A final turn of the corner and there they found it. After the endless week of nonstop combat, the sleepless nights torn from dreams and filled with blood, a weary trek through territories unknown rushing by endless battles of unrecognizable allegiances they finally arrived. It had been a disorienting week; a spontaneous convergence of every boiling conception added together so that this arduous war of thirty years would entirely collapse in a single climactic week. They now found themselves at the final door, hiding behind it was the final obstacle to end this war. The fight to end all fights.

They were the Saviors, an arrogant joke of a team name made serious through countless exploits of tremendous success. Five of humanities greatest warriors each found themselves fully armed and unharmed before the mighty doors.

At the back of the group Ken Ream the preeminent Sage collected his breaths with withered hands resting on his knees. By far the eldest member of the troupe at the ancient age of ninety-six, earl Ream was a prodigy, the youngest to ever graduate from Ersatz university, he had released countless papers which had completely changed how the academics viewed magic and aether as a whole. He was invited to the fifth centennial Tournament at only twelve years old and made it through to the third round. His magic was unmatched by even the mokoi, his only limits being his stamina which found itself tested by the inhuman stairwells and winding halls they had to traverse in this foreign castle.

Supporting Ken stood Forgo Miff the Ballista. A short woman who carried with her a massive crossbow whose bolts could fell even the mightiest of opponents. Her aim and reach were always true and her skill as a marksman came second only to Schlemiel the Savage archer. Though unlike Schlemiel who was an uncultured peasant, Forgo had been trained thoroughly in the art of the sword and strategy. Her noble skills were far reaching and abilities as a ranger limitless. As the rearguards, Ken and Forgo were an unstoppable duo, Ken carrying with him singlehandedly the most powerful offensive capabilities humanity could muster on par with that of siege weapons, and Forgo capable of accurately neutralizing any single high-value target while doubling as Ken’s shield.

In front of the rearguard standing as a mobile wall, Jocund stood encased in a personal fortress of steel. His tower shield was thicker than a man and heavier to boot. Dubbed Jocund the wall he was an insurmountable force. Throughout all the eleven years he had spent with the Saviors, not once had a single attack managed to make its way past his impenetrable defenses.

At the front of the entire group stood the last two members. Iatric Eminence sole princess of Bemean, her bloodline had been blessed by the devadoots who granted the Eminence name with the very same divine powers. Iatric herself had these abilities manifest with a potency which the bloodline had never seen before granting her superhuman healing capabilities. Her powers irreplicable by mortal magic was what allowed the Saviors to escape every battle thus far unscathed.

Water pooled at the corner of Iatric’s eyes, her hands gripped at her leader’s arms though they retained no force. “You don’t have to do it. We’ve made it this far without it. We can finish this without it.” She spoke, almost begging.

The rest of the team remained silent, sorrow filling their hearts, but they all knew as well as she what needed to be done. The leader remained steadfast. The leader of the Saviors. Once was but a commoner, a young boy known by little more than his own family formed the most powerful band of fighters history had ever seen. Singlehandedly shifted the tide of the world’s greatest conflict. Part of the first group of humans to ever land on the mokoi badlands and pushed his way through across the entire continent in one week. He started with nothing but the clothes on his back and a rusted sword chipped at the edges and unbalanced for proper combat; now he wore only the firmest armor, carried the sharpest sword. He was humanity’s greatest warrior, he was the Savior, the mokoi slayer, the blessing of the battlefield, the hero of New Heirisson conquest, he was Doyen.

Doyen sheathed his sword and turned to face Iatric, he gave a resolved look to the entire team who in turn gave back their own looks of sorrowed thanks, then he turned back to Iatric locking eyes with her. Doyen, for presumably the last time in his life took in her face. The beautiful depth of her hazel eyes, her short rotund nose that pointed ever so slightly to the left, her full soft cheeks always flushed a warm red. He felt an almost irresistible urge to agree with her, to throw away his responsibility, to tell his team that they had done enough. He wanted to tell them that they could wait for the Pangean Entente to catch up with their group. He wanted to run away and form a family with Iatric, spend his long quiet days with this beautiful royal which he had no right as a lowly commoner to be with, they’d have two children, a boy and a girl, and together they’d all be content.

But Doyen was a leader, and most importantly a hero. He had to do what heroes do. He hardened his heart and gave Iatric the best smile he could muster. Doyen projected his voice with an unparalleled confidence and vim, one so great that he hoped those on the other side of the door could hear too. “Today the mokoi khan will die. The stars had aligned, and a path opened before us, across our entire journey through this accursed continent everything went perfectly smoothly, all obstacles shifted from our way. Fate itself wanted us here before these doors. For years we have trained, for years we have fought and dreamt and prepared. It was this moment that brought us together, it was this moment that we had planned for since the day we met, it was this moment for which I named us the Saviors.”

