Walking through Palandis was like tripping through a garishly-decorated picture book for rich fantasy kids—a fucking massive display of artsy-fartsy swagger wearing a frilly, glamorous hat. It was pretty clear that the city planners had wanted to see which of them could out-do one another best with the heavy-handed show-offiness and then rolled with it, full motherfucking throttle. Seriously, there were, like, a million domes, turrets, and fancy-fuck archways.

Still, in the thick of all the pompous buildings, Palandis had a solid undercurrent of cold, hard iron. As we moved along the too-clean roads, it became more and more obvious that this wasn't just some namby-pamby showcase of wealth—it was a military stronghold. The Kingdom of Arlo’s armed forces—or, His Majesty’s Army, as I was supposed to refer to them as—were everywhere; looming like a constantly clinking shadow. Their steel-plated soldiers strutted around, eyeing everyone like we were all potential criminals. Not exactly the most welcoming of atmospheres, but hey, at least it looked impressive.

Buck had explained to me that while the city watch were part of the town’s defense, they were separate from the king’s mighty fighting squad, which made a certain amount of sense. Like your local police versus the FBI. Members of His Majesty’s Army could swoop in, shitty-as-you-please, and take over jurisdiction wherever they saw fit, and they were far more numerous than the native boys in…well, not blue. It seemed like the city watch here wore a lot of dark gray and yellow tabards? So, they kinda looked like bees. The boys in…bees? No…that’s stupid. The yellowjacket boys! Yeah, that sounded good—let’s go with that. The yellowjacket boys were buzzing around periodically, but I noticed they spent a lot of the time patrolling the roadways and manning the gates.

Unlike the good-for-nothing slimeballs in Tallr—uh, Coral Paella…the twelve here weren’t mounted as far as I could tell. No turtle-power or nothin.’ Just straight traipsin’ about on their tootsies, out on the beat, classic mutton chunter-style.

There also seemed to be, from my brief window into the goings-on, a clear rivalry between the two factions, as many of His Majesty’s finest would catcall and make what I took to be rude gestures at the yellowjacket boys when they came across them. Massive, douchebag big brother energy, ya know? If push came to shove, I was pretty sure I would have picked the side of the city watch, though, because…I mean, they really seemed to be the underdog in this fight. But, I’d only been here for about an hour so I probably wasn’t in a position to be dissecting the nuanced political theater happening in this joint.

It was late. Even so, it was clear this was a city that didn’t sleep. As we wandered through the city, we met all sorts of oddballs—elven peddlers hawking shiny trinkets, dwarven blacksmiths hammering away, human merchants yapping and haggling, and even a couple of touristy trolls—who kept glancing around like they were lost and looked like they'd been through the wringer a few times, just like me. Despite all the stern faces and sharp glances, there was a sort of chaotic charm to the place.

On our way towards the Daylight Gate—which was one of several similarly sun-themed entrances—we had to trudge through the city's main square. It was a fucking carnival. Musicians strumming away on their lutes and harps, jugglers making damn fools of themselves, and some lady in a hyper-revealing set of leather armor that was issuing challenges to passersby. And then there was the centerpiece: a fucking massive fountain spouting water around a statue of some crusty old fuck probably long dead.

“That’s Lord Regent Uthafors,” Buck explained when I’d stopped to gawk at all the bird shirt clinging to the sculpture’s bald head. “He was something like the interim-king during the Nightmare Wars.”

“Fuckin’ Nightmare Wars?!” I exclaimed. “That sounds goddamn tite. Metal as fuck!”

“Pah! It was anything but!” Edwig said. “Mind you, this was centuries ago, but the records indicate it was a hellscape. Beasts crawling out from the abyss, fire raining from dark skies filled with bat-winged behemoths that'd make dragons piss their scales; fire tornados reducing cities to ruins of cinder and steam.”

“Oh. My. God,” I breathed. “That sounds so cool!”

Buck gave me a look, but then shrugged.

“Damn, for real, though—that’s some Revelations-level shit,” I continued. “Wish I’d been around for that!”

“Pah! Your eyes would have been boiled out of your skull—if the undergnolls hadn’t gotten to you first!”

That went on for a while. I’ll save you the headache—but, I eventually won the argument that being killed during the motherfuckin’ Nightmare Wars was cooler than dying in literally any other fashion in the history of being dead.

