Silas linked his hands together and stared into Princess Amara’s white-less eyes. “What can you tell me about Alair?”

“Alair?” the shaerd repeated back to him. “To our understanding, that one was not in any way noteworthy before the Apocalypse. Most likely, he was like every other cracked in terms of standing and strength back then.”

“Do you think he’s taken a similar path to Nicon to get where he is now?” Silas asked.

With how smooth Amara’s skin was, it couldn’t crease, but her posture did stiffen at mention of the Tempter, her personal warden for a time. “We do not understand what you are implying.”

“That he uses other people to prop himself up. You know, do you reckon this Alair is the type to seek help from others or?”

Amara blinked, then softly shook her head. “His class is titled Fiend, and he has consistently maintained the highest level and top notable kills spot since perhaps a month back. We would imagine him to be a hermit who doesn’t take well to others. And…” Amara paused, “We have no conclusive evidence of this, but it is likely he has a strong distaste for other shaerds, in particular those of us who have more than just a single horn. Many other princesses who were on the leaderboards disappeared in the same duration Alair was rising through it, and we have heard theories that he was the direct cause of their disappearances.”

“Okay.” Silas thoughtfully tapped his finger on the table between them. “So he wouldn’t be easier to convince if you came with us?”

“We would imagine not.”

****

Arriving at the council building, Silas saw himself to a private room which was already occupied. The strike team waited inside. Since they were planning to use Ajit’s portal to travel, it meant the team had to be small, smaller still because of the distance between here and there. As such, only Silas, Ajit, and Aengus were going - the fourth spot left open for Alair. In case they could convince him to return with them, great, but if they couldn’t, they would still take his body back with them so that Kuraim couldn’t get to it. Alongside these three, the prophet, Emmanuel, and Elise were in the room with them.

“There won’t be any point in bringing her,” Silas said to them.

“A pity,” the prophet said. “My clone is as near to Alair as it can get - any closer and I fear he would try to destroy it. It is ideal you leave as soon as possible as Kuraim is moving towards Alair’s position now.” As the prophet said this, he held his hand out, and another hand grew out from his palm. With a sharp twist, the prophet snapped the new hand off, which angrily scratched him back, and passed it over to Ajit. “This will give you my clone’s position.”

“Appreciate it,” Ajit said, taking it and inspecting it. “Anything else we should know?”

“Well, as Ferer here was saying, this Alair fellow is passing through a mountain range right now,” Emmanuel said. “That’s significant since that’s a long walk from Dresden, and Kuraim’s horde just arrived at Dresden. So they won’t be able to relocate to this mountain range in time. At least, not all of them. If things go to plan, you shouldn’t be facing too many enemies unless you stall for too long.”

“Yes, remember that your mission is to bring Alair back, dead or alive,” Elise said, her hands clenched into fists. “If something interferes with your objective, either ignore it or destroy it.”

“It’ll be a sound lads’ trip,” Aengus said, grinning.

Silas smiled at the Master of War’s good cheer, although internally he felt anxious. He wasn’t too sold on the idea of taking on Kuraim’s faction with just the three of them, but at this point they had little choice but to act. As long as they could stop Alair. “Let’s get going then.”

The fungal hand in Ajit’s hold melted to nothing, hissing and dribbling down his fingers before vanishing into thin air. The Warlock closed his eyes and focused intensely, his face creasing up into a severe frown until finally the portal opened. Silas noted it was smaller than other portals he had seen Ajit open, hinting at the distance between the portal’s two openings.

Without further wait, the three Sovereigns rushed in and departed from Riverside, travelling to Dresden.

****

Exiting through the portal, Ajit immediately spawned several clouds made of triangles. They were his drones, and would warn him in case a large force was entering the area. Silas checked his surroundings while Ajit did this, seeing that they were on a short, rocky mountain. To the sides, there were more craggy mountains with hardy plants and limber animals. His Sovereign scanning sense was telling him that Alair was very close, just beyond the horizon, and although Kuraim and Zafeera were further off, they were rapidly making their way here. At least Dahlia was far off.

The prophet’s clone nodded at the three Sovereigns, and Aengus raised a curious eyebrow at the fungal satyr. “Huh, ye look the exact same, laddie. Don’t tell me ye think the same as well?”

“That is correct,” the prophet said. “My clones all share my intelligence, so I can report back in real-time in case you face difficulty here.”

Aengus chuckled and waved a dismissive hand. “Eh, don’t worry about that. Overcoming those challenges is what life is all about. How else are we supposed to grow, eh?”

Ajit finished up forming the last of his clouds, then put a hand to his brow as he peered out into the horizon. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but is Alair moving towards us?”