His heart ached but he refused to let it show on his face. Doyen nodded firmly to Iatric, for a while she merely stood still refusing to move. It took Ken to place a gentle hand on her shoulder to motivate her into movement. She pulled out from a small pouch that she carried on her hip a small rectangular cloth wrapping itself around a long thin object. The object itself seemed larger than the pouch it came from yet somehow the action of removing it from that pouch seemed completely natural.

Iatric held the object still wrapped in that unpresuming cloth gingerly with both hands, her arms shaking ever so slightly. She too like the rest of them was a hardened warrior, she knew how to cast away her emotions and do what was necessary to save humanity; usually, but she still found her confounding every ounce of will within herself to halt her tears. She was too lost in her own emotions to notice, but the sentiment was true for every member of the Saviors. Doyen placed his hands around Iatric’s, stilling their shaking and leaned in to give her a warm kiss. The two’s lips locked, without a word they shared each other’s love, sorrow, desires. That imaginary family, that impossible future, they lived it all in that single kiss. Eyes closed and lips pressed, Doyen began to unwrap the cloth revealing the subdued red of the dagger hidden within.

The two finally separated and Doyen looked back at Iatric not as a leader but as a lover. “I love you, but this must be done.” Iatric unable to muster the words gave Doyen a solemn nod and he took the dagger. The dagger itself didn’t appear as an effective weapon by any means, its rounded edges made it incapable of cutting and its blunt tip meant that its utility as a thrusting weapon was also limited. At a glance it was hard to tell if the weapon was even colored red or if it was simply rusted from age. The only matter noteworthy of the dagger was its pommel where a large glass container resided.

Doyen took a few steps back from the group and gripped the dagger firmly in his left hand. “We don’t know what state I’ll be in for the fight so Forgo will take command.” Forgo silently nodded accepting her responsibilities. “And remember, no matter what happens you all are the greatest family I ever had.”

Doyen thrusted the dagger into his chest lodging it deep into his heart.

“FORGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Doyen was jolted awake by the familiar screech of his ailing wife. He turned to his side to see her thin hands fearfully cupped around her ears; dainty nails drawing the red syrupy fluid from her crackling mind. Her whole body was huddled tightly into a ball as she shook vehemently.

Doyen didn’t hesitate as he quickly wrapped her in his arms and began to rock her softly.” You’re okay now, it’s okay now. It was just a dream. You’re okay, you’re okay.” He could feel the hectic trampling of guard’s feet approach, called by his wife’s cry. He could feel a begrudging tiredness, a disconnected frustration and equal concern. Doyen wished that the guards didn’t even bother entering the chambers. Their useless palliations would only fall on deaf ears waiting for him to shoo them out of the room. Strangely, they forewent the usual charade and waited outside the chamber doors leaving Doyen alone to console his wife in his embrace. Iatric’s wailing soon soothed to a humble snivel and for a while they stayed just like that with her sobbing into his shoulder, the two huddled together on the large poster bed. The room itself an unchallenged extravagance mired only by the hollowness of the people within it.

Long after her tears ran dry Iatric finally pulled back away from Doyen, her eyes turned to a rough red. “I’m better now, I’m alright.” Her voice was hoarse from the harsh testing her cries and screams gave it, but to Doyen the voice was as angelic as when he first heard it. Doyen watched Iatric’s aged face carefully discerning her wellbeing. His single-mindedly focused concern managed to drive a painful chuckle from Iatric and all tension in the room was erased. “Why would I have anything to worry about with you around?” the statement though made in jest revealed much of the fear and relief she felt.

A lot had changed since the war, since the mokoi khan’s death. Doyen didn’t seem to change, not only physically but mentally too. Iatric didn’t understand how he could still look at her with that pure love, as if her sixteen years of aging hadn’t even registered on his mind. For goodness’s sake she looked old enough to be his mother now. He was far less concerned with his eternal youth than she was, but Iatric was certain that there was more to his curse, and it haunted her. Iatric brushed her hair back while thinking of the responsibilities of the day. A quick glance out the window startled her properly awake. “Oh dear, we best get dressed and ready, we don’t want to miss our meeting with Duke Payola.”

Doyen was far less attached to the import of proper punctuality or maintaining one’s noble image. He would have happily shirked the meeting and basked in the welcoming morning glow alongside his wife. Even after sixteen years he still didn’t feel like a noble.

Doyen kept his eyes closed comfortably nestled under the blankets while Iatric hurried around the room along with a gaggle of servants readying herself. Doyen was unconcerned with the bustle outside the blankets, but he could still feel this nagging uncertainty he knew was not his own, it came from deep within himself yet equally felt uncannily foreign.

Just as Doyen found himself on the cusp of splendid slumber, he felt the irritant whip of a flung pillow. “Up you are Doyen! You promised you would show up neat and proper to every one in three events. This is event three now, so you better look as sharp as when I married you.”

Doyen threw off his protective covers revealing his bare chiseled chest and the massive hollow hole that bore through where his heart once was. “I’m always sharp.” He smiled back cheekily.

