of them were keys. Only scraps of metal, broken pieces of chainmail, shattered parts of weapons…

Jado stopped suddenly as a chill crept up his back. On the wall in front of him, a massive gash split the brickwork like a fresh wound. The shrieking sound of the weapon that left this mark echoed in Jado’s mind like the unpleasant memory it was. Slowly, his eyes lowered to the floor, dread filling him like a cup being poured into too quickly.

There, at his feet, a large mark where an unfathomably massive blade had once bitten into the floor, ending a mighty downwards swing through the air.

Dizzily, Jado leaned against one of the stone pedestals, trying to slow his shallow breaths. His ears rang, the sound of metal growing louder and louder and—

“Jado?” Sir Dafern’s voice cut through the ringing. “You okay?”

His hand rested on his shoulder. Jado swallowed.

“Yeah… I just… this spot was the place…”

“It’s okay,” Sir Dafern said. He gently pushed Jado, turning him away from the spot. “I can see how that would be a bit of a shock. Not many get to look at the spot where they died.”

Sir Dafern pointed towards the two templars, who were carefully wrapping a key with scripture-covered strips of linen. “Good news though—we found the key. We’re good to go.”

“Okay,” Jado breathed.

Sir Dafern eased Jado out of the Sacred Library and back up the stairs.

Jado watched as Sir Dafern carefully laid the artifact onto the table before them.

“This is the key?” Sir Dafern asked, raising his eyes to meet Sabina’s.

The key was wrought from a jet-black metal, with an unnatural pinkish light flowing out from the unholy engravings on its surface. The demonic mist mingled with the smoky tavern air of Aks’ Tail.

“That’s… yes, it must be! That marking on the end of it matches the symbol on my father’s shackle!” Sabina looked excitedly at the demonic artifact. “I’ve only seen it a few times since he keeps it hidden in chamber. But that symbol… it’s burned into my memory. I’d recognize it anywhere.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention,” Shayoon piped up, “what do we need the key for?”

“This key is necessary to unshackle her father’s soul from a profane device that has anchored his soul,” Bilus stated flatly, “giving him immortality while binding him to whatever Demon he’s pledged himself to. It’s also giving him additional abilities that will make him much harder to… remove from the throne.”

“Wack,” Shayoon confirmed before laying down and moving his cap over his eyes.

Sabina began to reach for the key, but Sir Dafern grabbed her arm. Bilus twitched but didn’t act.

“Wait, your highness,” Sir Dafern warned, releasing her arm slowly. “This key is made of demonium, probably just like the device it unlocks. It possesses a terrible corrupting power—do not touch it with your bare hands.” Sir Dafern released her from his grip and began to carefully wrap the key back in the bindings the templars had wrapped it in, reciting a prayer under his breath as he did.

Sabina rubbed her wrist. “Duly noted, sir knight. Well, now that the key has been found, Bilus and I will hide it away in Hyperius’ Palace where we’ll await your arrival.”

“No,” Jado said firmly. “This artifact is too dangerous for anyone but a Holy Knight to carry. Additionally, it would be safer to keep it here—we can deliver it to you when we breach the city.”

“Unwise,” Bilus said, stepping forward. “If you bring the key, the plan will only succeed upon your successful sieging of the city. If we take the key, we could capitalize on any moment of opportunity.”

“With all due respect Bilus,” Sir Dafern stated, “if you intend to deliver this key to its target through clandestine methods, you wouldn’t have asked for our help in your rebellion.”

“Yeah,” Jado added, “if that was the case we would just give the key to Cev and point him towards the Imperator.”

Bilus was about to speak up but Sabina leaned into his ear and whispered. He nodded.

“It’s settled,” she announced, “you’ll hang onto the key for now, as you have explained. When the time comes, you’ll pass the key to us and our mission will be complete.”

Sir Dafern nodded. “Glad we could come to an agreeance.”

“Bilus and I will depart for the Cloudlands tomorrow morning,” Sabina spoke with gratitude in her eyes. “I would stay longer but every second I am away from my father’s court draws more and more attention from the Tempest Inquisition. I’d rather not give them any more fuel than they already might have.”

Chapter V

Jado laid on his bed, soaking in the Endalan incense that seeped in from down the hall. The pleasant smell did little to sooth his restless mind.

His bed was a luxurious sleeping arrangement, with soft furs, silk sheets, and pillows. And yet it too wasn’t enough to lull Jado into slumber this night.

He groaned, rolling over on his bed, turning to face the window. On the horizon over the Righteous Fort’s walls was the moon in all of its luminous beauty.

“Gaak it.”

It must have been two in the morning.

He got up out of his bed, donned a tunic, tucked his sword into his belt, and lit an oil lamp. He figured if he couldn’t sleep, he could go out into the courtyard to practice. Might as well put the time to good use.

As he was about to enter the hallway, he felt a tugging on his pant leg. He looked down, seeing Softy with her stubby claws gripping the fabric.

“jabo go out?” the stoff gurgled inquisitively.

“Yeah Softy,” Jado answered, keeping his voice low, “we can go out. Stay quiet okay? Others sleeping.”

“okie.”

Jado moved through the Righteous Fort’s halls, Softy scampering after him quietly. Eventually they made it to the courtyard, where Jado drew his sword and began to practice stances and strikes.

Jado’s blade shone in the moonlight, the wave-like patterns sparkling magnificently in the night. The sword was single-edged, with a curved blade—an Isutan design. A kizaraka. Zephyr, he had named it. It was forged from thundersteel—an arcane metal created by the enemy ahead of the Archangel’s Heroes now: Imperator Hyperius Tiamus Dominus. The small, circular guard of sword showcased a gold-inlaid carving of a giant jellyfish-like monster—an inuzumatako. Jado’s moniker from another age.

In the corner, Softy gnawed on the boot of some poor paladin who had left it behind.

“There’s so much happening, Softy,” Jado said as he swung his blade with precision and dominance. He recalled a time when he practiced these strikes without ever having killed someone. Now, he had years of cutting down foes informing his posture and technique.

“Don’t you wish we could just go back to the old days?” He asked the stoff. She spat out a piece of leather in response. “Just you and me, Softy. The Inuzumatako and his loyal stoff, hunting down criminals and scum across the Eastern Provinces.”

“wah. shing shing!” Softy agreed, standing up and holding a knife in the air.

“Where’d you get that?!” Jado exclaimed, rushing over to disarm the small furball. Softy hissed out a warbling cry—her equivalent of a giggle—before scampering across the courtyard.

“Softy! Sluhz, you better get back here or you’re gonna get it!” Jado cursed, running after Softy.

He found her at the steps to the barracks, the knife in her teeth as she tried to pierce a scrap of cloth in her claws. With a dramatic swipe, Jado confiscated the knife from her jaws as she unleashed a frustrated bellow.

Jado sighed, tucking the knife into his boot.

“Come on, Softy, let’s get ba—” Jado paused. There was a clattering sound from within the barracks. A cry of pain?

“The gaak was that?” Jado put one hand on his sword’s hilt while opening the door. Softy quietly and quickly climbed up onto his back. Jado relished the familiar weight of his stoff companion hanging from his back.

Just like old times.

As Jado opened the barracks door, the sound of clashing metal grew louder. The distinct noise of sword steel glancing off of something else. Battle cries.

There was a fight within.

Jado rushed inside now, his hand on his sword, ready to draw. He entered the barracks’ main room and was met with an alarming sight.

On the ground, Sir Dafern’s body was splayed out. Jado rushed to his side, quickly noticing that he was still breathing. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, and there was much bruising about his neck. He’d been choked, but whoever had done it hadn’t finished the job.

The sound of a rack of fire iron weapons toppling over brought Jado’s attention away from Sir Dafern. He looked up to see a single paladin, fighting off an assailant. That must have been who had harmed Sir Dafern. The dim light of the barracks—illuminated by only candles—prevented Jado from immediately identifying the intruder.

Jado stood up, drawing his blade—this time with a crackle of electricity running along its edge as he did.

But Jado never got a chance to step in to save the paladin. A familiar humming reached his ears. He watched as the figure parried a thrust and a slash from the paladin’s double-edged longsword with an armoured fist, each blow increasing the frequency of the hum. The paladin was charging up the assailant’s thundersteel gauntlet with every attack.

Jado reached out and yelled to get down. But it was too late. With a mighty thrust, the attacker punched forward, releasing a thunderous boom as lightning arced from the figure’s metal-clad hand. Jado felt the fulgurmantic magic in the air the moment before the bolt struck, commanding the magical metal of his own blade to redirect and absorb the discharge.

The paladin wasn’t as lucky. Jado watched as the bolt touched his chest. In the blink of an eye, the knight was reduced to a steaming cloud of blood. Jado raised a hand to protect his face from the spray.

As Jado lowered his hand, he saw the identity of the attacker.

Bilus.

“Ah, Jado,” Bilus said, flexing his armoured fingers. The thundersteel cestus sparked as the fingers stretched.

“You…” Jado spat. “Sir Dafern trusted you!”

“That was his mistake,” Bilus replied. He took a step towards Jado, cracking his neck and stretching his arms as he did.

Jado bent his knees and placed both hands on his weapon’s handle, angling the blade at Bilus’ throat. Softy growled from behind Jado’s head.

From the corner of his eye, Jado spotted a pile of other knights lying in a heap. There were at least three.

“You will pay for the lives you’ve taken,” Jado threatened through gritted teeth.

“Okay,” Bilus answered flatly.

As if he were gliding on ice, Jado crossed the gap between himself and Bilus, a rush of air at his back. Bilus raised his cestus in defense, defending himself from the onslaught of slashes. Lightning arced throughout the chamber as the thundersteel weapons met each other in a fearsome display.

“Softy! Chicken!” Jado yelled.

At the sound of Jado’s words, Softy dutifully leapt from Jado’s back and onto Bilus’ face. She clamped her jaws down on his nose. Before he could do anything, Jado slashed at Bilus’ thigh, which was devoid of armour. Bilus staggered backward, his leg moving just enough to turn what would be an limb-detaching strike into a merely a deep cut.

Bilus gripped Softy and flung her off of his face, sending her across the room. She loosed a high-pitched roar as she crawled back to Jado’s feet.

Jado pushed his advantage, throwing another slash at Bilus’ head. He ducked while stepping forward, delivering a punch into Jado’s stomach. The swordsman landed on his back, winded.

“I am… disappointed,” Bilus said, kicking Softy into a wall as she leapt at him to defend Jado. The stoff squealed, landing in a heap.

“I thought Jado was the Inuzumatako,” Bilus taunted as he circled Jado. “The greatest swordsman the Eastern Provinces had to offer.”

“I’m the greatest swordsman on Legere,” Jado wheezed.

Bilus grabbed Jado by the hair and pushed him against a wall. With his bare hand, he jabbed Jado twice in the stomach before delivering a solid blow to the face.

“Like a punching bag,” Bilus hummed to himself. “What happened to you? Were you not a slayer of Ramuthra? The man who fought off a dozen khatkir? He who tamed the akwasarr?”

Bilus dropped Jado to the floor, kicking him in the ribs. Something gave, and Jado coughed blood onto the barracks’ floor.

Bilus sighed.

“I suppose I’ll be the one who killed the legendary Jado? The one who couldn’t be killed by Death? I suppose the legends may have been exaggerated.” Bilus wrapped his armoured fingers around Jado’s neck, lifting him into the air. Jado felt his windpipe on the verge of being crushed. Consciousness threatened to leave him.

Suddenly, Bilus cried out in surprise as his other hand mysteriously moved to pin itself behind his back.

“The legends are true,” a voice spoke. “And even thought I wasn’t seen in most of them I was in them too.”

The air behind Bilus shimmered as the brutish form of Cev manifested from thin air. Cev’s other hand clamped down on Bilus’ cestus, causing him to release Jado, who slumped to the floor, clutching his neck. He looked up in wonder at the machine of a man who had rescued him.

Cev was perhaps six and a half feet tall, with a body coated in painted metal. Something of his size and bulk shouldn’t move as deftly and silently as he did. His face—if one could call it that—was a metal plate with a set of tubing threading into where a mouth would be. His eyes were absent—there was only an unblinking blue glow from behind his visor.

Bilus was strong, but against someone—something—like Cev, he may as well have been a little child wrestling with a naga soldier.

“You’re going to tell me where your princess is,” Cev ordered, “and then you’ll explain how you infiltrated this place.”

Bilus closed his cestus’ fingers into a fist, unleashing a bolt of lightning past Cev’s head. The mechanical hero didn’t flinch.

“That’s not quite what I wanted,” Cev snarled. There was the sound of a piston in Cev’s arm as his hand tightened on Bilus’ gauntlet. Sparks flew as the metal warped—Cev was crushing Bilus’ forearm within the cestus.

Bilus screamed in pain while Cev lifted him into the air like a sack of potatoes. There was a click as a gleaming fire iron blade unsheathed from Cev’s other wrist. He held it against Bilus’ throat.

“Would you like to try again?”

“I can’t feel my arm!!” Bilus screamed. Jado had to admit, seeing the stern, stoic demeanor of Bilus melt away in the face of Cev’s strength felt good. He was sure Cev would’ve been smiling from under his helmet—if he still had a face.

“That’s not surprising,” Cev said calmly. “I probably crushed your radius and ulna. You’ll probably never had a functioning arm again. Now…” Cev pushed his fire iron skull against Bilus’ head. “Where’s the princess?”

Bilus smiled through the pain, defiantly staring into the azure light of Cev’s gaze.

“You… stupid bastard,” he cursed. “She’s in the city.”

Cev pinned Bilus against the wall. “Pretty piss-poor attempt at assassinating the Archangel’s heroes, Bilus.”

Bilus remained silent, his wordlessness taunting Cev.

Jado stood up shakily, collecting his sword and sheathing it. To his relief, Softy was getting up off the ground, rubbing her head before looking at Cev.

“ceb!”

“I’ll take care of this fool,” Cev said to Jado. “Sir Dafern too. Go wake the others. Time to change the plan.”

Chapter VI

Osten awoke to a furious knocking at the door.

“What foul poetry of Laaprue?!” Osten muttered an Umyana curse as he rolled over in his bed.

He ignored the knocking and began to settle back into slumber when another round of knocks echoed off the door.

“M’broda! You better wake yo ass up before I break this door!” The muffled voice of Leto sounded from the other side of the door. The seriousness of his tone remained unmuffled—Osten knew his fellow Southern Monk well enough to recognize the difference between a threat and a promise.

Osten got off the bed and walked to the door—perhaps a touch slower than he could have moved, just to spite his friend.

He opened the door to find Leto in the hall, his tall frame bent just enough to meet the doorway’s height. He was wearing his Endalan robes, although they were girded in the fashion that meant he was prepared for a fight. Over his shoulder was his murmuko staff, the top end terminating in a long bronze u-shaped head, not unlike a tuning fork.

“Get your clothes on,” Leto said with disgust. “And do it quickly. There’s an emergency. The ramparts are crawling with guards on alert.”

“Sluhz. What happened?!” Osten said, stumbling backwards while attempting to don his robes.

“Jado didn’t tell me all the details, but,” Leto cast a glance down the hallway. “We’ve been betrayed. By Bilus. And I suspect Sabina too.”

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Osten muttered.

“Yeah, I bet you’re ecstatic right now. Hurry your ass up.”

“Did you wake Shayoon?”

“Gaak no. I’d give myself an aneurysm trying to wake that dolt up. We gotta find the princess and we’ve got no time to waste.”

Osten finished clothing himself and burst into the hall, trailing behind Leto who had already started down the hall.

“Bilus is in the castle?” Osten asked, catching up to Leto.

“Sure is,” Leto said, twirling his murmuko staff once to check the balance. A menacing hum resonated from its metal head as it passed by Osten’s ear. “The gates have been closed all night, and all guards in the battlements have been accounted for. No idea how he got in, but he’s probably not working alone. He’s currently in the barracks, being held by Cev.”

“Poor guy.”

“Hmm. I’d agree but his voltaic ass killed several men already. We’ve already sent a swordteam of paladins into Walwhite to find Sabina. See what she says about this.”

“Damn it! This is crazy. Okay, well… one thing at a time. Let’s meet with the others.”

“Agreed.”

“Hope I find her. I’d love to explain why what she did was wrong. With my fists.”

“You’re assuming she’s guilty.”

“‘Course. Bilus is a lapdog. No way he’s acting of his own accord.”

Osten and Leto entered the courtyard, where several circles of paladins were receiving search orders from their knight captains. One of the captains dismissed her knights upon seeing the Southern Monks enter.

“Leto, Osten, sirs,” she addressed them with a slight bow.

“Lady Redweather,” Leto replied in acknowledgement.

“We have our men combing the castle from top to bottom. We know this place like the back of our hands. Any other Thunder Legionnaries will be found.”

“Have the authorities in Walwhite been contacted?”

“Paulraj is sending an arcane letter was we speak. The Elementalists will be on alert for anyone who looks like they may be associated with the Legion.”

“Good,” Osten breathed. He was relieved to be surrounded by competent individuals like the paladins. “Where can we help to search?”

As if on cue, a bolt of lightning struck one of the Righteous Fort’s outer battlements.

“Perhaps we can start there,” Leto rumbled.

In perfect tandem, the two monks rushed through the inner gate to the base of the 30-foot tall outer wall. Just as it looked like the monks were going to collide with the wall, an enormous blob of living darkness emerged from the shadow of the wall. It reached out with an arm, boosting the Osten to the top of the wall.

Leto’s method of vertical traversal was a little different. He hummed, tapping the head of his staff in a particular pattern. It began vibrating at the same pitch he hummed. Like a pole vaulter, Leto struck his staff into the ground head first. A shockwave burst from the end of the staff, catapulting him upwards, where Osten’s hand was waiting to steady him onto the ramparts.

The two rushed towards the battlement where the lightning had struck, with Leto leading the charge. The door inside put up little resistance against Leto’s intimidating frame.

Inside, Sabina was standing in the midst of several paladin corpses, their electrocuted remains smoking. Her gown—primarily intended for diplomacy and fanciful parties—was cut to the thigh. Her hair, once gorgeously coiffed, was disheveled and pouring out across her face chaotically.

Not a single doubt crossed Osten’s mind.

Osten pointed forward and gave a commanding bellow. “Kurai! Pin her!”

The amorphous shadowy monster that had helped him up the wall emerged from the ground, writhing and undulating like a sentient mound of gelatin—Kurai, Osten’s elusive yet ever-present companion. It twisted its form, moving like some bizarre hybrid of liquid and smoke. Its form eventually settled on a large crustacean with snapping claws. It lunged with a single appendage, gripping the princess and pinning her against the wall.

Leto stood next to the pinned woman, the bronze head of his staff aimed threateningly at her.

“Nice stealthy infiltration attempt,” Osten jeered, standing just behind Leto and the monstrous crab. “Next time you’ll have to pay closer attention to how lightning works when you’re in princess school.”

Leto rolled his eyes.

“Sabina, you’re coming with us. Come willingly and we can think about returning you to your father in a cage instead of a coffin.”

She scowled at the Southern Monks.

“You’ll be sorry for laying your hands on me, the heiress to the Legion of Thunder,” Sabina warned.

“Oh, I haven’t laid my hands on you yet,” Osten replied, drawing the elili seme sword from his back.

Sabina’s eyes flashed blue. The light of her magic reflected off the straight, single-edged blade in Osten’s hand.

“Osten!” Leto delivered a quick side kick to Osten, sending him crashing into a stack of crates.

Sabina screamed, her voice punctuated with the snapping of electricity. Her golden nails crackled with lightning as she flung a mote of sizzling energy into the spot where Osten had just stood. Kurai’s crab form staggered backwards at the blinding light of the discharge, disappearing into a shadow on the wall—but not before releasing Sabina from its grip.

“Thundersteel nails, huh?” Leto mused, twirling his staff between his fingers. “Smart way to conceal a weapon. Still won’t be enough to stop us from putting an end to your little plan.”

“Yeah, just kill her,” Osten groaned from within the debris of the boxes he had crashed into.

In silent agreement, Leto brought his murmuko down over Sabina’s skull. She raised her hand, deflecting the blow with a burst of lightning. Osten watched as Leto took a jolt of electricity to the chest, causing him to collapse on the floor. Osten sprung into action, determined to protect his friend.

Sabina stretched out her hand again, unleashing another stream of lightning from her thundersteel nails. Osten sidestepped the bolt as he rushed towards her. He flourished his blade in a feinting slash—and the princess fell for it. She dodged the slash but couldn’t escape the fist that followed. Osten planted a single mighty strike into her side. She staggered into the back wall of the battlement, coughing.

“Ooh, all yo ribs broken,” Osten said, rubbing his knuckles. It was almost unfair—a Southern Monk in a fistfight against some dainty princess. Even if she was a mage.

“Looks like I win, princess. Imma give you one last chance to surrender.”

Sabina winced suddenly, clutching her side. She glowered at Osten through the strands of hair over her face, her teeth stained red with blood.

“I’m not gonna ask again, your highness,” he commanded firmly.

Sabina laughed, throwing her head back while running her hands through her hair. Her nails crackled with lightning as they moved.

“Did you really think you could best the most powerful storm mage in all of Legere with a knife and a fist?”

“I’ve beaten things much tougher than you, lady. And yes, I could probably beat you even without my sword. And I’m ‘boutta prove it.”

Osten took a step forward, his eyes trained on Sabina’s hands, ready to dodge whatever lightning she would send at him. But the lightning never came from her.

The door to the battlement blew open as a mighty gust of wind tore it from its hatches. Following the wind, a bolt of lightning from a conjured storm cloud raced down and through the open door, guided by Sabina’s lethal intent.

Osten felt the lightning course through his body. It was like being stabbed all throughout his entire being. His vision swam through multiple colours.

The next thing he knew, he was facing upwards at the face of Leto.

“M’broda, you alright?” Leto asked, helping him sit up.

“What kind of… where…” Osten fumbled, his brain enveloped in a fog.

“Sabina conjured a storm over the castle,” Leto said, gesturing to the door of the battlement. Sure enough, a torrential downpour of rain battered the ramparts beyond. A flash of lightning seared the sky, followed by a deafening, near-instant roar of thunder.

He punched the only remaining crate, sending another cloud of smoke billowing across the floor.

“I didn’t even get to punch her in the face,” Osten mumbled.

“Not really an issue right now,” Leto replied. He helped Osten to the battlement doors.

Chapter VII

Cev kept his gaze fixed on Bilus in front of him. Rain poured down as if the Creator had decided to empty a basin of bathwater atop the Righteous Fort, but Cev may as well have been a statue with his lack of reaction.

Cev’s oculi fed his brain everything he needed to see despite the obfuscation of the downpour and flashing lightning. Bilus’ heartbeat and heat signature were monitored constantly by the strange contraptions that hooked into his brain.

Cev had never fully grasped how they worked. Just that they did.

“You can’t stop us,” Bilus spat, turning to the side to try and look at Cev through his peripheral vision. The fire iron restraints locking Bilus’ mangled and working arms together rattled slightly as he moved. “Victory already belongs to the Imperator.”

“Face forward or lose your ability to walk again,” Cev threatened, his voice emerging from a mechanical voicebox implanted in the spot where his neck would be.

Bilus turned away, but tilted his head upward, gazing into the storm raging overhead.

The storm had appeared within mere minutes. What was a cloudless, moonlit sky not ten minutes ago was now darkened by enormous, billowing cumulonimbus clouds. Cev recognized the phenomenon from one of his closest allies—Jado. When Jado unleashed the storm magic within his thundersteel weapons, a seething blanket of stormclouds would pour in overhead.

Undoubtedly, this was conjured by one of Bilus’ allies. Perhaps Sabina, assuming she was a mage. Cev calculated for a moment—should he leave Bilus in the hands of the paladins here? He’d been disarmed, after all—without his cestus, Bilus couldn’t use his own fulgurmancy.

Cev turned his head, scanning the courtyard from left to right. Still no unfamiliar figures. There were about six paladins nearby, huddled under awnings in an attempt to stay dry. Their crossbows remained loaded, ready to fire upon Bilus if for some outlandish reason he decided to struggle against Cev.

Bilus shivered. The Second Voice assured Cev:

His body temperature is still within reasonable ranges.

“Could you not have the decency to hold me in a cell or at least indoors?” Bilus asked Cev spitefully.

Cev gave a disinterested reply. “Next time tell your allies not to make so much rain.”

“You’re a bastard. A coward without honour.”

“I have plenty of honour, ‘Bilus’. If that’s your real name, deceiver. Not much honour to be passed around on your end.”

“You call stabbing people in their back honour, Cev?”

“And I suppose you would call marching into the home of your enemy under a cloak of peace honour.”

“You crawl through the shadows, afraid to be seen. Nothing more sniveling than that.”

Bilus turned his head to looked behind him. There was nothing. As he flicked his gaze forward, he gasped as Cev was standing in front of him.

“Does it look like I’m afraid to be seen?” Cev asked, his monotone voice edging on the side of mockery. He placed a single steel finger on Bilus’ chestplate. “Of all the people you could call cowardly, you chose the wrong one. I knew what it was like to be a coward once. But now, I face danger head on. You just don’t happen to be dangerous to me.”

With little effort, Cev pushed Bilus with his finger. Bilus fell backward into the mud.

She is here.

“Your words weren’t enough to distract me,” Cev said, turning towards the inner gate that connected the courtyard to the outer portion of the castle. Sabina stood in the middle of it, her glowing eyes flickering in rhythm with the lightning flashing above.

“I wasn’t trying to distract you,” Bilus said, sitting up from the mud. “I was just passing time.”

Sabina raised her hand, a thread of electricity snaking across her forearm and between her fingers.

“This is a very bad idea on your part,” Cev said. There was a violent scraping noise as blades emerged from his mechanical wrists. The clicking of clockwork and hissing of pistons hidden within his arms sounded for a moment before falling silent. The blades shimmered with a pale blue light. Tongues of divine fire raced down the blades, illuminating the courtyard.

The princess stood her ground.

A storm mage. She commands the arcane path of elemental fulgurmancy. I suggest we close gap and spill her entrails.

Cev moved, with his enormous frame moving with blinding speed. Sabina didn’t budge. Cev readied his blades to strike—a lethal attack that would surely kill her outright. She was too dangerous to let live.

Suddenly, grey.

Cev stopped. There was nothing but an endless grey horizon before him. The rain was gone. Sabina, Bilus, and the other paladins were nowhere in sight.

Cev lowered his arms and relaxed his stance. His blades retracted themselves into his arms.

Our foe is lost. We are adrift upon a secondary plane.

“Well this isn’t optimal,” Cev said to himself. His voice echoed through the vast emptiness.

Chapter VIII

Osten gripped the sides of the wagon as it rattled down the cobblestone streets of Walwhite.

“Paulraj can you just drive the wagon normally?!” Osten whined at the mage.

Paulraj sat next to him, waving his rod at the empty driver’s seat. The reins of the enormous millipede that drew the wagon moved on their own, Paulraj’s arcane runes coating the lines.

