The assassin registered Bora Bora’s hostility long before he caught up to the man. There was a certain hesitation in his stride, and he glanced up once again but didn’t seem otherwise concerned. That was, at least, until Bora Bora’s first sweeping strike came. The thief glanced back just in time to see it, and lunged forward, rolling smoothly. The scythe passed clean over his head without harm, and he was back on his feet as Bora Bora shot past him, still running directly for the Captain of Issho-Ni.

Tokugawa had seen the figure approaching and noticed his intent. It was clear what his goal was in approaching them so far ahead of the army. It was also not the first time it had happened. Nefarious leaders, both foreign and domestic, had all grown uneasy at the expanding influence he commanded, and sent assassins to remove him from power, permanently. Tobi had taken on every challenge and was not afraid to add this stranger to the growing list of failed assassins.

“Keep an eye on the army,” he said to the three behind him. “I’ll take care of this.”

Jakob, Aki, and Noda nodded their understanding at once and moved away to closely watch the approaching force. They had grown a lot over the past five years and were true masters. They had done many dangerous missions as a team, and their trust in his eventual victory was absolute. They too had seen how many would-be assassins had failed to kill him, and they found no reason to doubt why this event would be any different.

Tobi flourished his spear in experimental patterns, feeling the familiar weight of the weapon in his hand. Out of all of his friends, students, and mentors, this weapon was the most trustworthy. It was upon this spear that he had depended for much of his life, and it was on this spear that he would continue to thrive. Gripping the weapon with one hand, he made an upward flicking gesture with the other, and several small metal spikes flew out of the pouch on his belt. Each one was about the size of a chopstick and had the force of his ki packed in. He brought his free hand down, sending the metal spikes directly for the man charging him down.

Mere inches away, the man’s image blurred slightly, as if something incredibly fast had rushed in front of him, temporarily obscuring him from view. Then there was a large burst of dying air behind him, and he continued, obviously unfazed. Tobi frowned at that. Had he used some short-range teleportation spell to pass through the weapons? It was possible, he thought, leveling his spear. But some small voice in his head told him that was not the case. Samuel had taught him much about magic, and he could recognize the signs of mana and ki when it was used. He hadn’t seen anything when the assassin had evaded the spikes.

He swung his spear in a flat arc as the foreign warrior came within reach, and yet again, there was a faint blurring around his image, and then he was inside Tobi’s reach, a longsword appearing out of thin air. He thrust the sword with both hands and ran it through the arm holding the spear. It punched through to the hilt, and Tobi staggered back, his weapon dropping from his suddenly numb hand. Then the sword that was used to stab him vanished, leaving a gaping wound in its place.

Conjurer, Tobi thought. That made sense. He was a mage that focused on martial ability, conjuring and dismissing his weapon at will. He was also clearly using some kind of travel magic to dodge his attacks. This was a bad combination for him, he thought, as he let out a burst of ki with his good arm. “Hold!”

The energy formed into the visage of a lunging, biting wolf’s head before it made contact, and the massive jaws snapped down on the foreigner. Or rather, they would have, if he’d still been in the same space. Now he was attacking from the left, a newly conjured weapon swinging down in an execution stroke. Tobi could tell at once, as time seemed to slow, the way it always does in moments of lethal danger, that it was aimed true, and would sever his head from his shoulders. Then there was a blinding flash of silver in front of his eyes, and sparks struck his face from metal clashing on metal.

A scythe, spinning in a lethal blur, had flown between the weapon and its intended target, with only centimeters to spare. The foreign warrior was knocked back, cursing, as his weapon vanished once again. Tobi grinned, more from relief than genuine mirth. He’d been saved from an early death by the Champion of Bahamut. He’d have to repay that debt some way. His would-be assassin was too close to use the spikes, so he simply lashed out with a high kick. This connected, catching the man high in the chest. With a further burst of ki to boost the attack, he was sent flying a yard or so back, to land with a crash on the hard-packed earth of the road.

“My gratitude, Champion!” He shouted, even as Bora Bora soared overhead. The scythe’s trajectory changed at once to match him, and he caught the spinning weapon deftly with one hand. “I owe you one.”

Bora Bora made no attempt to reply. He hadn’t thrown his scythe to save Tokugawa’s life. He had intended to cut the follower of that wretched dragon down with his throw, but in his temper, he’d misjudged the man’s speed. But he was knocked down now, and completely vulnerable. He turned sharply, coming around to face the opposite direction in the space of a few feet, and rocketed forward once more. His target was rising to his feet when he struck, but he missed again. He was prepared to block a counterattack, but none came.

“What the-” The assassin was charging towards Tobi once again, ignoring Bora Bora entirely. This further fueled his rage, and he felt something hot boiling up inside him. As he raced towards his prey once more, he opened his mouth wide, issuing a jet of flame that scorched the earth with its heat. The assassin was forced to jump to the side to avoid it, but he was on foot again within an instant, only temporarily redirected.