“Yes, and today you’ll dress it too. Now chop chop, you may think all of this stuff is a waste of time, but I promise you it does serve a purpose.” Doyen rubbed the grunge from his eyes almost in awe at how rapidly Iatric managed to recover and forget her attack just a few minutes prior. He didn’t forget, and he could feel that none of the servants forgot, always quick to move on Iatric feigned ignorance. “Now you lot go and get Doyen ready, if you wait for his permission it will never happen.” It was only once Iatric addressed them did Doyen finally notice the small group of servants waiting patiently for Doyen to awaken and simultaneously, he felt closer to that nagging uncertainty. He had always preferred to do things himself but Iatric insisted it was a requirement to be attended to for his now noble position.

The servants were quickly upon him guiding him towards the baths. He barely even registered moving rooms by the time he was already submerged in water. Without the concern for Iatric, his body was eager to resume sleeping. Though he too felt the plagues of nightmares he still preferred them to the waking reality. As the servants incessantly washed his body to a cleanliness imperceivable to him, Doyen found his mind wandering to that continuously uncomfortable feeling of water flowing through that empty passage in his chest. The hole that punctured impossibly through his body acted as a tunnel for the swaying waves of water. He could feel the water wrap around the hard corners of his skin and scratching against the calloused walls within. It was a constant reminder that now he was a man without a heart. No, his heart had long been abandoned, still trapped in that place.

The large stone doors pushed open, and the Saviors walked confidently into the darkened room. The room was incredibly long, its cold hard surface only adorned by a single purple carpet which carried itself down the center across the floor’s length leading to a large stone throne who’s back climbed up to the multiple story high ceiling that the room contained. The room itself was empty but for the Saviors and that single infamous entity sat upon the throne.

The mokoi khan unnervingly calm for someone who was witnessing their empire crumble rested patiently on the throne waiting. The mokoi khan was a terrifyingly massive creature, even while sitting it dwarfed the approaching humans with its five-meter standing height. The khan’s thin legs, each about twice the height of an average human seemed far too frail to carry its hulking body. Powerful muscles bulged out from that hardened chest, while seven thin arms extended outwards. On the right side of the khan’s body six of those arms emanated from a single point while a single arm stretched out from its left side. In its top right hand, the mokoi khan carried a massive black scythe nearly as tall as its own body and whose sharpened blade ended in an even longer red whip; in its bottom right hand the mokoi khan held only a small brass bell with the number four inscribed on it.

Off the top of the mokoi khan’s body a long winding neck led up to a large skull with three eye sockets and a long snout that ended with thick molar teeth. The khan was dressed in a single flowing gown of silver silk. It was almost beautiful if not for the death it represented.

The Saviors slowly walked down the open aisle of the chamber biding their time as blood slowly filled the glass container at the end of the red dagger embedded in Doyen’s chest. It seemed that the mokoi khan itself was in no rush to instigate the incoming fight. The khan even offered them a slow clap as they approached.

The khan’s voice echoed dramatically across the cavernous room making it appear as though many were speaking from all directions, and though it did speak in the human tongue its accent was thick and foreign. “Though I won’t take my death lying I will commend your skill in reaching me. I am impressed: truthfully. You humans have managed to push back my assaults for a second time, and this time it was without the aid of the devadoots.”

The khan waited for a retort that did not come. “But once again you cannot claim your accomplishments to be a human one. I understand that all is fair in war, and one must not carry their heart to the war table, but I’ll admit I was quite aggrieved with your tactics. How did you do it?”

The Saviors ended their march far enough to be out of reach of that horrifying scythe and finally Doyen responded. “What are you talking about?”

Previously, the khan entered the conversation with an apathetic curiosity as if it had already come to terms with the course of events, but Doyen’s ignorant answer riled it dearly. When the khan spoke again it did so with a strong tinge of irritation that put each of the Saviors on edge. “How did you turn my people against me?”

Doyen had no idea what the mokoi khan was referring to, he was sure that no human would ever ally themselves with a mokoi, but Doyen still found amusement in the khan’s anger. Frankly, Doyen was impressed that he himself was able to squelch his fury at all. He was so close to felling evil itself, to destroying this tormentor of humanity but he had to wait. Perhaps the blood loss was helping with his calm.

It was Forgo Miff who finally responded to the Khan’s question. “We would never stoop so low as to join forces with the mokoi. Any personal insurgencies in your ranks are your failures alone.” The emboldened ranger was steadfast, and her alto voice carried a firm confidence. Though the power of her voice held no match for the overpowering domination of the Khan’s, it helped—if only slightly—to reclaim their presence in the room.

The Saviors were empowered by Forgo’s words. They were the invaders now; the Khan had no place to talk on to them with such authority while they led the tide. The Khan however was wholly unperturbed by the ranger’s biting words. The Khan actually found them disappointing, and its body visibly drooped in response. “To be resisted so thoroughly by a group of children as naïve as this.” Doyen unwilling to idly take the insult stepped forward prepared for his own flurry of insults when the mokoi khan stood and Doyen’s throat instinctively locked.