“What? I need my hands free for when we find the two we’re looking for,” Paulraj answered.

“Yeah, well, your animated reins aren’t exactly the most elegant drivers.” As if to emphasize her point, the wagon took a sharp right turn, navigating around a group of pedestrians.

“Sluhz! What the gaak Paulraj!” Osten hissed.

Leto stood with one foot on the edge of the wagon’s side board. His robes flapped dramatically in the wind. He held his staff outstretched in one hand, its bronze head glimmering in the light of the just-rising sun.

“That thundering bitch will feel the wrath of the Creator and Laaprue,” Leto’s voice grated.

“And this time I’ll make sure to plant my fist right in the middle of her face!” Osten’s added. He glanced to the side of their wagon and watched the shadowy, ethereal form of Kurai bounding across the ground like a dolphin skimming the waves. Ribbons of shadowy, pitch-black essence trailed from its body like billowing smoke.

“Kurai seems as eager as I!” Leto called out.

“Yeah, he’s pretty pissed after eating a lightning bolt!”

Ahead of them, another wagon. Stolen from the stables of the Righteous Fort, commandeered by Bilus and Sabina. They snaked through alleyways and different roads in a vain attempt to shake the heroes who were in pursuit.

A smoldering knife grew in Osten’s hands. It writhed and oozed in his hand, like melting ice.

“Remember,” Leto said to Osten, “Sabina is extremely powerful. She dealt with an entire squad of paladins that were guarding Bilus. Watch for the magic she’ll fling back at us in retaliation.”

A bolt of lightning struck a lamppost the heroes’ wagon passed by.

“Or in a preemptive strike,” Leto said, stroking his chin.

The giant millipede—a varakira—pulling the wagon clicked its jaws as a screaming sea of foot traffic parted to make way for Sabin and Bilus’ wagon.

“Sorry everyone!” Paulraj cried apologetically out to the scattered pedestrians.

Finally, Osten thought as a long, straight stretch of road opened before them. He lifted his hand, ready to throw the shadowy dagger. At the right moment, Osten pointed at the wheel of Sabina and Bilus’ wagon. From in his mind, he willed the wheel to be broken.

There was a hiss, a pop, and a pulse as Kurai’s form dived underground before erupting under the wheel like a hunting shark. The wheel splintered and shuttered as it attempted to continue its duty to the wagon it was barely affixed to.

“I love Kurai,” Leto bellowed with glee.

The heroes began to gain ground, the dead wheel on the pursued wagon grinding against the cobblestone. Osten grinned.

“Get ready guys,” Paulraj said, raising his rod. “S’kah t’wah!”

Kurai exploded from the ground again, this time morphing into the form of a mass of writhing tentacles. Its tendrils dragged along the ground and gripped nearby objects to slow the wagon down. At the same time, its other tendrils assailed the two in the wagon, with Sabina attempting to fend off Kurai’s monstrous form with her lightning magic. As Kurai caused distraction, strands of deep blue magic lashed out from the tip of Paulraj’s rod, wrapping around the other rear wheel of the wagon. Encumbered in three ways, the wagon’s movement halted. As it began to skid, the multi-legged creature struggled to continue pulling it while two of its wheels refused to turn.

Osten saw Bilus’ hand gripping the reigns. His other hung loosely at his side. That must’ve been the arm Cev had crushed.

“Bring us up alongside them,” Leto ordered Paulraj. “Osten, get Kurai to cover me.”

Osten nodded, silently relaying his will to Kurai again. Kurai’s tendrils lashed out at Sabina long enough to allow Leto to board the other wagon. He twirled the staff as he went, its head beginning to emit an unsettling hum.

“I’d say last chance,” Leto roared as he raised his staff, “but we’re far past that.”

Leto brought the staff down over Sabina, but she throw herself to the side. The air visibly warped around the wagon as the staff smashed into the bottom. The back half of the wagon split, like a lizard shedding its tail. Leto leaped into the air to land on the remaining piece of the wagon.

Sabina raised both her hands, knocking Leto backwards with a pulse of buzzing energy while sending a crackling, serpentine stream of electricity towards Kurai.

“Go to hell!” she spat.

Leto went sprawling onto the ground while Kurai’s tentacles wrapped around a passing lamp post. The shadow creature pulled up and away before diving into the shadows along the side of the rode like it were a pool.

The varakira millipede drawing the heroes’ wagon zipped past Leto, clambering over the splintering debris of the other. Paulraj’s animated reins didn’t bother to navigate around the oncoming obstacle.

“Oh sluhz!” Osten gripped the wagon. It jostled violently as its wheels smashed into the debris. The wagon began to teeter as one half of theirs thundered over the remains of the other.

“Sorry.” Paulraj apologized sheepishly to Osten without turning to face him.

Osten’s ire was too focused against their true enemies to find annoyance with Paulraj’s driving. He spotted the lines of the wagon, focusing on a spot just ahead of Bilus’ good hand—the one on the reins—and relayed his resolve once more to Kurai. The claw of Kurai’s crab form emerged from the ground like a rapidly-growing tree. With great finesse, the edge of the claw caught the lines and severed them, ending Bilus’ control over the wagon. Bilus whirled around and bared his teeth.

Sabina pushed her hand forward, sending a poteent gust of wind into the side of the heroes’ already tipping wagon. Catastrophe was imminent.

“Uh oh!” Paulraj yelled.

Osten spotted a line hanging diagonally across the street ahead. A line of clothes hanging to dry.

The Southern Monk jumped, grabbing hold of the clothesline just as the wagon flipped sideways. The varakira pulling the wagon a moment ago turned to the side, pulling free of the wreckage. Paulraj went tumbling onto the ground.

Osten hung onto the clothes line as it broke free from the closest end. It swung forward quickly, straight toward Sabina. Osten put his feet together, planting them both into the princess’ chest. Sabina went off the side of the wagon, disappearing into a plume of dust. The Southern Monk could only watch as Kurai descended on Sabina’s last seen location—forks of lightning arced upwards out of the dust like a glowing tree. With luck, his shadowy companion would keep her busy.

When he turned his attention back to Bilus, the Thunder legionary was in the middle of throwing his fist at him, glancing off of his cheek. He counterattacked by drawing his sword and slashing at his throat.

Bilus leaned back, allowing the sword strike to swing wide. Then he sent his fist back towards Osten face. CRACK. Osten struggled to keep his feet planted, fighting against the pain of his nose which was undoubtedly broken. His sword clattered onto the cobblestone road.

“Gakk you, monk,” Bilus said, grabbing him by his scarf.

As Bilus pulled Osten towards his own fist, a massive shadow burst into view, accompanied by a hail of shattered shingles.

Kurai? Osten thought for a moment. But his initial thoughts were proven incorrect as the powerful form of Cev seemed to explod into existence over the wagon, landing on top of it with such force that what remained crumbled like a smashed sand castle.

Osten flew into the air, but landed in Cev’s arms as he skidded to a stop in the middle of Walwhite’s street.

“Where were you earlier?” Osten asked as Cev set him on the ground.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” he replied unenthusiastically.

The commotion around them died down as pedestrians fled the scene and the remains of the wagon settled into a heap. Bilus emerged from the wreckage, the varakira—his only means of escape—scuttling away behind him.

The Thunder Legionary was bruised and battered, his bare arms pierced with splinters, his hair—once neatly curled—now matted and twisted.

He spat a gob of blood onto the street.

Osten didn’t bother adopting a fighting stance. With Cev beside him, even lifting a finger against the unarmed man before them would have been overkill.

Bilus raised his fist in a half-hearted guard.

Cev crossed his arms, cocking his helmet. “Really?”

Bilus’ arm fell back to his side. He collapsed to his knees, clearly exhausted. Yet his eyes remained defiant, piercing into Osten and Cev’s eyes.

“That’s what I thought,” Cev said.

Osten watched Bilus carefully. Was he playing a trick?

“We were happy to take you alive for questioning,” Cev announced as one of his blades emerged from its housing in his wrist. “But I suppose your ‘honour’ would prefer the outcome I’m about to suggest here. You’ve caused us more trouble than necessary, so you will die here.”

Osten nodded silently in agreeance. Cev was right—he was too much of a threat and had caused enough damage to the Righteous Order already.

Cev briskly stepped forward, blade pointed to impale the Thunder Legionary’s heart through even his armour.

Zap!

Cev seized. Osten whirled around just in time to see a line of hooded figures with golden blades outstretched. Each of them channeled a stream of electricity into Cev. The lights of his oculus flickered as the lightning wreaked havoc on his systems.

Osten bent down low and rushed towards the closest assailant. As impressive of a warrior as Osten was, he was greatly outnumbered. As his fist collided with the helmet underneath the figure’s hood, another one bashed him in the back of his head with their own spear. As Osten collided with the ground he found a speartip aimed at his throat, promising a quick end to his story if he decided to continue being a hero.

Cev’s body whirred violently as he withstood the massive current surging through his being. He began trudging towards the figures, blades out and ready to kill.

Osten watched in wonder from the ground, head spinning, at the tenacity of Cev. He couldn’t be stopped, could he?

“That’s enough moving, friend.” A new voice, like rusty beams metal creaking against each other.

Cev’s movement halted.

The blue-hooded men—Thunder Legionaries, Osten figured—stepped aside to reveal two figures. One was Sabina. The other was a man in grey robes. As he moved towards Cev, the jangling sound of metal rattled from within his cloak. His face was covered by a plane made of steel—but as he spoke, the lips of the metal mask bent as if it were alive. In one hand, the masked man loosely gripped a rod, its head pointed like a pitching fork.

Sabina? Osten wondered. How did she get here so fast? And where’s Kurai?

“Impressive!” the figure exclaimed with the sound of genuine satisfaction. “Cev himself. I’d always heard stories of the Archangel’s Hero made of metal.”

The man twisted his fingers downward. Cev folded backwards onto the ground, still being showered by the Thunder Legionary’s arcs.

“I’ll admit,” the voice of Sabina fluttered over the snapping of electricity, “you had me worried about our chances to escape. But did you really think that a princess such as I would entrust her safety to a single man?”

Sabina’s pale skin was highlighted by the crackling energy pouring onto Cev.

“You even broke one of my nails,” Sabina said, extending her hand to show Osten. “So rude.”

Osten remained still, hands splayed out across the ground.

“Two Archangel’s Heroes for my master!” the mage said excitedly. “He will make great money from this.”

“We can’t take this one, Iron Face,” Sabina said, turning to the mage.

“What?” Iron Face replied angrily. “You promised my master that the Archangel’s Heroes would be delivered to him.”

“Oh they will. But ensuring that we keep Cev sufficiently… neutered for the duration of our travels will be challenging. Far more challenging than I’m willing to deal with.”

“We should kill him, then. Now! I will create quite the spectacle as I pull this metal man apart.” The metal visage of Iron Face curled into a cruel smile.

“That would take too long for even you, magnet-mage,” Bilus said, taking his place at Sabina’s side. He looked down the road. “The wretched machine would take an hour to put down fully. Just damage him enough that he can’t follow us. Just kill the monk and we can escape. We have our prize.”

Bilus pointed at Osten. Iron Face sighed, his mask settling back into neutrality with a creak.

Sabina stood next to Cev’s body, bent over backwards and convulsing as much as Iron Face allowed. She leaned down, just out of arm’s reach.

“Two Archangel’s Heroes laid low before Sabina Tiama Domina of the Cloudlands,” she smiled arrogantly. She flicked her hand.

Just as the tip of the spear moved to tear open Osten’s throat, a bubbling geyser of shadow emerged from underneath Osten. The wind whistled past his head as the body of Kurai underneath Osten pushed him skyward and to safety.

Osten’s head lulled down against his companion’s back, and his eyes fell shut.

Chapter IX

Cev sat on a flight of stairs, back inside the walls of the Righteous Fort. A pair of apron-clad forge priests operated on his back, repairing the mechanisms that animated him. He had sustained a great deal of damage by the torrent of Thunder Legionaries’ lightning and the ferromantic torture of Iron Face.

One by one, the Archangel’s Heroes filtered into the courtyard, the afternoon sun falling gently down on them.

Cev saw Jado, his neck purple with bruising.

“How did you get beaten by a single Thunder Legionary?” Cev asked.

“He was good,” Jado replied with a huff, sitting down on the steps below Cev. He drew his sword and a whetstone, sharpening it absentmindedly. Next to him, Softy sat on the grass, pulling weeds out from the cracks in the stone.

“You held back,” Cev spoke again, pointing to Jado’s wrapped arm.

Jado scowled at Cev.

“I heard you got tricked into a greybox,” Jado said spitefully.

Cev grumbled but didn’t reply.

Sir Dafern emerged from a door, stepping into the sunlight. He, like many of the heroes, was a little worse for wear—but standing.

“Alright everybody,” he announced, “The Legion of Thunder is on the run. Cev’s reported that Sabina and Bilus were reinforced by a small contingent of undercover Thunder Legionaries and a very powerful ferromancer. Osten almost died, but Kurai managed to drag him back here.”

A murmur rose from the group. Jado rubbed his eyes.

“You’re ok, knight?” Leto said, pointing at Sir Dafern. “What happened to you?”

“Bilus sucker punched me,” he replied. “But that’s not important right now. The topic currently… well, our hand is forced. We need to go after them. They have the key.”

Jado’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Bilus must have stolen the key during his infiltration last night.”

Cev watched as Jado’s head descended into his hands. “That means we have no idea the true nature of the key anymore. They claimed it was to save Hyperius, but their loyalty to him means that it must be for something else.”

Cev emitted a groan that rattled throughout his iron body.

Jado looked up and cast a furious gaze upon Cev. “Why didn’t you search Bilus? He must have had the key on him when we bested him!”

“Things happened fast,” Cev retorted, standing up quickly and sending the Forge Priest attendants behind him sprawling onto their backs. “I was keeping my eye on Bilus without letting my concentration lapse. You on the other hand… clinging to your facade of humanity when more than your life is at stake! You’re not even human anymore!”

The linen covering Jado’s arm bristled as whatever was underneath shifted.

“You’re one to talk, you walking brain-in-a-”

“Cev, Jado, enough!” Sir Dafern spoke. “This is on me. I let Sabina and Bilus fool us. I relaxed security around them when I shouldn’t have made exceptions. I vouched for them, and it was my word that got people injured and killed.”

“Nah,” Osten said. “I can think of someone just as responsible for this mess.”

“Yo, yo.” The voice of Shayoon announced his arrival. “What’s up gang? Why we all up so early?”

“It’s noon,” Leto said flatly.

“Wow! I slept good!”

“M’broda where the gaak you been?” Osten barked.

“Well duh. Sleeping.”

“You know if you woke up earlier you could have saved us so much trouble?”

“Huh. Maybe. At least no one died.”

“WE LOST THIRTY-TWO MEN,” Leto called out angrily.

“Well at least they don’t have to use the bathroom anymore?” Shayoon thought aloud.

“I’ll kill you, you piece of-” Osten stood up, his own shadow growing to massive size like a malevolent aura. Cev recognized the lurking form of Kurai when he saw it. He took a step toward Shayoon but Sir Dafern pushed him back.

“Come on guys, that’s not fair to Shayoon,” Sir Dafern raised his voice again. “It all comes down to my actions originally. If I hadn’t fallen for Bilus’ treachery we wouldn’t have been in this circumstance in the first place.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jado said. “You couldn’t have known. No need to fall on your sword.”

“So you’ll defend him but not me for being fooled?” Cev questioned Jado.

“Why are you defending this asshole?” Osten demanded of Sir Dafern.

“azhole!” Softy roared excitedly.

Everyone began to shout over one another. The din rose in volume until suddenly the roaring sound of flame overpowered the arguing. The heroes leaned backwards, shielding their faces from a scalding heat.

Sir Dafern stood in the center of them all, in his hands a flaming sword. Orange tongues of fire leapt from its blade like dancers. The Sunblade.

Cev sat back down on the steps, allowing the forge priests to continue. The other heroes visibly relaxed, although glares continued to be shot at one another.

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” Sir Dafern, sheathing the Sunblade. The sound and heat of the fiery weapon abruptly disappeared as it entered into the scabbard. We need to stand united and move forward. That’s how we won the War—and that’s how we’ll triumph here.”

The knight paced across the grass. “Here are the facts: Bilus and Sabina, along with an entourage of Thunder Legionaries that were previously in disguise within Walwhite, are on the run. They have in their possession the demonium key… and we don’t know what it actually unlocks. Like Jado said, I suspect Sabina was lying.

“To make things more confounding, Phovezilan forces encountered the Thunder Legionaries exiting the city from the east gate… a direction away from the Cloudlands. I don’t know why.”

“Confusing,” Cev said as the Forge Priests finished their repairs. “But I bet I could find out where they’re going. They’re less than a day out of the city—I’ve tracked targets with a greater gap than that.”

“Are you okay to deploy?” Sir Dafern asked worriedly, casting glances at the Forge Priests.

“This fire iron body is a lot stronger than the starsteel one I used to have,” Cev commented as he stretched his limbs.

Our body is mended. All of our limbs move they should. We are ready to HUNT.

It was like he’d never been damaged.

“I’ll start hunting them immediately,” Cev said. “I’ll leave marks and messages so you can follow at a distance. When they arrive in an ideal location, we can ambush them. Those sorry saps wouldn’t stand a chance with all of us together at the same time.”

Cev passed by Jado, pausing for a moment. He turned his head just a little—enough for Jado to see a sliver of his glowing visor.

“Jado. Anton once told me something that you could probably hear right now.”

Jado turned away from Cev, his eyes targeting a dandelion growing from the cracks in the stone.

“‘The darkness within never leaves us,’” Cev recited, “‘but neither does the will to be better.‘”

Cev turned ahead. He nodded to Sir Dafern before sprinting away. The heroes watched Cev bound over the walls of the castle like a jumping insect.

“I will never stop thanking the Creator that he’s on our side,” Osten muttered.

“Yeah…” Jado whispered.

Chapter X

Shayoon grumbled as he trudged through mud.

“Man,” Shayoon said, turning his head to Jado next to him, “Why couldn’t the pallys build a wagon or carriage that could handle the terrain?”

“Just a reminder that all of this was completely unavoidable if you had just woke yo ass up?” Osten commented grumpily. He walked behind Shayoon, arms crossed as he glowered at the back of his cap.

“Unfortunately it was the sleep that was completely unavoidable,” Shayoon replied.

Jado sighed, attempting to filter out the Southern Monks’ bickering. Softy sat with her head sticking out from

A day ago, the heroes had set out from the Righteous Fort aboard an armoured carriage. It was massive, reinforced with fire iron plating, and had plenty of room inside for every member of the Archangel’s Heroes to stretch their legs. Two gargantuan varakira pulled the carriage, their backs loaded up with supplies—freeing up the interior of the carriage for more legroom.

But the landscape around them changed rapidly. A note left from Cev directed them onwards, but the grass gave way to mud and quickly the heavy carriage’s wheels found themselves stuck in the mud. The heroes dismounted the carriage, leaving it behind and continuing on foot.

“My feet are getting all muddy ‘n sluz,” Shayoon complained. “The Southern Monastery never trained us for this. Osten, can’t you get Kurai to carry more of us?”

“Unfortunately I respect Kurai enough to not make him serve as a mule to carry your sorry ass,” Osten replied bluntly.

“Man,” Shayoon said. “Are we absolutely sure Cev told us to go into this stinky ass swamp?”

No one answered him.

This was Fleshflayers’ Swamp. A bubbling, teeming morass no sane army had tried to cross through across almost all of Legerian history. It was the territory of many dangerous beasts—chelydras, death crabs, and the titular fleshflayers.

In a hostile environment like this—the home of monsters—danger lurked around every corner. The Archangel’s Heroes were each kitted for a fight. The Southern Monks had their robes girded for mobility. Jado had donned an old pair of lamellar Isutan nakai armour that he had left at the Righteous Fort the last time he was there. Sir Dafern had donned his gleaming fire iron plate, while Paulraj appeared to be the same… but a layer of mail underneath his robes offered a little more protection than he usually had.

Shayoon rubbed his cap and looked at one of the Varakira behind him, currently being led by Leto. Its back was covered in the supplies.

I wonder if I could sneak on top of that thing while no one was looking to take a nap? he thought to himself.

Leto trudged alongside Sir Dafern, occasionally helping the knight unstick his sabatons from the muck.

“So, never found any records from the Sacred Library about what the key unlocks?” Leto asked.

“No,” Sir Dafern said, his eyes plastered to the ground as he attempted to avoid mud and water as best he could. His armour rattled with every cautious step he took, his plumed helmet—hanging from his belt—clattering against his cuisses. The tabard overtop the blue-tinged fire iron, normally a deep crimson with gold trim, was stained with mud and swamp filth.

“Well actually, I suppose that’s not true,” Sir Dafern turned to Leto. “I did find one document that identified who the key was confiscated from originally—from the Demon Wars.”

“The key’s that old?” Leto said in surprise.

“Yes. And you’ll never guess who the keyholder was.”

“Who?”

“Xadu.”

Leto cursed.

“Even when that unholy bastard is dead he’s still causing problems for us.”

“Unfortunately that’s all I could find. No other documents on what it unlocked. But if General Xadu was responsible for holding the key, then it must be important.”

“Wonder if it’s important enough to have changed the outcome of the War,” Leto said, using his staff to clamber over a fallen log. “We may have been lucky that he left in such a hurry after being broken out of the prison.”

“Indeed. If Michael wasn’t there, Xadu might’ve felt comfortable enough to collect his key… along with whatever other trinkets in the Library were his.”

At the head of the Archangel’s Heroes, Paulraj walked with his rod raised in one hand and his other leading the second varakira behind him. Periodically, he cast out beams of deep blue light to animate large sticks and logs to clear mud from his path.

The varakira Paulraj led stopped suddenly. Its antennae tapped around at the ground in front of them.

“Come on, you!” Paulraj exclaimed, yanking on the varakira’s lead. It gave a high pitched warble, writhing its body in protest.

Paulraj fell backward into a puddle. His embroidered cloak—which he had poured much effort into protecting against mud—was now thoroughly coated. Jado hurried to his side.

“Here,” Jado said, kneeling down to give a hand.

“Ah, thanks.” Paulraj grabbed the hand, hoisting himself out of the puddle. “I was just a little thirsty.”

Jado chuckled. Softy watched from the backpack as Jado helped Paulraj up.

“oo! wawa!” Softy began to clamber out.

“No!” Jado called, shuffling himself to cause Softy to fall back into the bag. “You’ll get all muddy and I don’t want you tracking mud all over the place!”

“mud!”

“Yes. Take a nap or something.”

Paulraj tried to wipe the mud off of his robes, but it was in vain.

“I don’t want to sound like Shayoon,” Paulraj breathed, “but yeah. This swamp is very bad. We could easily get lost, and we might not be able to find a good spot to camp in.”

Jado pointed at one of the trees ahead. An inverted “Y” notched into its bark. A mark from Cev.

“We’re not lost yet. Cev’s been here.”

“I suppose,” Paulraj hummed nonchalantly. “Guess we better keep going.”

Paulraj took hold of the varakira’s lead again, but it still refused to move.

“What is up with this guy?” Paulraj wondered.

“Hey, what’s the hold up?” Osten marched up to Jado, looking over Paulraj and the giant millipede.

“Our varakira doesn’t want to move forward,” Paulraj explained.

“Hmm. Let me try.” Osten took a step forward, hand outstretched to take the lead. But as he pulled his back foot free from a pool of soft mud, there was a slurping noise not unlike that of flatulence.

“Excuse you,” Paulraj said.

Osten paused. He glared at Paulraj at first, but his lips trembled. Jado stifled a giggle.

That broke Osten. He threw his head back and guffawed loudly.

The three heroes laughed. It felt good considering how rough the last several days had been. Perhaps they needed the release.

“So stupid,” Osten said, wiping a tear from his eye. “That wasn’t even witty.”

A large bubble emerged from the wide puddle Paulraj had fallen into.

The three stopped laughing.

“Whoa,” Jado said, leaning down to look at the bubble.

“That’s a big ass bubble,” Osten observed.

Several other bubbles emerged to meet the first. Before anyone could make a comment, the puddle erupted in a shower of water and mud. The varakira reared up in surprise as Jado, Paulraj, and Osten fell backwards.

A massive, grey monster emerged from the puddle, dripping with water and pond scum. It had a bulbous body and two bulging amber eyes, each with three twitching pupils. Its scrawny, almost bonelike limbs dragged across the soft ground like plows.

“Shal vaast, that’s a fleshflayer!” Jado yelled as he scrambled backwards. He attempted to stand up, but the mud gripped him like glue. Softy, having jumped out of Jado’s pack, scampered across the muddy ground, leaping over Leto’s head and onto the back of the other varakira.

The fleshflayer unleashed a piercing screech, its mouth unhinging like a snake. A row of thin, long, yellow teeth and a forked tongue presented itself to the heroes.

Paulraj watched as the predator swiped with its scything claws, separating the varakira’s head from its torso. Osten gave a momentary cry as the varakira’s head began to fall on top of him. A faint shimmer passed over the swamp, as if the light itself recoiled. Something black uncoiled from the mud beneath Osten’s boots, pouring outward like smoke from a crack in the world.

Mirroring the explosive entrance of the fleshflayer, Kurai burst from the ground, taking a draconic form and unleashing a haunting roar that seemed to echo from every direction at once.

“Kill it,” Osten hissed in command.

Kurai threw its body at the swamp-born predator as the two beasts wrestled violently. Muddy swamp water sprayed in every direction as the titanic monstrosities grappled each other. Blood poured from the fleshflayer’s wounds while Kurai’s ephemeral, shadowy body slowly began to tear apart with every claw swipe.

Jado stood up, watching for an opening to strike, but the thrashing, shadowy form of Kurai and the enormous talons of the fleshflayer made it impossible to get closer to help. Paulraj moved to hide behind the rear of the varakira’s twitching corpse.

In a savage flurry, the fleshflayer drew its claw through Kurai, causing the shadow to dissipate and return to its dark plane of origin. Without stopping, the fleshflayer advanced, sending another torrent of slashes at Jado, the closest to it. Jado leaped backwards… or attempted to. The miry ground gripped his foot, sending him back into the mud. He continued to scuttle backwards, but he couldn’t match the fleshflayer’s bony legs as they strode forward.

The fleshflayer raised its other claw and brought down upon Jado. There was a clang as Sir Dafern rushed forward, shield raised. The shield absorbed the blow, and Sir Dafern gave a smile to Jado as he knelt over him.

“See how useful a shield is?”

“You’re proven this point enough in the War,” Jado said shakily, finally getting back to his feet. “Can we please focus on killing the monster?!”

“Yep,” Sir Dafern said with a sparkle in his eye. He turned to face the fleshflayer, currently howling in frustration at the knight’s interposing. Sir Dafern sniffed the air and a twinkle came to his eye. “Osten, Paulraj, stay back! Wind when I say, please!”

Sir Dafern reached for his sword while Jado mirrored him. In a smooth motion, Sir Dafern lowered his shield, unsheathing his blade at the same time.

