The cavern that Talrash, Robber Fly, and the Domehead found themselves in was small and cramped. It was newer, Talrash supposed, for all the records and research indicated that Earthmute's structures were made by Earthmute himself. She remembered poring over old records, back when the Sons controlled multiple Library Worlds, of the history of Earthmute. He meant to mimic himself after the Cycle of Civilization, of the leaving of caves to the fields, from the fields to cities, building until the towers pierced through the skies, their lights shining in space in an aping of the stars.

As such, this cavern itself was lined with cave paintings, but they depicted Earthmute's memories. His time used as a meeting point of Epochia, a host to the rulers of Imagination. His wanderings across the multiverse inked into sandstone and lime, figures cast in black as they rushed for ancient, extinct mammals. Still others, while showcasing the same style and art, depicted space stations, wars among the stars, more recent histories that she herself could remember. The Battle of Handorica was on full display in one of the larger rooms, the planet cast as a purple orb lined with violet geodes that danced in the darkness, ships arrayed around it.

Indeed, it seemed like Earthmute's allegiances were clear. He still bowed to the Manticore, that was certain, because it seemed he was guiding them deeper and deeper into the pit of his soul. To Visionary. Paths opened up where they had not been before, and each one led further into the self. The caverns were comfortable and direct. Their way was well lit by the ocean of stones above, each of them glittering, physical acts of worship to Imagination, that lifeblood of metahumanity.

She smiled. The journey through Death Valley seemed like a distant dream, compared to the coolness and relief she felt being here. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of combat. But they were above them, not below.

First in line, first to arrive.

And the room they found themselves in was one of glass.

***

“Where did you go, Shimmer?” Meloche asked, “After Ludaya.”

Becenti gave him a mournful look as they walked, trudging beside one another. Despite Oliphant's orders, they were lagging behind the rest of the group. Joseph kept casting a glance back at them, but wisely said nothing. They were survivors, Meloche and Becenti, of the same scourging. There was talk to be had between them, a walking moot that trailed into the earth.

“I left,” Becenti said, “Left the Silver Knights. Left the small dregs of Pagan Chorus behind.”

His brow furrowed.

“Did you know,” he said, “They tried to invite me? After everything they did? Valm sent me an official invitation, in High Speech and everything.”

“No,” Meloche said, “Shimmer, I'm so sorry.”

“I'm Becenti now. Please, call me that.”

The great, sap-born mound considered those words, giving him a sad look.

“So you've cast off that name.”

“I have.”

“Very well. It is your choice, Becenti.”

There was a thousand meanings to those words. A thousand memories. Both could hear the thrumming of Federation ships over the forests of Ludaya, of the distinct 'kelthunk' of the warbirds' glassmakers, the pulse of plasma rifles, the screams of mothers over children. They remembered Ludaya, as a crowd, fleeing towards the Traveling Points, only to find Federation soldiers already there, the entire populace guided by flame and glass like sheep to a slaughter.

“...And where did you go?” Becenti said.

“Oh,” Meloche said, “I wandered for a while, did my own far traveling, shall we say. Returned back to En-Lemnos to lecture for a small while. Joined the Disciples of Aether. Didn't do much with them, to be honest. It was something... Something to do.”

Becenti nodded at that.

“Is that all we're doing now, you think?” he said, “Just finding something to do?”

“Perhaps,” Meloche said, “Treading water. Until the next go-around. Until the next attempt.”

“And...” Becenti said, “Is that all we can do?”

“Oh, some of us find new places, of course,” Meloche said, “Home is, at the end of the day, what you decide it to be.”

Joseph glanced back at those words. Becenti was looking down at his feet, Meloche with one hand on his shoulder, the philosopher guiding his steps.

“But there is a reason we keep trying to make Ludayas,” Meloche continued, “New Epochias. You know what the Federation thinks of us. What their people have done. We create because there is no choice, because there is safety in numbers, because if we do not, we are consigned to the outside of society. To guilds.”

He gestured.

“To the bloodshed that follows.”

“But there is home in that,” Becenti said.

