“This way, hurry.”

Leor opened his eyes to hammering rain and the freezing bite of a winter night, shivering in drenched cloth. He found himself being led through the dark storm with nothing but the faint twinkle of the moon for guidance.

“We’re here, darling.” His mother whispered to him, her sweet voice trembling. “It’s going to be okay.”

Leor felt tears roll down his cheek as he watched his father latch open a trapdoor covered in wet greenery. He peered into it. Pitch-black nothingness with no end in sight. “I don’t want to go, Mommy. I want to stay with you.” He clung to his mother’s skirt for dear life. Maybe if he cried enough, she’d listen to his pleas just like always.

She ruffled his hair, kissed him on the head, and said, “I need you to be a good boy for me, okay? Be strong for me, the light of my life.”

Before he could muster a cry, Leor was thrown in, plunged into the swallowing dark, his arms flailing desperately for something to stop his fall. He slammed hard into something rock solid and icy, yet his head was half-drowned in a pool of liquid black.

A blade stabbed the ground beside his head, almost grazing his right ear. Then another planted next to his left. “Never let go of your katanas.” Leor perched up, surprised. It was his mentor’s sober, grumpy voice. “It means surrender and death. Do you wish to die, brat?”

Leor only stared at him, eyes still puffy from the tears.

“Then pick them up and fight! Never let go, even in death!” The Sky Splitter raised the twin blades and drove their points down. Leor flinched, shielded his eyes with his arms, and whimpered.

“Leor.” A woman’s voice now. Sweet and loving, but not his mother’s. He was afraid to look, cold sweat dribbled down his face, his breath a ragged mess. He just wanted it all to end. Yet he could not resist. His eyes peeked open and his heart shattered.

Ceri stood before him, her white robes hung loosely at her shoulders and were stained red from the wound in her stomach. In his hand were the twin blades, Ikazuchi at his side and Inazuma plunged into her belly, blood inching down the blade and onto his hand, gripping onto him as if trying to burrow into his flesh. He tried to wretch his grip free, but he was stuck, frozen, forced to look at his deed by some unnatural force.

“Do you love me, Leor?” Ceri lifted her gentle hand very slowly.

Leor swallowed and opened his lips to speak, but his voice refused the call.

“Do you love me at all, Leor?” Ceri repeated, sounding more sorrowful than he had ever heard her. She moved closer, Inazuma sheathing deeper into her belly with every slow stride until her hand cupped his chin and her face was inches from his. Leor melted in her hands.

“I do,” he wept. “Very much so.”

They embraced each other in silence for a moment. Her warmth seeped into him as she rubbed his chest, so tender that the darkness seemed to fade.

“Then why did you let me die?”

“What?” He looked down at Ceri. Her face was now clouded in cold shadows. He tried to cringe away, but the mimic’s hold on him was too strong.

“You let them all die because you are weak.” The mimic screeched, cruel and twisted. “Because you refuse to fight.” Long, slender, and deathly pale fingers stretched out to his chest. “Those unwilling do not deserve life.”

“No. . . no.” Leor resisted, twisted his body in every way possible to break free, but he was helpless, afraid, pitiful as he watched the fingers bore into his chest.

“No!” Leor jolted awake with a painful chill, clutched his chest, and heaved desperately for air as though his breath had been fished out of his icy lungs. His eyes darted about him. Darkness was swimming just as he remembered, but with it, a soft luminance emanated from the stone he sat upon. Turquoise light traced the stone in strange patterns. None that he’d seen before. Circles, squares, and crosses, all forming into one incoherent mess.

He flopped back down and steadied his breath as best as he could, pale mist steaming from his lips with each deep exhale. A dream. Just a dream.

A figure cast over his view of the endless ceiling. Leor winced, fearing he was still trapped in the nightmare, but it was only Emilia. The blue light brought a gentle relief to her face. Her usually furrowed brows were soft and showed a hint of concern. A strange, yet welcomed sight. “About time you’ve awakened. How are you feeling? Dying? Poisoned?”

“No. . . why would I be?” Leor patted himself for wounds. “What did you do?”

Her frown returned with that. “Perhaps my fear was misplaced. You fell unconscious after slitting your palm, you damn fool.”

“Right.” It was coming back to him now. The shapeless knife teeming with an ominous mist. Leor looked at his hand and a surprise slapped him in the face. A thick dark slice of skin had already formed over the wound, but the trickle of dry blood was still present. He blinked, opened and closed his palm.

“What the hell were you thinking? What if the blade was laced with poison?” Emilia continued. “I wouldn’t put it past their kind, those who are One with the Dark, the vermin of the seven realms.”

“I find us more akin to crows if anything, dragonslayer,” Valmir said from the opposite side of the chamber, seated on the black altar where Leor had fallen unconscious.

“Shut your mouth, rat. Your kind has nothing but blood on their hands. No honor, no justice, no fealty.”