“BY THE THRONE OF THE KING OF ANGELS, I ABJURE YOU, BEAST!” Sir Dafern cried.

The knight thrusted the Sunblade forward, which glowed orange like just-cast metal. It erupted into flame. Then, the air itself ignited.

Swamp gas.

“WIND!” Sir Dafern commanded.

Jado unsheathed Zephyr with an expert flick. A blast of wind emanated outward from the two, pushing the flames away from the two while directing most of them into the face of the fleshflayer. It screeched and clawed at its face as the flaming gas scorched its skin. In its panic, it slammed the decapitated varakira head, which rolled towards Osten. The Southern Monk attempted to dive out of the way, but the head rolled over him and buried him in the muck.

Paulraj moved around the head, gingerly stepping over the mixed pool of ichor and swamp filth.

“Not to worry, Osten,” Paulraj promised, “I’ll use my magic to get this off of you! My magic will take but a moment.”

“Tell your magic to hurry its ass up,” Osten’s muffled voice spoke from underneath.

The fleshflayer’s fury overpowered its pain. It lumbered forward, swinging its claws furiously. Sir Dafern raised his shield, blocking each of the strikes. One of the blows caught the edge of the shield, wrenching it from the knight’s grasp. Sir Dafern raised his sword in an attempt to deflect the following attack, but it wasn’t enough.

The creature’s claws raked across Sir Dafern. His body went flying backwards, the green moss under his feet turning red with blood as he collapsed.

Chapter XI

Leto struggled to calm down his varakira. It reared up at the fireball of ignited swamp gas, and Leto jumped in surprise as Shayoon’s sleeping body collapsed into the mud at his feet.

“No way you were napping on the varakira,” Leto exclaimed incredulously.

Shayoon picked himself up from the mud, leaning on his ngumi quarterstaff.

“Uh…”

“Don’t even try to explain,” Leto frowned. “Get your ass in the fight with that damned beast.”

“Eh,” Shayoon said with an edge of defiance—but he moved. He twirled his quarterstaff and inhaled. Tracing a gesture through the air with his other hand, he exhaled slowly. Blades of golden light formed along both ends of his weapon, transforming the weapon from a bludgeon into a double-sided, bladed implement.

Shayoon rushed forward, leaping onto the back of the heroes’ now-dead varakira. He scrambled forward with an almost animalistic agility, weaving between the different supplies still strapped to the corpse.

Shayoon watched as Sir Dafern staggered backwards from a mighty blow. Blood covered his face, staining his usual pale skin bright red. The mail covering his left arm was shattered, the fire iron plates over it pushed to the side as the straps that bound the pieces in place had been severed. A bright red crimson stain poured over the white padding underneath.

That is not good, I think, Shayoon thought.

“Get its attention!” Jado yelled out while dragging Sir Dafern’s body backwards. “Draw it away!”

The Southern Monk somersaulted off the varakira and landed beside Jado.

“Hi,” he said.

“Well, do something!” Jado yelled at him.

“Oh, yeah,” Shayoon remembered. He twirled his quarterstaff, flipping into the air before back kicking it into the face of the fleshflayer, which had been lumbering forward with predatory intent. The golden energy blade on the end of the staff sunk into the fleshflayer’s face, right between its eyes. It stopped moving and shrieked.

Shayoon jumped onto the decapitated head of the varakira next to him, which was currently levitating off the ground thanks to Paulraj’s magic. Osten began climbing out from underneath, but the sudden weight of Shayoon as he stepped on top of the head buried Osten once again.

With another mighty leap, Shayoon moved from the varakira’s head to the fleshflayer’s, using his impaled quarterstaff as a springboard. Pulling out the staff, Shayoon began to twirl it, dancing across the creature’s back like a sort of hurricane made of knifeblades.

Ribbons of blood flicked off of the monster’s back. It jolted around, scratched at its back in an attempt to swat Shayoon off of itself.

This monster is kind of ass, Shayoon thought, unimpressed by the lack of dexterity from the fleshflayer. Oh well, time for the kill move.

Shayoon looked down at his allies. He watched Leto picking up the injured Sir Dafern using only one of his powerful arms, leaving Jado free.

Perfect, Shayoon thought before yelling to the swordsman. “Yo Jado let’s kill this thing!”

Jado leaned forward, one hand on Zephyr and another on his scabbard. The clouds overhead swirled, the sky darkening as they pooled together like foam descending into a drain. It looked like he was ready.

Shayoon dislodged his quarterstaff from the fleshflayer’s thoroughly lacerated hide. He leaned down and patted the top of its head.

“Eat me,” he taunted to it before jumping forward over its head. He grabbed hold of a tree branch, dangling in mid air.

Like a snapping turtle, the fleshflayer’s head extended forward, revealing its wrinkly thin-skinned neck as it attempted to clamp its jaws down on Shayoon’s legs.

Jado moved like lightning. He drew his blade, the crackle of thunder echoing across the swamplands. There was a brilliant flash as lightning forked down from the cyclonic clouds above, striking the monstrosity at the same time his kizaraka bit into its flesh. A fountain of blood sprung up as the fleshflayer’s head fell to the ground. Osten, having just emerged from the underside of the varakira head, was bathed in crimson as the shower of of fleshflayer blood spurted over him.

The swamp was still. The monster was dead.

Jado flicked the blood off of his sword as Shayoon landed on the ground.

“Did you see my sick moves?” Shayoon asked, elbowing Jado.

“Uh huh,” Jado said with restraint. Shayoon smiled, noticing the stifled smile Jado was attempting to hide. No doubt about it—he was definitely remembering why the Archangel’s Heroes tolerate him being around.

Paulraj set the head of the varakira down and moved to Sir Dafern’s side. The knight was resting against Leto’s knee, a massive bloody gash across his face. The second was across his arm, just below his shoulder plates; the fleshflayer’s claw managed to cleave through Sir Dafern’s mail. Blood seeped through the bandages Leto had tied over the wound. It was deep, no doubt. The final mark left by the monster was across his chestplate, which had only a scratch—solid fire iron was tough for even hardened metal to damage.

Sir Dafern himself was extremely pale—more pale than usual.

“He’ll be okay,” Leto said gently. “But he’ll need to rest. He’s lost a great deal of blood.”

“So we should find shelter?” Paulraj asked, while fishing out a handkerchief from one of his pouches. He began to dab blood from Sir Dafern’s face.

“Yes,” Jado said. “we should hunker down. We’ll have to be careful not to stray too far from the path, otherwise we’ll risk losing Cev’s trail.”

“If only Igzelia was still working with us,” Osten mumbled, still dripping with blood.

“Yeah she’s okay at tracking,” Shayoon commented.

“The gaak? Okay at tracking?” Osten waved his hand, flicking blood across Jado’s face. “Igzelia tracked a squad of khatkir from Jingho to Attitah…though the Phayu Wing Mountains… on fo-”

Osten stopped after seeing Shayoon’s mischievous grin. His fellow monk was feeding on his exasperation… again. He never learned.

“Man, gaak yourself,” Osten grumbled, wiping more blood from his face.

“Wait,” Jado said, standing up. “Anyone seen Softy?”

“Where’s Softy?” Paulraj echoed.

“SOFTY!” Jado called.

“jabo!” A tiny voice called out from the distance.

Shayoon squinted. “I don’t see her Jado. But I can hear her.”

“I know where she is,” Leto interjected. “I can hear her location.”

“Thank the Creator for the Hands of Laaprue,” Jado said. “Can you help me find her?”

“Sure. Paulraj, watch our friend. Shayoon, you’re comin’ with us.”

“I’ll stay here,” Osten said. “I’ll start sorting through supplies. If we only have one varakira to carry all our sluhz, we’ll need to make some choices on what to leave behind.”

“Maybe I should help Osten!” Shayoon suggested.

“No. You’ll just end up taking a nap,” Leto denied firmly.

“Damn.”

Jado, Shayoon, and Leto moved across the swamp. Leto took the lead, adjusting his direction slightly with every call and response between Jado and Softy.

Then, finally:

“jabo! shay! lako!” The white fur of Softy, albeit greyed and browned by the swamp’s mud, stood out against the marsh. She balanced on her hind legs, waving her paws excitedly.

“me found HOLE,” the stoff said proudly as Jado squatted down in front of her.

“Hole?” Jado asked while attempting to scrape a patch of moss out from behind her ear.

“ya.”

“Very cool. Now let’s go back. Thanks Let-”

“no! hole!”

Softy pointed a stubby claw in a direction.

“hole! big!”

“The gaak is the stoff talkin’ ‘bout, Jado?” Shayoon asked.

“I’m not sure. Should we check it out?”

“If it’s not far,” Leto said. “I’d rather not get lost. Or bump into another fleshflayer. Or some other swamp monster.”

“I think between the three of us we could handle another fleshflayer.”

“I would’ve expected Sir Dafern to be able to handle a fleshflayer singlehandedly.”

“Hmm. That’s a fair point I suppose. Okay, Softy, show us the ‘hole’. Fast!”

“ya!”

The group waded through the swamp just a big further, soon finding themselves at the mouth of a mud-coated cave. A pile of bloody animal hide lay in a pile next to it.

“That doesn’t look good,” Shayoon said, swatting flies away.

“Actually, we might be in luck,” Jado said, prodding at the pile of skins. “This must be the fleshflayer’s cave. I heard once… Anton told me that fleshflayers use piles of skin taken from their prey as territorial markings. You know, to ward off other fleshflayers.”

“So this might be the cave of the monster we just killed?” Shayoon questioned.

“Mmm. Which means this might actually be the safest place to stay.”

“Jado,” Leto said, pushing the top half of the skins down with his staff, “look at this.”

Jado peered at the skin. A scrap of navy blue fabric, emblazoned with a golden symbol: the Moon and Bolt.

“Thunder Legionaries?” Jado breathed.

“Yo,” Shayoon wondered. “Fleshflayer ate the dudes?”

“I don’t think so,” Leto spoke with reluctance. He pushed more skins aside, revealing a saddle cleaved in twain. “Looks like their horses might’ve been attacked though.”

“Too bad they couldn’t have done us the courtesy of killing the damn monster,” Jado muttered. “Well, anyways. Get the others. I’ll start building a fire.”

“I’ll help collect kindling ‘n sluz,” Shayoon offered. “I wanna get some sleep. Sooner the fire’s built the sooner I can snooze.”

Cev steadied himself in the branches of the tree overhanging the Legion of Thunder’s camp. Night had fallen, and the legionaries had lit a fire. They were settling in for the night, but they kept a tight perimeter around the camp. They definitely wanted to avoid more encounters with swamp creatures.

Cev weighed the options against the Second Voice.

We could kill them all. Strike hard and fast. If we make the executions bloody enough, the other legionaries will be paralyzed in fear. We can easily cut down survivors before striking down the princess.

Too risky. If we make a mistake, the legionaries will be able to overload our systems using their thundersteel. Plus, we’d have to deal with that ferromancer, Iron Face. We’d be hung out to dry this far away from any help.

Then we don’t make a mistake.

Very funny.

Does it sound like I’m making a joke?

Just lay low. Remember, we’re on an intelligence mission. Find out where they’re going, see if we can identify who is carrying the key or where it’s stored. Assassination is a secondary bonus.

Cev’s oculus analyzed the encampment once more. At the edge of the encampment, a handful of horses still alive after the morning’s encounter.

We could kill their steeds.

Gaak, no! What is wrong with you?

It would be a sound tactic. We would reduce their mobility and decrease the likelihood that they deliver the artifact to whatever destination they have.

I’m not killing horses.

You would kill them if they were diomestoll.

Well, they’re not.

Another opportunity has presented itself. Look at that legionary.

Cev’s gaze moved over one of the legionaries on watch. His head nodded downwards as he leaned on his spear.

That one is about to descend into unconsciousness.

Now that’s the kind of opening I’m talking about.

Cloaking us now.

Cev’s body shimmered, fading into transparency before he silently dropped down from the tree.

The fire crackled in the night air, warming the heroes as they lay about the fleshflayer’s cave. A comforting orange glow illuminated the interior of the cave as the fire’s light shone in from the mouth.

Sir Dafern sat upright, although he was visibly exhausted.

Most of the others were asleep, but Shayoon remained on watch at the mouth of the cave, spinning his wooden top absentmindedly. Osten snored atop a pile of ration boxes, adamant that he remain dry in case the rain flooded the cave. He threatened to kill someone if he got soaked, of course. Softy slept on top of Osten, curled up atop his belly. Leto slept on the floor of the cave, lining the bottom of his bedroll with one of the horse’s skins, cleverly avoiding muddying his bedding.

Jado scooted up next to Sir Dafern. The knight’s arm was wrapped in bandages, slung over his body. Leto had told Jado that the cut was deep—down to the bone. Jado shuddered to think of what would’ve happened to someone not clad in the Righteous Order’s finest protection. But the armour donned by the paladins was enough to let him keep the arm. And with the blessings of the divine coursing through his veins, infection would also fail to take his arm.

“You should be sleeping,” Sir Dafern said weakly, smiling at Jado.

“Yeah, well you’re one to talk,” Jado retorted with a chuckle.

The two Archangel’s Heroes watched the rain drizzling across the swamp for a moment. In the distance, thunder rumbled—just soft enough that it provided comfort instead of anxiety considering the nature of their immediate enemies.

Jado took a glance at Sir Dafern’s bandaged arm. His left arm. He turned his attention to his own left appendage and the bandages that covered it. Scarred, but in different ways. And undoubtedly for different amounts of time.

“Jado…” Sir Dafern broke the silence.

“Yeah?”

“This is all my fault. I deserved this.”

Jado turned to Sir Dafern. The knight stared blankly into the swamp.

“What do you mean? You can’t say these things.”

“I… I failed us, Jado. I let the Legion of Thunder into Walwhite. I vouched for them and lowered everyone’s guard. I brought the key to them almost on a silver platter. There are over thirty dead because of my actions. And now some new form of Evil might be unleashed upon the world we fought so hard to save because of me.”

Sir Dafern rubbed his eyes. “I failed the Creator.”

Jado was silent for a moment.

“Nah,” he said after what felt like an eternity. “We all had our parts to play. We were disorganized, rusty. Probably overconfident in ourselves after having won the War. We’re all Archangel’s Heroes. As cliche as it is to say, we’re all in this together.”

Jado cradled Zephyr in his arms.

“It saddens me to know how you feel about this situation,” Jado continued. “You’re the Fire Knight of the Righteous Order. A Hero of the Archangel. You led hundreds of men to victory in the War. You saved countless lives already. You saved my life from the fleshflayer today. And the events in Walwhite and the Righteous Fort? What’s done is done. Like you said… we have to move forward.”

Sir Dafern turned away from the rain. His blue eyes looked at his friend.

“Oh, you arse,” he said with a grin. “You can’t use my words against me.”

“Can and will,” Jado said, tapping him on the head with the handle of his sword.

“I guess I should try to sleep then, huh?”

“That would be wise. Same for me I guess.”

“Right… and Jado. Thanks.”

“Of course, buddy.”

Jado moved backwards into the cave, to his bedroll. He ran his fingers along his left arm, tracing the vague shapes covered by the linen wraps.

Sir Dafern really believed things were his own fault. Jado would have to do better.

Chapter XII

By midday, the heroes had reached a river. A night of recovery proved to be enough for Sir Dafern to get his strength back-although his left arm would be of little use for the next while. Throughout the morning the heroes had been able to move with a steady pace. At least until they encountered the river before them.

“This river has to be about forty feet wide,” Paulraj yelled over the raging river. The roar of the coursing water was so loud that shouting was necessary to communicate.

“This must be the Modwuk River,” Sir Dafern shouted to the others.

“Riverbank is steep,” Leto hollered. “And the rapids are fierce! Even the varakira can’t cross this!”

Jado pointed further downstream, where a massive fallen tree bridged the river. “Think we can cross that? It doesn’t look too rotted! Definitely not big enough for the varakira though!”

“Should we even cross!?” Leto yelled back. “We have no more marks or notes from Cev on where to go!”

Leto was troublingly correct. The last piece of communication from Cev they had seen was early in the morning—hours ago. A note that read:

HEAD EAST.

The heroes had simply decided to continue forwards on the same trajectory. They could be frighteningly off track by now.

“I’m getting annoyed by the gaak-ass swamp,” Osten yelled. “If we continue forward we’ll get outta here!”

“If we cross the river and it’s the wrong direction, then we give the Legion a lot of extra time!” Sir Dafern yelled.

“At this point I don’t give a gaak!” Osten shouted. He began walking towards the tree.

Paulraj shuffled nervously. “If they don’t have their horses, then they could’ve crossed! But if they still have even one horse, I don’t see them crossing!”

Leto drew shapes on the ground with his staff. “Cev did say to keep heading east! And the river is flowing primarily eastward! We could just follow the river, in that case! But it’s also possible we missed a marking or note!”

Sir Dafern spoke up, calling over the sound of the river. “Okay, listen up! Let’s split into two teams! One will take the south bank and the other the north. Try to scout out a wide-ish area surrounding both sides of the river in an attempt to find marks from Cev, or any other clues as to where to go! Osten, I’m guessing it’s still too sunny out to have Kurai scout the area from above?”

“Yeah, I mean I’d maybe be able to convince him to stick around for maybe half an hour in this kind of direct sunlight before he chooses to piss off,” Osten answered. “That wouldn’t leave me with much favour left in case of a fight!”

“How do we signal if we found something?” Leto yelled.

“We have some Isutan fireworks in our supplies! We can use those as signals!”

“I guess this is an okay plan?” Paulraj said with uncertainty.

“I don’t get it!” Shayoon admitted.

Osten rolled his eyes. “Just go with the flow,” he said with exasperation. He turned to the others. “Dibs on the south bank!”

“You just want to avoid the swamp,” Jado accused.

“Excellent observation,” Osten said, pushing past him towards the tree.

Sir Dafern turned to Paulraj and Leto. “You two stay here on the north bank with Jado. Take the varakira with you. Osten and Shayoon will move with me.”

“Fine by me,” Leto said, not being subtle about being able to take a break from Shayoon’s antics.

Paulraj helped Jado adjusted his armour and backpack.

“The straps on your bag are frayed,” Paulraj noted. “Probably damaged by the fleshflayer. If you keep carrying Softy around, you’ll probably end up breaking it.”

“Hear that Softy?” Jado said apologetically while taking off the bag. “You gotta get out. Maybe I can mend the bag tonight, but for today you have to walk.”

“bah! wok no good!”

“Too bad, you.”

“Jado. Look at this.” Leto knelt down a couple feet away from Jado. He waved his hand over the unmistakable sign of hoofprints.

“Huh,” Jado said, stroking his beard. “The Legion?”

“No way to tell,” Leto sighed. “We must be kind of close to that dun city.”

“Korlock?”

“Yeah, Korlock. These could be hoofprints from local riders.”

“Seems kind of out of the way for horse traffic.”

“Could be bandits. Anton always told me a lot of duns turn to banditry and stalk the Modwuk. They try to take advantage of other duns trying to keep old traditions alive.”

“Sounds gaaked to me.”

“Well, it sounds like we should keep our eyes open!” Paulraj enthused.

The trio walked for some time, the ground becoming less and less muddy as the swampland slowly transformed into forest.

“hungry!” Softy complained as the sun began to dip.

“It is close to dinnertime,” Paulraj pondered. “You want dinner, Softy?”

The stoff nodded her head enthusiastically.

“Don’t encourage her,” Jado chuckled. He put his hands on his hips. “Before you know it she’ll be eating the last of our rations.”

“Good thing we have majority of the rations with us, then,” Leto said. He tied the varakira’s lead to a tree. “To the stoff’s credit, I too am famished. Let’s eat a little and continue onward.”

Paulraj pulled a box off of the varakira’s back and opened it, dispensing hardtack and salted meat to the others. Softy began wolfing down the meat and gnawing on the hardtack.

“I wonder if the others are still going forward?” Jado turned towards the river, which was just beyond a line of trees.

“I haven’t heard a firework,” Leto said, biting into his rations.

“No I mean… I wonder if they’re settling in for the night? It’ll be sundown in a couple hours.”

There was a clearing of trees just a little further down, complete with a large rock jutting out over the river. It wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek.

Jado climbed over the rock and gazed across the river. It was certainly wider now. How would either group cross to the other side if they found something?

Jado shook his head. That was a problem for later. He slid off the rock, but as he did an arrow whizzed past his head, embedding itself in a tree.

Jado rolled forward, drawing his sword as he evaded. Sure enough, another couple of arrows whizzed past, striking the ground where he had been.

“LETO, PAULRAJ! BANDITS!” Jado raised his sword.

Leto stood up, his hand tightening on his staff. He held his hand over his ear, listening.

“There’s multiple,” he said to Paulraj. “Thirteen. Maybe fourteen. All hiding in the trees east of us.”

Paulraj wiggled his rod, binding several of their camping supplies with his magic. They rolled around them, forming makeshift cover to hide behind.

Jado rushed forward, Zephyr’s thundersteel blade flashing as he twisted it in his hand. Another volley of arrows came from the foliage, but the Inuzumatako sliced each one out of the air with deliberate placement of his kizaraka. This was nothing compared to the intensity of the War.

Jado burst through the brush, into another clearing. Around him was an entourage of men, their bows trained on him. Green skin, bark-covered arms, a pair of broken branches emerging from his head like antlers. Large, elongated ears. They were duns.

“Drop the kizaraka,” one of the dun bandits commanded.

“Do you know who I am?” Jado snarled in refusal.

“Not really.”

Jado blinked. He couldn’t help but smile. Maybe things could be a little more like old times.

“I am Jado. The Inuzumatako. Hero of the Archangel.”

“I don’t care what they call you, nakai. Drop the sword.”

“You don’t want to play this game,” Jado warned. A spark of electricity ran up his blade.

“Oh yeah we do. We were paid pretty good money to do what we do best.”

“Let me guess. Pretty woman with long nails. Tough looking Cloudweller man with golden armour. Mage with a metal mask. And a bunch of others. Yeah?”

“I’d ask how you knew, but something tells me you and your two buddies are exactly the people they hired us to take care of.”

Jado stretched his neck. The leaves at the base of his feet swirled around him gently.

“Listen. I’ll say this one time. You walk away from this whole thing with the Legion of Thunder’s money in your pockets, and we let you live. Because believe me pal. You don’t know who you’re dancing with.”

The bandits exchanged looks while giggling.

“Alright asshole, enough chit chat. Drop the sword or we’ll fill you with arrows.”

Jado sighed.

“This’ll get messy.”

Leto, Paulraj, and Softy knelt behind the stack of boxes as arrows zipped by their heads.

“too many shoot!” Softy wailed, clutching her head in her paws.

Leto grit his teeth.

“I don’t know where Jado went. Hopefully he’s flanking, but I’d rather not sit here and wait.” Leto peered at the trees through a crack in the boxes. “I can hear where these bastards are. I just need a bit of cover.”

“If you can hear them, you don’t need to see, right?” Paulraj asked.

“No… why?”

Paulraj grinned. His rod glowed as he twirled a finger, conjuring forth the arcane into his hands.

Chapter XIII

“I hope the others are fine,” Sir Dafern said, leaves crunching beneath his feet.

“I’m sure they are,” Osten replied while watching a flock of birds flap overhead.

“Either they’re all find or they’re all dead,” Shayoon joked. “Could you imagine? The Archangel’s Heroes are just walkin’ along ‘n suddenly they just fall over dead?”

“Shut the gaak up,” Osten snapped. “What kind of humour is that, even? That wasn’t even remotely intellectual!”

“I’m just sayin’,” Shayoon replied in defense.

Sir Dafern sighed. As glad as he was to have left the swamp behind, dealing with the Southern Monks’ bickering was an equivalent bane.

His arm, still useless after such a grievous wound, remained pinned across his chest with a firm yet comfortable sling Leto had fashioned before the heroes split. A portion of his armour was strapped over the limb, keeping it protected while it sat in place out of necessity.

The arguing between the two monks ended as a shrill cry pierced the air. A woman.

“What was that?!” Sir Dafern lowered himself to the ground, one hand on the Sunblade’s hilt.

“Sabina?” Shayoon asked.

“I wish I had Leto’s ears,” Osten whispered. “I’d be able to tell.”

“Stay low. Let’s follow the voice.” Sir Dafern led the others as they crept towards the source of the scream.

As they peered out of the brush they were in, the heroes spotted a large encampment, teeming with duns.

“Chelydra hunters?” Sir Dafern wondered aloud.

“Iunno what those are,” Shayoon said, pointing into the camp, “but these guys look like they’re bad news.”

Sir Dafern followed Shayoon’s finger, which pointed towards a stack of chests in the middle of the camp. Each of them were stamped with the Legion of Thunder’s Moon and Bolt.

“Mercenaries… or bandits? Paid off by the Legion? Or stole from them?” Osten balled his fists.

“Iunno, don’t think a buncha bandits would score a win against the Legion,” Shayoon murmured.

Sir Dafern watched in horror as he pinpointed the source of the scream—a young dun woman being dragged by her arms across the camp, kicking and crying. Her heels dug into the dirt, with her tattered dress tailing behind her. She shook her head, the flower-accented strands of grass-like hair twisting about her face.

“Oh hell nah,” Shayoon said as the bandits slapped her and pulled her into a tent. “Those gaakers are out here disrespecting women?!”

Osten suppressed his anger as the shadows cast by the flora around them seemed to boil like an angry sea. “Well, we gotta to kill these fools now, right?”

Shayoon wagged his finger. “No kill. Make ‘em respect women.”

“We’ll do what we have to do,” Sir Dafern said grimly. “Osten, circle to the back. See what you can do from behind. Cause a distraction. Shayoon, you and I will confront them from here and try to rescue that girl. Since we’re outnumbered, convincing them to surrender might not be plausible… killing might be unavoidable.”

“Say less.” Osten snuck off through the underbrush towards the back of the bandits’ camp.

Sir Dafern watched as Osten disappeared. He turned to Shayoon.

“Alright. Shayoon, you…” his voice trailed off. Shayoon was gone.

“Wha—okay, Shayoon, very funny! Get back here!!” Sir Dafern hissed angrily. He paused for a moment. No response.

“Damn.” Sir Dafern put his good hand on the Sunblade’s hilt and emerged from the brush. There was no time to waste.

“Attention, ne’er-do-wells!” the knight warned boldly as he stepped into view of the camp. “I am Sir Dafern, the Fire Knight and Paladin of the Righteous Order.”

The dun sell-swords paused their labours and turned to look at the knight, their faces plastered with confusion.

“By the authority of the Archangel and his Eternal King, I order you all to comply and release any prisoners you have!” Sir Dafern called again, his courageous cry falling flat against the silence.

One of the bandit’s voices cut the silence. “Oi! ‘Dis red-haired gaaker’s one ah da folks da Legion told us t’ kill!”

Well, that mystery is solved, Sir Dafern thought. Several other voices among the bandits all began to shout and call out to each other.