The khan slowly rose from its throne, a thin film of dust shaking free as it did so. The khan’s true size revealed itself as its grandeur loomed over the Saviors. This was the mokoi khan, an unimaginable evil that had threatened human extinction for millennia.

The khan twisted its neck releasing a series of tired cracks, and then it spoke. “The second human-mokoi war. You gave much more of a fight this time around, but don’t think you’ve won yet. I know who you are Doyen-” Hearing his name so spitefully uttered from the khan’s bony maw sent a shiver down Doyen’s spine. “Together we are symbols, the flags of our people. Tonight, one of us will die and only one flag will stand. We are tired, let us end this war.”

The final drop of blood filled the container at the end of the dagger in Doyen’s chest. The container illuminated into a furious red glow enveloping the blunted weapon which hurriedly rushed into Doyen’s body igniting his very insides. A subtle flame could be seen illuminating through his thin skin as it painted its route through his very arteries.

The Khan and Doyen with weapons raised charged towards one another.

“-yen, Doyen!” The frustrated voice of his beautiful wife shook Doyen away from his memories. He was brought back to his tacky foyer imprisonment. A large room densely packed with ornate decorations. Though others would have called them treasures, Doyen found that insulting. These weren’t weapons or powerful tools; they were nothing but monetary beacons.

One wall of the room was made nearly entirely of windows and let a tremendous wave of light wash the room in shining brilliance. The day star’s light reflected artistically off the many purposefully placed jewels around the room creating a practically divine ambiance of comforting light.

Doyen so lost in his own mind had completely forgotten why he was even in this room, he always hated how stuffy and fake it felt. Searching around the series of furniture much more pretty than they were comfortable he finally remembered.

Iatric was sat next to him giving him her usual glare of disapproval, her hand was firmly pressed against his leg and though he wanted to feel bad for always causing her grief, he also couldn’t help but find her furrowed brows and wrinkled nose adorable. Across from the two of them Duke Payola was sitting with preposterously forced posture, the smile on his face equally strained as he waited patiently for Doyen to rejoin the conversation.

Doyen tried to scour his mind in hopes that some unconscious part of him had been paying attention to the conversation, he could feel a degree of intention and thoughts, he felt disdain, hope, concern, an uncertainty over confectionaries? All of these ideas and emotions he couldn’t place temporally nor spatially. He felt a squeeze of his thigh and was reminded of Iatric’s grip on him. The two of them had conjured a sort of signaling for how he should respond when she woke him of his spontaneous daydreams. She squeezed his legs twice; did that mean he was supposed to give a positive response or a negative one? They had run over this hidden language many times before, yet he couldn’t for the life of him remember. Time was drawing long, and he had to say something. “Um… yes, I agree.” Doyen plastered his most earnest smile to punctuate his sentence hoping he had said the right thing.

He had not.

Iatric palmed her forehead letting out a tired groan. “Oh Doyen.”

Payola on the other hand was much less animated managing to relegate his annoyance to a single stunted twitch at the corner of his lips. Payola cleared his throat and began to repeat with a practiced eloquence that never sat right with Doyen’s ears. “We were talking about the younger generations of nobles and how they are becoming increasingly laxer in their responsibilities, mingling with the common rabble. I’ve heard that you have been disappointed in your son’s martial prowess while he has been seen playing with the commoners often.”

Doyen quelled an aggravated furor contained within him. There were many things he wanted to say in response, but his actual chosen words would be much more subdued. “It is true that I am quite harsh on my evaluations of Wish’s training, but that is more attributed to my impossible standards and less so with any of his own behavior. Wish’s accomplishments are incredibly impressive for his age, and I have no problem with his friendly relationships with commoners. After all, it was a noble interacting with that ‘common rabble’ which was how I met Iatric.” Unlike the born nobles, Doyen was much less skilled at removing the emotion from his voice, and Doyen’s powerful tone made Duke Payola visibly stiffen.

The duke swallowed his anxiety before speaking. “Well, there are always exceptions of course, but not every farmer is a hero in the making like you. I believe that people of quality should only surround themselves with others of equal quality don’t you agree?”

Doyen clenched his fist, his patience with bureaucratic double-speak coming to a limit. The anger immediately dissipated as soon as he felt the warm comfort of Iatric’s hand over his. Doyen felt an awkward embarrassment as he realized Iatric had let him lead the defense of their child to help his social growth, and he couldn’t help but feel like he had failed. Iatric spoke up. “I completely agree with you Payola, which makes me wonder why you came to visit us today?”

The duke had been clearly placed on to his backfoot and he became increasingly aware of the furniture’s discomfort. “Well, I thought it pertinent to share with you that we have gotten news of recent movements with the white witch.”

A powerful crossbow bolt whizzed past where Doyen once stood halting pathetically in the arresting grip of one of the Khan’s many free hands.