Valmir sighed. “Cleansing is often under-appreciated.”

The bickering was hammering his brain into soft mud. So this is how Alden feels. Leor hacked a throaty cough, hoping that would cut their conversation short. “Where are we?”

“Same place as before but higher. Make sense?”

“No, no it doesn’t.”

Emilia held out her hand. “Are you certain you’re alright? You don’t feel your gut rising?”

Leor pulled himself up with her aide. His knees wobbled as he stood. The ground was rumbling hard against the tight enclosure, stone scraping against something other than stone. Something equally as solid but of a different material. He had to latch onto Emilia for balance. “A lift?”

“Correct, you are.” Valmir snickered, grinning like a fool with nothing to smile for.

“Leor,” Emilia swallowed, “your arm.”

“Hm?” Leor looked down. The make-shift cast had become undone and his injured arm had a tight grip on her shoulder. He flinched, preparing himself for the waves of pain, but even after a dreadful minute, nothing came. He raised his arm, rounded it, flexed it. There was an icy cold that burrowed into his bones, but other than that, Leor felt as good as ever.

Valmir hopped off the altar. Neither his boots nor clothes ever made a sound. “Good as new, eh?”

Leor eyed the man in black curiously, then back to his flexing hand. “What did you do to me?”

Valmir shook his head, wagged his grubby forefinger. “All that is your work, my friend. I’ve only given what you wanted.”

“Tch. Nothing good is ever free. What’ll it cost me?”

“Why, Leor, you’ve already paid your dues.”

“What?”

“You’ve come all this way to the old kingdom of light, despite your initial reluctance. Tell me, purblight champion, have you seen it? The answers beyond the walls, that is.”

Leor frowned, remembering their chat in the prison tower. “I found nothing but things trying to kill me, man and beast alike. . . and dragonslayers.” His gaze found Emilia stifling her laughter.

“Hm. . . Nothing has caught your eye? Visions or voices perhaps?”

Leor refused to let words leave his throat, but he was helpless to stop the color from flushing from his face. And that did not escape Valmir.

“Oh? You saw something indeed.” The Aterian moved in a circle very slowly, his eyes fixed on Leor, never seeming to blink. “Which is it? A vision, voices, or a terrible dream?” Leor flinched. “Ah, so a nightmare then. There’s no need to fear, my friend. Dreams, the dark, and all its parts are the roots of man.”

“More nonsense. What ties do you have with this rat, Leor?” Emilia said to him, her hand resting heavily on her longsword. “Dreams, visions, voices. What the hell is he on about?”

“Ah, but it is not nonsense, my dear dragonslayer. Dreams are what distinguish man from beast. They show you your truest desires and. . .“ Valmir paused, allowed the silence to settle. “Your darkest fears. Even the High Lord Ludwig is no exception. He had dreamt of conquering the surface and basking under the blue sky as a free man, and so he did.”

“So what?” Emilia scoffed, swatted the notion away like flies buzzing around a fanciful dinner. “The dark had nothing to do with the King’s feat.”

“But it did, dearie. Ludwig was born in the dark, as was all who stood with him. For a tree to grow, its seed must be buried in soil where it is coddled until it is ready to sprout. The dark is man’s purest form.” The lift’s trembling slowed and the light fizzled out, shadows consumed them. All Leor could see was the white of Valmir’s eyes and that damned smug grin. “Do not deny your origin, Leor. Embrace it. That is the way of life.”

When their ascent came to an end, the lift offered them to ashen clouds pluming from the gashes in Queen’s Finger, blades of light brought sweet relief from the cold darkness. Below, the kingdom of Solaris looked nothing more than a pale desert surrounded by the treacherous hazy sea. It was as if they stood atop the edge of the world, looking beyond the horizon of uncharted lands. Leor found it hard to believe he was there.

But still, the sight paled in comparison to the naked crown of an impossibly tall tree, its blackened arms stretched across the sky and burrowed holes into King’s Finger. A thick coat of gray wrapped the tree’s body in groping webs, almost as if strangling the branches. It spilled over the curves and dangled from the canopy like frozen waterfalls. Some stopped short, others sunk into the abyss with no end in sight.

It was of the same material as the malformed statues, Leor noted. He ran his hand against the gray surface. Neither stone nor branch. Rough, ice cold, and. . . pulsing? He flinched his hand back. What the hell is this?

“The result of meddling with the course of nature,” Valmir said to him alone. The bastard was too skilled in reading his thoughts. “Those poor souls trapped within the Forsaken Tree, all mangled and twisted.”

Leor’s eyes widened. “Those. . . you mean the statues?”

“More like the form of those left to rot in the absence of death. They too were laid to rest just like the girl, but these sorry lots were forgotten by the Gods.”

“How is that possible?” Leor swallowed, his mind racing with the thought of Ceri becoming one of them.