“What’s the commotion, here, hmm?” A dun emerged from the tent that the young woman had been dragged into a moment before. The dun man had handsome features and an athletic build. His skin was a lighter green than most duns, and his head was covered in thin brushed back leaves, as if the wind was blowing them back. He was significantly taller than his comrades, and dressed in violet, silken nobleman’s clothes. It hung loosely from his body, obviously tailored for a plump lord more familiar with armchairs and couches than the outdoors. Probably one of the many treasures pilfered by these bandits.

“A paladin,” the dun man said, giving a bow. His voice was posh, but layered on top of a layer of poorly-learned Tradespeak. In summary: he was faking a more reverent accent that whatever was his normal voice.

“Good heavens, where are my manners?” the dun exclaimed, taking a few more steps forwards. In one hand dangled a sword, its blade made of a pale wood. “Greetings, and welcome to the Nightshade’s Territory! My name is Hyacinth, Duke of the Nightshades. And these wonderful duns with me are the Nightshades!”

Sir Dafern took his hand off of his sword hilt and placed it on his hip. He scanned the bandits—not one of them had a bow trained on him.

“What a ridiculous name,” Sir Dafern commented, speaking in a relaxed tone to mask his combat readiness. His eyes flicked quickly to the trees surrounding the camp. Where was Shayoon?

“Now now,” Hyacinth chided, “you don’t want to get any more on my bad side than you already are. Oh no! That would be bad for everyone here.”

“And why would I already be on your bad side? Because of the Legion’s mandate to deal with me and my allies?”

“Oh please, Sir…?”

“Dafern.”

“Sir Dafern. That would hardly be rational, yes? One can find an enemy pleasant to be around and yet have their hand forced against them. I assure you, the problem I have with you is purely personal.”

“Personal? Have I run into you before?”

“Oh no. If you had, I would’ve bested you in a duel during that encounter. See, I just am a bit miffed at you interrupting a nice afternoon of romance with a beautiful, lovely lady.”

“Would that lovely lady happen to be the unwilling victim you just dragged into your tent?”

Hyacinth frowned. “Harumph! For a gallant knight you really know how to slaughter romance.”

The dun waved his sword about dramatically, pointing the wooden blade towards Sir Dafern.

“Well, shall we?”

Sir Dafern grit his teeth. I wonder if I had both my arms in order, would his confidence wane? Well, anyways… I suppose somebody has to teach this slimeball a lesson.

He drew his own sword, flames rushing along its glowing orange blade. The Nightshade bandits all took a step back as the branches and grass around Sir Dafern recoiled at the wave of heat.

“Are you sure you want to pitch your wooden sword against mine, ‘Duke’ Hyacinth?” Sir Dafern mocked.

To Sir Dafern’s surprise, Hyacinth didn’t recoil at the Sunblade’s reveal.

“Oh, this is more than a silly wooden sword,” Hyacinth proudly announced. He twirled the sword in his hand before holding it out for Sir Dafern to observe. “See, this is a simbo wood weapon. Grown from a genuine ancestral dun bladetree, and hardened with magic to be as steel. Fit for a king!”

Sir Dafern had to admit, it was a beautifully crafted weapon. It was a cruciform, double-edged sword like his own, but it curled slightly outwards near the weak of the blade, giving it an organic, leaf-like silhouette. The design was only emphasized by the vein-like fuller winding down the center of the sword.

“Yeah, not sure if that’s going to be enough.”

“Enough loose words, you weasel!” Hyacinth flipped the sword and assumed a guard stance. “Display your sorry excuse for swordplay that you require such fanciful magic to compensate!”

Enough loose words?! This ruffian’s said more than me!

“Hiyah!” Hyacinths lunged, his simbo sword being thrown in a graceful crooked strike towards Sir Dafern’s exposed head.

FWOOSH!

The knight raised the Sunblade in an elegant one-handed parry. The blade flared with heat. In a blinding roar, as if the sun itself was screaming, the weapon seared its way through the dun’s sword. The top half of the wooden blade went tumbling over Sir Dafern’s shoulder, landing smoking in the grass.

The Nightshades gasped. Hyacinth stared in disbelief at the smoldering, blade-parted hilt in his hand. He looked up at Sir Dafern. The knight shrugged.

“G-get him!! KILL HIM!!” Hyacinth shrieked as he threw what remained of his weapon at him. The bandits loosed a war cry, grabbing their weapons and charging towards Sir Dafern.

As if waiting for this exact moment, the monstrous, shadowy form of Kurai rushed out from the woods, crashing into a crowd of bandits with a earth-shattering roar. The half-mist, half-dragon monster careened into one of the bandit’s tents.

Well, there’s one of them, Sir Dafern thought as he charged forward, two hands on his blade.

With fire whirling about his body with every slash, Sir Dafern carved through the charging horde of bandits. Scorched bodies and flaming scraps of clothing fell at his feet with every step against the tide of wicked duns.

Hyacinth watched in horror, stepping backwards to match the pace of the Fire Knight. As the final dun bandit fell by Sir Dafern’s sword, Hyacinth turned and sprinted towards his tent. Sir Dafern broke into a sprint himself, following the bandit leader. He sprinted by Kurai, who currently was jostling a bandit around in its black jaws. He couldn’t see Osten, but he was undoubtedly nearby.

Sir Dafern barged into Hyacinth’s tent, right on the Nightshade Duke’s heels. The interior of the tent took on an amber glow as the flames of the Sunblade flickered along its edge.

“Don’t take another step, rapscallion!” Hyacinth barked. He knelt cowardly behind the other end of his cot, of which the young dun woman was tied to. Her arms were outstretched, tied to either side of the bedding. She was dressed in nothing but her undergarments, which had been torn and pulled. Bruises lined her arms and waist, and her cheeks glistened with tears.

She whimpered as Hyacinth produced a knife and held it over her throat.

“Another step and I’ll spill her blood all over the place!”

Chapter XIV

Leto charged forward, uttering a warcry in Umyana as Paulraj pushed a wall of crates forward ahead of him. Arrows either bounced uselessly off the floating barricade, or embedded themselves harmlessly as Leto charged forward. With nothing but the boxes in his vision, he was guided by his superior hearing. With a mighty crash, the boxes collided with one of the bandits and Leto brought his murmuko around to send two duns into the dirt with one strike.

With a flick of his rod, Paulraj sent the barricade of boxes flying at a group of bandits behind Leto. There were screams as bandits were flung about the forest.

The bandit in front of Leto quickly drew and fired arrow after arrow at the Southern Monk. Leto spun his staff, deflecting each arrow with the head of his murmuko. With every arrow, its head began to vibrate louder and louder.

After the fifth arrow, Leto thrust his staff forward, catching the dun archer on the shoulder. The dun screamed in pain as a massive swathe of bruises expanded across his arm. Leto brought the other end of his staff around, clocking the bandit in the head and sending him into a nearby tree with a violent crack.

The next bandit drew a sword and charged towards Leto while his comrade, wielding a spear, attempted to flank him. With well-rehearsed movements and precise intent, Leto tapped the head of the murmuko and planted it diagonally into the ground. There was a boom as sound waves flung dirt from the ground, the debris careening into the face of the first bandit. It was enough to slow him down, freeing Leto to sidestep the spear thrust and maneuvering behind the other dun. His muscular arms found their way around the dun’s head. With a unceremonious twist, the Southern Monk snapped the bandit’s neck.

Leto turned his attention back to the first bandit. He grabbed his staff, wrenching it free from the ground before stepping in front of the dun. As the bandit finished wiping the dirt from his eyes, Leto swung low, taking out his legs. In the same fluid motion, Leto brought the murmuko down on the dun’s torso while he was still mid-fall.

“Paulraj, you good?” Leto called out, his ears detecting no further bandits in hiding near them.

“Oh, yes!” Paulraj said, waddling after Leto with Softy precariously balanced on his shoulders.

“We should find Jado. He’s probably got bandits he’s dealing with himself right now.”

The bandits loosed their arrows all at once, each one sailing on lethal trajectory towards Jado. But the swordsman was ready. He slashed his sword around in a wide arc, ending on one knee. As his sword moved, a burst of wind erupted from around him, sending each arrow flying away from him. Several of the arrows found their way back into the archers that had shot them.

Jado seized the moment as they reeled from the wind and sudden reversal of arrows. He rushed towards the bandits with a shout, his sword flashing with lightning. One bandit’s leg vanished beneath his swing—the dun crumpled with a howl—and Jado spun on his heel, driving his blade clean through another’s chest.

He wrenched it free just in time. A shadow loomed. A club whistled towards his head. He rolled under the strike and stood up while slashing upwards. All was silent as the last of the bandits was slain—or at least, harmed enough to no longer pose a threat.

Jado looked around at the bodies of the bandits before glancing at his arm. It twitched unnaturally.

I didn’t need to use it here, Jado thought, remembering Sir Dafern’s own arm. But I have to be more willing to cut loose soon. I can’t let the others take on more guilt just because I’m scared of what I can do.

The scent of ash caught Jado’s nose. Fire?

He followed it and found a small encampment in a nearby glade. No tents or bedrolls—this was a sentry spot for these bandits. His eye caught a large copper box latched shut.

“Jado,” Leto’s voice called out as he emerged from the trees. Paulraj was behind him.

“Leto! Sorry for splitting up like that,” Jado said apologetically, putting a hand on the towering monk’s shoulder.

“Nah. A good call. You managed to divide their attention enough for Paulraj and I to deal with them.”

“Take a look at this,” Jado said, pointing to the box before him. “Perhaps some of the ill-gotten gains of these bandits?”

“Let’s find out.” Leto hummed and tapped the head of his murmuko. As it vibrated, he touched it to the chain. The chain rattled for half a second before shattering like glass.

“Let’s see what’s in here, huh?” Jado said, kneeling down next to the box. He opened the copper chest, its hinges squeaking softly as if the box feared the three heroes peering into itself.

“What the hell is this?” Leto reached in and pulled out a large half-circle device folded up tightly. Pieces of white material and polished brass strips. Wires, tubing, partially exposed gears.

“Some sort of Destrian invention?” Leto turned it over in his hands.

“A space folder,” Jado spoke.

“A what?”

“Space folder. Yes, it is a Destrian invention. A pretty rare device, actually.”

“This white material,” Paulraj said, running his hands over the machine, “this is sintesium, isn’t it? This thing is built on Corian technology!”

“Yeah,” Jado replied. “Anton told me about these. I don’t understand the science he talked about, but I understand one thing: if we set this up and turn it on properly, we can use it to teleport long distances. To another space folder.”

Leto’s eye sparkled. “…to another space folder, huh? Now why would these bandits have such an advanced device? Why would they need to teleport long distance away from their territory?”

“Uh, I don’t know?” Paulraj answered.

“port!” Softy added helpfully.

“They don’t,” Jado said excitedly. “Wait. You don’t mean—”

“I think these bandits helped Sabina and her lackeys escape,” Leto said with confidence.

“That would make sense. They did admit to being paid off by the Legion.”

“That would explain why they were heading inland. They prepared their escape ahead of time and travelled away from the Cloudlands in an attempt to lose us.”

“We should find the others. Let’s get back to the varakira and launch those signal fireworks. If possible, we may be able to use the space folder to teleport to wherever they went.”

“This is assuming all of your theories are correct,” Paulraj reminded the two. “You’re making some pretty big stretches here.”

“It’s the only lead we have,” Jado grunted as he helped Leto lower the space folder back into the box. “Unless we find some better lead we should pursue this one. We’ll chat with the others first before we make any decisions.”

The three heroes began to march back to where they left their cargo-carrying beast, with Leto and Jado carrying the box between them. Softy plopped down atop the box, happily kicking her feet as they went.

Chapter XV

The tent around Hyacinth and Sir Dafern flew into the air as Kurai’s lashing dragon tail whipped through it.

Hyacinth was bewildered for a moment by the sudden influx of light. His guard dropped, and Sir Dafern began to move.

“Ah ah!” Hyacinth threatened, raising his knife back to the dun woman’s throat. Sir Dafern stopped dead in his tracks, the Sunblade still smoldering angrily in his grip.

“You’d best sheath that fiery blade,” Hyacinth glared at Sir Dafern, speaking with sternness. He pushed the knife against the green skin of the woman’s throat, drawing a thin line of yellow blood. “Otherwise I’ll have to ruin Ludmilla’s pretty little neck!”

Sir Dafern slowly took a step back and sheathed his sword. Silence would have fallen upon them if it wasn’t for the roars of Kurai and the screams of its victims around them.

“Now then—” Hyacinth’s words were cut short as a blur swung down from above, smacking the knife out of his hand.

Hyacinth scuttled backwards—with no knife, his leverage was gone. The Sunblade found its way back into Sir Dafern’s hands. The knight rushed to Ludmilla’s side, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder while keeping the sword pointed at Hyacinth.

There was a comical thunk as a pole smacked the back of Hyacinth’s neck with enough force to be painful yet not incapacitating. Hyacinth whirled about to catch a glimpse of Shayoon backflipping away before jumping back upwards into the canopy.

“Who are you?!” Hyacinth screamed, his posh accent slipping in his distress. “Show yourself, coward!!”

“Oh, ‘cuz I’m the coward,” Shayoon’s voice called out from above. He reappeared sliding down a nearby tree, eventually skidding to a stop while leaning against the bark. He watched as two dun bandits turned their attention to them. Perhaps eager to pick a fight with something that wasn’t a ferocious shadow dragon. There weren’t many of the Nightshades left—plenty had fallen to Kurai while the others wisely abandoned the fight.

“If I was a coward, would I do this?” Shayoon front flipped away from the tree, landing in front of the duns. With one swing, he brought low one of them. A second one roared as he swung his axe, but Shayoon’s staff parried the swing, redirecting the axehead into the ground. Shayoon slapped the dun in the face. The dun blinked in disbelief before throwing a punch. Shayoon ducked under his fist and delivered a backhand slap. The dun stood in shock again, his cheeks flushing yellow as fury overtook him. He reached down to yank the axe out of the earth, but Shayoon thrust the staff between the bandit’s legs, hooking his foot under the weapon before kicking upwards. The dun’s eyes crossed and he wheezed as he fell over.

“Damn,” Shayoon said, looking at the two downed duns. “That really all yo backup?”

“You… you dastardly duo! How dare you bring harm to my Nightshades!!” Hyacinth cursed, his accent fluctuating in and out.

“Yeah whatever dude,” Shayoon yawned, walking towards Sir Dafern. The knight had already slashed through Ludmilla’s ropes, and she was clutching his armour and weeping with gratitude. He covered her half-naked body with his cape, preserving her dignity while Kurai stomped one final bandit into the dirt behind them.

“It’s over, Hyacinth,” Sir Dafern bellowed as Ludmilla continued to sob. A grimace found its way onto his face as she pressed against his pinned arm, sending a shooting pain through his bicep. “Your ‘loyal’ followers have either been bested or have abandoned you!”

“That’s right,” Shayoon said helpfully.

“Submit to us and face the justice that follows your crimes,” Sir Dafern growled.

“Yeh, yeh,” Shayoon added.

Hyacinth raised his hands into the air. He had nowhere to go. Shayoon grinned at the look of misery that had fallen on the bandit’s face.

“Tie his hands up,” Sir Dafern ordered. “And Shayoon—for the love of the Creator, please make sure you do it tight.”

“Yeah yeah, I know,” Shayoon said, waving his hand dismissively. He leaned his staff against what remained of the Nightshade leader’s tent, kicking a roll of hempen rope into his hands. He circled around behind the dun bandit and slapped the back of the head.

“Ow! How dare you humiliate me!” Hyacinth whimpered. “And you call yourselves heroes, or something?”

“I do,” Shayoon said, roughly wrenching Hyacinth’s hands behind his back. “You know why?”

“Enlighten me, you… you… uncultured coagulation of barnyard ignorance!”

“It’s because despite you and I both loving beautiful, sexy women… only I respect them.”

Sir Dafern shook his head. Shayoon was a strange fellow, but Sir Dafern knew that deep down, the morals that drove the Southern Monk forward were true and just.

The knight turned Ludmilla away from her captor, still covering her with his mantle as he eased her out of the wreckage of the tent.

“Ludmilla,” Sir Dafern spoke gently, “Let’s get you some clothes, okay? Go into that tent there and wait. We’ll find you some clothes, okay?”

A few withered petals falling from her leafy hair as she nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely.

Sir Dafern turned away, allowing Ludmilla to step into the tent privately. As he turned, the figure of Osten emerged from the far end of the camp. His elili seme was stained with blood, and he was whistling as if he’d just gone for a stroll through Phovezila’s royal garden.

“Osten,” Sir Dafern addressed the monk, “everything clear?”

“Yup,” Osten said cheerfully, sitting down on a barrel and wiping the blood from his sword. “We saved the girl, right?”

“We did. Shayoon’s tying up the wicked leader of these renegades now. We’ll ask him some questions. And before you ask… no, we’re not torturing him.”

Osten sighed. “I figured you’d have a stick up your ass about that. How else are we going to pry secrets outta him?”

“I’m sure we can find other ways to convince him. Here, help me find some fresh clothes, huh?”

Sir Dafern and Osten scoured the treasures of the Nightshades and managed to find a set of fresh, clean clothes—not intended for women in terms of design, but fashion was hardly a concern for the moment. Sir Dafern handed the clothes to Ludmilla, who threw them on from within the privacy of the tent. When she emerged, Osten guided her to a fire he had built and made sure she had warm food and a hot drink to keep her company while he participated in the “conference.”

“Okay you idiot,” Osten began, kneeling on the ground in front of Hyacinth’s body—which had been thoroughly tied to a tree. “Tell us everything.”

“Everything is quite encompassing,” Hyacinth said, a sheet of sweat pouring from his brow. “You’ll have to specify where you want me to begin!”

“Tell us about the Legion, dumb-dumb,” Shayoon said, slapping the bandit across the face.

“Hey, I thought you said no torture!” Osten said, turning to Sir Dafern.

“Okay, for one, that wasn’t torture,” Shayoon explained. “That was… recalibration. Uh, and two… don’t say no torture in front of the dude we tryna interrogate, you doofus.”

Sir Dafern adjusted his sling with a shrug before rubbing his eyes.

“You guys suck at this,” Hyacinth jeered, his obviously faux noble demeanor falling away.

“Watch your tongue, reprobate,” Sir Dafern glared.

“Yeah, watch yo mouth,” Shayoon said, giving Hyacinth another slap.

“SHAYOON.”

“Again, not torture.”

“That’s true,” Osten interjected. “This is torture.” He kicked the bandit in the shin, crushing his leg against the bark behind him. Hyacinths howled in pain.

“Guys, enough!” Sir Dafern barked. “I understand we don’t think very highly of this lustful, thieving, murderous scoundrel, but we do need information. So shut up and dial yourselves back. Now, Hyacinth, tell us about your association with the Legion of Thunder.”

Hyacinth bared his teeth in a devious smile. “You can’t even control your two Endalan lapdogs. What makes you think you can coax an answer out of me?”

Sir Dafern stood silently. Shayoon shot a glance at him. Then Hyacinth. Then back at Sir Dafern. Osten remained quiet as well.

“Wow, you give up easy, don’t you?” Hyacinth chuckled.

“I guess we do,” Sir Dafern said. “Well my friends… we tried our best. Time to go.”

“Time to—what? You’re leaving?” Hyacinth’s smile faltered as disbelief flooded his head.

“Yeh,” Shayoon said, springing to his feet. “We bouncin’.”

“I’d say it was a pleasure,” Sir Dafern said, “but you were insufferable. ‘Til we meet again, Creator forbid.”

The three turned and were not three steps away when Hyacinth cried out, panicked. “Wait! You can’t leave me here! Come back, you cowards! I’ll tell you whatever you want!”

“You changed your tune pretty fast,” Sir Dafern said in mock surprise.

“You buffoon knight! Just… just let me tell you what you want so you can let me go! I don’t want to spend the night here tied to a tree! What happens if a hiveman or a troll or some other Creator-forsaken creature finds me?!”

Sir Dafern smirked at Osten and Shayoon. “I knew it wouldn’t take much to break a coward like him,” he whispered.

“Huh,” Osten said, pleased at how things were turning out.

Sir Dafern paused, stooping down to peer into Hyacinth’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but a popping sound interrupted.

The knight turned to look at the sky behind him. To the north, in a sky that was quickly turning towards dusk, was the colourful explosion of a firework. Then another. And another.

“We’ll get to you later,” Sir Dafern said, turning back towards the bandit. “We’ve got to move locations for now.”

Chapter XVI

Leto, Paulraj, and Jado sat in a circle, their varakira resting next to them while Softy absentmindedly plucked leaves from a nearby bush.

“Where are they?” Jado wondered aloud.

“Gettin’ dark,” Leto said. “Perhaps we should light a fire? Only another hour of light, I’d reckon.”

“But if we light a fire now and decide to move out, then lighting the fire would be a waste of wood and such,” Paulraj countered.

Jado scratched his neck. “Peh. Light a fire. At least so we have some smoke to keep the bugs away.”

As Leto got up to begin piecing together a fire, a shrill cry pierced the evening air. Everyone froze. The varakia twitched, raising its head in alarm. Softy dropped her collection of leaves and ran to Jado’s side.

“Who the gaak…?” Jado stood up slowly. Leto reached for his murmuko.

“That’s Sabina,” Leto breathed, eyes wide. His knuckled whitened as they clenched around his staff.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. The Legion must be closeby.”

“They would have seen our fireworks, right?”

“Maybe. But that’s Sabina’s voice for sure. We should see. Paulraj, stay here. Softy, you too. Wait here so the others can find you.”

“Okay,” Paulraj said, awkwardly patting the stoff on the head. “We will hold down the fort!”

Leto and Jado crept as fast as possible through the forest, which was becoming increasingly shadowed and murky. Only half of the sun was visible on the branch-obscured horizon.

Jado followed closely after Leto, whose ears directed him towards the sobbing voice of Sabina.

The two burst into a clearing where there was a small pool of water next to a waterfall, which poured down from a cliff roofed with grass. The cliff was stacked atop a dirt-filled shamble of ancient bricks penetrated by a network of venerable roots—undoubtedly ancient Hohmite ruins from some long-off conflict.

What would have been a quaint little glade was offset by the crying emerging from the figure before them. In the center of the pond, sitting on a stony outcrap, was a woman with long black hair. The hair covered her entirely, being so long that it floated loosely along the surface of the water.

It wasn’t Sabina. But it sounded like her.

Jado stepped cautiously to the edge of the pond. “Hello?”

The weeping stopped.

“Are you okay?” Jado repeated.

Sound of the waterfall, once accompanied by the sobbing woman, seemed so quiet now that silence had descended upon her. It was deafening.

Leto shifted uneasily. “Uh, Jado—”

The swordsman took another step forward, his foot penetrating the surface of the water.

Like some sort of ghost, the head of hair moved, leaping across the water and colliding with Jado. There was a spray of water as a powerful set of wolf-like hindlegs collided with the pond. The long black hair parted to reveal a snub-nosed, dog-like head. Its face had little fur, giving it a patchy, hairless look. Saliva and hair fell onto Jado’s face. It snarled, the feminine voice of Sabina melting away to leave only an animalistic growl befitting of the monster’s appearance.

Bwongg!

The creature suddenly sailed backwards. Jado’s ears rung as Leto’s murmuko collided with the beast’s head, sending it splashing through the waterfall.

The Southern Monk quickly helped Jado onto his feet.

“I hate the wildlife here,” Jado complained.

Before Leto could give a witty response, the beast exploded from the water and swiped its claws at Leto. The monk deflected the blow, giving Jado enough time to draw his blade and slash at its hindquarters. He was shocked for a moment to see the blade glance off of the creature’s fur in a shower of sparks.

The monster turned and snapped its jaws at Jado, but he took a measured step back and thrust forward with Zephyr, landing the blade’s point in the creature’s eye. It reared back, unleashing an eerily human-like cry of pain as blood poured from its ravaged eyesocket.

“This is one angry dog,” Jado grunted while twirling his kizaraka in his hand.

“I’d be angry too if someone stabbed me in my gaakin’ eye,” Leto commented. He tapped the head of his murmuko and hummed.

Jado took the hint and brandished his blade. He flourished the weapon in front and behind himself, propelling himself upwards with a gust of wind. As he sailed over the monster’s head, it snapped its jaws in an attempt to bite. Jado channeled the air around him just enough to cause him to roll suddenly to the side while midair, the jaws of the beast missing him… but not before clamping down on the head of the murmuko Leto had thrust forward.

“I hope this tastes good!” Jado yelled as he landed one foot on the monster’s head, sending its jaw crashing into the forest floor. There was a loud humming for a moment—then the head of the beast exploded, sending fragments of skull, brain matter, and blood into the air.

Leto’s murmuko had once again delivered a foe into oblivion.

The monster collapsed onto the ground, now headless. Spurts of blood rhythmically gushed from the beast’s neck as its failing heart beat its last.

Jado caught his breath, kneeling on the ground next to the corpse of their slain adversary.

“The gaak was that thing?” Jado asked aloud, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Its fur is like armour. My sword bounced off of it like it were mail.”

Leto shrugged after pulling his staff free from the monster’s remains. “I’ve heard legends of steel-furred creatures from my homeland. But either way, it’s dead now, so not our problem anymore.”

“But what about its voice? Obviously it can mimic speech to some extent, but how did it learn to sound like Sabina in the first place?”

Leto froze. “Oh sluhz.”

Jado turned to see where Leto’s gaze was pointed at. Lurking just behind the nearest set of trees was an enormous beast—identical to the one they had slain, but much larger. Its eyes seemed to glow, reflecting what little light there was. A long line of drool trailed down from its jaws as its long mane of black hair gently swayed with the evening breeze.

“Yeah okay I’m gone,” Leto said, backing up.

“That might be a good idea,” Jado said, turning to run.

The monster wasted no time pursuing the two. Whether the beast was motivated by vengeance for a fallen mate or just hunger was irrelevant—it was bloodthirsty.

Jado and Leto found themselves at the foot of the cliff.

“That thing will outrun us… we have to climb!” Leto stuck his staff into the soft ground and linked his fingers together to boost Jado up the wall. He scrambled up quickly, using the exposed roots and pieces of ancient brickwork to get to the top. After him, Leto tossed his staff up to him before beginning his own ascent. The Southern Monk’s muscles bulged as they hoisted his massive frame up the side. As the monster reached the base of the cliff, Jado reached down and yanked Leto up, the monk’s heels barely escaping a swipe of the beast’s claws.

The monster growled in a bizarre sound of half-man, half beast and slinked back into the trees.

“I refuse to believe that blasted thing is giving up,” Leto said, panting. “It’s finding another way up here. So we have a moment to make a plan.”

“Will it go after Paulraj? Should we try to get back to him?” Jado nervously surveyed the rest of the cliff. For the moment, only a patch of dead trees and the crumbling remains of an ancient tower’s spire were the only things atop the cliff with them.

“Might be a good idea either way,” Leto said. “Against an unpredictable monster like that? I’d rather have the biggest possible numbers advantage.”

