Theo struggled to breathe through punctured lungs, eyes wide as he saw Fet reach a hand out towards him.

“No!” Theo heard explosions, absently noting that at some point, the silencing spell had ended. Or broken.

It didn’t really matter right now, but nothing really did in the face of death, so he considered that question with a startling clarity.

The explosions grew louder, and before it got much closer, a shape interposed itself between him and his fate.

It was Jenny.

She looked back at him, tears in her eyes. They were red.

Even covered in blood and mud and grime, Theo thought she was beautiful.

He also had no idea what she was doing. There was no way she could stop it. He hoped she had enough sense to not kill herself.

And then he saw Sparrow, and Drew, and everyone else coming together, rushing to save him as they came to a stop in line with Jenny.

They pelted the flame with every weapon they had, casting shadows over his body as they tried to hide him from judgement for a moment longer.

It did nothing.

Theo closed his eyes.

To an outside observer it might have looked like he was accepting his death.

But really, he was doing something he hadn’t done in a year.

Jenny felt it first, being directly in front of Theo and the closest to him physically.

She gasped as mana was ripped from her body, siphoned.

They all felt it, some stronger than others. The bards fell to their knees, while the warriors merely stumbled. No mages or priests had made it to Theo’s side in time.

They watched, as the flame got closer, and closer.

And started to disappear. It was as if it met a barrier, like a pad of butter with a spoon’s imprint on one side.

It was eaten away as Theo unravelled its magic, stealing its mana with his secret comprehension of Meditation.

This time, the silence that reigned was not manufactured nor imposed through magic. This time, the entire battlefield had come to a halt, all holding their breath in unison as a force strong enough to end a siege disappeared like a dream.

Theo stood up, shakily. Mana sweated from his body, steaming rivers that turned his form golden and hazy. His body held too much mana for even him to handle, and it was leaving in every way it could.

Everyone watched as he pulled each arrow out, one by one.

He started with the three in his hands, then the two in each arm, the eight in his legs, the thirteen in his torso, and finally the one that went through his neck via his mouth, barely missing his spine.

Everyone watched as his flesh knitted back together, the blood and mana both pouring out of him slowly coming to a stop.

Everyone felt the ground shake, as he disappeared.

Theo reappeared in the middle of Etol’s army, a trail of magic and people he literally ran over in his wake.

He snapped his fingers, and as the sound travelled so did a chorus of explosions, a round of backfires emanating outwards in a growing spiral, consuming everything in its path.

Moments later, there was nothing but a flattened wasteland, with a single soul standing in the centre.

There was no more glow or trail that surrounded Theo now, only the absence of life, and the desolation of absolute and utter destruction.

It was then that the rest of the battle resumed.

Theo looked around, finding that Etol’s morale was finally broken, as the surviving members of the army scrambled to get as far away from him as possible.

He took a moment to observe what was happening around him, watching a woman with short black hair shift her left arm into a metal shield, and her right into a blade, blocking a strike before shifting the shield into a tentacle that swept her attackers legs, blade arm extending to pierce their throat.

That must be Miriam. She soon retreated, body back to normal, presumably too low on mana now to safely use Soul of Clay any more.

It seemed the morale issue was widespread, as Etol’s army almost as one started to walk away. Every warrior still standing on the frontlines left, and the pilgrims and support were waiting there with open arms.

Union city stopped pelting them with arrows and spells as they did so, bows held ready but not firing just yet.

The priests, however, were praying.

“My children of the Gods! Be not afraid!” Guiding Will’s voice carried over the battlefield. It was clear and audible, but not painfully loud. “This is a mere setback. I have faith that we will prevail. Do not lose hope yet! We have the Gods on our side!” His voice rose, but it had no effect. There was a difference between fighting people who were strong with weaknesses you could plan for and find a way to beat…and fighting someone who took enough arrows to cripple a battalion and lived. And that was before they considered the ability to neutralise any magic. There was a winnable war, an there was fighting Theo.

So they left, ignoring the fervent words of the representative who started it all, willing to desert and lose the war in order to preserve their lives.

The rich, booming laugh of Guiding Will made every

“Oh, my wayward lambs. You seem to think you have a say in the matter. The Gods’ will is victory, and victory they shall have! I compel you!” A wave of magic burst out, settling into each and every soldier on Etol’s side, as they all fell to their knees screaming. Their eyes glowed white as the mana entered their bodies, veins bulging as part of the body was white-knuckle tense.

Once the magic settled, the screams stopped.

Every warrior, eyes white and faces blanks, turned back around, grabbed their weapons, and headed back towards Union City.

They were bodies without minds as they marched, now just another unwilling casualty caught in this tragedy.