“A curse spawned by man’s fear.” Valmir sighed and looked hard at him, his snarky smile nowhere to be found. “Remember this well, purblight champion. The human body is a fragile thing. But the soul. . . The soul is malleable and easily tainted. All it takes is one drop of blood to dye it all red.”

There was a sudden hollow clangor erupting from within King’s Finger. A steady tempo. The Revolutionary’s Bell. Someone was ringing it. Perhaps the same person who rang it before Leor could, the one who put the lap dog's teeth on him — But who?

Following Valmir, they rushed down a flight of winding branches that weaved between the forest of drooping gray pillars, sometimes needing to drop from branch to branch to descend lower. Leor was hesitant, at first, to make the leap as the height seemed great enough to snap bone, but Valmir cleared it without much effort. Soon the branches sewed into the midsection of the throne room, the bell resonance boomed through the holes and glassless windows.

Clang, clang, clang.

The ringing was faster now and between each strike, Leor could hear faint screams. He feared the worst, sprinted in, and dropped down without a thought.

The chamber itself was large enough to fit a tower upright and four laid on the ground horizontally, chandlers and red velvet curtains dangled loosely along the high vaulted ceiling, ivory stone pillars overgrown with black roots rose in a column to present the King’s Throne at the end of the chamber, where tapestries of Ludwig and Gwyn in their glorious youths hung on the back wall. Dismembered corpses ruined the decrepit marble floor.

Leor gawked in horror. Shirtless and poorly armored dead. Arindians. They were freshly slain, all of them. Severed to bits, severed in halves, blood still gushing from the wounds.

Another harrowing toll and another cry. Following the sounds, Leor saw, on the balcony, a herculean knight ramming the skull of an Arindian into the bell’s face.

Crunch, clang, crunch, clang.

“Stay out of this, purblight.” It was the rambunctious Arindian Chieftain from Lichtwerth. He was standing near the center of the room, thick arms crossed, with a mean glower focused on the slaughter.

“Was planning to.” Leor took another gander at his surroundings and found a cluster of children cowering in fear in the corner nearest to the large iron doors. Emilia and Valmir finally arrived at his side.

The dragonslayer searched the chamber, then hissed, “Where is Lord Alden?”

“Not here it would seem,” Valmir said, staring at the pristine throne, then at the scattered corpses. “Good thing we got here before them, eh?”

A final bang of the bell drew the world’s attention. It rang slow and steady as the giant tower shield fell from the bald Arindian’s hand with a heavy crash. He collapsed, his head no longer shaped right. Dented beyond recognition, as much as the golem on the shield face. The glittering gem shattered into shards.

The Chieftain gritted his teeth so loudly Leor thought he heard them crack and roared. “Sigvard, Gos!”

A tiny, tan-skinned boy scurried to him with a battered hammer in his possession. The sheepish boy knelt and offered it to him. The Chieftain snatched the hammer with his right and gripped the boy’s cheeks with his left. “Watch closely, boy.”

By then, the herculean knight strode back into the chamber and Leor got a good look at him. His bronze helm was fashioned to resemble a roaring lion, the bronze claws clasped an extravagant white cape to the shoulders, limb guards were prickly and lobstered, two heavy swordspears with intricate gold designs along the crossguard and pommel rested on his hips, one on each side. But what made Leor’s skin crawl was the knight’s lagging saunter. It somehow was brimming with overwhelming confidence, maybe fearlessness. And his size wasn’t for show. He was strong, Leor could feel it. The radiating power was almost palpable.

“It really is him,” Emilia muttered with a strange note in her voice. Fear. “Gabriel, the Twin Pillar, the Pinnacle, the Spear of Light.”

The name was familiar. Leor rubbed his chin. “Arthur’s brother?”

“The one and only,” Valmir said. “Understand what I meant now? An enemy powerful enough to slay Pillars.

Leor was still confused. It looked like nothing more than a deadly feud between two houses. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”

How long had he been standing here, hiding in the corner? Sigvard wondered. He tried to think back to where it went all wrong. Everything was in their favor. Half a hundred versus one lone Steel Craven, but numbers meant very little to his people’s pride. One by one, soldiers had thrown themselves into slaughter to the point where their stone-like faces showed cracks. A rare sight for Arindians whose expression supposedly knew no weakness.

He and the other greens could only watch as their greatest warriors, battle-hardened fighters were torn to shreds. Ripped apart like tender lamp strips. Wailing in pain and turning their backs to the enemy. The gravest crime for an Arindian.

Osvald the Bloodskin, known to all as the man covered in blood who welcomes all wounds to add to his collection, had cried for his mother right before the Steel Craven slammed that ungodly hunk of steel down on his skull and split him into perfect halves.

Katla Khan, the fiercest woman in the clan who had made a name for herself by cutting off the man meat of all the men who challenged her in a duel and lost, feared no man but three: Agnar, his father, and Lord Khalon. Today, she learned to fear another.