The khan pulled its scythe back sending the red whip’s burning edge towards the crouched Doyen. Jocund lunged in between the weapon and its target letting the flailing whip strike against his hardened shield. The collision sent an ear-splitting crack throughout the wide chamber echoing out an endless reverberation that rocked bone.

Doyen stood back up as his artifact sword just finished regenerating its blade. Forgo swiftly charged another bolt into her weapon as she called out. “Ia-haste!” Iactric responded to her comrade’s cry bestowing a blessing of expedient strength upon the team. Each member felt a divine force etch through their very blood, each muscle tensing and hardening to newfound heights. Together Doyen and Jocund danced around each other. Every calamitous swing of the khan’s scythe faltered to Jocund’s impenetrable shield leaving a brief opening for Doyen to enter and strike at the khan.

With each block of the scythe, the whip wrapped around the shield and lashed at Jocund’s body. The lashes burned through Jocund’s thick armor and licked against his body stealing away hunks of flesh. The whip didn’t rip or crush but instead rent his tender meat from the world itself.

Forgo fired another targeted bolt at the khan’s feet forcing him to jump back. “Ia-two-haste-save-mend-wall.” the supernatural vitality fell from everyone’s form as Iatric changed her spellcasting to compound a more powerful and focused blessing of haste upon Doyen. Doyen’s artifact sword shattered once more, and he retreated behind Jocund’s shield. In sync with Doyen’s movements, Iatric exchanged Doyen’s blessing to give Jocund a restorative boon. Doyen and Jocund bounced back and forth from the front-line exchanging defense and offence while Iatric expertly switched over her blessings between the two enhancing their respective capabilities. Iatric desperately tried her best in between each swing of Doyen’s sword to heal Jocund’s quickly growing assortment of injuries; but her powers could only cauterize as she could not reclaim what simply no longer existed.

It was Doyen’s adept movements and enhanced offensive that managed to protect the enrooted Jocund. Though Jocund was the protector, he was still no match for the Khan’s speed and relentlessness; only Doyen could match that ferocity. The khan continuously deflected every strike Doyen sent, shattering his sword each time, but Doyen was always ready to strike again, his sword regenerated back to full, ready for its next blow.

Doyen’s aggressive front managed to keep the khan on its back foot long enough for the great wizard Ken to prepare his spell in full. Forgo readied another shot, “Ia-one-wall-ken-swarm.” Forgo fired another bolt towards the khan which was uselessly caught mid-air once more by the khan’s impossible reflexes.

In that fractured hole caused by the tear; there was no ceiling, no castle, not even a sky, there was just a nothingness, an empty blotch of void. The chamber was once against robbed of light, lit only by Doyen’s burning flesh.

The battle endured with the khan singlehandedly overpowering each opponent at their own skills. Ken’s magic crumbled against the world-bending might of the khan’s reality tearing arcana. Jocund, the only person who could block the khan, could not keep pace with the speed and ferocity of the kahn’s attacks. Iatric found herself overwhelmed by the multifarious blessings she had to bounce to and from her companions, unable to alleviate her team’s shortcomings quick enough. Forgo’s shots though each perfectly aimed met nothing when the Khan could so easily snatch them in flight, and as rapidly as she adjusted commands and strategies the khan easily countered them. It was only Doyen who was not pushed back, despite his flesh boiling apart with each second.

The pain brewing from the dagger in his heart, though numbing his mind, empowered Doyen’s speed and strength so that he surpassed the khan, even without Iatric’s blessings. Each passing second the burning dagger increased its influence upon him; greater might, and blurrier consciousness. Doyen’s sword in constant destruction and reconstruction was unable to keep up with his own unrelenting aggression forcing Doyen to miss simply because the sword he swung hadn’t regrown yet. But between the irritant misses and deflections Doyen could find flesh and gradually the khan began to accrue its own set of injuries.

Finally, the khan made its first mistake, its scythe missed its mark grazing off the side of Jocund’s shield and knocking the khan off balance. Seeing his opportunity, Doyen lunged forward trying to pierce his sword through the khan’s body. The khan gave a satisfied smile as Inches away from the kill, Doyen felt a stinging roar in his shoulder as the mokoi khan lodged all seven bolts he had collected from Forgo into Doyen’s skin. The force of the attack was so powerful Doyen was launched off his feet, flying into the chamber walls. The thick stone crumbled against the force of his impacting body, burying the unconscious Doyen.

Jocund thought he had successfully deflected the scythe until the writhing whip curved behind his shield and wrapped around his leading arm. The Khan gave a grim smile and with a single tug the whip ripped apart the universe’s very fabric and Jocund’s arm was gone. The shield along with its wielder fell to the floor. A torrent of blood poured out as an anguished river from Jocund’s stump. Swarmed with conscious discombobulation and he collapsed to the hard floor shaking in his growing frigidity.

The khan, quick to capitalize on its advantage identified the next greatest threat of the group and in a single bound propelled itself directly in front of Iatric. In a continuous clean motion, the khan threw the entirety of its weight on the scythe down towards Iatric.

