The land sloped downwards into a small ravine, hills to either side of them as they made their way towards the ritual site. The hills were sponged with small caves, perfect for setting up the ambush against Mordenaro. Already as they walked Joseph watched as the Denrama scurried up the slanted hillsides and ducked into the caverns, bows and spears in hand, ready for the Guild of One's eventual arrival.

“Alright,” Joseph said to Manzima, “You get the prince out of here, run as fast as you can. We'll hold Mordenaro.”

The elder nodded. A few of the Denrama were joining her and Luevo, to accompany them to the ritual site. A basic formality, for if Mordenaro broke through here, then nothing else would be able to stop him. The rest of the tribe were already prepared to die, even the few children that still remained. Most of them looked angry, indignant that the Kimao had come to harm, that Mordenaro had come to kill him. They would need that anger, Joseph knew.

He, G-Wiz, and Luevo were at the base of the ravine. They all looked at one another.

“Guess this is it, then,” Joseph said.

“Indeed,” Luevo said.

They stood there awkwardly.

“Listen,” Luevo began, “I just want-”

“It's alright,” G-Wiz said, “Just get out of here. No time.”

The prince looked at her, a miasma of emotions painting his face, before it settled into grim determination. He turned and began jogging.

“Hey princey!” G-Wiz called out.

He turned around.

“If we all die here, but you succeed, you better make sure your life's a good one. None of that petty crap.”

Luevo nodded, “I-I'll live the best life I can! You'll be so jealous at how... at how good it is! You'll see! I'll make a difference!”

And he turned and continued his flight.

Joseph turned to G-Wiz, “You're staying down here?”

“We need to get him to stop for a second,” she replied, “So you can zap him. I'll… I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Joseph replied, “Let's do this.”

And he began making his way up one of the slopes, ducking down into one of the caves.

***

The world was quiet as the Grim Walker made his way to G-Wiz. The wind whipped up for a few moments, though no Spioa sailed its current. The Guild of One's duster fluttered in the hard, cold breeze. Much of the duster was threadbare – torn to pieces by Nole's ragged assault back in Kelstonda. Mordenaro was covered in wounds – deep holes that led to nothing but void. He was oblivious to them as he stopped a few yards from G-Wiz, piercing emerald eyes staring at her. The sun rose up behind him, silhouetting him in shadow.

“You're a persistent bastard,” G-Wiz said. She was thumbing a few keys on her Zumbelaphone.

Mordenaro nodded, “As are you.”

G-Wiz ignored him, looking down at the sack, “Is that...?”

The Grim Walker nodded. He placed the sack down in front of him, “Your friend fought well. This is all that is left.”

She suppressed a hollow sob as she pointed the Zumbelaphone at him, “That's far enough.”

Mordenaro nodded, “I had hoped that the death of three-”

“Arc's alive.”

“Of two of your compatriots would be enough to dissuade you. I have encountered Amber Foundation before. You do good work. I had hoped you would step aside.”

“A job's a job, but you made this one personal,” G-Wiz said.

“Indeed.”

She pointed her keytar at him. His open hands closed into fists.

Around them, the Denrama leaped from their hiding places.

As did Joseph, who aimed, and fired. A bolt of lightning struck the spot where Mordenaro was, lighting him for a split second as an azure sun. Unperturbed, he reached forward at G-Wiz, who unleashed a beam of light that pushed Mordenaro back, nearly picking him up off the ground as he skidded across the dusty ground. The Denrama followed as the light fizzled away, spears drawn. Those with bows took aim and fired, a volley rushing towards the Guild of One, whose hands shot out and began plucking them out of the air, one after another, a couple getting past his defenses and stabbing past his tattered coat.

And then another bolt sailed down and lit up the world. The Denrama on the ground stabbed forward. Mordenaro parried their shots, reaching down towards one of them, hand closing over their head and squeezing. He became a whirlwind as he leaped forward, parrying and deflecting, bodies falling around him as he made his counter-attacks. Some had their skulls caved in, others had holes in their chests from where Mordenaro had punched through. Their suicidal charge blunted, the remaining Denrama retreated back, keeping their distance, spears pointed at the Guild of One. G-Wiz pointed her Zumbelaphone at the Grim Walker, taking aim-

He was on her in a flash, a fist surging forward, breaking through the Zumbelaphone and ramming into G-Wiz's stomach. She doubled over, the wind knocked out of her as Joseph let out a roar and leaped down, running down the hill towards Mordenaro. He pointed out a hand, concentrating his soul there, cutting the circuit, letting the stream of electricity rocket out of his open palm. Mordenaro was ready, though. He ducked to the side, the arrow of lightning thundering past him. In the same movement, his hand closed over the back of G-Wiz’s neck.