Tobi met him with a dozen flying metal spikes, all crackling with electricity. A rare combination of physical and arcane magic, half the missiles flew directly at the foreigner, while the other half were aimed directly down into the earth. The ground shook with the force of their impacts, sending up a massive cloud of dust. It burst wide, swallowing Bora Bora, the assassin, and Tobi in darkness. The Captain of Issho-Ni was unfazed and waited patiently for a strike to come. He would sense his enemy by his energy and intent, and counter at the last possible second.

No such attack came. Tobi remained tensed up, waiting, but could only sense Bora Bora flashing past him, his weapon and temper both raised as high as they could be. The Champion flew in tight circles overhead, but there was no sign of the thief. Then the answer came to Tobi, clear as day. More than a little annoyed, he channeled some ki into his uninjured hand and thrust it out. A burst of air dispelled the worst of the cloud, revealing, as he’d expected, nothing but himself and the black-clad figure overhead.

“Where is he?” Bora Bora demanded, coming down quickly and landing beside Tobi. “He was just here!”

“No, he wasn’t,” Tobi corrected him, applying a quick healing spell to his right shoulder. The wound closed, leaving a raw pink line. The wound now appeared as if it had been healing for weeks. “That was a projection.”

“A projection?” Bora Bora repeated the words, confusion supplanting his anger. “But he struck you.”

“He did,” Tobi agreed, stooping to pick up his weapon. “But the weapon was the only real part of it. He’s using magic, both to project his form forward, and also to conjure his weapon. We were attacking an illusion.”

As he said the words, the assassin appeared before him once again, sword thrusting forward. Tobi targeted the weapon this time, instead of the fighter, and send the piece of steel flying to the side. It flew out of the figure’s hand with no resistance, as an illusion had no strength compared to him. The assassin paused, a faint smile on his face. He could tell that Tobi had figured out his trick.

“Come to me yourself, coward,” Tobi said, pointing his spear at the illusion. “I’ll give you a real challenge.”

The faint smile broadened into a full grin, and like mist drifting away before the sun, he vanished from view. Tobi snorted in disgust and turned to view the approaching army. They were less than two hundred feet away from the wall and would make contact in seconds. “I’ll wager he’s somewhere in that mass, using the numbers for protection.

“That would explain why I only saw flashes of him until he broke free,” Bora Bora snarled. “That yellow-bellied coward! Of course, her follower would be just as weak and sniveling.”

Tobi raised an eyebrow in question, but Bora Bora didn’t comment further. Instead, he beat his wings powerfully, taking off into the air with more inaudible grumbling. Tobi recognized that emotion. It was the disappointment of a lost fight, the denial of one’s urge to test their mettle. It was a common reaction from his more dedicated apprentices, who were always disappointed to end a sparring session. Keen to continue, they had no opponent to which they could offer their conviction.

“It appears he can fly now,” Tobi said quietly, turning to run towards his comrades. “That’s new.”

Bora Bora flew high over the Mitene Union army, far outside the range of any arrows or magic, with his senses focused on sight. He used his improved vision to scour the lines of soldiers, searching for his target. He could tell, by the incessant effort to kill the Captain, that the would-be assassin wasn’t going to retreat after this first failure. His position was still concealed, for the time being at least, and he would have plenty of opportunities to strike again while Tokugawa was occupied with fighting.

He could tell by the movements of troops under him that his presence was noticed. There were a few half-hearted bows raised and pointed in his direction, though no arrows were loosed. At least they weren’t all complete fools, he thought. Though, in a different section, several robed figures were gathering into one space, lifting their arms to point up at him. He knew what they were up to at once, and quickly darted off to one side to avoid the artillery spell that was fired. If it took them that long and that many mages to charge an artillery spell of that nature, then they were in for a nasty surprise.

“I don’t often work for free,” a voice behind him said, making him spin around. “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

The assassin was behind him, also bearing wings and glowing eyes, the unmistakable sign of an aspect. The symbol of Tiamat was even more prominent under the direct shining light of the early sun, and it glinted like a beacon, a focus for Bora Bora’s rage. He hefted his scythe at once and slashed at the man. A longsword appeared to block him, but there was real resistance to the action this time. He wasn’t an illusion.

“Decided to show yourself after all, eh, coward?” Bora Bora snarled, yanking his weapon free. He leaped back as the assassin cut at him, and threw his scythe. “I applaud your desire for death!”

With a vague flash of light, the assassin knocked Bora Bora’s weapon away and lowered his glowing hand. “My Queen will be most thrilled when I kill you, Champion. Well, it’s not as if you’re champion anymore, is it?”

The question was so odd and unexpected that Bora Bora backed off a foot or two. He snarled. “What are you talking about, you fool?”

The assassin grinned widely at him. “Any moment now, My Queen will put an end to your god. Then you’ll be-”

But whatever it was that Bora Bora would be, he never found out. Mid-sentence, Bora Bora flew forward with a snarl. He didn’t even care that he was unarmed and that his foe was holding a weapon ready to strike. He threw himself forward with abandon, giving in to his rage completely. The assassin ran him through to the hilt, but it was a minor nuisance, nothing else. He gripped the man’s shoulders, opened his mouth, and let a stream of fire burst out. It singed his throat and mouth, but he reveled in the pain.