The two peered over the edge of the cliff, scouring the trees for any sign of movement. But the sun, which had well set by now, refused to show them anything. Even the forest’s soundscape seemed to morph to betray them heroes—the sound of nocturnal forest critters and the chirping of twilight birds filled the air.

Minutes passed. Nothing.

“I’d assume if that thing went after Paulraj, it would be using his voice to lure us,” Jado whispered to Leto.

“Damn right,” Leto agreed. “Might be safe to go down. Let’s go as quietly as possible. Stick close to me—I’ll hear it coming.”

The two carefully scaled down the cliffside, making as little sound as possible as they landed back on the ground near the pond. They crept silently past the pool of water and the corpse of the slain beast. Before long, they were back in the thick of the trees, attempting to retrace their path back to Paulraj in complete darkness.

Suddenly, Leto gripped Jado’s arm. “It’s HERE. RUN.”

Leto bolted, and so did Jado. But in the dark of a twilight forest, they had no idea which direction to run. Jado ran right. Leto sprinted to the left.

“WHERE IS—” Jado’s cry was cut short as he slammed into something—someone.

“Ow!” Paulraj’s voice. And not a mimickry— it was coming from the distinctly human figure currently lying on the ground in front of Jado.

“Paulraj?!”

“jabo!” Softy’s voice purred with delight. She must’ve been riding on Paulraj’s back.

“Yes! That is me!” Paulraj’s voice spoke with an edge of pain. “I heard some strange—”

“NO TIME! GET UP AND RUN!” Jado yanked Paulraj to his feet and began to run. Now that his eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark, he could see the lumbering form of the monster behind them. It was moving quickly, but its steps were harried by the dense trees.

“Ow! Not so rough!” Paulraj cried out as Jado pulled Paulraj behind him.

“ya ya ya! wee run!!”

“LETO!?” Jado yelled as he ran. “IT’S ON OUR REAR!”

No response. Where was he? Surely he’d be able to tell where they were with those ears of his!

“Paulraj, throw something at that thing!” Jado yelled.

“I can’t!” Paulraj complained, “we’re moving too fast, I can’t see… also you’re grabbing my hand!”

Jado let go of Paulraj’s hand, circling around the mage and drawing his sword. He stood in the path of the approaching monster, which announced its presence by pushing a massive fallen log to the side with its powerful paws. Its sinewy muscles rippled underneath its fur, anticipating the ever-encroaching opportunity it would have to pounce on them.

Paulraj set to work quickly, casting his magic on several large pieces of wood. They began to float in the air.

“H’bra fin k’la!” Paulraj incanted. The wood moved quickly forward, the light from the runes on their surface glowing as they darted swiftly through the trees. Jado watched as one by one they began to slam into the monster’s head. With every successive strike, the beast seemed only to get angrier. One by one, it began to smack the wood out of the air.

“That’ll buy us a moment,” Paulraj said. “Let’s move quickly!”

“We gotta find Leto!” Jado said.

“Leto is past the monster! It is too dangerous!”

“The whole reason why Leto came back here was so we could three-on-one this bloody creature!”

“jabo! big dog!” Softy leaped off of Paulraj’s head and onto Jado’s face.

“Ack! Softy, not now!” Jado pushed Softy off of his face. She landed in a patch of leaves and began to roll down a hill that Jado hadn’t seen a moment ago.

“waaaah!!” Softy tumbled down the hill, descending even deeper into the forest.

“This is so gaaked,” Jado cursed, running and sliding down the hill after the stoff.

As Jado reached the bottom, he found Softy with her bum in the air, stubby legs kicking helplessly while the rest of her body was lodged in some sort of plant. A revolting smell struck Jado’s nostrils.

“Oh… ugh…” Jado sputtered. He realized the smell was coming from the plant.

“stinky!! stinky!!! jabo help!!!” Softy’s muffled shriek came from the plant.

Jado stepped forward, firmly grasping the stoff and puller her free from the massive flower. As he did, the plant seemed to sigh, releasing a puff of powder into the air that smelled positively feculent.

Jado retched as he carried Softy away from the plant. When he’d taken about twelve steps, he took another gasp of air, hoping for the cool, fresh air of the night to meet his lungs. Instead, he was met with only more of the same disgusting smell. The smell of rotten eggs, rancid meat, and raw sewage all expertly mixed together… the scent was leaking off of Softy.

Jado dropped Softy onto the floor. “Oh, guh… Softy, you smell terrible.”

“jabo fault! drop down hill.” Softy pouted.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry girl,” Jado apologized, kneeling down.

Softy took a step forward. The putrid mephitis that clung to her patchy fur invaded Jado’s nostrils, making his eyes water. “huggy?”

Jado quickly stood back up. “Uh, later Softy. After you take a dip in the river.”

On the ridge of the hill Jado had just slid down, the roar of the monster and a flash of blue light. The resonating hum of Leto’s murmuko could also be heard… seemed as though he managed to catch up. But they needed help.

Jado looked at his hand.

The darkness within never leaves us. But neither does the will to be better.

A violet glow seeped out of the edges of the bandages. The wrappings strained as whatever was within began to move.

Enough holding back.

Chapter XVII

Paulraj screamed as he threw himself over the shadow of a fallen log. The dim blue light cast from the runes he had inscribed on nearby rocks was the only illumination that allowed him to see the long-haired beast’s slashing claws and biting maw.

The log before Paulraj splintered, its rotten core aerosolizing into dust as the monster’s powerful blow sent it into pieces. The mage struggled back to his feet, his movements slowed by his robe’s catching on stray twigs and branches.

An earsplitting clang resounded through the dark forest as Leto’s staff slammed into the bark of a tree. The sound was enough to cause the enormous hyena-like monstrosity to writhe in pain. It scratched at its head before ramming it into the leaf litter, dragging its main across the ground in a vain attempt to block out the devastating echo.

Paulraj took advantage of the chaos, scrambling to a safe distance while attempting to keep his own ears overed.

He caught his breath for a moment, straining his eyes as he watched Leto singlehandedly hold off the beast’s attacks. It was no good—whatever pelt covered this thing’s flesh prevented it from being subjected to the power of Leto’s power—his Death Resonant Stance. Nor was it ever really bothered by the rocks and logs that Paulraj continually barraged it with. At the rate the fight was going, one of them would make a mistake in their exhaustion and become this thing’s latest prey.

Where’s Jado? Paulraj thought.

As if answering his question, a blinding, strange light—or perhaps darkness—filled the forest. Shadows lengthened yet disappeared at the same time. A light flickered from above, oscillating between deep violet and some unexplainable other colour.

Paulraj’s jaw gaped in wonder. He’d seen plenty of this eldritch power employed during the Legerian War… and yet it still paralyzed him in awe every time.

His silhouette illuminated by the strange light around him, Jado floated in the air over the beast. It turned upwards for a moment to gaze at the source of the strange light, but Jado was already beneath it.

A trail of purple smoke. The flash of thundersteel. Sparks.

Jado’s sword opened a gaping wound along the top of the monster’s back—not deep enough to kill, but enough to make the creature furious. It howled into the night air, its seemingly impervious fur failing for the first time.

The swordsman spun on his heel as he landed on the forest floor. His Isutan armour clattered lightly as he moved. Crackling in his right hand was Zephyr, brimming with all of its fulgurmantic power. But Jado’s left hand was no longer the armour-bare, bandage-wrapped limb Paulraj had grown accustomed to. No… it was now a bulging mass of carapace-clad tendrils, tightly wound around each other in a grotesque facsimile of a human arm. Five of the tendril’s tips splayed out at the end of the alien mimicry of a limb, the jet-black appendages copying fingers to the best of their ability. Veins coursing with eldritch blood glowed with alien light as they run down the lengths of the tendrils. Jado’s own eyes were illuminated with that same fathomless, purple light, his hair swimming through the air as if he were underwater.

“Oh gaak!” Leto yelled. He was surprised, but grinning. “You’re using it?”

“Just preventing any unnecessary casualties,” Jado spoke through gritted teeth, the strain over controlling his body audible in his words. “It’d be pretty anticlimactic if a member of the Archangel’s Heroes was bested by some overgrown hound in need of a haircut!”

“Gaak me, m’broda… let’s kill this thing quick!”

Jado nodded. “Paulraj… get ready to go for its eyes. We already know it’s weak there.”

Before Paulraj could reply, the beast charged forward, enraged by its newly acquired wound. It lunged forward to clamp its jaws down on Jado, but Jado stepped to the side as the tentacular mass emerging from his shoulder split into a writhing mass. They wrapped around the monster’s neck, constricting tightly and restraining the creature like a feral dog at the end of its leash. It snapped and yipped, gobs and flecks of drool flying from its jaws.

Jado growled back, an unnatural sound coming from within his throat. His eyes flared with a strange light while the veins on the tentacles glowed brighter. With everything he had, Jado willed the alien appendages to hold the beast still.

“NOW!” Jado screamed.

Paulraj flicked his rod dramatically, sending a long, fallen tree branch into the eye of the creature, held still by Jado’s horrid tendrils.

With a squish and a pop, the branch embedded itself into the eye of the monster. In its pain, it unleashed a bloodcurdling cry, uncannily like that of a distressed child.

Leto needed no prompting. Twirling his staff and imbuing the same lethal vibrations into its striking head that spelled the end of the smaller beast from earlier, the Southern Monk thrust the staff into its mouth.

“Chew on this,” Leto spat.

There was an explosion of debris… but it wasn’t the beast’s head exploding as the three expected. The beast’s jaws shattered the murmuko staff. It spat the still-vibrating head of the weapon onto the ground, where it landed in a pool of spittle and blood.

“Oh for—” Leto couldn’t finish his sentence before the monster swatted Leto backwards with its paw, sending him into a tree.

A look of strain suddenly overtook Jado’s face. In the brief moment it took for him to still his thoughts, the tentacles’ grasp on the beast weakened. It was enough for the monster to pivot on its front legs, kicking with it hind legs. Paulraj eyes widened, the only response he could muster from his lack of physical reflexes. Paulraj went sprawling onto the ground, winded from the blow.

The hound-like creature then turned and went for Jado. Paulraj weakly sat up, watching as the slavering maw of the monster pushed against Jado’s tendrils. Jado’s face was twisted in a grimace—Paulraj knew the mental and physical wrestling Jado was doing was rapidly wearing him down.

Suddenly, a shadow lurched from the darkness of the forest. A tiny shape… Softy. The stoff leaped bravely into the monster’s mouth, giving a high-pitched warcray as she jumped. Landing in the mouth of the creature, the stench clinging to Softy’s fur was overpowering. The beast gagged and choked on the smelly little bear-like thing lodged in its mouth.

The distracting was enough for Jado to press the advantage. As Softy was spat onto the ground, he shifted his tentacles across the body of the monster, wrapping them around its jaws and wrenching them wide open. In the same movement, his twirled his sword in his hand and thrust it into the roof of the monster’s jaw. Zephyr penetrated its brain, suddenly and finally silencing it.

Jado dislodged his sword as swiftly as he had impaled with it, sending a small jet of blood from the monster’s mouth. His tentacles relaxed, slithering off of the carcass and retracting back into its arm-like configuration at his side.

Paulraj and Leto limped forward to Jado’s side, staring at the dead monster before them.

“You know Jado,” Paulraj said, putting a hand gingerly on his twisted shoulder, “this evening was enough to make me glad I came all the way to Dimox to find you.”

Jado looked down at his hand, still twitching, writhing, and sparking with eldritch essence.

“I think I might finally be thankful too.”

Chapter XVIII

Sir Dafern, Osten, and Shayoon crashed out of the trees, bearing lanterns startling Paulraj, Jado, and Leto. The varakira and Ludmilla were in tow, with Hyacinth tied up on the mount’s back.

Jado drew his sword for a moment, and his eldritch arm flexed and pulsed. Upon seeing the faces of his friends illuminated by their lights, he relaxed and lowered his guard.

Sir Dafern’s gaze lingered for a moment on Jado’s arm, but he tore his gaze away to assess the situation and catch up on details.

“We found your little campsite,” Sir Dafern said. “Fortunately we could hear your struggle from there.”

Osten kicked the dead monster. “That’s one big ass dog,” he commented. He wrinkled his nose and turned to Jado. “Yo, you stink my guy.”

“Yes, thank you,” Jado rolled his eyes. But he smiled, glad that Osten’s first comment to him was about the stench and not the otherworldly appendage snaking from his shoulder.

“Who are the duns?” Paulraj asked, pointing towards Ludmilla and Hyacinth.

“Ludmilla was a prisoner we rescued,” Osten answered. “And Hyacinth there is a lowlife scumbag.”

Leto stooped down to pick up the head of his murmuko. The bronze piece was still intact, but without a proper handle it wasn’t a suitable weapon. The monk wrapped the head in spare cloth and hid it away in the folds of his robes. He picked up his broken staff and approached the others.

“Let me guess. Hyacinth is one of the bandits that attacked you?” Leto looked at the rope-bound dun with scorn.

“Yes,” Sir Dafern pushed Hyacinth, sending him rolling onto the ground. “You sound as if you had your own experience with bandits.”

“We’re not just some common, unremarkable highwaymen,” Hyacinth whined. “We’re the Nightshades!”

“Were the Nightshades,” Shayoon interjected.

“Don’t make us put a gag in, idiot,” Osten said, pressing a foot into his lower back.

Hyacinth whimpered but didn’t speak, keeping himself silent while the Archangel’s Heroes set up a more proper camp for the night. They sat around a large bonfire, eating their rations and recounting the adventures of the day.

Ludmilla sat awkwardly by Sir Dafern, feeling out of place amongst these legendary warriors. Softy waddled in front of her, warming herself by the fire. Ludmilla stared at the patchy white creature as it stood before the flames, gnawing on a piece of salted meat. As Ludmilla continued to stare, Softy took notice and turned slowly to face the girl. The two stared at each other for a moment silently, the only sound being the fire and the heroes loudly speaking to each other.

Softy waddled forward, clambering up Ludmilla’s leg and plopping herself on her lap. Ludmilla smiled warmly as the stoff nonchalantly leaned back and continued to munch on her snack.

Hyacinth was tied up and left on a patch of dirt a few feet away from the fire. Jado pointed with his thumb over his shoulder.

“Just another member of Legere’s wicked scum,” Jado said, after hearing Sir Dafern’s report. “Unfortunately not one of a kind.”

“What will we do with him, then?” Paulraj asked. “We cannot just leave him. We also can’t cut him free. Killing him would be immoral. And I’m not sure if we want to bring him as a prisoner as we continue onwards in our mission.”

“Could we take a detour into Korlock to deliver him to the authorities?” Leto wondered.

“We’re on too much of a time crunch,” Sir Dafern said. “Korlock is another day of travel east. Unfortunately, I think the best course of action is to bring him with us as a prisoner.”

The Heroes murmured amongst themselves. The knight was right.

“But what about Ludmilla?” Osten asked, gesturing to the girl who was playing with Softy’s fur. The stoff snorted happily as she licked her paws clean.

“That’s a harder question,” Sir Dafern said, turning to look at her. “The same issues seem to be present for her. But while I have no qualm bringing Hyacinth into a potentially dangerous situation, I feel bringing Ludmilla into such environments is much more of a problem.”

Jado’s pulsating, alien arm glistened in the light of the fire.

“Let her decide,” he said.

There was silence. Ludmilla looked up from Softy. Sir Dafern’s brows furrowed.

“If Ludmilla wants to go home, let’s bring her home,” Jado continued, poking the fire with a broken branch. “Even if that means adding a day to our travel. We can drop Hyacinth off too.”

More murmuring from the Heroes. Shayoon slumped forward, the warm fire lulling him into slumber. Leto spun the striking head of his murmuko in his fingers. Paulraj nervously drummed his fingers on his knees.

Ludmilla’s soft, delicate voice shattered the silence.

“If we go to Korlock,” she asked, “that could mean a whole other day for the bad guys you’re chasing to get away from you?”

“Yes. But don’t think about that,” Jado said firmly.

Another round of silence.

“No.” Ludmilla’s voice was surprisingly defiant. “This is bigger than me. This is for the world, right? Why should my comfort come before your noble mission?”

“Ludmilla,” Sir Dafern began, “this could be dangero-”

“I’m scared,” she continued. “And I’ve been scared. That man and his gang of criminals are the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. And I know the bad guys you’re chasing are scarier. But I don’t want to be scared.”

“Ludmilla.” Leto said, his voice softened but still stern and powerful. “This isn’t about overcoming fear or discomfort. This is about your life.”

“I know,” Ludmilla said, balling her hands. “And I’m no fighter or mage or sword lancer. But how could I be the reason the Archangel’s Heroes fail to protect Legere from some greater evil?”

Jado couldn’t help but grin.

“You remind me of an old friend,” Jado shook his head, but continuing to smile. His eyes, with purple light swirling in his pupils and shining momentarily with tears that threatened to spill over. “Defiant against evil. Restless to the end. Even after going through so much.”

Osten crossed his arms. “Noble, Ludmilla. But you have to consider you might slow us down if you come with us. We could waste time dealing with you, or waste resources and energy protecting you from harm.”

Osten’s words were harsh, direct. But everyone understood that now wasn’t the place for cordiality and properness.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sir Dafern said, gently adjusting his injured arm. “She’s made her choice.”

“Yes,” Ludmilla added. “I understand the danger I’m in. I don’t care.”

There was something fiery and defiant within Ludmilla. She wasn’t broken by her experience with her captors.

“I’ll take responsibility for her,” Sir Dafern said, leaning on his sheathed Sunblade.

Osten snorted. “Respectfully, Sir Dafern, you’re already at a fraction of your power.” He gestured to the night’s still-useless arm. “How you gonna protect this girl when your ability to protect yourself is already diminshed?”

“Osten, we have all made a decision when we became the Archangel’s Heroes to be ready to lay down our lives in service of the King of Angels for the people of Legere,” Paulraj spoke up. “Why should Ludmilla be denied the freedom to make that same choice for herself?”

The Southern Monk shook his head. He didn’t reply, but his silence was telling: he didn’t like the idea of having a defenseless young woman tag along with them into a confrontation with the Legion of Thunder.

“So about that space folder,” Jado said, breaking the silence. “Let’s get Hyacinth over here and ask him about what he knows. After all, it was his men who had this thing in their possession.”

Leto got up. By the time a minute had passed, Hyacinth was lying on the dirt next to the fire, his face pushed uncomfortably close to the burning wood.

“The space folder your men had,” Jado spoke up as he kneeled in front of Hyacinth.

Hyacinth groaned before Jado could continue. “Those imbeciles… they were supposed to dismantle the bloody thing.”

“Well obviously they didn’t,” Jado said. “Chalk it up to greed, I suppose. Any member of the lancer guild would pay a fortune to get their hands on one. But at least you’ve confirmed that you know about it. So why not go a step further and tell us what else you know about it? Did the Legion go through it?”

Hyacinth spat a chunk of soil and ash from his mouth. “Indeed… the Legion went through it. ”

“And do you have the receiver code?”

“The what? Do I look like a man who knows how space folders work?”

Jado pressed the end of Zephyr’s sheath onto the top of Hyacinth’s palm.

“Gaak! Ow, okay! …check my coinpurse, okay!?” Hyacinth grimaced, the beads of sweat on his green skin glistening as the light of the fire reflected off of them.

“And where, pray tell, is you coin purse?” Jado asked, lifting the scabbard from the dun’s hand.

Hyacinth blushed. “I-in my underwear.”

“Yo, the gaak?” Leto exclaimed. “Of course you have your coins in your damned loins. The hell are they doin’ there?”

“Hard to pickpocket coins from there, you know?” Hyacinth defended himself.

Leto groaned. Sir Dafern shook his head.

“I suppose he’d know, as a thief.” Sir Dafern stood up. “Alright, pants off.”

Leto stooped behind Hyacinth and grabbed him by one leg, lifting him into the air with ease. Hyacinth squawked like a bird as his head swung over the fire.

“AYE! Watch it, not so rough!” Hyacinth pleaded.

“Wonder how many people you’ve extended that courtesy to yourself,” Leto growled.

After a moment, a bag of coins dropped onto the ground. Leto looked at Osten.

“Ayo I ain’t opening that,” Osten said, raising his hands.

“Yeah neither am I, m’broda,” Leto said.

“Me neither,” Jado added.

Sir Dafern stifled a cough and looked into the distance.

Leto glanced at Paulraj. “Well?”

The mage blinked. “Err… yes I suppose I can magically open the-”

“For gaak’s sake… Kurai!” Osten stood up and shouted. The darkness of the forest beyond the fire seemed to wobble and swim for a moment before a pulsating mass of black manifested behind Osten. “Kurai, pick up that coin purse and open it up for us to see the contents, would you?”

Silently, the shadowy entity reached out, gripping the purse with an umbral appendage. It began to relieve the purse of its contents—an assortment of Phovezilan marks, Destrian tokens, and small gemstones found their way onto the ground. The clinking of coins snapped Shayoon awake, who suddenly found himself incredibly interested in the scene unfolding before him.

The last item Kurai pulled from the purse was a folded up piece of parchment. The shadowy creature undulated as it moved up to Osten’s side, holding it up to his face to read.

“Seems to be a letter from Bilus to Hyacinth,” Osten said, tilting his head down to read the script:

“To the noble Duke of the Nightshades,

“As per our earlier correspondence, your assistance to the Legion of Thunder is greatly appreciated. Accompanying this letter you will find a pleasing amount of treasure delivered straight from the vaults of Hyperius’ Palace. In addition, an exotic device has been delivered to you as well. This device, well worth its weight in gold, it crucial to our mission. Please have it prepared by inputting the following numbers into the side-mounted display: 7-7-1-2-6-2.

“It is imperative that you keep this device in perfect condition and primed as outlined above so that it can be used promptly upon our arrival to your encampment. Should you follow these instructions, you will find additional riches bestowed upon you as a token our the Legion’s gratitude. Once our business has concluded, you are to dispose of the apparatus forthwith through dismantlement.

“Sincerely, Bilus Dravian Vutilus.”

“Well, that’s the code,” Sir Dafern nodded. He turned to Hyacinth, who had been dropped back onto the ground by Leto. “And looks like your association with the Legion is without question.”

“Let’s rest for the night,” Jado said. Leto sat down with his arms crossed, but watched the lines of Jado’s face. The swordsman was tired, and after masking it for most of the evening it was beginning to show. He wasn’t done wrestling the thing inside him.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll calibrate the space folder, and hopefully it will send us to the receiving one,” Jado continued. “With luck, we’ll find ourselves in a location near wherever the Legion is now.”

“That could be in the dead center of enemy territory,” Osten said. He cast a sideways glance at Ludmilla.

“Correct,” Jado said, “so we best get rest now and be prepared for trouble in the morning.”

“Yo, remind me why we took this guy’s pants off?” Shayoon asked.

Chapter XIX

The heroes stood around the space folder, hands on their weapons and teeth gritted with determination.

The heroes were in a sorry state, and as they looked around at each other, they reflected on how poorly this whole adventure had gone so far.

Leto’s broken murmuko was awkwardly affixed to his staff via a mass of rope. Jado’s eyes were sunken, and he twitched every so often, still recovering from the otherworldly unchaining of power from the previous night. Paulraj stood hunched over, pain suffusing his back from being slammed around by the wolfish beast from the previous night. Sir Dafern’s arm was still slung weakly across his chest. Ludmilla stood nervously with Softy cradled in her arms. Hyacinth stood with arms bound behind his back, and a rope tied around his neck. Leto held the other end of the rope, dragging him about like a dog on a leash.

The Heroes were laden with as many supplies as possible, with their pack animal cut loose —considering it would not be able to go with them through a space folder of this size. The varakira was long gone, leaving the Heroes to carry their own things.

“Well, get ready everyone.” Jado leaned down next to the space folder, inputting the receiving code before twisting a dial to activate the machine. There was a hum as a bubble of green energy poured out from the top of the device, enveloping the Heroes. Their vision swam and blurred, with a mixture of blue and green light piercing their eyes. There was a terrible vibration, and suddenly they found themselves choking on smoky, ash-laden air.

Paulraj kneeled on the ground, vomiting for a moment while Leto put a hand around him. Jado leaned against a large boulder nearby, waiting for the dizziness plaguing him to subside.

Sir Dafern stood up and dusted the sooty, black dust from himself. He took a look around to drink in the surroundings and orient himself.

“We’re in the Firelands,” Sir Dafern said, pointing to the distance where two volcanos sat, spewing smoke and lava into the air in a prominent display of natural power. “See? Mount Spire and Mount Ferrum.”

The others stood next to Sir Dafern to look at the surrounding area. The space folder that had received them was aurrounded by rocks, save for one side, where as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but ashen, charred rock and dark skies. Occasionally a smouldering ball of flame dropped from the dense clouds above, landing somewhere on the horizon—a piece of lava flung high into the sky by one of the volcanos.

“Well. This isn’t Hyperius’ Palace,” Osten observed.

“This isn’t anywhere near the Cloudlands,” Sir Dafern pondered, rubbing his chin.

Jado knelt down next to the space folder on the ground. “This was the right receiver code. Whoever set this up did it on purpose. But why set up a space folder here, of all places? In the middle of nowhere… in the heart of the Firelands?”

“Why wouldn’t Sabina and her men just teleport to the Cloudlands?” Shayoon thought aloud. “I’m like highkey confused.”

“Look at this,” Osten called out. The Heroes moved towards Osten, who pointed at one of the rocky walls surrounding them. “Notice anything?”

“Uh…” Paulraj scratched his head.

“These rocks weren’t naturally piled like this. These rocks are laid atop each other like bricks. Someone built this damn place.”

“Impossible,” Sir Dafern said. “People have tired on multiple occasions to build in the Firelands, but it’s too dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Jado said. He pointed forwards. “There isn’t an explicit path, exactly, but we should head in this direction. There seems to be some kind of pass ahead. If anyone came here, they would have followed that—unless anyone thinks they climbed up these steep rocks.”

“Keep your eyes peeled for signs from Cev,” Sir Dafern said, taking a step forward. “I already feel like we’re incredibly off-track… but by the grace of The Creator, we might just find what we’re looking for.”

The group of Heroes moved, braving the choking, volcanic wind that blew through the rocky terrain around them. As they moved, only one real path ever revealed itself to them, snaking through short caves made from old lava tubes and underpasses beneath large outcrops.

After exiting one of these short caves, a large pile of rubble sat in the middle of the path as the way forward wound upwards. The rubble itself wasn’t blocking the way, but it introduced enough of a climb to be inconvenient.

Sir Dafern struggled onto the rubble, his feet wobbly on the loose rocks under them. With still only one hand to steady himself, the knight found himself breaking a sweat while trying to defeat this mound of stone.

“Here,” a voice called out. Sir Dafern looked up. Standing at the top of the rock pile was Jado, his eldritch, void-spawned arm outstretched in offering. Sir Dafern hesitated for a moment before clasping the arm. With a mighty heave, Jado helped the knight over and past the debris.

“Thanks,” Sir Dafern breathed. He glanced back at the arm. “Does it… hurt?”