Forgo unsheathed her rapier charging in, but she knew she couldn’t come to Iatric’s defense in time. Iatric’s holy blessing dropped from her teammates and a lone ethereal wing of colorless skeletal form blossomed from her back as she placed a leeching curse upon her team. The curse briefly sapped all her companions’ power and with a rapturous surge of strength Iatric drove her fist against the flat of the scythe’s blade, shattering it in two.

Ken, his constitution now drained, collapsed to one knee. His physical strength was stolen for Iatric’s defense, but he still retained his magic. In a final exertion of his remaining stamina, Ken unleashed the full of his essential flux into a single arcane geyser. The magic so profound the whole throne room was blinded into encompassing whiteness. The geyser rushed out as a brilliant beam of unimaginable power which ate through the khan’s extended arm shredding apart its atomic consistency. The magic’s temperature, cosmic in scale, melted the stone around it unleashing a wave of pressure to knock back Iatric and the khan apart.

Iatric released her curse from her teammates returning their strength. Her ghostly wing vanished and the inhuman burden of power the spell had forced upon her mortal form dissipated. Exhausted, she barely managed a healing blessing upon herself before collapsing.

The mokoi khan took a pause to analyze its lost limb oozing a bright viscous liquid. The khan shot a glare at the wizard that had tainted its body. Never had the khan been permanently scarred; it was eager for revenge. The khan calmly rang its bell and a crackling nothingness sped through the hollow chamber towards the downed wizard. Iatric had returned his energy to him but he was just an aged wizard, his physical prowess incapable of reacting to the attack.

The nothingness streaked out to its target but halted as Forgo jumped in front of Ken. The tear of disreality struck her in the shoulder: then it began to twist. Her whole body began to fall into itself. Her body bent and warped impossibly, her breast writhed in her elbow, her ear losing itself somewhere between the notches of her spine. Her anguished screams contorted as her lungs and esophagus slowly melded together.

She reached out for ken hoping, pleading that he pull her out from this hell, but her fingers shrank into her hands and found themselves through her neck. She cried with what left she could as her uterus swam out of her eyes; her body rapidly squeezing together into a collapsing point. With a final creaking snap of her femur, she was removed from reality. The only thing that remained of the valiant Forgo was the last sound of her torment, distorted into a fading moan by the echoes of the great hall.

The silence left in the room was shattered as Iatric tore her throat “FORGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Tears blinded her vision and hatred filled her heart. Ken continuously grasped at the air, his mind refusing to register his friend’s absolute demise. A quivering wetness drooled from his incoherent lips as he muttered cries to the dead woman. Iatric released the regenerative blessing from herself ready to fight but the second she stood she collapsed back to the ground still too weak and wounded.

Ken stood; the last member still able to fight. The khan stared him down and he it. They both raised their catalyst at one another and fired.

Ken’s bolt of magic petered out without any essential flux to power it and the khan’s attack was sent off course as a flying sword cut his hand off. Panicked the khan turned towards where the sword had come from.

Heavily concussed and mind still blurred Doyen used whatever fleeting awareness he had left to stop the khan. He had thrown his sword leaving the only weapon he had left that blunt dagger burning his chest. Doyen grabbed the dagger and wrenched it free from his spongy sinew. His open wound shouted; a tangible howl boomed from the injury as a cancerous flesh oozed out. The flesh pulsed and morphed, warping into a bubbling vitriol that consumed him. As the throbbing cancer reached his shoulder it dislodged the venomous bolts and expunged its festering poison from his gaping wound by a creeping puss. The bulbous mass grew until it formed an organic armor that completely encased Doyen. His mind lost, his consciousness was replaced by a comatose hunger.

The rest of the Saviors too weak to move, could only gawk in terror at the defilement that twisted their once ally into something unrecognizable.

Doyen charged the mokoi khan.

The khan without its scythe or bell could only launch an array of raw magics in its defense. Without its catalyst bell each blast of unreality fizzled against the hero’s misshapen form which immediately regenerated whatever shallow scars it was dealt. The khan’s onslaught of magical attacks grew more frantic and inelegant as its opponent drew closer. The khan switched to more mundane magics firing a barrage of arcane bolts from its five remaining arms. Clouds of dust and crumbling stone enshrouded the room yet stil the breathing mass of the once hero charged forward accepting every strike until his reckless rush led him right in front of the mokoi. Even without eyes, panic was clear on its mind. The khan struck down at the hero with its claws, that same warbling nothingness evident on its tips but the attack never landed as an organic tendril burst from the hero’s thighs and ensnared the arm. The hero stabbed his red dagger into the mokoi khan’s heart and together they died.

“If you keep zoning out like that your food will get cold.” Iatric, her voice again. That soft familiar pitch always brought him back. It always awoke him back to the present. Currently Doyen was sat at the end of a ridiculously long dining table, Iatric by his side giving him a sorrowed look of concern. As soon as his mind returned to the now, he again felt that attack of feelings, distant yet personal. He couldn’t see them, but he could feel his son Wish walking towards this very room, the servants lazily gossiping two rooms down, duke Payola making his way to the guest room, even the mice under the floorboards: why was he hungry for cheese?