Katla Khan had tried with all her might, used all she could as weapons. Kicks, punches, axes, fingers, and teeth, but it was all for naught. Fear took her mind as she stood in the Steel Craven’s shadow, and begged for her life, stripped off her clothes, and offered her womanhood to him. The Steel Craven was not swayed and lobbed her head clean off her shoulders with a blinding sweep. Dead in the most pitiful way. Prideless. At least it was painless, as far as Sigvard could tell.

Brodin the Shield had the worst of it. He was the only one to have staggered the Steel Craven with his tower shield emboldened by the strength of Khalon. He bashed him hard through the stone pillars, cut him with the shield’s lip, and defended well against flesh-splitting swings. But Brodin had a habit of being overly boastful. “Pathetic arm!” he would laugh with each block, sweat dripping down his bald scalp.

It must have struck a nerve for the Steel Craven sheathed his swords and charged Brodin, tackled into the shield with a heavy shoulder, and sent Brodin the Shield flying and crashing into the giant bell. His shiny head played the clapper and had the bell ringing.

Brodin quickly raised his shield, but the Steel Craven was already on him in a blink, slugging steeled fists against his guard like tiny canons. Each strike bounced Brodin off the bell, pieces of the guardian golem on his shield chipped away until he could hold it up no longer. The Steel Craven seized that bald head of his in one hand and smashed it against the bell, smashed it into a bloody pulp.

Now it was Commander Agnar’s turn to try his hand against that monster. Sigvard did as he was told and watched, though the command was unneeded. He could not look away. No one could, not even the pale Tridonians. But it was more than just a spectacle for him. It was a chance to see that bastard die.

The Commander roared like a crag lion. Fought like one too. He pounced at the Steel Craven, slammed Gos flat against the steel clothes and sent him tumbling through a pillar. Another one down. Agnar gave him no time to stand. He was on him again by the time the dust cleared, clapped him relentlessly with an endless barrage of heavy metal, only stopping to carve into the ground and send a blade of earth hurling. It sliced the Steel Craven and sent him crashing into the old throne. Surprisingly, the throne remained intact. Sigvard was certain it would’ve shattered to pieces so he could not help but wonder what it was made of.

“Get ‘im, Commander!” Gilus squeaked, then found his normal voice. “Kill ‘im!”

Another kid screamed. “S-smash his face in for Brodin!”

“Tear him apart!”

Their hearty cheers for bloodshed faded each time the Steel Craven rose, large shoulders hunched forward and swaying as if waking from an afternoon nap, then the children fell silent once more as the two warriors traded blows. The Steel Craven matched Gos with his own set of steel slabs, swung them around with little effort like they were made of thin cloth, growing wilder by the second. Agnar was on the back foot now, only had time to duck under wide sweeps aimed at his head and block what he could.

Two swords were too many for a single hammer, even Sigvard knew that much. The song of crunching steel was trumpeting for the Litherian but he could not bring himself to smile. A rock sat in his belly. Not the good kind either. The bastard commander was getting his dues, so why? Why was he not smiling like a fool?

“Not a good feeling, is it?” Frida said to him, her eyes fixed on the battle. “To have your right taken from you.”

“I’m not following.”

“Blood for blood, beansprout. Will you settle for a secondhand victory? The leftover scraps like some dog?”

“Dead is dead. Makes no difference to me.”

“Death is one thing. Killing with your own hands is another. Hunting with a bow and hunting with a knife are worlds apart, beansprout. And besides, you think your father will be smiling upon you from the heavens if you redeemed him like this? You think you’d be worthy to call Gos your own?”

“Bug off.” Sigvard turned back to the fight.

The Commander had picked up Brodin’s shield and was bleeding on the wielding arm. The first cut on his scarless shoulder. Sigvard’s lip curled for a moment and faded as he watched Agnar on the defensive. No matter how much he loved seeing the Commander struggle, it was a fleeting feeling. Damn, he-woman is right. But what could he do? Brodin the Shield, Katla Khan, and Osvald Bloodskin all fell to the Steel Craven. What chance did he have? A scrawny, feeble excuse of an Arindian.

Leor knew not the reason for the fighting, but what he did know was he did not want any part of it. It was risky business trying to meddle between two rabid dogs, and these two were at each other’s throats, taking turns knocking the other down and exchanging heavy blows that would kill any normal man. “I see what you mean,” he muttered to Valmir.

The man-in-black was leaning on one of the six pillars still intact. All too relaxed, arms crossed and smiling. “Say one thing about me, say that I speak nothing but truth.”

“Something isn’t right,” Emilia said beside him, her gaze still locked on the brawl, studying. “Agnar should be no match for the Spear of Light, the Pillar renowned for his strength and grace with the sword. He must be holding back.”

Stronger than this? Leor gulped. “Well, let’s not be here when he decides to get serious.” He swept the room with his eyes again. No exits but the balcony and the large iron door, the former must be a long fall down, so he made his way to the latter. As he drew closer, the door grew taller and taller. He wondered why someone would make doors this large and if he could even push them open.