“No,” Jado said, flexing the inky black fingers. “Not directly. But… it’s hungry. Hungrier than during the war.”

“Harder to control,” Sir Dafern mused.

“Precisely. Although, I’m not sure what it’s hungry for. I could feel its hunger the moment Disruptis woke me back up on Legerian soil. It was tiny then. Like looking for a snack, you know? But it kept increasing as the war went on. You remember when we stormed Zak’s tower? I almost lost control when I kept using this new power from the Void. Then, when I stopped using it and began to ignore that part of me… the hunger faded. I managed to forget about it. But now it’s back, and it’s hungrier than ever.”

Sir Dafern shook his head, a sad look coming over his face.

“Jado… I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean for you to get caught up in—”

“No. Sir Dafern, I’ve already told you, you cannot take the blame for this. Sooner or later, the Legion or the Dead Sand Lectors would have made a move. Me remaining out of the conflict would have just been cowardly. Unleashing and facing this… thing inside me was inevitable.”

Jado put his hand on Sir Dafern’s shoulder. Giving a reassuring squeeze despite the armour there.

“I’m just glad that I could break out this power again with the intention of protecting my friends,” Jado said with a smile.

Sir Dafern gave a grin, and nodded. He quickly turned away to hide his face from Jado.

There was the clattering of rocks as Ludmilla tumbled down the rubble, Softy in tow. The woman groaned as she hoisted herself from the ground. As she looked up, she found the unimpressed gaze of Osten staring down at her.

“You alright?” he asked, coldly.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said with a huff, quickly dusting herself off. Softy waddled up next to Ludmilla, rubbing her own fur-covered head as she glanced up at the Southern Monk and dun woman.

“Hmph.” Osten turned and continue down the path with the others.

“Why are you so cold to me, Oh… As…” Ludmilla hurried up beside him while inaccurately sputtering Osten’s name.

“Osten,” he responded.

“Osten! Yes… why do you treat me like such a burden?”

“Because you are, woman!” Osten snapped. His shadow rippled across the ground like water disturbed by a falling pebble.

Ludmilla blinked. Osten continued forward.

“The others treat me with much more respect than you,” Ludmilla began again as she kept up pace with him. But she slowly began to gasp, her breath running short as she attempted to keep up with Osten’s brisk pace.

“The others are extendin’ an unnecessary kindness to mask the inconvenience of havin’ you come ‘long with us,” Osten replied with disdain.

“I can take care of myself enough,” Ludmilla responded defiantly. “I haven’t needed any of your help so far—”

“You needed our help to escape from that bandit bastard,” Osten interrupted.

“And for that, I’m grateful. But the least you could do is extend some kindness towards me considering what I’ve been through!”

“I don’t envy what horrors you experienced, but at the end of the day you’re a liability for us. I’m not quite sure you realize the gravity of the situation we’re in. But listen yo: you’re no fighter, as you’ve said yourself. You provide no value to our team, and you threaten to make our quest a real gaakin’ chore if we gotta keep babysittin’ you.”

Ludmilla balled her fists. “My father died in the War,” she blurted.

Osten didn’t miss a step. “I’m sorry. But a lot of people died in the War. Some of the best Southern Monks I knew died in the war. Are you tryna make me feel pity or somethin’?”

“My father died a hero… a real one. He gave his life ensuring the people from my city were freed from Songkram prison wagons.”

Osten stopped walking and turned to Ludmilla. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad your father sacrificed himself for the good of others—that’s noble as gaak. And I’m sorry for yo loss. But Iunno how you expect me to treat you after telling me all this family lore.”

“I want to be like my father! A hero. And no, I don’t have the magic or strength that you guys do, but neither did my father. He wasn’t a soldier. He was a platwood carpenter. But he was a hero still! How could I have disrespected my father’s bravery by asking for you to bring me back to Korlock just because I was scared? I am scared, Osten. I was torn off the streets of my own city by Hyacinth and his ruffians one evening without warning. I want to go home more than anything else. But my father was brave, and I have to be too.”

Osten’s expression of silent but furious anger, chiseled into his face, began to melt. His expression softened, but only just. “Ludmilla. Your father sacrificed himself so people like you could live in peace. Not so you’d have to go out and face danger like he did. Placing yourself in harm’s way is a bigger disrespect to him than allowing people like us—who have sworn an oath to protect the people of Legere—to bring you home.”

“Well, it’s too late now,” she said, clenching her jaw. “There’s nothing more I can do except face whatever it is you’re about to. Come on, Softy.”

Ludmilla marched forward, Softy hot on her heels. As they passed Osten, Softy stuck her pink tongue out at the monk.

Osten raised his hands. “Softy, what the gaak?!”

Discussions between the members of the Archangel’s Heroes died off as they trudged on. Exhaustion began to creep in, but they all refused to stop. Even Ludmilla pushed on, her clothes damp with sweat. Eventually, the path they followed led into a deep cave—one so deep and dark that there may not be a way out. The only light from within came from small veins of lava that illuminated the passageway with a dim, unsettling orange glow.

Sir Dafern drew his sword, igniting it and holding up like a torch. “We press on,” he declared.

“Yeah so this feels like a trap,” Shayoon commented.

“I agree,” Leto thought. “Not sure I like the feel of goin’ in there.”

“Where else do we go?” Sir Dafern said, turning to face the others.

“It is possible we missed a secret passage or something along the way!” Paulraj piped up.

“What do you think, scum?” Leto barked, yanking on Hyacinth’s rope.

“Mmf!” Hyacinth replied, his mouth gagged.

“Want me to let him talk?” Shayoon offered.

“Nah. He’s annoying whenever he speaks. Not worth it.” Leto lowered the rope, giving Hyacinth enough slack to kneel down and breath.

There was a pause as the Heroes thought about their next plan of action.

“I feel like we’re so lost right now,” Shayoon stated.

“Yeah, thanks for the observation sluhzhead,” Osten interrupted.

“Ayooooo! Lemme finish buddy. As I was sayin’… we’re so lost right now that it don’t matter if we get lost more, you get me? Maybe we’ll get so incredibly lost that we’ll wrap around to bein’ found. Let’s just go down the tunnel, see what happens, and then deal with it. We’re badass as gaak anyways so we’re chillin’.”

Sir Dafern turned back to the others. “He kind of has a point. Where else can we go? Backtrack and scour every inch of the path we travelled for carved symbols? Hidden contraptions? Trapdoors? Illusory rocks?”

Jado nodded. “Let’s go.”

Paulraj looked at Shayoon. “Didn’t you just say this feels like a trap?”

“Yeah but I been so wrong so many times before that I’m probably wrong again,” Shayoon said with confident smile and a shrug.

The group moved into the darkness of the cave, following the light of the Sunblade in Sir Dafern’s hand.

“Stay right,” Sir Dafern announced, his voice echoing through the cavern. “We have no idea what kind of winding paths might be in here. Don’t get lost.”

The group continued forward before suddenly finding themselves in a large, circular chamber—symmetrical, lined with stone bricks, and lit by lanterns.

“Whoa,” Paulraj said, looking around the room. “This was built. We might be going the right way!”

Sir Dafern cautiously took a step forward, moving towards the center of the chamber. He looked around, noticing that there were 3 other paths connecting to this chamber. Above, a metal grate separated this chamber from whatever was above it. No light poured in from above.

“Took you long enough.” A grinding, metallic voice called out from the darkness. The silent room was filled with sound of weapons unsheathing as the Archangel’s Heroes readied their arms for a fight.

“Who goes there?! Reveal yourself!” Sir Dafern held out the Sunblade before him.

The clinking of metal resounded through the chamber, echoing outward from one of the passageways. Finally, a metallic visage appeared, reflecting the amber light of the Sunblade and chamber torches.

A the figure’s grey robe-clade figure stepped into full view of the Heroes, his metal mask contorted and creaked as he spoke, twisting itself into a malign grin.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t go through that Space Folder,” the man said.

Sir Dafern stared into the eyes of the mask. “You’re Iron Face, aren’t you? The ferromancer that Cev met. One of Sabina’s servants.”

“Sabina’s servants?” The mage cackled, his laughs accentuated with creaking metal. “No. I’d like to say I’m my own master, but legally speaking I do have my own boss at the moment. And now, so do you.”

Iron Face revealed his rod from within the folds of his robe—a vicious, barbed staff terminating in a cruel-looking fork—and slammed the ground with it. Behind the Heroes, a sheet of metal burst from the ground, folding itself over the exit.

“Oh sluhz!” Shayoon exclaimed. “I was right!”

Sir Dafern raised his sword and poised himself to strike at Iron Face, but the ferromancer raised a hand. Sir Dafern suddenly couldn’t move. His armour was locked in place, like the pieces had been fused together.

Jado stepped forward, Zephyr crackling with energy. At the same time, Shayoon twirled his staff, summoning golden blades.

In response, Iron Face flicked his fingers, and a shower of metal shards dropped out of his robes and onto the ground. With other tap of his rod, the fragments lifted into the air and encircled the heroes.

“I wouldn’t do anything rash here,” Iron Face warned. “Move forward anymore and I’ll crush your paladin’s arm like your khatkir crushed Bilus’. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Anything else and I’ll send all those metal bits whizzing through your bodies. There’d be nothing left except a pile of compost once I finish.”

“What do you want?” Sir Dafern spat, uncomfortable in the position he was locked in.

“You’re hardly in the position to negotiate, good knight. I will take what I want, not what I am offered. And what I want is to impress my master.”

Heavy footsteps echoed through the dark chamber. At each of the passageways, an armour-clad knight appeared, each encased in bulky, black iron. Tabards depicting bright orange patterns resembling fire or lava fell from their waists and shoulders.

“Now then,” Iron Face said gleefully, twirling his fingers to force Sir Dafern’s armour into marching the paladin down a hall, “let’s make our way to the arena.”

The Archangel’s Heroes slowly—relunctantly—sheathed their weapons and moved down the hallway that Sir Dafern was made to saunter down. Iron face waited for the last of them to enter before following behind.

“Gaak…” Osten cursed with a groan as one of the knights shoved him forward. “Arena? We’re gladiators now, aren’t we?”

“There is much I’d love to explain,” Iron Face’s voice rattled through the tight corridor. The ferromancer’s shards of metal floated overhead, with nearby 5 fragments pointed at the heads of each of the heroes. With every word the mage spoke, the shards vibrated. “Alas, it wouldn’t be customary for me to deliver such greetings. His Magnificence will ensure you’re properly… informed of the situation.”

“So much for being ‘badass as gaak’, Shayoon,” Jado muttered.

“Ah, well you know. Sometimes it happens,” Shayoon replied nonchalantly.

Chapter XX

Cev’s body was still, like a statue. He resembled a floating sculpture, his body frozen in mid-motion while hovering over the ground. The only movement that came from his impressive mechanical body was the occasional flicker of light from his visor, or a small twitch from his limbs as one of the ferromancers surrounding him experienced a lapse in concentration.

It was never enough for Cev to capitalize on. His captors had clearly done their research into what kind of threat Cev posed. What would normally be considered overkill was just sufficient for holding Cev. Eight ferromancers—who had earlier revealed themselves to be Iron Face’s apprentices to Cev—were magically locking the cyborg in place. Two magnet-mages per limb, and an additional focused on his chest and head.

Despite being silent himself, within Cev’s head was a cacophony of errors and warnings, which he experienced in lieu of pain. The Second Voice continued to yammer on about the state of their body. Cev did his best to block out all these noises and focus on drinking in the surroundings. Yes, the ferromantic damage inflicted upon his joints and mechanisms was severe, but there was nothing to be done about that for now.

Cev watched the scene in front of him unfold.

Baron von Vulcanis paced awkwardly before Cev. He was less like a human and more like a gargantuan mound of tallow masquerading as a nobleman. He normally sat in his throne, his grotesquely massive belly seeming to ooze out of the seat as if he were melting. But he was nervous enough to need to pace. Sweat poured from his greasy black hair and down the folds of his prodigious cheeks, obviously brought on by the strain of merely walking. His fingers fidgeted with the plethora of gold rings that squeezed around his sausage-like fingers.

During his initial introduction to the Baron, Cev learned that he was the lord of Vulcanis, this blasted wasteland corner of Legere. It was populated by thousands of crooks, thieves, and other ne’er-do-wells. How such a society could thrive confounded Cev.

It was the Baron who not only governed this place, but also orchestrated and hosted the cruel bloodsports being held before them. By looking past the Baron’s throne, Cev’s telescopic vision granted his pieces of the fights happening in the arena below.

The Baron paused his pacing for a moment, stopping by a table to pour himself a much taller-than-necessary glass of Veskovian liquor. As he gulped the entire thing down, the door to the Baron’s chambers slammed open. Before they even spoke or stepped into his view, Cev recognized who had entered just by the sound of their breathing and the pattern of their footsteps.

“Baron von Vulcanis,” the gruff voice of Bilus called out. The room flicked with an azure light as Bilal stepped in front of the Baron. Bilus’ once-crushed arm—the parting gift Cev had distributed at the Righteous Fort—had been amputated and replaced with a limb Sabina had wrought from crackling electricity. Strips of thundersteel slowly orbited the electrified arm, giving it a hybrid appearance that resembled something between armour and muscle.

“What are you doing?” Bilus continued his questioning, his arm vibrating and pulsing with wicked energies. “I believe we were quite clear with what we wanted your assistance with.”

The Baron took a clumsy step backwards, nearly falling over at the adjustment of his massive frame.

“Mister Bilus,” the Baron’s nauseatingly hoarse voice pleaded, “please… you see… um, I was simply testing the waters with the first few fighters!”

Bilus grabbed the edge of the table that held the Baron’s whiskey. His arm crackled with energy as he flipped it with what seemed like little effort. The table collided with the wall and broke into splinters. Cev could feel his own weight shift for a moment, the loud noise obviously startling some of the ferromancers holding him aloft.

“Hey! That was platwood, you Cloudwelling nimrod—!” The Baron’s outburst was cut short as Bilus grabbed the Baron’s collar and—in a feat that Cev found surprising—lifted him an inch into the air. The Baron’s glass fell to the floor, shattering into pieces and spilling across the ground.

“Shut it, old man,” Bilus snarled. “‘Testing the waters?’ You know the deal we made. Or are you so feebleminded that you can’t remember a simple agreement?”

“Put me down, now!” The Baron commanded, although his voice was filled with fear rather than boldness. “Or… or I’ll tell Iron Face and he will tear you apart!”

“It’s fine, Bilus. I’m sure I can change his mind with productive dialogue,” Sabina’s sickening, honey-sweet voice floated through the chamber. Cev could sense she was behind him, perhaps nonchalantly looking over the collection of antiques and other trinkets the Baron kept on his back wall.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Bilus answered. He released the Baron, who squealed in pain as he landed on the ground and rolled onto his back.

“Baron von Vulcanis, I’m just a little disappointed right now,” Sabina spoke calmly. “You promised me that if the Archangel’s Heroes attempted to follow us through the space folder, you would deal with them. And for some reason I find that you’ve kept them alive as entertainment in your barbarous bloodsports?”

“I assure you, my lady,” the Baron wheezed from the floor. His raspy voice poured out assurances to Sabina, hoping they would sate her disdain for him. “They will succumb soon! They’ve been in the arena for nearly a full day now… there’s only so much combat they can sustain before succumbing to wounds and exhaustion!”

“I’ve paid you a fortune for your allegience already,” Sabina spoke, her words dripping with vitriol. She paced the floor around the Baron. “How greedy are you that you want to make even more off of their deaths in this arena?”

“I… I will guarantee their deathes!” the Baron blurted. Sabina stopped her pacing and cocked her head. “I… I swear, Lady Sabina… they will die before sundown today! I will ramp up the intensity of the fights and drive them to death before the end of the day. It will be as good as an execution!”

Sabina sighed, visibly frustrated. Bilus stood by—Cev could tell from subtle movements in his posture that he was ready to attack the Baron at any moment. He was just waiting for the command.

To Cev’s surprise, Sabina relinquished.

“Perhaps it’s my father’s character as a diplomat that I’ve inherited that is pushing me to accept this compromise. I’ll allow you this one concession. The Archangel’s Heroes die in your arena by sundown, as you’ve promised. If not, Bilus and my legionaries will show you how we deal with insurgents in our homeland.”

Sabina spun on her heel, her dress swirling like a twister and Bilus following after her like a looming thundercloud. They exited the room, Bilus slamming the heavy doors behind him.

The Baron shakily got to his feet. He adjusted his collar and lavish clothes over his girthy frame. He waddled to the side of the room, past the splintered and broken remains of his platwood table, and to a corner where an inkwell and a parchment sat. He muttered to himself as he wrote.

Cev could have listened in if he focused, but instead he turned his attention to the rest of the room. Undoubtedly, the Baron was signing the death warrants of his friends, based on the conversation with Sabina. He would need to escape and help them, and soon.

As the Baron finished writing, he wrapped the scroll up in a ribbon laden with arcane symbols. The ribbon glowed and vanished in a swirl of sparkling blue light, delivered into the hand of whoever was responsible for organizing the fights.

Each of the voiceless, unmoving ferromancers around him wore hoods and cloth over their mouths. It was difficult to tell if any of them were tired or weary. But the Baron’s comment about exhaustion in the arena was true to this situation as well; if the Baron intended on holding Cev here as a trophy for the long-term, then he would need a much larger retinue of ferromancers to take shifts.

He could wait for that and try to capitalize on the switchover… but there was one other thing he could do in the meantime.

“Baron von Vulcanis,” Cev’s modulated voice broke the silence.

The Baron nearly leaped out of his clothing at the sound of Cev’s voice.

“My! You speak!” The Baron paused his writing and rushed towards Cev’s floating body. “I was beginning to think Iron Face had destroyed whatever apparatus enables you to conversate.”

“Would take a lot more than that to break any of my parts,” Cev responded.

“What prompted you to break the silence my steel-skinned friend?” The Baron gleefully spoke, his eyes shining with excitement. It was a stark contrast from the Baron from just a few moments earlier, who was nervous and fearful. Now, he was giddy like a child.

“Friend is a bit of a stretch of a title to give me. But let’s say I was getting a bit bored.”

“Ah. Of course, heh. Still human under all that metal and Destrian machinery, hmm? Still in need of entertainment, just like all my people!”

“Sure. Listen, you’ve basically won already, which I applaud. Well done in capturing me and my friends. I understand they’re destined for… glorious death in the arena. But what about me? I figured you’d have thrown me into the pit to fight already too. You really intend to keep me here as a living trophy?”

“Well. Living might not be an element of your existence that you get to enjoy for much longer, truth be told. And of course I couldn’t have a living weapon as wicked and powerful as you unleashed into my arena. Fire iron skin? It would take days for my arena fighters to kill you even if you were standing still. No… I am actually unsure of your fate at the moment. See, your entire… figure is quite valuable. I’m debating having your torn apart and reassembled as a permanent fixture in my halls, or having your parts sold. I know some contacts from the Corgathian Umbraguild who would pay a pretty penny for all that fire iron.”

“I’d bet. But I’m surprised you still wouldn’t throw me into the arena to fight a couple times just for the show. Not to be too self-inflating, but I suspect watching me fight would be quite enjoyable for a violence-adoring crowd. You have the mages to contain me, after all.”

The Baron laughed, his deep voice resonating through his fat-padded throat. “Clever! No, no… I’ve done my research, Cev. You have the ability to disappear from sight. Even in broad daylight. Just like a skilled kethramancer. Unleashing you upon my arena would be equivalent to releasing you entirely!”

“Must be partially disappointing for you to not see me fight.”

“Ha. You’re a clever one, Cev. I recognize your attempts at appealing to my own entertainment-seeking side. Yes, I’ll admit, it is disappointing to not be able to see you in action. But I’m not foolish. You’ll remain in the grasp of my magnet-mages as long as I breathe. In fact, I’m more than sure that you’ve been brainstorming ways to escape since before that embarrassing little… argument with the Legion of Thunder. You’re probably still probing for weaknesses with your words.”

“My reputation precedes me.”

“Well, for someone of your background, yes. But I have quite the fascination with fighters and great warriors of all kinds. I do much research into them, and always have my ears open to legends that spread from across Hohm. I’ve been fortunate to inherit the Vulcanis Arena from my father and see so many mighty warriors in battle within it. I have numerous trophies and… mementos left over from the greatest who have fought here.”

“That explains your desire to turn me into a sculpture.”

“A bit vulgar of a way of putting it, but yes.”

“See, these trophies behind you are my most prized possessions. Weapons, most of them. I believe that weapons become parts of great warriors’ bodies… so in a way, I have pieces of those mighty fighters here with me, forever. Would you like to see?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t mind seeing who I might be spending eternity with here.”

The Baron gestured to the ferromancers with a circular motion. And Cev began to rotate slowly. Cev could tell that the slow movement was because of the ferromancers’ attempts to keep a tight magical grip on him. As the Baron began to exposit on the items on display, Cev made his move.

Cev sent a command through his body and his knee joints clicked. His lower right leg detached from its connection at the knee and careened sideways in the direction the ferromancer controlling it was directing. None of the magnet-mages were ready for that. Panic ensued. The mages attempted to secure Cev, but they weren’t sure which way to hold him. Cev twisted around in the arcane grasp of the ferromancers, his mechanical muscles grinding and he twisted his body around.

Cev could feel the grasp of the ferromancers shifting across his body like currents in the ocean. At the right moment, he pushed, moving himself within striking range of one of the mages. Cev’s fingers just barely reached the mage’s face, clamping down with terrifying force upon his nose. The mage screamed as Cev’s fingers squished the nose into a red paste. In a panic, the mage pushed Cev away from himself, causing what was left of the nose to tear free. A spray of blood splattered across Cev’s arm.

“What are you buffoons doing?!” The Baron screamed.

Cev could feel the sudden release of the ferromancer’s control. With one of his arms completely free, he unsheathed the deadly blade stored in his forearm and swung it at the mage closest to the one whose nose he just mutilated. He was out of measure, but the mage reacted in the way Cev had hoped. He pushed Cev away from himself in an effort to dodge the swing, not realizing that the strike would never land. But this only moved Cev towards his intended target—the mage on the opposite side of himself. As he was pushed away, Cev rotated himself like a corkscrew, taking advantage of the panic-weakened grasp of the ferromancers as he brought down his blade across the ferromancer behind him. The blow wasn’t lethal, but still landed. It was enough to send the ferromancer sprawling backwards, bleeding. He too released his grasp.

The Baron seemed to sense the inevitable doom that awaited him if he stayed here. He huffed and puffed as he moved for the door to his chamber, exiting as Cev’s increasingly free body began to paint the floor with the ferromancer’s blood.

Cev stood up from the ground as the last ferromancer’s magic faded along with his life. He counted his blessings that these magnet-mages were not particularly disciplined. But he didn’t linger long on these thoughts—his allies needed help.

He scanned the room as he picked up his detached foot and realized that the collection of weapons the Baron had so proudly bragged about contained some familiar items… Sunblade and Sir Dafern’s shield, Zephyr, Stormweaver, Osten’s shadowfang-type sword, Paulraj’s kinetic staff, Leto’s murmuko, and Shayoon’s ngumi. Cev suspected as much… without their weapons, the death sentence being ushered upon the Archangel’s Heroes was quickened.

There was a hiss and a click as Cev’s foot locked back into his knee joints and the hydraulics that articulated it repressurized. He hurriedly gathered the weapons up and tied them in a bundle using the bloody clothes of one of the devastated magnet-mages as a makeshift wrapping. He shouldered the package and burst into the corridor.

Chapter XXI

Sir Dafern snarled as he wrenched the blade of the rusted iron blade out of the corpse of his enemy. A spray of blood stained his face, the warm liquid providing no reprieve from the hot air of the arena.

This is not a good day, he thought.

The paladin did his best to suppress his panting. The exhaustion was setting in, and he couldn’t show it. Despite there being no visible sun beneath the ash cloud-filled sky, some source of unpleasant radiance beat down upon his head, completely exposed after being robbed of his helmet during his first day in the arena.

Surely The Creator will send me deliverance soon?

The Baron had suddenly begun pouring a deluge of combatants upon the Archangel’s Heroes. The knight took the moment of rest to sit down on the sand, again being careful to look as if he were bored rather than tired. His eyes drifted around the arena, drinking in the throngs of cheering (or booing) spectators. An angry grumble in the knight’s belly reminded him of how much time had passed without decent, nourishing food. With every subsequent fight, the strength of the Archangel’s Heroes waned. Sir Dafern would have to hold out as long as possible to give the others an opportunity to rest and muster what little strength they had left.

He looked down at the rust-coated piece of garbage he’d be given in place of the Sunblade. The subpar weapons and implements of battle intentionally given to them were not a help. They only ushered their doom quicker.

A creaking from the far end of the arena disrupted Sir Dafern’s thoughts. He got back to his feet, taking a deep breath and powering through the wobbliness in his legs.

An armour-clad knight trudged across the sands, a fearsome poleaxe decorated with engravings meant to evoke flames lay in his hands. His darkened armour, reminiscent of scorched wood, clattered with each step. Sir Dafern cracked his neck and faced this new opponent.

“Pathetic knight-slave of the Order,” the armoured warrior spat with disdain.

A few thoughts ran through Sir Dafern’s mind as he thought about what kind of witty, wise, or effective response he could give. In the end, he opted not to spend the energy. He stepped forward, his rusted blade rushing towards what Sir Dafern hoped was a weakpoint between the warrior’s helmet and breastplate.

The black-armoured knight swatted the thrust away with the side of the poleaxe. Sir Dafern’s speed had departed. Following the momentum of his redirected blade, the paladin rolled to the side and evaded a crushing blow from the back of the knight’s weapon.

Sir Dafern got back to his feet as the knight advanced, swinging the poleaxe in a wide arc. Sir Dafern raised his sword to parry, but the rusted weapon shattered into pieces. The edge of the axeblade grazed the paladin’s face as he narrowly stepped backwards to avoid what would have been a decapitating blow.

“Where is your Creator now, paladin?” The knight taunted.

“About to show up,” Sir Dafern grunted as he hurled the broken hilt of the sword at the knight’s head. It clanged off the armour without much effect, but it was enough of a surprise to allow Sir Dafern to rush forward and tackle him to the ground. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Sir Dafern began to beat the knight’s helmet with his own armour-clad fist. The knight’s steel was no match for the fire iron wrapping Sir Dafern’s hand. The frenzied Sir Dafern watched as the dent in the knight’s helmet grew bigger and bigger. He finally stopped, out of breath, when he noticed drops of blood leaking from the holes in the helmet.

Sir Dafern rolled backwards, lying on the ground facing the orange sky, his mounting exhaustion finally forcing him to reveal how tired he was. Panting as he closed his eyes, his mind attemped to focus on prayers to give him his strength back. The pain in his limbs, pangs of hunger, and dehydration-induced headache tore at his resolve.