“Yes,” Meloche said, “There is. I have learned that. I have...”

He was quiet. They walked carefully, and the next room they came upon was one of glass.

***

Silicon's going was slow.

He would stop to consider the paintings on the walls, and of the many groups plunging into the depths of Earthmute, he was the only one to reach out a hand and touch the art, caressing the dried paints and dyes like a lover, brushing fingers across stone, and though his face revealed little, Ana could see his hands shook slightly, trembling with an emotion as he beheld old culture and histories.

She didn't know why she stopped for him. This was a race. A desperate one. They passed corpses on the way in here, fools who had gone down the wrong roads, had faced the wrong foes. Blood stained the sandstone now.

Pocket was the one who took point, rifle in hand as she stalked carefully down the maze-like caverns, through the caves, the sound of rushing water pounding in her ears. She would give an annoyed huff when she noticed Silicon and Ana lagging behind, stopping to wait for them. Never ceasing her vigilance, never letting her guard down.

“Do you recognize this?” Analyza asked.

She and Silicon were staring at an image of a man who looked much like Silicon, dusk-skinned and tall, armor made from flowing snow enrapturing him. In one hand the man held a blade of jagged ice, the other a floating green eye, whose gaze seemed to follow Ana wherever she walked.

“An ancestor,” Silicon said.

“Are you sure?” Analyza said.

“Yes,” Silicon said, “He holds the symbol of Hyzodriad. He wears armor of ice. That is enough.”

“Come on, you two,” Pocket called, “Eyes on the prize.”

Analyza went to join her lover, the two of them descending down one of the paths, their way lit by gemstone. After a moment, Silicon tore his gaze away and made his way as well. But he could not stop stealing gazes at the walls. For the art in this place was memory given form. Folktales stained on the rocks. He could remember each and every one of them, told to him by his grandmother, and each and every painting held something from his childhood, those old cherished stories. They were real to him, now, and he felt a swelling sort of pride.

This was what Epochia had been. Beyond the wars that had scarred his people, beyond the desolations and the genocides. There were lessons here. Lessons for the future, lessons for childhood, lessons from those who had come before.

Lessons, he had begun to realize, were all that he needed.

And, at last, the room they came upon was one of glass.

***

It was a room of glass and smooth, almost wet-looking black stone. Joseph and Oliphant took a few careful steps through. Clear walls flanked them on either side, one hallway to their left, two more to their right, see-through so they could see the other groups staring at them. Joseph's heart skipped a beat as he noted that one of the groups was Robber Fly's. He held his arm at his side in a stiff manner, but he gave a smirk as his eyes fell on Joseph. The air around him suddenly became tinged with the smell of ozone, to the point that Oliphant put a hand on Joseph's shoulder to steady him.

“Meloche, Shimmer,” he said, “Where are we?”

“A hallway,” Meloche said, “One to see the other delegates as they arrived.”

“Other delegates?” Oliphant said.

They watched as Talrash considered the glass wall, glaring at them. After a few moments, she let out a globule of spit, golden and glinting, against the glass.

It smeared downwards, impervious to her power. Talrash considered that, before turning a nose and continuing walking. The dome-headed mercenary followed her like a hunting dog. Robber Fly gave a smirk as he brought up the rear. As he walked, his head began to bubble and warp. He floated upwards and flew a foot above the ground as the line of the three former Sons made their way down the hallway.

“Look,” Ever-True pointed. Clear on the other side of the four hallways was a third group. Two of them were unfamiliar to the group, a dark-skinned woman who stared at them as though they were exhibits in a zoo, wearing a drab poncho that was dusted by the desert and salt plains above. Beside her was a woman with lines creasing all over her body, her jaw set and her look stern. She carried a powerful-looking rifle in hand, one that she kept level as she eyed Joseph's group suspiciously. The third, trailing behind them...

“Silicon,” Becenti murmured.

“Who?” Joseph asked.

“Silicon. The Last Knight of Hyzodriad.”

“Not surprised he's here,” Meloche said, “He always tends to come to places like this.”

“What's his power?” Joseph asked.