“Stop, Meta-man.”

Meta-man?

But Joseph did.

“Another step, and I break her neck. Another guildmember dead,” Mordenaro’s voice was smooth and rich, “Is that worth the job?”

“You know it is. You know what's at stake,” Joseph said, “Let her go. Her keytar's broken. You've already killed her best friend.”

Mordenaro's face was passive, those green eyes betraying nothing as he stared at Joseph for a long time. Beside them, the Denrama were re-organizing, ready to make their next moves, spears pointed and bows drawn.

“You've got guts, Meta-man. Making it this far is no joke,” Mordenaro said, “Let me pass, and the girl lives. You live. The remainder of this tribe lives.”

“They won't if you kill Rolala,” Joseph noted.

“Indeed, they will not. But they will live today, and have another chance at life tomorrow. Step back, and let me do what I was hired to do. No one else needs to be hurt – I have killed enough guildmembers on this journey.”

Joseph glanced down at G-Wiz. She was clutching her stomach, an odd, empty look filming her eyes. He knew that the Grim Walker could have easily killed her, could have kept pushing until his fist had rocketed out of her back.

But he hadn't.

Memories of each of their encounters came to him. To the Grim Walker, it had been a job at first, hadn’t it? Then he had faced Nole in the jungle. On the train. Joseph’s eyes slid down to the bloody bag for a moment.

Why was he being so merciful now?

What made the Guild of One go on jobs like these? Who did he give respect to?

“Put her down, Mordenaro,” Joseph said, “Leave the Denrama alone too.”

“You'll let me pass?”

“You'll face me. Alone.”

Something sparked in his eyes. And the Grim Walker gave a dark grin. He lowered G-Wiz gently to the ground. Then stepped past her.

“The rest of you, go!” Joseph said, “Get to Luevo!”

“You've got guts, Meta-man,” Mordenaro said, “Like the troll. It's for that reason alone why I'm letting this delay slide. But this isn't a mercy. I've killed your kind before.”

The soul surged to full power around Joseph, flexing upwards, large claws closing as Joseph took a stance.

“You haven't killed me,” he said.

“You are not an exception,” Mordenaro countered. And he rushed forward.

***

They had almost made it out of the ravine. It sloped upwards, back towards stable and flat ground. One more uphill walk, and they were there. Luevo began making his way up. There was no pain, no gasp in his legs like back in the mountains outside his home. The decaying effect on the Deadlands quieted the brain, made it forget the muscles. The younger Denrama were ahead of them, making sure no other nasty surprises awaited them at the top.

“Rolala, I'm doing alright, right?” he asked.

“Ro la lay, you walk indeed,” the creature replied, “Ro la lade, the elder fades.”

The prince turned around and grimaced. They might not have been able to feel the fatigue, but it nonetheless was there. The old crone was wheezing as she crawled up the hill on all fours.

Luevo let out an annoyed huff, looking up. The other Denrama had already gotten to the top. There was little time.

But…

“Alright,” he said, “Time to be a moron. Come on, Rolala, help me.”

He ran down to Manzima and began foisting her up. He could feel Rolala spread out from his back, spindly insect legs wrapping around her as the two of them began carrying her up the hill.

“L-leave me,” Manzima gasped.

“No,” Luevo said, “I want you to-”

Do what?

“I want you to see this. It would be rather pathetic if you died right as this land begins to breathe, you old witch.”

“Respect... y-your... elders,” Manzima wheezed.

“No,” Luevo said, “If I did, I'd have left you behind.”

“Ha!” Manzima barked, “Make... a man... out of you yet.”

They made their way to the top of the slope.

“Almost there, ro la la.”

“About damn time,” Luevo growled.

In the distance, he heard thunder.