Sir Dafern wheezed. As he stood back up, the pain from his still-recovering arm shot through his body forced him to wince. Far too much movement for an injury like that. He shifted his gaze towards the viewing box high in the stands where the Baron and his guests of honour—Sabina and Bilus—undoubtedly sat. An entourage of Thunder Legionaries under the banner of the Legion stood unmoving like statues wrought from gold.

Sir Dafern’s legs buckled, forcing him to drop back onto one knee. His body cried out for rest and relief as he began to silently pray to The Creator for deliverance. His hearing dulled as he tried to focus on his prayers. He blocked out the roaring crowds and the taunting, booming voice of the announcer who was most definitely introducing the next combatants. In his current state, Sir Dafern’s next opponents would be his executioners.

Holy King of Angels, leave me not to die in the audience of jeering spectators nor to rot in some silent tomb at the corner of Hohm. Deliver me from the evil that holds me captive and give me the power to strike it down.

A surge of energy began to flow through Sir Dafern. His limbs stopped shaking, and the tenuous grasp on his blade tightened. His vision seemed to sharpen.

Whether it was adrenaline or divine power, Sir Dafern thanked the Creator for the strength. He would continue to fight as long as he could.

Sir Dafern’s vision cleared quick enough to behold an awe-inspiring spectacle. A flash of sky-blue light from amongst the Thunder Legionaries in the audience. Screams rippled across the stands. Spectators violently shifted away from the flashes of light like waves in still water disturbed by a pebble. He watched as a final flash of light sent several legionaries and Vulcanis knights flying through the air as if they were stuffed animals. The blue energy radiating from the fray could only mean one thing.

Without speaking, Sir Dafern rushed toward the edge of the arena, closest to one of the gates that was used to access the fighting pit. As if right on cue, something dropped from the stands above, summoning a whirling cloud of ash and sand. A shape moved through the cloud invisibly, distorting the swirling particulate. Then it appeared with a shimmer; the burly armoured figure of Cev.

“Cev!” Sir Dafern exclaimed with glee. His suspicions were correct. The source of the flashes was indeed from the flashing blades of Cev, alight with divine fire.

Cev spent little time speaking. From the bundle strapped across his back, Cev dropped a familiar sword, its scabbard heat tinted and scratched with the signs of battle. The Sunblade. As Sir Dafern began to strap the sheathed weapon to himself, Cev dropped his shield as well.

“I have to find Sabina and Bilus before they escape,” Cev’s buzzing voice rattled. “I’ve been causing… a bit of disturbance. No doubt they’re ready to escape. Can you free the others?”

“Now that the Sunblade is back in my hand, yes. Thank you Cev.”

Cev nodded. “Once you free the others, try to make it onto the ramparts at the top of the arena. I’m sure we’ll all run into each other.”

Sir Dafern nodded, and Cev thrust the bundle into Sir Dafern’s hands. With other shimmer, Cev demanifested into nothingness, vanishing before his eyes.

Sir Dafern drew the Sunblade, its edge glowing like hammered metal. With a twirl, he sunk the blade into the bars of the gate, cutting a hole big enough for them to leap through. He hurried through the dark, torch-lit halls of the arena’s guts, Sir Dafern recounting the path that they made him walk when he was forced into the arena earlier. Eventually he found his way into a chamber where the others were.

One by one, the Archangel’s Heroes perked up, clambering against the bars at the sight of Sir Dafern.

“You’re still alive!” Osten chattered excitedly.

“By the grace of The Creator, I am,” Sir Dafern spoke resolutely, not sparing a moment to bask in the hope filling the room. He set to work stabbing his swordpoint into locks, melting them into slag so that the occupants of each cell could emerge.

The Archangel’s Heroes wasted no time grabbing their weaponry and gear from the bundle Sir Dafern laid out.

“We need to move quickly,” Sir Dafern called out loudly as the others regeared. “Cev is here and is hot on the heels of Sabina and Bilus. They were probably waiting to spectate our deaths in the arena. But now that things aren’t under control for them anymore, they’re looking to escape. We cannot let them escape, and especially not with the demonium key on them still.”

Osten and Shayoon stared daggers into one still-locked cell, its interior dark but not dark enough to obscure the figure of Hyacinth, who stood against the bars.

“No shot this loser is still alive,” Shayoon groaned.

“Hey! You have to let me out! You- you can’t leave me here!” Hyacinth whined and protested.

“Uh, yeah we can,” Osten snorted, turning away from the cell.

“And we will,” Shayoon grinned, while sticking his tongue out. He sauntered away from the cell in Osten’s wake.

“Where’s Ludmilla?” Leto asked, gingerly picking up his battered murmuko.

“And Softy,” Jado added.

“I’m not sure. They must have taken her to a different holding area considering she’s not a fighter,” Paulraj said, “and to them, Softy’s just an animal.”

“Might be for the best,” Osten muttered worriedly.

Sir Dafern watched as Jado’s face flushed as worry overcame him. The alien tentacles that held the form of his left arm writhed.

“Okay. Let’s do what we can. We have to get to the upper levels,” Sir Dafern spoke with a determined tone, hiding his worry for where Ludmilla may have gone.

“It’s a maze down here in the lower levels of the arena,” Paulraj said. “I’m not sure which direction to go to get anywhere.”

“Then we’ll stay tight, watch each other’s backs, and not get separated.” Sir Dafern adjusted his arms under his armour and realized the pain in his injured arm was gone. “We’re the Archangel’s Heroes. We’ve gotten out of worse.”

This was a good day after all, Sir Dafern thought. Let’s see how much better it can get.

Chapter XXII

The Archangel’s Heroes barreled through the colosseum’s underbelly, vaguely trying to move towards areas that seemed more elevated than others. But this massive structure was a hundred years of construction clogged up by another hundred years of use. Passageways were blocked with piles of refuse, stacks of cages filled with exotic and dangerous creatures, and racks of armour, weapons, and other supplies. Little else stopped the team from moving, with every squad of guards swiftly defeated by their concentrated efforts.

Paulraj was exhilarated. This was the first time since the Legerian War that it felt like the heroes were truly in sync with each other. They was a sense of flow between them, as if they could read each other’s thoughts. Few words were exchanged between them when a decision was to be made, like which path to take down a branching corridor.

Their progress came to a screeching halt when they found themselves in a large chamber, with scorching heat emanating from a cage suspended over the center. Paulraj had to raise his arm to shield his face from the heat, but his squinting eyes were able to make out the figure of a giant scorpion within the cage. It moved in jerking motions as a result of its bulky carapace that seemed to be chipped from black stone. Glowing molten rock dripped from the cracks in the stony shell, and from the tip of the stinger curling from its tail. The drippings of magma fell onto the bars of the cage, but it didn’t melt. Most of the magma dripped off into a cistern-like hole below the suspended cage.

“A beautiful creature, isn’t it?” A familiar, menacing voice like creaking metal filled the room.

“Iron Face! Show yourself,” Leto called out.

“This is an obsidian scorpion,” Iron Face’s voice continued to speak. Paulraj traced the source of the voice to the side of the room, where Iron Face and several of his students stood on an overhang. A single set of stairs led up to the platform, but it was high enough that the ferromancers would have enough time to launch an attack at a strong angle.

“It’s a naturally occurring golem. Immortal. Nigh unkillable. This one is named Sillin, a name it acquired after killing a crowd-favourite gladiator from Jinifar. After Sillin the man fell, Sillin the obsidian scorpion became the new crowd favourite.”

Iron Face raised his hand towards the cage. The cage creaked and rattled suddenly. “It cost a fortune to have this cage made for Sillin. It’s fire iron.” The metal mask on Iron Face curled the edges of its mouth into an exaggerated smile.

With a cacophony of bending metal, the fire iron cage around the obsidian scorpion twisted and tore apart, like a child pulling apart a stack of wet paper. The obsidian scorpion clambered haphazardly out of the cage as it fell onto the ground.

Paulraj readied his staff, facing the obisidian scorpion as Iron Face’s guffaws filled the air. “Don’t you see my power, Archangel’s Heroes? The strongest metal on Legere bends to my will! Does this not fill you with despair? Your mightiest heroes are nothing to me!”

Jado acted first. Paulraj felt the wind swirling around Jado’s feet before he moved. The air swirled as Jado rocketed upwards towards Iron Face and his fellow ferromancers. Iron Face screamed with malignant glee, one hand splayed outward as the other remained grasping his fork-like staff. From within his robs, a cloud of metal shrapnel burst forward, enveloping Jado like swarming bees. Jado’s blade swirled around himself, lightning flashing off of its thundersteel edge as it deflected each piece of metal.

It wouldn’t be long until Jado was overwhelmed by the metal. Paulraj turned to Leto and Shayoon and nodded. The two Southern Monks nodded back before rushing towards the stairs to the other ferromancers.

Paulraj turned his attention back to the obisidian scorpion, which was lashing its tail and clicking its claws in a display of intimidation. Sir Dafern raised the glowing blade of his sword, with Osten mirroring him with his own weapon.

“Let us deal with this overheated excuse of an arachnid quickly,” Paulraj said.

The three heroes moved in unison. Osten grit his teeth as he silently commanded Kurai to erupt from the shadows behind the scorpion. Kurai’s form coalesced into the form of a crab, gripping one claw on the stinger while the other attempted to pin its thorax to the ground. Sir Dafern charged forward while Paulraj spoke words of enchantment over what objects he could find.

Paulraj’s staff glowed as he channeled his magic into a trio of heavy crates. He didn’t know what was inside, but the weight of them assured him they would serve as good projectiles. He finished his incantation, sending the three boxes sailing into the scorpion’s head, which was an easy target from Kurai’s grappling. As the boxes slammed into the monster’s head, the rocky carapace of the scorpion cracked, causing gouts of superheated lava to spew forth like an opened vein. Sir Dafern halted his charge, raising his shield to deflect the molten rock.

The scorpion thrashed about, and Kurai’s claw slipped forward into the open wound where the obsidian scorpion’s head was. As the shadowy claw dipped into the lava, Kurai vibrated with what was approximately a cry of pain. Kurai released the scorpion from his grasp, allowing the scorpion to spin around, its tail stretching out to strike across the room. Sir Dafern, Paulraj, and Osten ducked, flattening themselves onto the ground to dodge the scorpion’s tail and the lava spraying from the stinger.

As Paulraj got back to his feet, he watched as the obsidian scorpion pinned Kurai to the side of the chamber with its own claws. It thrust its stinger into the center of Kurai’s crustacean form before injecting an exorbitant amount of lava. Kurai writhed and squirmed, him form melting away like ice in the sun.

“Kurai did not like that one bit,” Osten shuddered. “I don’t think he’s coming back for a while.”

“Uh oh,” Paulraj said. “We could really use Kurai’s help for a few more minutes.”

“Yeah well I’d love for you to visit the Shadowkeep and convince him real quick,” Osten said sarcastically.

The obsidian scorpion’s lava-bleeding wounds darkened, the orange and yellow glow of molten rock giving way to the dark-coloured stone covering the rest of its body. The rock shifted and cracked, forcing itself into the shape of the scorpion’s head.

“By the light of Hyalus, the thing can regenerate…” Sir Dafern breathed.

“Uh… didn’t Iron Face say it’s unkillable?” Paulraj said with worry.

“Nothing in Legere is unkillable,” Osten said. “Hard to kill, sure. All we have to do is find the right way to kill it.”

Paulraj looked at the obsidian scorpion as its stepped across the room on its eight rock-encrusted legs. Its claws snapped, and its jaws ground against each other. The glowing orange light of its multiple eyes seemed to stare into Paulraj’s soul.

Then, something else caught Paulraj’s vision. From the corner of his view, the glowing orange Sunblade in Sir Dafern’s hand. It was the same colour as the scorpion’s innards.

The scorpion thrust a claw forward. The heroes scattered as the claw embedded itself into the stone wall behind where they once stood. They had but a moment before the monster freed itself.

“Sir Dafern!” Paulraj yelled to the knight. “This thing is clearly magical. It can probably regenerate from almost any wound we apply externally. I think we need to hurt it from within!”

“What are you saying, Paulraj?”

“I think… I think if we heat it up too much, it won’t like it!” Paulraj pointed to Sir Dafern’s sword.

Sir Dafern looked at his blade for a moment, then at the obsidian scorpion—which had now dislodged its claw and was turning about to attack again.

“I don’t have a better idea, so let’s try it. What’s the worse that could happen?” Sir Dafern flourished the Sunblade and readied his shield.

“We make it stronger, maybe?” Paulraj offered.

“Not helpful,” Sir Dafern responded.

The monstrous scorpion had its attention on Osten, who was currently sprinting across the room in an impressive display of acrobatics, narrowly avoiding both stinger and claw. Sir Dafern took advantage of the distraction and ran to the scorpion’s side. The scalding heat coming off of the creature must have been incredible. Paulraj watched as the paladin bravely jumped onto the back of the scorpion and plunged his blade straight into the center of its shell.

That got a response. The obsidian scorpion stopped its pursuit of Osten and flailed its claws in an attempt to swipe Sir Dafern from its back. Sir Dafern maneuvered around the embedded sword, keeping at least one hand on its handle while dodging the scorpion’s grasp.

It was working. Or so it seemed. Paulraj saw the internal glow of the scorpion getting brighter, more yellow. He had to help Sir Dafern finish the job. Paulraj rushed to one of the boxes that had dented the scorpion’s head earlier and began to enchant it again. He magically moved it upwards and towards the scorpion, sending it into orbit around Sir Dafern. Sweat dripped from Paulraj’s brow as he concentrated, deftly sending the levitating box into the scorpion’s claws as it attempted to strike Sir Dafern.

Sir Dafern saw what Paulraj was doing with the interposing box and pushed his sword deeper into the scorpion. The scorpion buckled more and more, forcing Paulraj’s concentration to increase. A headache began to creep in at the strain. He tried not to become distracted at the signs of success: the scorpion’s stony skin began to turn orange and even bubble in some places.

The heat of the Sunblade was taking its toll on the monster. The scorpion’s body began to bend in ways it wasn’t supposed to. Its stinger tail became flaccid as the rock giving it its shape melted. Sir Dafern screamed in pain as the heat coming from the scorpion must have been well beyond anything he had ever experienced.

A few more seconds…

The scorpion’s shape was barely holding together. Its rock exoskeleton had to have been almost the same temperature as its innards.

“Get him out!” Paulraj yelled to Osten. The Southern Monk leaped over the pile of slag that was once the obsidian scorpion, tackling Sir Dafern off of it before he could sink into it. Globular lava melted onto the floor of the chamber as Sir Dafern gasped for air next to Osten.

Paulraj released the box from his arcane grip and relaxed. He leaned on his kinetic rod and took a moment to observe the room. The damage of the bucking scorpion was significant. Motes of molten rock had been flung across the room, melting through the rock walls and other objects. Paulraj had been lucky a piece hadn’t been sent careening into him.

The mage took one more second to breathe before making his way to Sir Dafern. The paladin’s face was reddened and blistered—with his helmet lost, his face was the most exposed part of his body to the searing heat coming from the molten monster. He grimaced and whimpered with every movement. His mouth moved in an attempt to say something, but the pain halted his voice each time.

“Don’t say anything,” Osten said, “you did good, fire knight.” The Southern Monk helped Sir Dafern onto his feet, slinging one arm over his shoulders.

“We did very well, Sir Dafern! That was amazing. But yes, rest now.” Paulraj turned to Osten. “You should stay with him. Make your way to the upper levels like the original plan. Try to avoid fighting for now. I’m going to find Leto and the others and help them take down Iron Face.”

Osten nodded. “Gaak, that’s a good call. Without Kurai it’s probably best. Just get an extra ass kick in on that magnet-mage for me, would you?”

Paulraj smiled. “For you, Osten? I’ll get in two.”

Chapter XXIII

The swirling maelstrom of metal fragments orbited Iron Face like incensed bees pouring from their disturbed nest. Flashes of lightning arcing off of Jado’s sword illuminated the hallway, revealing the grimace on Iron Face’s mask.

Leto’s murmuko lay somewhere on the ground behind him, mixed in with the bodies of the pummeled ferromancers that had accompanied Iron Face. Both Shayoon and himself were disarmed by the arcane powers of the mages, but their Southern Monk training had fashioned their entire bodies into weapons. That was sufficient to deal with the mages, which didn’t get back up after a well-placed punch to the head.

Iron Face snarled and barked almost like a dog, his shredding cloud of metal acting like his fangs. Deep purple light mixed with the flashing electricity of Jado’s thundersteel as the alien tentacles erupting from the left side of his body extended outwards. With a flick, they maneuvered themselves into a claw-like formation, slashing forwards and creating a sucking rift that pulled much of the shrapnel into itself.

Leto carefully stepped forward, following Jado’s movements. Slowly but surely, Iron Face was forced further and further down the hallway they fought in, with the ravenous void summoned by Jado’s tendrils devouring more and more of the mage’s weapons. When the moment was right and enough of the swarm had been annihilated, Leto and Shayoon would rush the mage and put him down.

Iron Face surprised them by suddenly turning to run. The heroes scrambled after him. Leto’s mind raced, wondering if they should run backwards to grab their weapons. But pushing the advantage on a mage as powerful as Iron Face was necessary.

“Careful!” Jado warned as Leto rushed past him.

Leto’s sprint brought him around a corner and up a short flight of stairs. At the top, a chamber with sunlight pouring in from high above. They were still underground, but some sort of air shaft—perhaps used to lift supplies to and from the arena’s depths—formed a hole in the ceiling. The length of the shaft suggested they were still well beneath the volcanic surface of the land.

Iron Face stood atop a battered sheet of metal, his hand raised as he willed it to rise. He was attempting to fly out of the hole to safety.

Leto sprinted forward and jumped. In that moment, the lifetime of martial arts that defined Leto bore fruit. The Southern Monk sailed through the air, his fingers catching the side of the metal. Up close, Leto could see it was a door wrought from iron, or at least it used to be. Leto’s weight forced the door to teeter, and Iron Face had to concentrate to correct it. That was enough for Leto. He hoisted himself upwards and grabbed Iron Face’s leg before pushing himself away from the door. Iron Face screeched as he fell.

Leto twisted his body for the moment he was in mid-air. With a peculiar grace and elegance only someone as burly as Leto could achieve, he landed feet first on the ground, slamming the body of Iron Face into the floor like a sack of fruit.

A rattling filled the room as Iron Face’s mask rolled acros the floor, having been dislodged from his true face. Leto knelt down with one knee on the mage’s ribs. There was a crack as his ribs splintered beneath him.

Iron Face gasped, his unmasked face revealing someone who had been marred by exposure to countless arcane hazards and projectiles. His open mouth revealed crooked teeth and a tongue scarred by inhaling arcane toxins. The ferromancer had truly seen much, but his career in service to the Baron ended here.

With three precise and powerful strikes, Leto’s fist caved Iron Face’s head in.

The Southern Monk took a moment to breathe. The clattering and rustling of what must have been Jado and Shayoon catching up filled the room.

“We got him,” Leto said, turning his gaze upwards to find the source of the sounds. “He wasn’t so tou—”

Leto’s words on his tongue. Surrounding him was an array of soldiers, clad in glittering gold with weapons that sparked with blue arcs. Thunder legionaries.

Bilus stood at the head of the soldiers, his magic-forged arm smoldering and sizzling with incredible power.

“Even the great Iron Face is forced back by the Archangel’s Heroes,” Bilus said with a scoff. “Pathetic. It was a mistake trusting the Baron.”

Jado and Shayoon entered the chamber from the staircase, stumbling to a halt as they found themselves enveloped by the thunder legionaries.

“I do my best to prepare and give myself every advantage,” Bilus announced. He raised his gauntlet, the strips of metal that formed its silhouette vibrating as he gave a signal to his soldiers.

They parted and dragged a familiar figure forward. It was Ludmilla, and tied to her waist was the snarling, gagged, and chained body of Softy.

“Typically I bring assurances with me wherever I go,” Bilus addressed Leto as Jado and Shayoon took position behind him. “I must admit, the way things went in Walwhite was very sloppy. ‘I must do better,’ I thought.”

“Ludmilla! Softy!” Jado’s eyes shimmered with the otherworldly light of the Void.

“Hang on,” Leto said, stretching his arm out to bar Jado from stepping forward. He turned to Bilus. “You coward! Face us head on if you call yourself an honourable soldier of your Imperator!”

The legionaries pushed Ludmilla forward, causing her to stumble and land on her knees.

Bilus raised his arcane cestus and positioned his fingers around Ludmilla’s head. “Here’s a deal. Jado, you seem to have your weapon still. Kill one of the Southern Monks and I’ll release the critter. Kill the other and the dun can go.”

The muffled growls of Softy filled the quiet moments in the chamber. Ludmilla wept quietly.

Bilus’ mouth curled upwards into a cruel smile. “Your inaction will kill the two here. Your precious pet and this innocent wench.”

Sweat dripped from Leto’s chin. “Jado, let’s think straight for a moment,” he began.

“YOU COWARD!” Jado screamed. The mesmerizing patterns of light flickering along his tentacles moved faster and faster. “YOU are a VILE SERVANT OF EVIL! It will be an ETERNITY until the Archangel’s Heroes turn against one another!”

“You would say all of that even in the face of the incentive?” Bilus replied.

“You… filth…” Jado bared his teeth.

“Yo, listen Bilus,” Shayoon piped up, taking a calm stance and a step forward. “You’ve gone too far I think. Let her go, she’s just a random girl man. No need to mix her up in this.”

“No, you’ve gone too far, Southern Monk!” Bilus’ hand flared threateningly. A bolt of lightning snaked out from the side of its metal strips, striking the dusty floor and leaving a patch of glass. Ludmilla gave a small shriek. “Watch yourself! Get back or I’ll fry her brain and all she’ll be good for is baiting carnites!”

Shayoon took a slow step backwards, giving a nervous look at Jado.

“Osten was right…” Ludmilla managed to speak through her tears. “I was a burden after all.”

Leto looked at Ludmilla with sorrow. He wanted to offer comfort in the moment, but her life was on the line. There was no time to waste on words.

He turned away from Ludmilla and towards Jado. The blade in his hand trembled. Tears dripped from his eyes still aglow with alien luminance, floating upwards into the air as they spilled over his eyelids.

Leto clenched his jaw. All the power roiling within Jado and no way to use it in this circumstance.

“Jado.” Leto spoke. “Me. You have to do it for the girl.”

“Leto… I can’t—we’re a team. We—we—we fought in the damn war together,” Jado sputtered. “You can’t die for… for a hostage!”

“Jado listen.” Leto’s powerful hands grabbed Jado’s shoulders. “We’re all heroes for a reason. It’s because we’re all willing to put our lives on the line for those who need protection. I knew what I was getting into the day I left the monastery. This is the moment I’ve been prepared for my whole life.”

“Yeah I mean me too I guess,” Shayoon said with a grin. “I mean, I always pictured dying selfless and sacrificially at an old age surrounded by beautiful women, but this might be okay too.”

“But… but there’s no way we can be sure Bilus will even let her go,” Jado said.

“Shayoon, once my body hits the floor, make sure the hostage-taking moron over there releases Ludmilla and lets her walk over here. Before letting Jado kill you.”

“Bruh. Are we really doing this? Like for real for real?” Shayoon asked. “I mean, I guess I’ll do it but damn.”

Leto released Jado and took a step back.

“Let’s be heroes, shall we?” Leto smirked.

Blood sprayed across Jado’s face.

Chapter XXIV

Bilus gasped. Blood sprayed from his neck across the room, showering several of his soldiers and the heroes. Slowly, a long blade flicked into appearance, the base of which emerged from Bilus’ neck. The rest of Cev uncloaked from behind Bilus as he pulled the blade free and kicked the thunder legionary to the ground where he quickly expired.

“Sorry it took a bit longer than expected,” Cev said.

The room erupted into chaos. Half of Bilus’ men attempted to escape while the others attempted to attack the heroes. Cev rushed forward, enveloping Ludmilla in his arms and dashing towards the others. His metal body deflected the attacks of the legionaries, protecting Ludmilla and Softy.

“Holy gaak Cev you have no idea what kind of stupid-ass idea we almost did there!” Shayoon cursed as he wrenched an empty sconce from the wall to use as defense against a legionary’s spear.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. This place isn’t the easiest to navigate,” Cev replied as he released Ludmilla. He turned to face the legionaries fruitlessly poking at him from behind. With one clean motion, he separated the legionaries’ heads from their necks. “I’m actually a bit disappointed that I only found Bilus and not Sabina.”

Leto front kicked a legionary in the middle of his chest, sending him into the wall with a sickening crunch. That was enough to break the morale of the remaining legionaries, who fled down an adjacent hallway.

Cev knelt down next to Jado, Leto, and Shayoon as they collapsed onto the ground, the immediate danger now gone.

“Everyone okay?” Cev asked.

“Yeah,” the simultaneous groan rose from the rest.

Ludmilla held Softy tight, but the stoff broke free and ran to Jado’s side.

Cev took a moment to bask in relief. “Good to see you all are still standing yourselves. Although I recommend weapons the next time you try to pick a fight with the Legion of Thunder.”

“And what would you recommend against a group of magnet-mages?” Leto responded.

“Uh…” Cev replied sheepishly, thinking back to mere hours ago where he had been held at the mercy of them.

Leto stood back up, flashing a grin. “Well, perhaps we engaged the Legion knowing you were right behind us.”

Cev would have chuckled, but his ocular sensors caught the movements of Softy. The scareed white stoff was repeatedly shoving the bent over body of Jado. An aura of panic wafted off of the small creature’s mannerisms.

“jabo? jabo!!”

Cev approached Jado and could immediately tell something was wrong. The air grew stale, and the space around the Isutan swordsman seemed to shimmer.

“Jado. What’s wrong?” Cev inquired.

Jado’s head slowly lifted. His eyes were aflame with a swirling light. His face was contorted into a painful grimace, and veins aglow with otherworldly colour forked across his cheeks.

“Jado?!” Any normal person would have recoiled in fear at Jado’s frightful visage, but Cev rushed forward to aid him. His powerful machine arms lifted Jado to his feet, steadying him at his shoulders.

Jado screamed at this movement, and the bundle of tentacles that substituted his arm writhed. One struck the side of Cev, but he shrugged it off.

“It… it… I’m so hungry,” Jado wailed in agony.

“Fight it, Jado!” Cev clasped Jado’s head in his hands. “You’re not a monster!”

“I… I’m sorry…” Jado pushed through his words, “I… arghhh!”

The tentacles writhed, the deep twilight colours that ran along their surfaces flicked in an alien manner. They spasmed suddenly, and a bolt of energy sailed through the air before making contact with one of the chamber’s walls. As it connected, the section of wall crumbled inward on itself, compacting into a ball the size of a melon before sailing into the center of Jado’s tentacles.

“This is what I was afraid of!” Jado yelled in a moment of clarity. “It… the thing inside me got a taste of things and now it wants more! It will gorge itself until it’s full. RUN, NOW.”

“We’re not leaving you behind,” Cev said, repositioning to try and pick Jado up.

“Cev,” Leto interrupted. “You’re the only one fast enough to try and catch Sabina before she escapes. Focus on finding her. We’ll take care of Jado.”