“He can control glass,” Becenti said, “Control and become it.”

Joseph noted the walls, “Should we be worried?”

Almost on cue, the tall man rested a gauntleted hand against the glass. The wall rippled, but did nothing more. Silicon's brow furrowed, a disturbed look painting his face. Then, the dark-skinned woman patted him on the shoulder, beckoning him onwards.

“Anyone else?” Oliphant asked.

“...None that I can see,” Becenti said, “So. Three groups.”

“All headed to the same place,” Oliphant said, “Heads up, folks. This is going to get messy.”

He kept glancing at the other two groups as they walked. As he did so, he raised Durandal, dragging its point against the glass, though the blade did little to pierce a line through the wall.

“Epochia was one nation, but many kingdoms,” Becenti said, “Disagreements happened. This place must have been to see the other parties, but they would not be able to interact with each other. Not until the next chamber, or the one after that.”

Oliphant grimaced. Joseph could see the gears turning in his head as he considered his options.

“Shit,” the Silver Knight said, “They're right between us. Shimmer, how dangerous is Silicon?”

“Incredibly so,” Becenti said, “Look at how the air's glittering around him. That's glass, so many slivers that he can form into whatever he needs. He must have brought a lot with him for this.”

“Alright, here’s what we do,” Oliphant said, “Joseph, I need you on his group. Shimmer, does that helmeted mercenary still possess your powers?”

“Perhaps,” Becenti said, “I don't know.”

“Keep on them, then,” Oliphant said, “Take out that little heater of yours and get cracking. Eve, you too. Let's hang back for a moment when we get to the next room. Maybe we can avoid the opening shots, give us a chance to breathe before we act.”

They were all going faster now, power-walking towards the end of the hallway. Each one ended in a solid wooden door, so out of place in this natural cavern it made Joseph pause as his hand closed around the brass knob.

“Joseph, go,” Oliphant said.

Joseph complied, pulling the door open. Robber Fly was beckoning Talrash and the domeheaded mercenary like some sort of insectoid gentleman. The dark-skinned woman opened the door up, her slit-covered companion going through, pointing her rifle up. As Silicon went through the door, he fractured and splintered in a mass of shards.

Oliphant took point. His face was set and grim as he held Durandal in both hands. Without a word, he stepped through his door.

***

It was a series of four stone brides, linking from one end of a vast chamber to the other. Columns of stone supported each of them, three to a bridge, funneling down into the darkness below. The busy cadence of rushing water was the only indication of what was at the bottom of the pit, uncaring to the tension above, eternal in its streaming and dancing. Joseph wondered if it traveled with Earthmute, or if it was some sort of cave, lost to time, deep down beneath Death Valley, an ancient place with a quiet, lonely history.

Above were more geodes. But they were not like the mismatched, natural splatterings of the rest of the caves in Earthmute's complex. No, these were patterned like the river below, flowing in four points above each bridge, converging towards the end of the cavern, where all four bridges ended in one outcropping of stone, four paths leading to one door.

For a moment, all three groups considered this new scene. Took in the sights, gauged where the others were. The bridges were farther apart than where the hallways had been, a chasm of around fifteen feet between each one. Perhaps the hallways had been an optical illusion. Or, more likely, it was due to the odd nature of Earthmute itself.

There was silence as eleven minds took stock of the situation.

Then, like the multiple heads of a hydra, they took off as one towards the other side of the bridge. Oliphant let out a shout, and his group stopped as Silicon leaped forward, a flock of glass surging towards the door, far faster than any one group. Joseph's heart fell. This was not even a race, there was not even a chance, the metahuman was right there at the door already-

Talrash opened her mouth, and a stream of burning gold spewed forth, a beam that collided with the bulk of the glass knight's makeup, forging much of it to burnished metal. What remained of the flock seized up and shuddered, individual pieces of falling away into the chasm below. The rest fell to the ground just at the door, and lay still.