Valmir snuck up to him, silent as ever. “Ah, but my friend, the answers I promised lie in this very room.”

“Where? All I see are pools of blood, bodies, and rubble.”

“There is one thing here left untouched by war and time.” Valmir gestured an inviting hand and Leor followed its aim.

Leor scoffed, looked at the marble chair with disgust. “The throne? What, you expect me to sit my ass on it while those two beasts go at it like some fat king watching a circus?”

“If you’d like,” laughed the man-in-black, “but nonetheless, Gabriel must be dealt with and the room must be cleared before anything can be done.”

“Let the two kill each other for all I care. Or handle this business yourself. I will group with Alden.” Leor brushed past him and continued for the towering doors.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Leor ignored him and kept on, but just as he reached the door, the tanned Arindian boy jumped between. They looked at each in silence for a long time, the boy glancing around nervously until Leor had enough. “What?”

“P-please help,” the boy said in a voice as small as he was and pointed a shaky finger at their leader.

“Ha, no. Your chief already warned me against that and I plan on heeding it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Another attempt at the door, another means to stop him. The boy jumped for his leg, wrapping tight around it like a snake. The other children who noticed started shouting in their native tongue. Nothing good. “Ah! God damn it, boy! Get off!”

“Please help him!” the boy cried again. “It needs to be by my hand! Please!”

Leor hobbled, tried to shake the pest off. “What the hell does that mean!? Get off!”

Another child, a bigger one. A hard-faced girl came up and said something to the boy. Trying to reason with him, Leor assumed.

The light in the room vanished, day turned to night, like a fire blown out by the wind. Leor paused and listened, for that was the only sense he could rely on, and heard nothing. The fighting stopped, the children gone quiet. He heard only his stunted breathing. Then. . .

Dun. . . Dun. . . Dun. The rattle of heavy metal hitting the ground. Silence again.

A dark light bloomed behind him, the brightness growing while the tint remained like a pale sun. Leor was hesitant to look, but his curiosity bested him.

Gabriel was staggering up, his entire being eclipsed by ghostly yellow wings tainted with black streaks sprouting from his back. They stretched half the length of the room. His torso lay bare, his steel breastplates rested on the floor in a shattered mess.

“None. . .” Gabriel growled, steam hissing from his bloody jowls. His voice was harsh and tired. Painfully tired. Leor squeezed the hilt of his greatsword. “shall have audience before the king. . . before the throne. . .” The Pillar raised his swordspear overhead, dark light swarmed the hunk of steel, coating it with an ominous aura, and swung. A blinding arc of paledark, the crest of a blackened sun, split the air in half a blink. A foreign, otherworldly sight that froze Leor in place. He watched helplessly as it stretched to a toothy wave.

A dark figure moved between them, shouted something indistinguishable, struck the ground, and a mountain jutted out and clashed with the paledark crescent. There was a terrible rumbling, glittering sparks flew, then an explosion of dust.

Leor coughed, waved away the settling debris as light returned to the room and revealed the figure. Agnar. He was holding the great tower shield up, a river of blood rushing down his leg.

The Arindian Chief looked back at them, heavy lids twitching over his red eyes. “Damn it, boy. . . Get. . . up. You look. . . pathetic.” Agnar toppled over with a splattering thud.

That reset his mind, had it racing again with his heart. Leor shot glances round the chamber. Emilia was shielding a group of Arindian children, still reeling from the blast and rubbing her face clean of the dirt. Valmir stood in the shadows, watching, waiting. Gabriel was strutting towards him slowly with that paledark weapon calling his name. Didn’t seem likely it was calling the boy.

Leor stepped over Agnar’s body. He’s still breathing. Tough bastard. “Boy, pick up what’s left of your father and get out of here.”

“Huh?”

“Go!” I won’t let another boy grow up fatherless, he wanted to say but decided against it. They needed to leave now.

There was some rustling of clothes, whispers in Arindian tongue, and shuffling steps, but Leor did not move his gaze from Gabriel. Something told him that’d kill him. A prey’s instinct. He wasted no time and drew the Lichtsword. It took all of him to stop his hands from shaking, the sweat made his grip feel loose around the hilts.

He blinked and the Pillar vanished. Paledark flared from the corner of his eye. He flicked his sword up. The first strike lifted him off his feet, a painful ringing swam up his arms. He had watched the two beasts throw one another around and expected a bit of that, but not to be tossed across the room like a skipping stone.

Leor crashed, tumbled to his feet, arm still tender and hot, the next slash already coming overhead, black steel flashing down with bone-shattering power. He rolled out of the way, the blade uprooted stone when it struck the ground, and he skipped back a couple of strides for more distance, for more time to think. But Gabriel denied him the luxury. He was already lunging after him, silverpoint thrusting forward.