***

The bolt lit up the world a fourth time, hitting Mordenaro dead-center in the chest. The recoil was enough to push him back, smoke curling around him. There was no scar, no red, spider-webbed welt that mapped where the lightning had entered his system and escaped to the earth.

It was all Joseph could do to keep Mordenaro away. He out-ranged the Grim Walker. And Mordenaro had eyes only for him. The two had sparred for a brief moment, but it had quickly become apparent to Joseph that he was completely outclassed – the first block he had made had nearly shattered his soul. It was cracked like a glass statue, rebuilding in his body, crying out with each breaking circuit he made to fire another bolt at the Guild of One.

Mordenaro was tanking each one – letting it pass through his system, blue sparks dancing around his massive form, each blow pushing him back a few steps, his boots skidding across the ground. It was not enough. Would never be enough. Joseph grimaced as he felt the last bit of energy sap from his body, his soul broken and exhausted.

There was a moment.

Then Mordenaro cracked his neck as he resumed his advance, marching up to Joseph, his entire arm pulling back. Joseph crouched, jumping to the side as Mordenaro brought a fist down.

He was not prepared for the Guild of One’s speed, as Mordenaro spun on a dime, arm reaching out, hand wrapping around Joseph's ankle. What remained of Joseph's soul sparked to life, blanketing his back as he felt himself sail upwards in an arc as Mordenaro slammed him into the ground. It took the brunt of the blow, cold pain aching up Joseph's spine and spreading through his body like winter's breath. Mordenaro's smile grew dour, as though he were disappointed. Already Joseph could see him going back into business mode. Gone were the games, the thrill of the hunt, the sport of it all. Joseph was no worthy prey. Not like Nole.

Not unstoppable. Not throwing his all into each and every fight he got into.

Already Mordenaro was bringing up a final fist, one to end Joseph’s world.

He was broken and tired. But Joseph screamed, his soul crawling upwards, claws snarling at Mordenaro, swiping at the Guild of One. One tore across Mordenaro's face, though he ignored it, and Joseph's eyes widened as he saw that, much like the other wounds on his body, there was nothing but void on the other side – no skull, no brain, not even blood leaked from the wound.

Not to be outmatched, Joseph leaped up, jammed a finger into one of the holes – it felt shockingly cold within, colder than anything he had ever felt. He willed his soul, let it have some semblance of a circuit in his body, his vision going dark as Mordenaro curled a hand around his throat.

And unleashed one last bolt. Weak. Pathetic, even. Nole would have laughed.

But it was enough to send the Guild of One flying back, sailing overhead before landing in a great, puffing cloud. Joseph rose up, his feet unsteady and his knees shaking as he stood tall.

Mordenaro rose up as well. The smile had returned.

“Not bad, Meta-man,” he said, “Not bad at all.”

“Were you...” Joseph gasped, “Were you this talkative with Nole?”

The Grim Walker didn't answer.

Another round now. Joseph's stomach ached. His soul surged to life once more, crackling and without form, a mass of azure lightning arcing over his head, the barest outline of claws and beak painting the wind. Joseph was aware of the Denrama watching in awe as he took another few steps forward.

“Let's do this,” he whispered. It was just barely loud enough for Mordenaro to hear.

The two met again. Joseph's eagle struck first – a mistake. He should have been more defensive. One shot from Mordenaro would dome his skull, or shatter his ribs and spine. The Grim Walker allowed himself to be raked, letting the pulsing, plasmatic claw tear down his shoulder as an underhanded fist arced for Joseph's stomach. He twisted to the side, feeling the miniature tornado generated by Mordenaro's punch whistle past his back. The other fist rocketed downwards. Joseph's soul contorted into a solid shield of light, the fist colliding from above, a shockwave generating outwards that pushed the air back and reeked it with ozone. The soul cracked as Joseph leaped back, Mordenaro thrusting himself forward, the two of them dancing around the other for a brief moment before the Grim Walker made another punch. Joseph's soul became more substantial as he willed the eagle's arms to pull up in front of its face in a defensive motion, meeting the fist head on – the arm's shattering, icy pain lancing throughout Joseph's body.

For a moment, Joseph was grounded, but the blow was strong enough to send him upwards, his stomach dropping as he sailed into the sky. And Mordenaro was fast – fast enough to jump up to meet Joseph's now-falling form. Joseph's soul was still out, and he could still see through its eyes as the Guild of One brought a leg down in a dropkick. The eagle took the blow, sending Joseph careening down into the dirt, soul finally breaking and receding back into his body.