Ever-True took her chance, chucking her javelin at the Breath of Midas. At the same moment, Joseph's circuit rocketed, breaking as he pointed out, a bolt of lightning thundering from his open palm. The entire cavern shook with a BANG, a false sunrise lighting the half-dark. But when the white smear of light cleared away, neither it nor the javelin had struck true, a solid wall of heat blocking the two bridges.

A wall of heat that was starting to ripple closer to them...

“Shimmer!” Oliphant said, “Now!”

Becenti took over, pushing against the domeheaded mercenary's stolen power. The space between the two bridges became a miasma of shimmering mirages as the two warred, the air between them as hot as a volcano.

Oliphant was suddenly beside Joseph, shielding him as a rain of gunfire came down on him. The slit-covered metahuman had opened fire, a drum-like rhythm piercing through the chamber. But each shot plinked off of Oliphant's armor, his blade up to cover his bare head, his jaw set as the barrage died down, the slit-covered metahuman's head cracking back as Ever-True nailed her with an iron ball.

“POCKET!” the dark-skinned woman screamed, her voice raw and broken. She ran over to Pocket's side, the slit-covered woman clutching her skull. But Pocket was a tough sort, and she was already getting up, pulling something out from one of the creases in her skin.

“A healing spell,” Oliphant noted, “Eve, keep on them. Joseph, fire on Talrash, now!”

Joseph spun, building up a bolt as Talrash took a deep breath. For a moment, there was silence as each group prepared their volleys. Then, there was once more a cacophonous orchestra of bangs and shudders, of light and gold, as they fired, holes opening up in the ripples of heat to allow the projectiles to push through. Joseph and Oliphant hit the deck as the beam of gold rushed overhead, droplets staining the bridge, before they, as one, stood back up and continued running. Ever-True continued exchanging potshots with Pocket and her companion, making sure that Pocket could not unleash another spray at them. Distance, for now, was their friend, as each of Ever-True's shots flew true, colliding with Pocket's legs, arms, and rifle. Whatever Pocket was carrying in her hand, however, repaired each wound on her person – bones reset as soon as they broke, purpled bruises turned back to tanned skin, and the rare cut re-stitched itself as quickly as it opened.

The rifle, however, was soon reduced to a useless state, taking blow after blow, dented to the point that, after a few clicks, it jammed and would not fire. With a frustrated growl, Pocket tossed it aside, reaching down into another one of her pockets and pulling out a pistol, taking a few potshots at Joseph's group as she and her companion kept pace.

Becenti stumbled, clutching his shoulder. Joseph stopped, panic gripping his stomach as he saw his mentor fall to the ground, a red flower blooming out of his white uniform.

“No!” Joseph yelled. He ran back to Becenti, ignoring Oliphant's warning roar. But Becenti was already getting up, sweat beading his brow as he looked up at Joseph.

“Joseph, down!” the older man yelled.

Out of the corner of his eye, Joseph could see Talrash preparing another beam, the dome-headed mercenary's arm raising, the air shaking around it with pure heat. Joseph raised up his own arm in response, only for Becenti to rush over and push him to the ground.

“I said, DOWN!” the older man snarled, wincing as Talrash's beam of light roared overhead. Becenti was completely over Joseph, covering him, stains of gold splashing down on his suit, flecked onto his hair and skin. When he rose, he was unsteady.

And then the dome-headed mercenary unleashed his shot. Becenti brought up a hand-

But the mercenary was not aiming at them. With a swipe, he let out a scythe of heat downwards, towards the bridge's supporting pillars, cutting clean through, the entire stone bridge lurching as it began to tumble.

“Jump!” Becenti snarled, “Jump!”

Joseph was aware of the bridge tipping over. Soul roaring to life, its great arms hoisting him up, he threw himself as hard as he could to the next bridge over. Becenti followed, heat swirling around him, shredded red tatters fluttering around him as he used what heat he had to carry himself over. Oliphant merely leaped, as did Ever-True. The knight landed alongside Joseph and Becenti, now sharing a bridge with the Sons of Darwin.

Behind them, Joseph could see Meloche struggle to jump, making a great bound for one of the bridges. But he was no Ever-True, who leaped as though she were an Olympian to the opposite bridge, landing and firing off another round of iron balls at Pocket and her companion. In the split-second Joseph could see him, the philosopher jumped...