Leor ate strike after strike, blocked what he could, dodged what he couldn’t. Each block stopped him from losing a limb but it did little against the crushing force to his arms. The blows grew heavier, his hands and legs ached with tingly numbness from the endless thrashing. He bit through the pain and kept his eyes peeled open. A single mistake and it was his neck. The hunk of steel whipped over and over, drew wide, brutal paledark crescents in speeds unruly for its mass, never giving him an opening to counter or parry. And Gabriel showed no signs of slowing down.

Another dodge and he found a dead end. His back against the grooves of cobblestone. The beast was already charging. Shit, no more running. He mustered up the courage and hurled the lichtsword at Gabriel’s face. The Spear of Light swatted the flying sword with ease, but that was what Leor wanted. A momentary distraction. He sprang off the wall, summoned all his strength, and hammered the greatsword down on his skull.

But Gabriel’s speed was unmatched. He caught the attack, their swords grinding sparks, metal on metal. A struggle to push the other back until it wasn’t. Gabriel pressed Leor back, slammed him against the wall. Gerald’s greatsword and stone were the only things keeping his head on, and both started loosening. His face burned from the warmth of the paledark blade inching closer as Leor’s arms were caving in. SHIT.

Something cracked from the side. All of a sudden, a violet spear ripped the beast off him. Leor dropped forward, leaned on his sword, huffing relief. “You sure took your sweet time,” he heaved, glaring at Emilia.

The dragonslayer shrugged. “You’re alive.”

“For now.” He spat and flexed the feeling back into his hands. “What do you think? Think we can take him?”

“Yes,” she said, though her voice wasn’t convincing. Emilia kept her eyes on the Pillar rising from the debris and frowned. The lightning spear barely pierced his skin. Gabriel grunted, crushed the measly prick to dust with a firm squeeze, and drew his second massive steel. “We have no choice.”

“By his decree. . . none. . . shall have the throne. . .”

Leor searched the room again and Valmir was nowhere to be seen. The fucking bastard fled! Before he could ask her where the rat could have gone, Emilia yelled, “Brace!”

The Pillar went for Emilia, heaps of steel coming down as one, whistling through the air. Emilia fired two bolts from her longsword, the violet streaks hissing like fractured serpents, and nipped him. One in the shoulder, one in the thigh. But that didn’t slow Gabriel. Nothing seemed to.

The paledark steels came down on her. Emilia sprouted her wings and dipped away, swooped low and dragged her blade across Gabriel’s body, just below the nipple. A shallow cut but first blood had been drawn. . . and so too was more of the beast’s rage. Gabriel frothed, released his weapon and swung his meaty fist. Emilia raised her guard, but she might as well not have. The blow smacked her in the gut before she could bring her arms in, broke off a piece of her breastplate and threw her across the room where she ended at the steps before the throne.

All the while, Leor played along the rim, eyeing Gabriel’s open back as he lugged over to her. A chance or a trap? The answer flopped back and forth in his mind. Only one way to find out.

He skipped over on silent feet. Still nothing. Once he was a stride away, Leor lunged and extended the greatsword to keep as large of a distance as possible. The tip plunged deep into Gabriel’s back, slid in as easily as melted butter. Punctured a lung and sliced through the ribs, he reckoned. The Spear of Light froze, then a black blade erupted from his lower back. Good work, dragonslayer. Leor grinned. Two blades skewering him like a pig. Gabriel groaned and dropped to his knees, almost dragging Leor down with him. Leor struggled to unsheath the greatsword and heard Gabriel mumbling something under his breath.

“M-must. . . not . . . sit. . . throne.”

“What?” Leor wrenched his sword free and checked the blade. His eyes widened. Black blood. The throne room erupted with a sudden heat, the light being pulled into Gabriel’s body. Oh, shit.

Gabriel shrieked an ear-stabbing wail that shattered the remaining windows, his ghostly wings snapped open, a dome of paledark flicked him across the room, and sent him through the wall. The remaining pillars buckled, dust billowed, chucks of stone rained as the roof caved in.

A final boom and the door breathed out smoke.

An army of footsteps trotted towards her, echoing down the long hall. Too many to count without looking. Running from whatever was causing the quaking. Nothing good, that much she was certain.

Yui clutched Miki’s hilt and waited until the footsteps were a few stomps away before rounding the corner. She was glad she did not send Miki ahead to slay the runners. A flock of tan-skinned children froze, looked at her wide-eyed. A dying brute amongst them. The fierce-looking girl who was carrying him had a waterfall of blood dripping over her shoulder.

Yui gave them a warm smile, sheathed Miki, and stepped forward with a lending hand. “Are you children all right?” They regarded her warily and cringed back like she had some kind of plague. That stung a bit, but she knew how shy children get when consumed by fear and kept her smile nonetheless. “I mean you no harm, little ones. Head down this path. I’ve gone and cleared out all the enemies. Oh, and avoid the gardens if you can. The smoke is bad for your lungs.” She sauntered past.