And with it came more agony. Joseph's mind swam, numb ice overtaking everything that he was. His right arm had been broken by the fall – it had hit the ground, his forearm having snapped awry. Yet he was too tired to even scream.

***

“Here, ro la la.”

Luevo stopped, removing Manzima's tired arm from his back and letting the other Denrama take over for her as he took a few steps forward. It was much the same spot as the rest of the Deadlands – dust swirling around him as he walked, the browning sky seeming to crack the further he got here, the jagged and harsh mountains like the broken scales of a Dragon in the distance. The world was silent, though in the distance the prince could hear the booming sounds of thunder from Joseph’s power. At least he was still alive. He hoped G-Wiz was, too.

“Alright,” he murmured, “Do your thing, Rolala.”

He felt the creature peel away from his back, rising up over his shoulders, their dark shadow overtaking him. Spindled, ochre-brown legs arched down, ten in all, almost like tree branches, spiked and sharp with needle-like protrusions running up and down and along their form as they gently patted into the dust. Then came the head – that of a locust's, the eyes having fully melded into a mosaic of beetle-black octagons, patterned together to form twin domes that seemed to hold the universe within them, stars dancing in each and every reflected surface. For the first time, Luevo saw Rolala's body, whole and new, their carapace patterned like a tiger's, striped with amber and seeming to mimic the distant sun.

But above all were the wings. They were fan-like and reflected the rainbow of creation, seeming to shift and change with each subtle movement Rolala made, millions of paintings colluding into a dizzying kaleidoscope – Luevo had to avert his eyes as the creature stalked to the ground.

“You're,” Luevo sobbed, “It's-what-”

“I am ready, ro la la.”

“To think, I didn't know-” he gave a wide, watering smile, “I didn't know something like you could come from me.”

“I am colored by your experiences, by your life. Who you are, becomes me. I am Rolala. I am Luevo. We are Kimao.”

And Luevo understood.

And he also knew what had to happen next.

“I'm not-” he whispered, “I'm not ready. You're just so- you just came out, you just became whole-”

“I am not whole, ro la la,” Rolala said, “I am not me, ro lay lee.”

Luevo stammered for another few moments, heart pounding with desperation – they could trade, surely. He could become the land, and Rolala could live – it was only fair. Something beautiful for something... broken. Unwhole. Unworthy.

“I know what you think,” Rolala said, “I know what you dream, and I know that not all is as it seems.”

“D-doesn't rhyme well, you stupid-” he choked, “Not fair...”

“I am not not whole, ro la la. I am just a shard of you, ro la loo.”

“But you are!” Luevo said. He drew closer, “You have to be. You have to be more than me-”

“I am part of you,” Rolala said, “Nothing more. What you see, Luevo – brother, friend, self – you see what you can be, and that already exists in what you are.”

“I don't know if I can be that,” Luevo said, “There's so much of… of me in my way. I can't-”

“You can. You did so with me, ro la lee.”

The wind began picking up. For the first time, Luevo could see Spioa dancing and drifting in. Hands and feet, smiling faces, excitement buzzing through the warming breeze.

“The land beckons,” Rolala said, “It is time for me to leave now. To become the land. To make it anew, as Kimao of the past have done, ro la loo. Yet a piece of me is in thee, ro la lee.”

“Right,” Luevo said, “Because you're me.”

“And you, me,” Rolala lifted a great leg up, shuddering for a moment, morphing into a hand. Luevo's hand, and it felt oh-so-familiar as it interlocked with his own, “This land is you. It carries your spirit. Our soul. My life.”

“Alright,” Luevo said, sniffing, “I'll-I'll try, then.”

“In trying is doing. The road is long, but does not extend forever,” Rolala said.

There was a shift in their form.

It was time.

“Goodbye, my... my friend,” Luevo said. The words hung in his throat, almost coughed out, tears now openly streaming down the prince's face.

“Sensu'ala, ko rein lee,” Rolala said. And then they were gone, their carapace hardening, then dissolving, carried by the wind like leaves from a dying tree, into ash that settled into the earth.

And then the earth changed.