And disappeared down into the pit.

But Joseph could not afford to be distracted now, as he glanced over. Robber Fly was pulling out a machine pistol, pointing it down.

No.

His soul's knuckles pushed down on the ground, then released like a spring, rocketing Joseph upwards at the mercenary, who dodged to the side, dipping between an errant claw strike. The entire chamber drummed with a high-pitched ratatatata as Robber Fly opened fire. Joseph's soul curled over him, taking each shot, Joseph himself grimacing as icey fire washed over him in waves.

But he was used to pain, and as Robber Fly emptied out the entire clip, he went back into action, rising up and watching his arc through the cavern. To the pair's right, Oliphant danced with Talrash, the Breath of Midas always just out of reach of the Silver Knight's blade. To their left, Becenti warred with the dome-headed mercenary once more, theirs a private, quiet battle of movement and shimmering air.

Robber Fly landed, well away from Joseph, and considered him. He was keeping his left arm close to his side, and it looked like he was having trouble using it, as he unclipped the machine pistol.

“Well, well,” he said, “Long time no see, Joseph Zheng.”

“You're doing well,” Joseph said.

“No thanks to you,” Robber Fly said, “Took me three weeks to get up and running again, after what you did to me.”

“What?” Joseph said, “No jokes? No taunts? Come on, man. I wasn't ready for you before.”

His soul bearing over him, he brought up his fists. The soul matched his movements, two azure claws curled into wrecking balls.

“I'm ready for you now.”

The mercenary, if he could glare, would have. Instead he rose up to his height, a hand pulling back the collar of his uniform, revealing the barest hint of a lightning-carved scar, a deep, veined welt of red.

“You owe me blood, kid,” the metahuman said, “I don't joke with dead men.”

He was almost finished loading the machine pistol. Joseph wouldn't give him that chance, as he lunged forward. Robber Fly took to the air once more as Joseph closed the gap between them in an instant, swiping a claw, one that clipped at the mercenary's pistol, knocking it out of his hand. The pistol tumbled towards the pit as Joseph swung another claw, missing Robber Fly by mere centimeters as he zipped just out of range. For a moment, Robber Fly buzzed around, trying to find a chink in Joseph's defenses.

He gave a few prodding jabs, getting in close, just staying out of reach as Joseph made half-hearted jabs, reading that Robber Fly was merely testing him. The rest of the cavern, the screams, the roars, seemed to dim as they squared off against one another.

Then, Robber Fly dived towards Joseph, spinning past a quick left jab, twisting as Joseph's closer right nearly tore him in two. The proboscis jabbed at Joseph, who spun with the shot, wincing as the knife-like stem cut through his jacket. He brought up his soul's fists, thundering them down on Robber Fly's back. The mercenary let out a gasp of pain as he felt the wind get knocked out of him, stumbling away from Joseph, who returned back to his boxer's stance. A bright smirk glittered on Joseph's face as he watched Robber Fly ooze his way back to his feet.

“You missed,” Joseph said, “Think I fried a bit more than you thought last time, pal.”

“Fuck off.”

He rushed forward again, dipping back as Joseph swiped at him, just enough to get him away, not enough to open a gap in his defenses. Joseph could scarce afford it – he was used to taking the shots, used to powering through the pain. But a familiar, creeping feeling was crawling up his spine. He remembered the paralyzing effect of Robber Fly's saliva, how it froze the body, taking it over and shutting it down, bit by bit. He could hardly afford a cut. Even that last interaction had been far too close for his liking.

Behind them, Becenti and the dome-headed mercenary played with heat, both of them pushing against the other, neither really able to overcome his rival. Talrash was still avoiding Oliphant's slashes, unable to land a shot herself. But she was getting closer and closer to the end of the bridge...

“Pay attention to your own dance, partner!” Robber Fly snarled. He made for another pass, going for a couple of quick kicks that cracked against the eagle's beak and head, burying a boot into its eye. Joseph winced in pain at that cheap shot, enough that his response was weak, an errant swipe that Robber Fly took advantage of.