“M-miss!” A small voice squeaked.

She turned. The smallest of boys and Agnar’s carrier were the only ones who remained as the others made for the corner. The girl propped Agnar against the wall and sank beside him, wheezing and wiping sweat from her brow.

The shy boy looked at her feet, clutched his bloody hammer tight. “A monster is up ahead. B-be careful!”

“Thank you, dear. What a good boy, you are.” Yui giggled, called forth Miki. “As a reward, I shall save your commander’s life.” With a wave of her hand, the phoenix seared the crimson canyon in Agnar’s chest, the boy ducked from the sudden flames, the girl simply stared, too tired to react.

“Huh? What? Why’d you. . .” the boy’s voice faded in the background as Yui was already dashing down the hall.

The castle halls seemed to crumble the closer she drew, dust and debris sprinkled from the high-vaulted ceilings where the wood cried painfully, the stench of death growing evermore rank. It didn’t take long for her to find his trail. A thin purple thread sowed between a sickly rag of white, yellow, and black. A toxic miasma she had never seen before. Had its own nasty smell and taste too. Like the feeling you’d get looking at maggots festering in the gray bits of week-old meat. It made her want to puke.

An explosion erupted up ahead and smoke swallowed the halls. Beyond it, there were figures moving. Four humans and a dog. Found you.

“By the Gods, what is going on!?” Lord Alden shouted. “Menno, help him to his feet!” The big shadow moved, but not in the direction of the figure sprawled on the floor. “Menno, where are you going!?”

The wolf turned her way when her heels made her presence known. Yui looked at Leor, blood dripping from his lips, then shot a quick glance at Lord Alden. “Not looking too good there.”

Leor coughed, pushed himself up with shaky arms, slid his back against the wall for support. “No shit.” He winced as he picked up his sword. “Fuck that hurts.”

Lord Alden grabbed his shoulders. “You need to rest, Leor.”

“Can’t let the dragonslayer die on my behalf now, can I?” The purblight scoffed and brushed the helping hands away. “Not her too.”

“Lord Gabriel. . .” the scholar gasped, her hand cupping her mouth as she peered through a man-sized hole in the wall. Yui and Alden shared the same thought and joined her. There he was at the center of the room kneeling before the throne, the renowned Pillar of Lichtwerth. A man whose tales reached across the world. But something was wrong. She could not see the purity in his light, only the vile, gut-churning miasma that took the form of wings.

“Gabriel? No, that can’t be.” Lord Alden backed away, looked at the purblight with the color drained from his face. “What’s going on, Leor? What’s the meaning of this?”

“No clue, but the bastard’s gone mad.” Leor paused, staring at Yui up and down with a painful look. “Can I ask a favor?”

Protect Lord Alden and your wolf, is that it? “Go on.”

“Lend me Inazuma and Ikazuchi.”

Yui had half a mind to slap him for that, but she disliked beating half-dead men, so she settled for a scowl. “How dare you —”

Leor dropped to his knees and planted his head on the ground before her feet. “Bow your head when you ask for something. Throw it to the dirt if need be. That is what the old man told me.” He looked up at her, his eyes were that of a man who feared nothing. “Please, Yui. I won’t be able to look the old man or Ceri in the face if I do not prove my worth here.”

She stared down at him, searched for the cracks in his lines, but failed. Damn you, Sky Splitter, for teaching him Yonchin etiquette. She sighed. “On one condition. Lord Alden must grant me passage to Lightendale.”

Lord Alden raised a brow. “Of course. Help Leor and my two dragonslayers and I will have whatever you wish, Miss Yui.”

“Then we have a deal.” She held out the twin swords.

“Yoru, whatever happens, you stay by Alden, do you understand? Good.” Leor sheathed his greatsword to his back, snatched the blades from her, and said, “I will not let it break as Inazuma did. You have my word. And lend us a hand in the fight too, won’t you?”

The audacity of this man to ask for so much, she thought to herself. Still, she couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps now she’ll see why the Sky Splitter took him in. Miki formed in her hand and Yui entered the throne room.

The throne room was a different sort of mess now. The field of corpses had been crushed by the fallen stone or blown away by the erupting paledark light. The rubble formed a coliseum, large mounds pushed to the room’s edge. Sharp fragments of sunlight peered through the Forsaken Tree’s dead crown. The low hanging branches that had fingered into the room and the marble throne were the only survivors.

Leor watched as dragonslayers and Pillar locked swords at the foot of the throne, a whirlwind of colors brewing within the open chamber. Violet streaks clawing at the stone, paledark waves scattering in all directions, black-and-silver blurs dashing to every corner, every clash caused the whole tower to shake.