He gave her a hollow smile. “I’m fine.” He could see the pain in her eyes. The lie so obvious yet maintained through a disconnected mistrust.

Iatric placed her hand over his as she often did after he lost himself. “You’re not fine Doyen, this is why I’m saying you need to take a break, relax. We live in peaceful times. I know that because of your… condition, it’s hard for you to adjust but you can’t keep seeking out conflict forever.”

Doyen tilted his head unsure of what she was even referring to. “What?”

Iatric was petrified, her eyes grew heavy, and shoulders ached as she saw a man disappear. “Did you forget again?”

Doyen laughed failing to alleviate her worries. “Well, you’d need to tell me what you’re talking about to know if I forgot it or not.”

Iatric’s voice became cold and commanding. “This is not okay Doyen. We were talking about what to do about the white witch, but I think the conversation is over. We will do nothing.”

Doyen’s eyes shot open. “What! We have to find her, find out what she did to me, what she did to Wish. Don’t we at least owe our son that courtesy?”

Doyen could see it in her posture, Iatric the wife shriveled into hiding and Iatric the Machiavellian princess took over. “Don’t try to use my son against me.”

Doyen was about to retort back when he heard a set of echoing steps emanate from down the dining hall. His son Wish was approaching, his white hair mostly obscured by a large woolen hat. Neither of the two spoke as they simply glared at each other and waited for Wish to arrive. Without removing eye contact from Doyen, Iatric spoke up to her son. “Your hair is showing.”

Wish in a sudden burst of panic quickly tucked the offending hairs under his hat. “I humbly apologize mother.” Wish walked over to the chair opposite of Iatric and stood solidly at the ready.

Despite being his son, the two looked more like brothers as Doyen’s unageing nature made his apparent age worryingly similar to Wish’s, add to this that Wish had a concerningly acute noble demeanor made it quite difficult for Doyen to interact with Wish. “You may sit Wish.” He gestured for Wish to sit and then turned back towards Iatric. “And Iatric I am not joking, I will kill the white witch and end her curse.”

Iatric had become like a statue, expressionless, as if her very humanity had left. “Sometimes I wonder if your mind had also stopped maturing Doyen. You can’t kill all of your problems away.”

Doyen saw that she had already shut down. In full royal mode there was no way they could have any sensible discussion, but he couldn’t stand simply giving up on any of his desires because she always closed herself off. She would always do this to him; any time they had any discussion of real meaning she would curl up into this emotionless void and he hated it; the way she purposefully hid behind all of those high and mighty royal tendencies like she knew she was better than him. She thought of him as nothing but a dirty peasant. He was nothing but a passing fling never expected to amount to anything. “Don’t treat me like I’m the villain here, I didn’t want this to happen either. Sorry if you’re disappointed that I didn’t die back then!”

For a brief second that dead royal disposition slipped. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

A small part of him felt awful for enjoying the fact that he managed to hurt her, plow through those defenses. But a greater more impulsive part of him wanted to deny that she was showing any remorse. A part of him wanted to say that she was still looking down on him. That she thought he didn’t deserve her. He couldn’t understand all this stiff noble stuff so how could he know. All these incessant emotions bombarding him. Afraid of cats and hungry for the kill. Why did he know that Payola was pacing back and forth in his room, why was he so angry with Iatric? “I know you too well to be tricked by your noble insincerity.” But he wasn’t really sure how well he knew her really.

Iatric scoffed at Doyen’s pathetic response but quickly regained her emotionless composure. “How long do you plan to hold on to your inferiority complex? You are a noble too now. Or is Duke not enough since you won’t be satisfied unless you’re the best at everything. Would you like to kill my father and become king, would that satisfy you? At least the fight for the throne could entertain your bloodlust a little longer.”

Doyen gritted his teeth. “I’m not bloodthirsty.” But he wanted the prey.

Doyen was angered, his face red, fist clenched and through it all Iatric was a ghost. “Past behavior would argue otherwise. If you aren’t so obsessed with fighting, then why do you demand that our son train so hard despite our times of peace.”

Peace, everyone always talked about peace. They were heroes, they defeated the mokoi khan, brought peace to the world. What a lie. “Just because there is no war doesn’t mean we are at peace. With all of the recent white witch news Wish is bound to be targeted.”

Iatric’s response was so fast that it stung deep into Doyen’s non-existent heart. “And whose fault is that?”

For a second, he felt like he had a connection with Iatric, like he understood her and that understanding brought rage. Doyen smashed the table with a thunderous fist. “It is not my fault our child is a monster!”

Iatric snapped back that stoic veneer fully gone. “Yes, it is!”

His rage was reaching a boiling point. He couldn’t stand this conversation anymore. He couldn’t stand the stuffy clothes he wore. His head was aching, the voices all the voices. He didn’t want to argue anymore, he just needed to think of a different conversation for the short interim until the servants brought the food over. He could feel that they were close. Doyen turned to Wish and spoke. “How has your training been going recently?”