***

Mordenaro continued his walk past Joseph and G-Wiz's crumpled forms. Denrama were arrayed around him, spears in hand, archers still posted on either side of the canyon and ready to fire down upon him. Yet the Grim Walker ignored them, boots puffing clouds of dust as he made his way forward. It was obvious to all what he felt.

This was over. No arrow could dissuade him, no spear could stop him. There was only death now. Be it short and quick by the Guild of One's hand or slow and harsh from the Deadlands. Already a few of the Denrama seemed to be prepared for the former, as they began advancing on him, their faces stone-like, resolute and resigned.

“No.”

Joseph's voice was coughing and broken. His breathing was ragged and came out like the notes of an old, battered flute, staggering and heavy, his entire body racking and seizing with each inhale. Yet he stood, arm hanging limply at his side, blood leaking from a gash on the side of his head, obscuring his right eye. His left's vision swam, and Mordenaro was more mirage than solid. Joseph's legs were bent inwards as he began his circuit once more, soul shuddering out of his body, its form cracked like an old crystal.

“I'm not dead.”

“That you are not, Meta-man.”

“So let's do this again,” Joseph said.

“You are so eager to die?” Mordenaro's thin lips turned upwards, “You are brave, Meta-man. I will give you that. Tell me, what is your name?”

“Joseph.”

“Your real name.”

“Joseph,” he repeated.

A lilt of disappointment played in Mordenaro's eyes, “Still young. Still new, fresh from the egg. Fresh from rebirth. That I kill you now is a disservice.”

“An understatement,” Joseph spat.

“I read your DNA, Meta-man. I know of your ancestors. I spoke with them. The people of Armagest. You carry the stars on your back.”

A prick of curiosity. Just for a moment.

But there were more important things now than curiosity.

“Let's finish this. Be quick with it, if you actually are going to kill me,” he said.

Mordenaro nodded. His smile twisted into a smirk as he rushed forward. Joseph fell to the ground and curled up, his soul towering over him and slashing wildly at the Guild of One. Mordenaro let the claws rake across his chest as he delivered another crushing shot at the eagle, who twisted and let it collide with its shoulder, claw reaching forward in a counter-attack that collided with Mordenaro's cheek, tearing and ripping and leaving another open hole. Mordenaro brought out a great boot, intending to stomp down on Joseph's head on the ground, but the soul pushed forward, grabbing his shoulders and shoving him back. Mordenaro stumbled, found his footing, then clapped his great hands against the eagle's temples.

On the ground, Joseph wailed, concentration broken as the eagle shimmered and popped, morphing into a blob of light as Mordenaro delivered yet more crushing shots against it, cracking further and further. His good eye swam up to see Mordenaro pull back and rocket a fist downwards to his skull.

He rolled out of the way, hearing the sound of the fist ring in his ears like the aftermath of a grenade, his soul not giving Mordenaro a second chance as its great azure arms wrapped around him like rope, holding him fast. Its beak – cracked as it was, its bottom askew to one side, drove down like a hook into his shoulder.

There they remained locked, snarling and clawing at one another.

Then the earth softened beneath Joseph. Mordenaro stopped fighting. Yellow, straw-like grass began growing out of the ground, covering it, flooding it in a field of gold. The sides of the canyons disappeared, melting into the ground, replaced by new mountains in the distance – ones that were not jagged, not diseased, but rather looming and magnificent, their peaks garnished with snow. High above, the brown sky washed away, replaced by a kind blue, clouds swirling into existence and then beginning a journey of wheeling overhead, as though they had always and would always exist.

Mordenaro pushed himself away from Joseph. He looked around, taking in the sights around him. For a long time, he was silent.

Then…

“Not bad, Meta-man,” he said, “You went the distance.”

Joseph let out a groan.

“Had I a hat, I would tip it to you,” the Grim Walker said, “But this job is over. Good-bye. For now, at least.”

And with that, he began walking the way he came, a dark form on the golden sea of the plains. Joseph was aware of G-Wiz, hardly able to move, as she crawled over to the bloody bag that held Nole's head. She wrapped her arms around it and let out a broken sob.

But he could only watch, through the vision of his soul, as Mordenaro kept walking, his back to the Denrama and to the battle he had made against them, slowly becoming a blot on the horizon of gold and blue, before disappearing entirely.