Both armies, foreign and friendly, seemed to pause in their fighting to stare upwards. Bora Bora released the now limp former servant of Tiamat. Like a leaf falling gently to the ground, the charred body fell to earth, the ragged wings catching random drifts of wind and causing the body to turn in random patterns. It was lost to sight amidst the mass of troops when it hit the earth, but Bora Bora could hear the shouts of shock, even of fear. He coughed, spitting up a lot of blood into the front of his tattered jacket. The red stood out against the black like fire, glistening wetly in the brightening light.

Legends would be written about this day for many years to come. The Champion of Bahamut, the fallen god, truly began his path of infamy on this battlefield. But at the moment, those watching were only able to register the horror of the moment, watching the airborne specter of death wrenching the sword out of his chest, and throwing it down to impale the corpse of his fallen enemy. With a quick gesture, the scythe returned to his hand, and the sunlight behind him glinted off the weapon in a very enigmatic way. With the weapon, his gleaming red eyes, and the tattered wings beating to keep him up, he was the very image of the God of Death he would later become.

The illusion lasted for a second or two longer, before the roar of hundreds of men broke out across the battlefield. A sudden rush of soldiers had come out of nowhere, yelling their war cries as they slammed into the rear of the invading force. It was a battalion of Milagrean Royal Guard, who had slipped, unnoticed, around a nearby tall hill. They descended on their enemy with terrifying ferocity, striking down the foreigners who had threatened the safety of their city and nation. Dozens fell in the first heart-stopping seconds. Then dozens more. Then, before the enemy commander could comprehend the sudden change in the situation, hundreds were dead.

The enemy force was split. By a stroke of truly bad luck, the commander of the force had been in the section that was first truck. Communication had broken in an instant, and, with no orders to keep them fighting, mostly simply broke ranks and fled. Unfortunately for them, the worst was yet to come. Echoing the cries of their compatriots from the rear, a force of heavy cavalry, who was approaching from the West Gate, appeared and charged forward. The enemy quickly tried to change direction and flee to the North, but they were trampled under the oncoming horde.

The cavalry cut through the heart of the fractured, frightened army, and cut any defensive line to pieces. In a few short minutes, any semblance of order the Mitene Union had possessed was gone. Those that could escape the killing ground scattered into the tall grass of the plains, refusing even to pause long enough to look back. They abandoned their allies and friends and disappeared.

Bora Bora was not watching the end of the fight. He was too occupied with the sudden numbness in his limbs to care about such insignificant things. The ground rose to meet him with a tender embrace, and he landed on his knees, the scythe clattering to the ground. He’d never felt the approach of certain death before. Sure, there had been moments where he’d brushed with it, even put one foot over the invisible line that separated the living and the dead. But now it stood before him, solid and complete as a mantle.

In his mind, he saw not his surroundings, but his god. Bloodied and broken, a gaping hole in his chest that matched the wound his own Champion had received. His very life essence was leaving him now. Over him, head thrown back, screaming her triumph to the heavens, was the chromatic form of Tiamat herself. Her scream was endless, rippling across the sky, an echoing call of savage exultation. Bora Bora wasn’t sure if he was hearing it from his own ears or that of his god, but it hung in the air, reverberating through his skull. Strange, he thought. Death wasn’t nearly as frightening as the bards made it seem. He felt only anger that it was all over.

As Tiamat finished her victory cry, she lowered her head, breathing heavily, and dealt the finishing blow. Bahamut’s body went limp at once, no more life in the massive form. Out of the hole in his chest, however, a shining, golden light began to exit. His divinity. It was beautiful to behold. In his dazed state, Bora Bora reached out to touch it. He wasn’t there to claim it, but he could feel, in his core, that it was his to take. This was his legacy.

His fingers touched the orb, and it sank into his flesh, coating his body in a powerful, nearly blinding golden light. The soldiers near him recoiled with shouts of astonishment and fear as he lit up the nearby wall of the city, shining as brightly as the sun above. They knew what this was. As a reward to his life of service and strength, he had inherited his god’s divine power. His wound was sealed in bright golden light, revealing only the bare skin underneath. He was all-powerful. He was indestructible. He rose to his feet, staring at his hands in astonishment, as the people around began dropping to their knees in reverence.

“No!”

As quick as it had come, the golden light vanished. Bora Bora was alone amidst the kneeling figures, his face twisted by rage. He would not accept Bahamut’s divinity like this. He would not be removed from the world, to live his years in the Divine Isles. He wanted revenge. He needed revenge. The golden disk that surrounded the divinity inside him flared brightly as if resisting but then shattered. Bora Bora was left heaving, his red eyes burning, and summoned his scythe. He was determined. He would kill his god’s murderer before he would allow himself to ascend.