“It seems that way. He was moving towards Kuraim and Zafeera, but he changed directions a few seconds ago,” Silas said.

“Wow, he must be quite the confident one to think he can take on all of us,” Ajit said, sharing a smirk with Aengus.

“Or maybe he wants to team up with us?” Silas suggested, although his voice lacked conviction. “But I mean, whatever. As long as we can get it sorted before the other two get here.” Eyes narrowing, he frowned. “Oh, I can see Alair now.” The shaerd was a faint willowy silhouette, only slightly darker than his grey backdrop.

“Let’s go meet the laddie then,” Aengus said, ushering them all forth. The prophet trailed behind as the trio set off, Silas and Aengus easily traversing the precarious terrain while Ajit opted to float. Some moments later, they too could see Alair, meanwhile Silas could see the details of his appearance. As before, Alair was a dusty brown shaerd with cracks in his skin and a pitiable horn on his head. He wore a beige short-sleeved smock and boots, but was otherwise armourless and weaponless.

As they got closer still, Silas felt his aura too, and the Duellist entertained the idea that perhaps the Fiend didn’t need a weapon or armour. He reminded Silas of Dahlia, and that was hardly a good feeling to have. Fortunately, it was a 3vs1, 4vs1 when including the prophet, so Alair should be easily dealt with. But, if that was the case, why was the Fiend calmly walking towards them instead of running away?

When they were roughly two hundred metres away, the humans stopped meanwhile the Fiend continued on. “Ye alright there, fella?” Aengus called out, lazily raising his Dane axe.

Alair didn’t respond, so Silas tried instead. “What are your intentions here, Alair?”

To this, the shaerd appeared to be amused, a bright smile curving his lipless mouth. “I’d thought the same as yours. I’d sensed one following me, but then that one became four. Don’t need to be a genius to know what that means.”

“I mean, why are you heading towards Kuraim?”

“To kill him, of course. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you came to intervene with you all being humans and all.”

“Funny you should say that since we don’t actually like him,” Ajit said. “You can’t beat him as you are, though, and he’ll just raise your body afterwards. Best you come with us, and we can attack him with several other Sovereigns.”

The shaerd’s beaming smile turned to a leer. “Why would I join the animals that I’m going to kill right now?” Alair was about a hundred metres away from them, before he wasn’t anymore, instantly teleporting in front of the humans and lunging for Ajit with his dainty hands.

Even though the development was out of the blue, Silas reacted immediately, slashing widely with his sword to ward off the Fiend. However, it seemed Alair was faster than even the Duellist as he turned to claw at Silas. Fortunately, enough milliseconds had passed now for the others to respond.

Ajit acted by pressing down on Alair with a crushing telekinetic force, its effect immediate and drastic as the Fiend buckled down, cancelling his attack as he instead fumbled at the ground in confusion. Simultaneously, Aengus brought his axe down, chopping right into the shaerd’s bowed head. It sliced through the skull, went in halfway, lost momentum, and Aengus pulled it back up, spraying brainmatter on the way out.

Despite this, the shaerd seemed unaffected as he raised the bloodied head and glared at Aengus. This was an opening Silas wasn’t going to let pass as he thrust his sword forward, catching the shaerd by the neck and slashing through. It left a yawning cut which slobbered purple blood down the beige frock. Yet, Silas was forced to back off in the following second as Alair punched for him, missing but still hitting his sword.

The force travelled up the blade and into his arm, causing Silas to yelp in pain. Clearly the shaerd’s lithe figure belied the ridiculous strength he possessed, as well as his disturbing vitality. Not that it mattered much; perhaps in a fair duel the Fiend would have proved a challenge, but this fight was anything but fair.

Ajit spoke an arcane word and fired a red-tinted pyramid at Alair, crushing his face in and causing him to topple backwards. Aengus roared, power condensing into his axe as he swung it like a golf club. It sheared off one of the Alair feet in a thick purple spray. Lightning burst out from Silas into the downed shaerd, and Alair let out an anguished screech. Although he had yet to reach death’s door, he was on track for it with how the fight was progressing.

But Silas had a bad feeling which made him look up, quickly spotting a red blob which streaked through the sky at a ridiculous pace. It was almost too fast for him to follow properly, but he managed to see past the blur for a moment. It was a motorbike of coalesced blood, and atop it were two familiar but troubling figures, the first a grinning Zafeera Bazzi, the Blood Ripper, the second a laughing Kuraim Jaffer, the Necromancer.

As if it couldn’t get worse, the distant horizon which had been grey and craggy and empty was now grey and craggy and pouring out waves of undead.