He looked down at the twin katanas. Gerald’s greatsword did well enough, but there was nothing like them. The single-edge blades fit well in his hands like no other, called to him like his mother used to. How long had it been since he held them? He wondered. Felt like years. He frowned at Inazuma’s missing half. The tipless blade stabbed him in the heart, made him think about the piece he had left with Ceri, made him remember all the words said and promised. Kill only if needed, his mentor’s voice rang from the black steel. “It is needed here, old man.”

Menno crashing near the door signaled the start. Leor rushed in, yelling till his voice hurt at Gabriel who had Emilia kicking and choking by the neck. Half a room away, the Pillar threw Emilia at him. Leor barreled around her, almost seeming to curse him as she flew by, then saw Gabriel level a sword to his shoulder. A thrust. Leor ducked forward, paledark flashing past his head. He caught him on the back with a clean slice. Another swing came instantly as Gabriel reeled, heavy steel chopping for his head. Thankfully, Leor was a much smaller man. He kept low, ducked under the cleave, and plunged Ikazuchi at the Pillar’s open chest, but it never reached. Gabriel caught his wrist with a sword-less hand, twisted it out the way, then rammed a knee up. Leor tried to guard but forgot Inazuma’s deformity. The hefty joint sailed through the missing tip and plowed him in the gut.

“Ooof” He coughed air and spit. Gabriel’s swordspear drenched in sinister light cast over him. Something told him Inazuma wouldn't be able to stop that. Shit. He hacked at the cuffing arm, black blood spewing out like a fountain as Inazuma cut into bone, but the grip never came undone. The fingers tightened. The blade came down.

From the corner of his eye, a ball of fire flew between them and deflected the descending sword. Emilia came from his left side and freed Leor of his bounds with a savage swing to Gabriel’s forearm. Purple lightning hissed through flesh and bone. Approaching steeled footsteps pounded behind the behemoth. A peeking view revealed Meeno charging with a glowing spear but before it could hit its mark, Gabriel roared, dropped his sword, grabbed Menno by the face and slammed him to the floor with a sickening crunch.

The Pillar raised his hand, a replica of his swordspear made of pure paledark formed in his grasp. With a single thrust, Gabriel stabbed the sinister sword into Menno’s abdomen. The silent dragonslayer howled in pain, “Aargh!” The first word Leor heard him say and it would be the last as Gabriel split his head into two with the second swing.

“Menno!” Emilia screamed, lightning erupting from her person. She raised her spluttering longsword and swung, but Gabriel took off her sword hand at the wrist as it came down. Emilia fell to her knees, clutching her blood-spitting stub and fighting back tears. Her sword clanged as it hit the floor.

“STOP!” Leor shouted at him as Gabriel prepared to finish her. He hurled Ikazuchi as he dashed towards them, piercing him in the back, Miki clawed at his face, but nothing stopped him. Leor’s heart thumped in his ears, the ominous voices made their way into his head, mocking him and laughing at his failure. Ceri’s lifeless green eyes bore into his soul.

The paledark blade descended.

There was a bursting feeling in Leor’s chest as though his heart exploded. Thunder clapped, lightning ripped through the stone floor. Next thing Leor knew, he was standing over Emilia. A hissing edge completed Inazuma’s missing half. The paledark weapon smacked against his back, shattering into glittering snow and his dragonscale cloak burning to ashes from the fringes. Ceri’s gift. . .

A black shadow pounced on the Pillar, silent until it gnawed at his neck. Yoru. Gabriel flailed, tried to get the edgewolf off, but Yoru jerked his body around, making it difficult for one hand to get the job done. A twirling ball of man and beast.

Leor found his moment. He slashed open Gabriel’s ankles, Inazuma’s new edge cleaving through with ease. The Pillar threw out wild punches with his stubbed hand as he fell helplessly to his knees. Leor bobbed past the fleshy swings and called out to Ikazuchi. The short katana ripped out of Gabriel’s back and flew into his grasp.

“Yoru, down!” The edgewolf kicked off.

He leveled the twin swords to his hip, fixed his focus on Gabriel, and flashed forth. Lightning came alive. Black and violet steel rang as the twin blades separated head from torso. The room went silent as Inazuma’s violet edge fizzled out. Gabriel plopped over, his head rolling off as it smacked the ground. Leor threw his head back, looked to the spinning sky, and sighed relief. “It’s over.”

The iron doors stormed open and footsteps pounded toward him.

He heard someone shout, “GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

“Huh?”

Something burst out through his ribs. A wet red point. A glowing tip. He touched it with shaky hands, rubbed the liquid between two fingers. Warm, but he was feeling cold. Stiff. His vision was fading. He saw figures flood through the iron doors. One was saying something to him or to Gabriel perhaps. He wasn’t too sure. The world had gone quiet.

He blinked and felt something wet lick his cheek. Yoru? Another blink and he saw someone plunge a sword into the wolfling. He heard something then. A whimper, he was sure of it. Tears rolled out his eyes and mouthed, “I’m sorry”, as the dark washed over him.