Cev nodded. “Fine. Look out for each other. Next time we run into each other hopefully it will be to stick together.”

As Cev turned away, Leto scooped Jado up. The Second Voice scolded Cev.

You must recognize the impact your ally is having on space around him.

Yes, I do.

And you choose to ignore it?

I’m not leaving anyone behind. This entire adventure has been a mess. Let’s at least end off all together.

If you don’t leave the nakai behind, there might be no one to end off the adventure with.

Cev ignored the rest of the Second Voice’s words and focused on tracking down Sabina. He traced the faint evidence of foot traffic left behind from the fleeing Thunder Legionaries, letting nothing slow him down. His towering form moved with unimaginable speed, shattering archways where the passageway’s doors were too small.

With every passing second, panic threatened to set in. The Second Voice held those thoughts at bay with constant assurances and analytical advice. But time was running out. Did the Legion have another space folder somewhere? Perhaps they were making their way to a secret underground passage. Was Sabina even still in the arena? Perhaps Vulcanis had a harbour that backed onto the Wattamp Ocean. Could she be boarding a ship to Hyperius’ Palace?

Finally, Cev found himself standing back on the upper levels of the arena’s walls. As the cloud-veiled sun illuminated his form, he looked around and saw a nearly empty arena. The Vulcanis guards must have quickly ushered everyone from the arena following Sir Dafern’s dramatic escape. He quickly focused his vision, telescopically analyzing the seats where Sabina had been spectating earlier. Of course, it was empty.

A hiss of steam emerged from Cev’s skull as he sighed in frustration. There wasn’t a single Thunder Legionary in sight. He glanced quickly back down the passage he had emerged from, dreading the possibility of needing to worm his way back through the arena’s labyrinthine innards.

Something deep under the arena rumbled.

What was that?!

As Cev quickly adjusted to the tremours, the rattle of a dish clattering to the ground nearby met his synthetic ears. He investigated where the sound came from, and saw the haggard, bleeding form of the Baron stumbling down some steps.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if I was going to see you again,” Cev said, turning to face the man who had held him prisoner not long ago.

The Baron leaned against the side of the stairs, staring at Cev for a moment. Cev expected fear in his eyes, but whatever had forced him into such a weary, injured state had taken his ability to panic.

Baron von Vulcanis stumbled, his rotund body slamming into the floor. He let out something of a gasp, wheeze, and cry of pain all at once. Cev analyzed the Baron’s body—his torso was punctured, in between the bottom set of ribs. The laceration was a stab wound. Scorch marks blackened the Baron’s fine clothes around the bleeding wound; this must have been inflicted by a thundersteel weapon. Significant electrical burns beneath the skin and across the Baron’s internal organs were assured—he had not long to live.

Cev couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the blubbering Baron, whose weakness and helplessness made him all but naked before Cev. But he turned away, since he couldn’t afford a distraction. The Baron was no threat anyway.

“I’m just passing through, Baron. I’ll leave you be.‘”

“W-wait!” the Baron coughed. “Don’t leave m-me here! Not… not l-like th-this.”

Cev ignored the pleas at began to descend back into the stairway, to the depths of the arena.

“I… wait, Cev! COUGH COUGH I… I can tell you where COUGH the Cloudlands Princess is going!”

Cev stopped in his tracks. He didn’t turn around just yet. The Second Voice began to listen carefully, analyzing the cadence of the Baron’s voice for the telltale signs of lies in desperation.

“That’s who you… y-you are looking for, right? COUGH”

The Baron held his hand over his wound. “She did this to me. Her and h-her soldiers. COUGH”

He is not lying.

“I should have never trusted… COUGH her,” the Baron continued, wheezing in pain. “The daughter of Tiamat… wh-what was I thinking, striking COUGH a deal with her.”

“Heh. Something we have in common.”

“I know I’m paying for my mistakes COUGH and I… I know y-you care not. But I refuse t-to let my legacy be one of b-being used by Sabina. COUGH”

“Enough blabbering, Baron von Vulcanis. If you want to help me find Sabina, then do it quickly before you waste your last breaths on words.”

“Get me to my throne.”

Cev reached down and lifted the massive body of the Baron with ease. He carried the man, with his direction, to his throne. An opulent, wide seat—sufficient for his girthy frame—carved from platwood and inlaid with a variety of precious stones.

Cev dumped the Baron onto his throne. “However you want to help, do it quickly,” Cev spoke as another rumble shook the arena’s foundations. “Something tells me your precious arena isn’t going to stand much longer.”

The Baron reached for the jewels on the armrest. He tapped them in a specific order, and in a flash a table flickered into view before the throne.

A greybox hidden within the throne… clever.

The table had a number of maps, contracts, and other paperwork on it. The Baron’s signet also rested on the table, alongside a loaded pistol and a high stack of glittering Phovezilan Marks. Cev picked up the pistol and snapped it in half before tossing it away.

The Baron reached for a rolled-up piece of parchment and held it out to Cev.

“You probably would expect Sabina to return to the Cloudlands,” the Baron spoke, blood dripping from his lips as he coughed. “But no. She’s traveling Northward along the coast to the spot indicated on the map. She’s been given command of one of my ships—the only kind build to withstand the Firelands’ coast. Her and her men have the authority to commandeer it until they reach this rendezvous point with a larger contingent of Thunder Legionaries. From there… well, I’m not entirely sure… but I overheard her saying something about scouring the mountains.”

Cev took the scroll from the Baron. He had no reason to lie. He was not long for this world, and surely he had no reason to remain loyal to Sabina to the end.

“Before you leave, Cev… free me from my misery. It’s all I ask for in exchange.”

The Baron slumped in his throne, his face contorted by the pain radiating across his insides. He gazed into Cev’s visor with genuine desperation.

Cev nodded. “Very well. I wish you would have made better decision on who you allied with earlier. Perhaps in another life.”

The Baron gave a weak smile. “Heh. At least I meet my end at the blade of one of the Archangel’s Heroes.”

Cev’s blade emerged from his wrist. It flashed as he swung. It was over quickly… the Baron wouldn’t have felt a thing. As Cev walked away from the throne, the top half slid down, along with the Baron’s head.

Chapter XXV

The walls of the arena wobbled, emulating the shaky construction a child might create with their toy blocks. Dust flew into the air as portions of the arena’s walls collapsed on themselves, vanishing into nothingness.

The ravenous, flailing tentacles of Jado refused to slow down their gorging of the surrounding area. Leto carried the human portion of Jado in his arms, racing through the hallways of the Vulcanis arena with Shayoon, Ludmilla, and Softy in tow.

“Uh Leto,” Shayoon called out, “I’m not sure if this is the right way out.”

Leto didn’t respond. There was no time to argue with his comrade. His mind raced at the same rate as his legs as he dashed—could he stop the Void within Jado from eating away at this place? What difference would it really make if they could escape from the arena’s walls?

Leto’s thoughts were interrupted as one of the flailing tentacles planted itself in his face. The sensation was unpleasant—icy cold, irritating like touching poison ivy, a nauseating vibration. It took everything Leto had not to drop Jado there and then.

“Jado, I need you to focus!” Leto shouted as they ran. “Tame this thing. You’re a Hero of the Archangel!”

The swirling darkness radiating from Jado’s eyes withheld whether or not Jado comprehended Leto’s words. His face continued to twitch, distorting under the immense pangs of hunger no mortal was ever meant to feel.

Jado convulsed so violently and suddenly that he fell out of Leto’s hands. There on the hallway floor he twitched and screamed.

“Jado?!” Leto called out, his helplessness obvious in this moment. Behind him, Shayoon and Ludmilla stared in horror at the sight. It took all her strength to restrain Softy from running to the side of her friend.

In a fleeting moment of clarity, Jado’s eyes—radiating darkness and the presence profoundly unfathomable entity—focused on Leto.

“Run.”

In that moment, Leto felt a primal sort of fear that was extremely foreign to him. All of his courage, his unwavering focus hammered into him from years of training at the Southern Monastery—it all vanished in that moment. Leto turned, scooped up Ludmilla and Softy in his arms, and began to run back down the hall that they had just come from.

Shayoon sprinted after Leto. He was wise enough to recognize that if Leto had chosen to start running, the best plan was to follow.

The wisdom of fleeing made itself known quickly. The hall illuminated itself with a strobing purple light that threatened to disorient them with every flash. Leto could feel the breath being sucked from his lungs—through his body. The air in the hall began to rush violently backward, slowing down the Hero’s progress as if they were trying to push through a headwind.

“Hey!” A voice called out from the far end of the hall. From the torchlit illumination, Leto could make out the familiar silhouette of Paulraj’s robes. They fluttered violently in the wind as the mage steadied himself against the wall with one hand. His rod flickered for a moment as he animated a rope to snake its way down the hallway, ending in front of Leto’s face.

The rope was a welcome aid. Leto could feel the environment changing in an indescribable way.

“Everyone grab the rope. That means you too, Softy.” As Leto helped the others to the rope, he realized what sensation he was feeling. The gravity in the hallway was shifting so that behind them was down.

Leto and the other gripped the rope tightly.

“I’m guessing that’s Jado further down the hall?” Paulraj yelled as the others clambered up the rope. The rushing air around them sounded like a violent windstorm.

“Yeah,” Leto replied, straining his lungs to make himself heard above the racket. “And I’m not sure if it’s going to stop! Usually Disruptis would be able to handle this.”

“Sluhz!” Shayoon exclaimed as a nearby brick in the wall dislodged itself and was flung down the hallway into the flickering light of the Void.

“What about Sir Dafern?” Leto said. “Couldn’t he seal away that thing with his paladin powers?”

“Sir Dafern is badly hurt,” Paulraj said. “Even if we could find him in this place, he’s in no condition to do… whatever it takes to deal with this… situation.”

“Any other good ideas?” Shayoon asked. “I think I’ve had enough bad ones for the day!”

“This whole place is going to come crashing down if we don’t stop Jado,” Paulraj said. “And if we can’t stop this… then our only choice is to run!”

“Then we run!” Leto called out. Decisively, he pushed Ludmilla in front of him, Softy still clutched in her arms. The heroes pushed further away from the roiling hunger of the creature within Jado. As they progressed, gravity returned to normal and the air pressure calmed until they were finally running rather than climbing.

As they barged through a door, the shining light of day appeared before them. Hope filled Leto—they had escaped!

A cloud of dust exploded through the halls behind them suddenly. The walls and ground shook with such force that they all fell to the ground. Behind them, the ground began to give way as the entirety of the arena around them began to sink into the ground itself. Leto watched for a moment in shock as the entire arena around them disappeared into the dense cloud of dust below. Flashes of purple light from within the depths revealed the source of the massive disturbance.

The Voidspawn within Jado was having its feast.

The remnants of the arena’s construction that the heroes stood on wobbled. Leto could feel it giving way well before it began to crumble. Without thinking, he grabbed Ludmilla by the arm and threw her forward. It was no elegant throw, and he might have dislocated her arm.

He watched as she landed a few meters in front of him, on more stable rock—the last thing he managed to see before the rock beneath him dropped him and his friends into the rapidly growing pit below.

Chapter XXVI

Sir Dafern and Osten hobbled forward.

“Is that an earthquake?” Sir Dafern weakly asked.

“I dunno,” Osten said, the paladin’s arm over his shoulder, “but I’m not sure if I wanna stick around to find out. I think we’re close to getting back to the top of the walls. Gaak, I can’t wait to have a change of scenery. We’ve been in this forsaken arena long enough.”

As they took another step, the ground shook explosively. Around them, the stone brickwork tore apart as the arena collapsed. Sir Dafern watched in awe as what must have been Vulcanis’ crown jewel for many years was enveloped by the enormous sinkhole below.

Sir Dafern surveyed the devastation. He noticed the light of the Void within the darkness of the hole, and dread filled his heart as he realized what must have been the source of this calamity. But something else caught his eye. Not far from them, the other Archangel’s Heroes emerged from crumbling stonework. He watched Ludmilla getting thrown by Leto before the four heroes fell into the darkness below.

“NOOO!” Sir Dafern screamed, watching his friends disappear from view. He dropped to his knees, the pain of his blistered face mixing with his emotions as his face contorted in a scream.

Osten grabbed Sir Dafern and pulled him away from the edge of the hole. “Get a grip!” Osten grunted, “We’re still not have here. We have to-”

The ground rocked as the pit expanded, bringing the section of the wall they were on into freefall. Sir Dafern slid across the falling piece of stone. With all the strength he could muster, he reached for a misaligned brick and snagged it in his hands. He hung from the brick, his weakened body struggling to prevent him from careening into the hole. He heard a scream as Osten tumbled down the opposite edge of the rock. Under normal circumstances, Kurai would emerge to catch Osten from falling, but the shadow creature never appeared, for it was still reeling from the obsidian scorpion encounter.

Sir Dafern watched in vain as his friend plummeted. Tears streamed down his cheeks as the strength of his grip wobbled. He couldn’t give up. From the corner of his eye he saw Ludmilla scrambling to higher ground, a visibly distraught Softy in her arms. That was enough to focus him for a moment. Leto sacrificed himself to get her to safety. He had to honour that.

With newfound determination, Sir Dafern observed the slab of stone he was on for additional handholds. Save for the brick his fingertips were wrapped around, the rest of the surface was smooth, the bricks and mortar cleanly flush against each other. His fingers found no purchase across the rest of it.

“Well. Sir Dafern,” the chilling voice of Hyacinth fluttered down from the top of the stone slab. Sir Dafern slowly met the bandit’s gaze. He was standing atop the broken piece of wall, one foot planted on top of it. Around his ankle was a manacle, the attached chain shattered. He must have been freed by fortunate circumstance.

He gave a soft stamp of his foot, and Sir Dafern could feel the entire piece shift slightly. “Funny that fate allows us to meet under such circumstances. Last time we met, you were on top… and now you’re the one below me.”

“You’re wasting your time killing me,” Sir Dafern snapped. “Why not go and save yourself instead of gloating over a dead man?”

“It’s one thing to allow an enemy to die,” Hyacinth spoke with a cruel smile. “But it’s another thing… a great pleasure… to have your own hands involved.”

Hyacinth gave another stomp, harder this time. The stonework shifted more dramatically, as small rocks rained down the sides and into the abyss below.

Hyacinth laughed. “I really believed you had bested me for good, Sir Dafern. I had really lost all hope. But fortune smiles on me continually. I am the Duke of the Nightshades! And henceforth, I will be able to claim the title of one who has slain a Hero of the Archangel!”

Hyacinth raised his foot one last time, preparing to send Sir Dafern and the piece of debris he clung to off the edge. But before he could move his foot downwards, a brilliant flash of light as a blade swung forward, its edge catching the light as it moved. Hyacinth’s foot went sailing into the hole. Wailing, Hyacinth toppled over, his yellow blood spraying from his stump as he rolled down the slab of brickwork, past Sir Dafern, and into the depths.

The nimble footwork of Cev allowed him to quickly take Sir Dafern by the arm, pulling him onto sturdy ground before the piece of rubble finally slid off the edge and into the void.

“Cev,” Sir Dafern managed to breathe.

“Don’t mention it,” Cev spoke. Sir Dafern imagined a knowing grin on Cev’s face. “That’s twice, by the way. Not including all those other times from the War.”

Sir Dafern and Cev made their way swiftly across the deteriorating remains of the arena, collecting Ludmilla and Softy before rushing through the streets of Vulcanis and into the volcanic countryside. Everything was a blur to Sir Dafern as the adrenaline of struggling to stay alive began to give way to the realization of what had happened to their friends.

For all he knew, Jado was gone.

Leto was gone.

Osten was gone.

Shayoon was gone.

Paulraj was gone.

K.C. was gone.

Anton was gone.

The Archangel’s Heroes were dead. At this thought, tears clouded Sir Dafern’s eyes, his vision blurried to the point where he might as well have been stumbling around blind.

They arrived in an old lava tube just as the rest of the arena finally collapsed, unleashing a tidal wave of dust across the city. The three of them and the stoff made it inside the cavernous structure just as the wall of destruction washed over their previous path. Sir Dafern raised his shield to hold back most of the debris wave as it passed by the mouth of the cave. As quickly as it came, it left.

Sir Dafern lowered his shield and slumped against the wall. It was deathly quiet.

“We’re all that’s left,” Sir Dafern broke the silence.

Another moment of silence passed before Cev sat down. He held his head in his hands. Ludmilla held Softy tightly as the small creature whimpered and shook.

Sir Dafern threw the Sunblade across the room in anger. Its unignited blade clanged against the rocks loudly, startling the dun girl and the stoff. He screamed and punched the wall.

“NO!” he wailed in primal anguish. “NO THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING! NO!!”

Sir Dafern raged against the cave’s walls. As his fury subsided, his screamed melted into sobs as he slumped downwards to the floor. Sir Dafern felt the mechanical hand of Cev rest on his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” Cev began.

Sir Dafern glared through tears at Cev. “Why does everyone keep trying to rob me of my damned responsibility? The last time I heard those words, there were thirty dead because of me. Now that I hear those words again, it’s after five more. Five people who meant the world to me.”

“He’s right,” Ludmilla’s voice wedged its way between the two heroes. Sir Dafern’s gaze softened as he turned in surprise.

“It’s not your fault, Sir Dafern,” she continued, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s my fault.”

“Now look, girl,” Cev spoke, turning to Ludmilla, “we’re all pretty grief-stricken right now. But one person laying stake to all the blame is hardly productive-”

“Osten was right!” Ludmilla cried out, her voice breaking. “He knew I would just get in the way. He told me I was a liability and that bad things would happen just because you guys would have to rescue me. That’s exactly what happened. I… I was selfish thinking that I could handle things. That I could be brave by pushing myself onwards. I… I killed them all. Leto, Shayoon, Osten, Paulraj, Jado… they’re all dead because I thought I could be a hero!!”

Cev stood unmoving, but he grated out his next words with purpose.

“Perhaps… things are all of our faults,” Cev spoke. “We’re each trying to shoulder the blame but it’s not any one of our faults. We’ve all done things that make us responsible. I was careless… I underestimated the potency of Iron Face’s magnet mages and allowed them to capture me like a rabbit in a snare. I could have been much more helpful if I hadn’t been so reckless.”

Cev paused for a moment, the uneasiness of the entire situation overtaking them all for a moment. When the silence was broken, it was by Ludmilla.

“Look, I’m not a hero,” she sniffled, “and I might never be. But you two are all that’s left—and you’re still the Archangel’s Heroes, even if the others are gone.”

The clouds cleared for Sir Dafern as he listened. He wiped the tears, feeling the blisters covering his face as he did so. “She’s right. There’s still more at stake. Sabina must be stopped.”

Sir Dafern cleared his throat and stood up. “Sabina still has that key, and we will make her pay for what she’s taken by ensuring she never opens what it unlocks.”

Sir Dafern turned to face Cev. The cyborg’s hand was outstretched, with the Sunblade resting on his palm.

“Let’s bear the responsibility together. As the Archangel’s Heroes.”

Sir Dafern picked up the sword and set it back in its sheath. The three stood at the mouth of the cave and looked over what remained of Vulcanis.

“I know where to find Sabina,” Cev said. “Where she’s going. But we’re gonna need a boat. And probably a crew.”

Epilogue

The bar patrons laughed as a small figure hit the ground. The raucous clinking of glasses, arguments over card game winnings, and other drunken utterance mixed together into a audible slurry that would have overwhelmed even the most composed of individuals.

The figure on the ground—a young boy not more than twelve years old—shakily rose to his knees. He wore a trench coat far too long for a boy of his age, and oversized gloves that were intended for someone much larger. The faded, beige colours of his clothes darkened as spilled beer soaked into them.

The boy lifted his gaze, unblinking, towards the man in the seat before him. The man had a short beard, but it was thick and unkempt. He wore noble clothing that hardly reflected his undignified mannerisms and drunken behaviour.

“Get the hell outta here ye brat,” the man spat, scratching his neck.

“Please,” the boy pleaded, lifting one hand forward towards the man. “You must give it to me. I beg you.”

“I told ye, git out. I dun’ like punchin’ lil’ kiddies, but I make a ‘ception for nasty pickpickets like ye!” The man slapped the outstretched arm of the boy away from himself.

The boy balled his gloved fists. “Please… my master really needs that. He really wants it.”

The man guffawed. His friends on the other side of the table that he sat beside laughed to each other as well.

“That’s too bad. I also really want it. This timepiece was me mum’s. Steal some other poor sod’s pocketwatch, would ye?”

“Please. My master will beat me if I cannot retrieve it!”

The man stood up suddenly. The bar quieted as the man rose to his feet.

“Ye have one last chance to git out,” the man spoke calmly but with great force. He kneeled down to face the boy, and the fumes of the alcohol on his breath barraged the boy’s face. And still… the boy didn’t seem to cower or recoil. “If ye don’t get ye pickpocketin’ sorry arse out of me pub, you’ll have a lot more t’ worry ‘bout than yer master!”

The boy’s eyes twitched. Suddenly, he reached out, lunging for the timepiece, which was dangling from the man’s coat. He wasn’t fast enough, and the man caught his hand.

“Oh, ye bloody son of a swineherd, yer in fer it now!” The man revealed his other hand, which wielded a pocket knife. With a thrust, he planted the blade in the boy’s belly before releasing him from his grip. The bar patrons watching gasped, but made no efforts to intervene in the scene.

The boy staggered backward, a strange look on his face. He didn’t cry out in pain, or show any signs of fear or distress. His face seemed to droop, and his eyes sunk slightly.

“ALRIGHT,” a scratchy, unpleasant voice boomed from the boy as he opened his mouth. His jaw hang open as the words continued to emerge from his throat, as if he were a gramophone. “I TRIED USING POLITE LANGUAGE MULTIPLE TIMES BUT IT SEEMED THAT EITHER THAT VOCABULARLY IS INEFFECTIVE ON THIS WORLD OR YOUR MENTAL CAPACITY IS LOWER THAN NORMAL.”

The boy’s trenchcoat burst open to reveal a coiled up, centipede-like body that filled out the coat’s innards. The gloves on his hands fell to reveal insectoid pincers, and the boy’s face—a rubber mask— dropped off to reveal an ant-like head with glowing yellow eyes. The creature unfurled its coiled body to full size, filling the pub’s space with his towering, purple form.

The bar patrons screamed, throwing their glasses and escaping from the establishment as quick as possible. The bartender ducked down behind the counter.

The man stared, jar agape, at the eldritch insect that had revealed itself.

“GIVE ME THE TIMEPIECE OR DIE.”

The man stared at the creature’s head. Its wide jaw dribbled saliva through a set of short, spiky teeth. Its smaller appendages, resembling skeletal hands, reached forward in expectation.

Without a word, the terrified man thrust his knife once against into the creature, but this time the puny blade bounced off the segmented carapace of the monster almost comically.

“I RESPECT YOUR DECISION,” the creature spoke, effortless swiping with one of its pincers. Blood sprayed from the man’s throat as he fell to the pub’s floor, twitching for a moment before dying. The creature leaned down and plucked the timepiece from the man’s pocket gingerly, as if almost fearful that the thing would shatter.

“THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION WITH MY MASTER’S WORK,” the creature spoke. As the alien being turned towards the bar door, it caught sight of several patrons who weren’t able to run for the exit earlier. They knelt cowering behind an overturned table.

“HE WAS A BAD MAN,” the monstrous insect explained, as if it justified the events that had just transpired. Without further elaboration, the creature exited the pub in two wide strides.

Outside, the street erupted into chaos as the alien form of the creature expelled itself from the pub’s doors. It was a cold wintry night in this town, with a thick snowfall coating the streets. But even with the obfuscation of the snowflakes, the creature’s monstrous form was visible under the flickering lampposts. People screamed and dove for cover as the beast slithered by on the sidewalk at a sauntering pace. It carefully maneuvered around anything it came across, careful not to topple anything in its path. Eventually, it reached the base of the town’s clocktower and began to scale its side with ease. As it climbed, it disappeared under the cover of the snow, leaving the fearful pedestrians below staring into the dark, night sky.

As the creature climbed, it reached a small landing where several gargoyle statues stood dutifully on guard. As the winter wind howled past the tower, the golden yellow robes of a man billowed outward from between two of the gargoyles.

“MASTER,” the creature purred with a bow.

“Wor’Agi,” the robed figure spoke with a measure of disappointment. “I thought I instructed you to avoid making a scene.”

“APOLOGIES, GREAT MASTER,” Wor’Agi chittered. “I GREW IMPATIENT. I ALSO SENSED LITTLE THREAT TO MY BEING UPON REVELATION OF MY FORM. YOU WILL BE PLEASED TO KNOW I ONLY SLEW LORD BIFFINGTON AND NO ONE ELSE. NO LAWMEN.”

From between the high collar of his marigold robes and the matching conical hat, the figure peered at Wor’Agi with a set of glowing white eyes. He sighed, and held out a hand.

“Ideally we don’t expose ourselves or any other hints to extradimensional reality while visiting world like this one,” he responded to Wor’Agi. “But what’s done is done I suppose. The worst that happens is the Litonians wage another war with the Pescarish again… as if such discourse wasn’t bound to happen again anyways. You do vaguely resemble one of their lobster golems.”

“PLEASE DO NOT DO ME SUCH DISSERVICE, MASTER,” Wor’Agi spoke as it delicately placed the timepiece in the outstretched hand. The watch ticked and tocked in the figure’s hand, the black fingers so unreflective that they seemed to be made of nothingness itself.

“Thank you, Wor’Agi. You have served well.”

Wor’Agi bowed as a a sliver of purple light appeared behind itself. It turned and pulled apart the sliver, stretching the fissure in reality open as if opening a set of curtains. Swiftly, the creature slithered into the eldritch light, disappearing from view.

Now alone, the man observed the timepiece. He turned it over in his hands, humming to himself.

His humming stopped. He cocked his head.

“No,” he spoke to himself, “that can’t be good.” He dropped the timepiece into the folds of his cloak and turned to face the side of the tower. “Well, my business here will have to wait.”

He stretched out his arm, and staff, previously obscured by the tower’s shadow, flew threw the air like a falcon returning to a falconer’s hand. The black, metallic, organic form of the wizard’s tool glimmered under the eldritch light cast by the hovering eye at its head.

“What kind of mess are they in now?” He wondered aloud while facing the eye. The eye turned to meet his gaze, and blinked.

He thumped the staff on the ground once, summoning an array of alien runes in mid-air. They organized themselves into a circle before pulling open a circular portal. He walked through, sealing it shut behind him.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NDLfZuaZV5huh_o5efuFZGvGsn7xM_-x-BoywE5NQrQ/edit?tab=t.0 ↩

Legere

Explorer

Betrayal & Loss

By Walter M. Smith

Forward by the Author

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Epilogue

Graph View

Table of Contents

Backlinks

Legere

Explorer

Betrayal & Loss

By Walter M. Smith

Forward by the Author

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Epilogue

Footnotes

Graph View

Table of Contents

Backlinks