An opening.

And he took it, diving towards Joseph once more.

But Joseph's human eyes were still open. His mind swam, but he kept them on Robber Fly, watched his movements, once more twisted to take the shot. He opened his jacket up just a bit to let the mercenary's proboscis strike once more.

Robber Fly had made a mistake.

He had made the same move twice.

And Joseph would not let him get away with it. He let the momentum pull the jacket free, wrapping it around Robber Fly's head.

And then the eagle's fists came down again, hammering into Robber Fly's back. But Joseph did not let him stumble away like before. He brought them up once more, then down. Then up, then down. This wasn't his usual style of fighting, he realized, not the careful picking-apart of his opponent, the trading of blows that he could take and they couldn’t. No, he had picked this up from Nash. A constant barrage, the sailing of azure fists into flesh, never giving Robber Fly a chance to breathe, to think, to react, to do anything but feel each shot take him more and more out of the game.

And, to Joseph's pleasure, it felt good.

By the time he was done, Robber Fly was unconscious on the floor. Unmoving.

Maybe even dead, but Joseph didn't let himself think that far. There was more to be done. So he turned, and went to join Becenti.

***

There was, as Ever-True dodged past as Pocket threw a javelin at her, a creeping realization that she was alone. Oliphant was not by her side, nor was Becenti. She was alone, against this... Pocket. Covered in literal pockets, from which she would pull out weapons over all varieties. Most often, now that her heavy rifle was gone and her revolver was out and dry, were javelins and spears, the occasional hand crossbow that she would pull out, fire, then discard. But Ever-True was quick on the draw, despite the fact that she herself was running out of good projectiles. Each shot was landing true, rattling Pocket more with each blow. But Pocket was tough, tougher than Ever-True had given her credit for. She was gritting her teeth, her body covered in welts and bruises. Enough to have taken out a full-grown man, and Eve knew that.

But still, she stood. And kept pulling everything but the kitchen sink out of the many slits on her skin.

There was a moment of quiet as they both stopped, staring at each other from across the chasm, the battle between the rest of Ever-True's compatriots and the Sons of Darwin raging behind them. She felt the barest hint of heat playing at her back, the vestiges of a vicious attack from either Becenti or the dome-headed mercenary. Pocket was pulling something out, a long staff of some sort, her brow furrowing. Ever-True felt around for the container hidden in a back pocket. Two iron balls left. One for Pocket, the other for her companion. The dark-skinned woman's eyes were wide, darting between the two combatants. She clutched a hammer, no good in a long-range battle like this. Not a threat, yet. Not something to be taken down. Not yet, right?

Yet Oliphant's words buzzed in her head. They were playing for keeps, right?

A distraction. Bean the small one in the head, let Pocket react, hit her when she wasn't ready, when she wasn't prepared.

It was an old-fashioned stand-off, as Pocket and Ever-True glared at each other, trying to gauge the other's intentions. The world slowed down...

A beam of gold zipped at Ever-True's right, painting the cavern wall. It was at that moment that they moved. Ever-True's iron balls whipped out, two fingers snapping one forward, the other held in her hand. Pocket's companion let out a scream, one that made Pocket shift at the last moment, twisting to put herself between Ever-True's shot and her friend.

The blow caught her in the stomach. Pocket crumpled, curling around the shot and letting out a low groan. Her companion's eyes went wild as, hands shaking, she checked Pocket over. When she turned back to Ever-True, the companion was glaring.

No.

Not companion.

Lover, as the dark-skinned woman took hold of the iron ball that had laid Pocket low. She rose to her feet, hammer discarded, rage boiling in her eyes. She took a step, Ever-True took one back. That look on her face, on Pocket's lover's face. It was enough to make Ever-True regret coming here. Regret trying to even hurt her, as though she had shattered something within that woman across the chasm.

She knew she could not miss this shot. She had to strike hard, strike true. Live up to the name she had given herself.