“Magic and swordsmanship have been going quite smoothly with the help of the tutors but integrating the two on my own is continuing to prove difficult.”

The servants had finally arrived and the meals they brought were a much-appreciated distraction from each other. For the rest of the meal, they remained mostly silent. Iatric and Doyen occasionally discussing political matters but Iatric had fully settled back into statue mode.

After finishing his meal, Wish stood up without a word and began to walk away. Doyen watched as his son; the cursed child he bore, walked. Disfigured and tormented because he had failed, and despite this Doyen still had the audacity to feel a shallow contempt. One day Doyen would lift the curse. He spoke out to Wish. “I have faith that you will find a way to integrate the two styles. I believe in you.”

“I will do my best father.”

Wish left the dining hall and the two husband and wife were left in silence. It did not take long for that silence to be filled with the sudden chime of a bell.

The throne room was silent only interrupted by the struggling gasp of tired breaths from the remaining saviors. Nothing but the struggling breaths and the clapping. “Wow, splendid. Splendid!” The clapping rapidly increased and the few tired survivors turned to the room’s entrance to see three people standing the one in the center happily cheering on to the battle’s conclusion. On one side there was a short, beautiful woman with long flowing blond hair thickly clad in many layers of thick clothes. At a glance, she seemed human but that lie was exposed by her long scaled pink tail that ended in a barbed spike. On The other side was the mokoi khan completely unbesmirched by any injury.

Ken turned back to where the dead Doyen and mokoi khan stood leaning on each other and sure enough the khan was there still dead. He turned back towards the living mokoi khan and saw that it was not exactly the same; this khan wore a bright yellow head band that covered its third eye. And the khan’s two eye sockets on this imposter were filled in with disgusting blue eyes.

In the center of the group a tall woman stood wearing long flowing gowns and an impossibly wide brimmed hat. Her appearance though vaguely human seemed off somehow, her hands weren’t proportionate, her fingers and legs incredibly long. The woman was entirely colored in white from her hat, to dress, to skin, to her single eyepatch. What really made this woman stand out was her horrifying clouded red eye unfocused on anything or anyone.

Through all the blood loss Jocund managed to find the will to stand himself up with his shield held upright in his offhand, weakly attempting to defend his comrades from the new enemies. The white woman simply laughed at Jocund’s stoicism. “Pen, could you please return Mr. Ream and the c-listers back home.”

Without responding, the mokoi khan walked forward. Jocund held his shield up but he knew there was nothing he could do. The mokoi khan walked towards the broken scythe on the ground and picked it up feeling for the balance in its grip. The mokoi khan then disappeared; Jocund, Ken, and Iatric each vanishing from the room in turn. The next time they would blink they found themselves in Iatric’s bedroom back at Bemean on Trammel, an entire continent away.

Back in the throne room, the two intruding women were left alone with the corpses of history’s greatest fighters. The white woman spoke again. “As agreed, Queen Arete you may have the throne while I will have the body.”

The blond mokoi Arete smiled as she took in that sound: Queen. She no longer needed to follow orders from anyone, she was the pinnacle of power. Before taking her seat, Queen Arete made her way towards where the scythe had broken. “I’m taking the whip.” Her voice was deep and devilish. Her tail swept up the whip and hid it within her clothes. Without waiting another minute, she marched over towards the throne, her throne, and sat down reveling in it.

The white woman made her way towards the two dead bodies still standing as they leaned against each other. The white woman held a gargantuan smile as she waltzed down the hall with a keen skip to her step, but the smile faded as she saw the expression left on the mokoi khan’s lifeless face. “Oh no need to be so down Ardor. There is still hope for your people. You’re in good hands. Because together, the three us-”

The white woman placed either hand on the biological mass which was once Doyen and the mutilated husk of Ardor the mokoi khan. “Together: we will save the world.” The white woman took the dagger embedded in the mokoi khan’s heart and pulled it out. As the dagger unlatched itself from its dead victim, the mokoi khan’s body wobbled and shook in a fluid formlessness flowing into the dagger’s tip and filling that glass container at its pommel. Within a second the mokoi khan’s entire body was sucked into that container now discolored by a black grunge. The white woman then pricked her finger and let a few drops of her own blood get absorbed into the hungry weapon. The black rot in the container lightened as a white glow filtered through turning the whole liquid into a dim silver. With her free hand, the white woman used her sharp claws to gouge out Doyen’s heart. As soon as the solid lump left his carcass, the biological armor rapidly relinquished so that he once again looked like a normal human; well normal if not for the hole where his heart once was. The white woman embedded the dagger into Doyen’s dislodged heart.

The fake mokoi khan named Pen soon returned and took the unconscious Doyen away into Iatric’s bedroom in Bemean.

The white woman let out a satisfied sigh of relief “And now we wait sixteen years.”