But she could feel nothing but regret, even shame, as the woman stood before her. Eve wondered what had brought her here. She looked... out of place, among the killers she had seen throughout Death Valley. A civilian. Someone caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

***

And, to her detriment, she did not realize the entire time she had these thoughts, half in her head and half in the game, that Analyza had been taking stock of the entire battleground, the geometries of the cave, triangulating positions, running math in her head, aided by her metapower.

Analyza threw the iron ball. Down, with a surprising amount of strength. It bounced, rocketing up towards the ceiling, ricocheting to the opposite bridge directly behind Eve, then giving a third rebound that cracked hard against the back of her skull.

Ever-True collapsed. Was still. Analyza turned her attention back to Pocket.

“Are you okay?” she said.

“...I'm fine,” Pocket said. She pushed herself up, wincing in pain as she stood up. The battle still raged on behind them, as Analyza walked over to retrieve her hammer.

“Let's go,” she said.

Pocket nodded, and the two of them took off once more.

***

There was a realization among the two parties that the third was making a run for it. Joseph and Becenti stopped, electricity and heat sparking and whispering in the air, Domehead took a step back, hand hovering over a pistol holster. Talrash and Oliphant watched as Pocket and Analyza made for the door. Oliphant's eyes – and heart – fell as he noticed Eve's prone form. The only sound came from the footsteps echoing through the cavern as Pocket and Analyza opened up the door and went into the next room.

Talrash turned back to Oliphant, opening her mouth, a gilded flame erupting out. He leaped to the side, grimacing as golden embers flaked his chainmail and held. Joseph ducked, and Becenti sidestepped the beam, watching as the Domehead flew upwards on wings of leather, beelining for the door.

“After them!” Oliphant roared. Talrash was already way ahead of him, rushing for the door, her robes flowing around her. The Amber Foundation and the Silver Knight ran after her.

Oliphant made it through, throwing the door open wide right as the Domehead slammed it shut. His blade cut through the hasty wall of heat that the mercenary had put up, ignoring the searing agony as he pressed on, then stopped.

It was another room, just as large as the cavern – it's twin, even. But instead of a deep pit, instead of bridges, instead of gemstones and crystals on the ceiling above, this room was one filled with statues.

Hundreds and hundreds of statues. All of them circling around, all of them holding a green flame in hand that still burned bright, even after so long. Shadows danced as the various combatants pushed through the statues as though they were mere obstacles, and already the Domehead was firing on Pocket and Analyza, causing them to take cover as plasma bolts lapped against a statue of a knight with the head of a bull.

Oliphant took a deep breath, and pressed on.

***

Becenti and Joseph ran together, Becenti catching up to Joseph halfway down the bridge so they were running side by side.

“Keeping up, old man?” Joseph said.

“I could outrun you any day,” Becenti said, “Keep your head in the game, Joseph.”

They reached the landing on the other side, Oliphant swinging open the door and cutting through.

“Right,” Joseph said, “Whatever you say-”

Something flashed in the corner of his eye. At the last moment, Joseph stopped, throwing out an arm and gripping Becenti's shoulder, throwing him back as the air in front of them seemed to slice open, dozens of shards of glass flying from off the ground, coalescing back into the full form of Silicon, a blade of glass appearing in one hand and arcing downwards. Joseph and Becenti split, Joseph's soul slashing at Silicon, who parried each blow and stepped back a bit, pointing a fleet of shards at the eagle, which dug into the bird's back. Joseph's eyes glistened and watered, but he kept his cool as he swung out once more.

“Go!” he roared to Becenti, “I got this.”

“Joseph-”

“GO!”

Becenti nodded, rushing through the door, turning and erecting a shimmering wall behind him. Joseph wondered how much heat the older man had left. Did the stone give it off forever? Or was it like a battery, and it would run out?

Questions for later, as he turned back to Silicon. The man was staring at him, considering him. He was dressed in armor that, even in the half-dark of the cavern, seemed to shine, panes of green and blue, a smooth, flowing affair. All of it glass, of course, all of it able to break and reform as Silicon could see fit. Joseph took his boxing stance once more.

It was time to see if this glass knight had a glass jaw.