…The gates were impressive, though—carved and polished as they were to an obnoxious degree. Like everything else in this city, they were just…a little too much. But there they stood, gleaming in the lantern light, announcing our exit. Apparently, this was the one that led to the Blue Road, but Edwig mentioned there were several others; naming them things like the Twilight Gate, the Starlight Gate, and the Dawn Gate. There was zero hassle getting through there, and in fact, it seemed like we’d probably have more of a rigamarole getting in on our way back since it seemed the city watch was on high-alert for any sign of goofy business. So we just passed along on our cutie-pie little way.

Finally, after all that walking, we set foot on the Blue Road, Kettleborough-bound…to uh, walk some more, I guess.

Surprising probably only me: the road wasn’t blue at all. It was, like, gray and…brown, and…rocky and junk. A real Copperhead Road sorta vibe. The name seemed to come from the periodic signage that was painted in glimmering sapphire showing which towns or villages we were heading in the direction of. Boring. I was hoping for something magical, but, just like a lot of the things in this arcana-rich land…it was mostly mundane. I was surprised to find there were what were essentially streetlamps along it as well. I mean, I wouldn’t need them—but I figured that was a nice feature to have for travelers.

Palandis, in all its grandiosity, sat behind us, almost shimmering in its own self-satisfaction. I gotta admit, it was gorgeous—at a distance. A hell of a lot prettier than some of the dumps I've seen in my life, anyway. All twinkling lights that cast a halo into the night sky.

“So, we just follow this, and it leads to the homies?” I asked, trying to make sure I understood the assignment.

“Yeah,” Buck said. “It’s right along the Blue. It’s one of the longest avenues in the kingdom, actually. Stretches from the Idalous Sea on the western coast through this way, and if you keep at it for about a week from here, you’ll run right into the border of Hathburia.”

“Bitchin,’” I said. “This is basically an interstate, then.”

“Yep,” Buck agreed with a wry smile. “A several-hour interstate to get to a place that’s only about…”

His eyes clouded over for a moment before returning to their usual focus.

“Three ectren away.”

“Electron?” I asked. “What’s…biology have to do with this?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry about that,” Buck said. “I haven’t had to use old-world measurements in…well, a while. An ectren is—wait, you more familiar with miles or kilometers?”

“Pah!” I exclaimed, imitating Edwig who…didn’t seem to notice. “I’m an American patriot, baybee. I’m pretty much half bald eagle.”

Buck just stared at me.

“Uh…miles,” I admitted sheepishly.

“Alright,” he said. “So, an ectren is about the same as three miles—or the distance the average person can walk in roughly an hour.”

I did some quick math.

“Kettleborough is twelve miles away?!” I shouted. “That’s going to take us forever!”

Buck raised an eyebrow at me, but Edwig was the one to swoop in and spoil my self esteem.

“Pah! That’s not adding up, orc!” He guffawed. “It’s nine of them! There! Not even from your land and I can still count smiles better than you.”

“It’s…” I started, then decided it would be funnier if Edwig thought we measured with smiles and if it ever came up again, I’d make sure to enjoy it. “Uh…you know what, Edwig? I think you’re right.”

“About time you came around!”

Buck just shook his head and gestured with his chin down the road.

“If you’re both ready, we’ve got a lot of smiles ahead of us. So let’s get to it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, smirking. “Smiles to go before we sleep, right? Oh, wait.”

I pointed at Buck.

“What did you look at when you were telling me the distance? Was that, like, a navigation Spell or sommat?”

He shrugged.

“Sort of,” he said. “I have a map Ability.”

“Oh…” I said. “Well, uh, cool, I guess. That might come in handy, right?”

Buck nodded, but didn’t say anything further.

“Man,” I said, staring off into the distance, willing myself to see any sign of the place that was clearly out of possible sight. “I wonder how the gang is holding up?”

“Pah! I’m sure they’re wandering around, picking daisies by now,” Edwig harrumphed. “While I’m stuck here out of the action.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Buck returned. Something about the way he said it gave me the chills—like he knew something I didn’t.

“Eh,” I muttered. “Nah, I’m sure they’re fine. I can feel Rexen’s presence. Weakly, but not in a worrisome way. Just in a…distance kinda way. Ya feel?”

Yeah, Edwig’s right, I thought. I’m sure they’re just doing something stupid, like participating in a high-stakes canoe race.

—

Kettleborough was experiencing one of the loveliest weeks of weather it had seen in months. Earlier in the day, the sun had been shining, the breeze had been airy and light, and, despite the fact that it was mid-way through autumn, the temperature had been absolutely perfect for the Kettleborough annual watercraft relay. The evening was just as enjoyable. Yes, it was truly a wonderful time by every metric except one.

A horrible, death-defying battle in the middle of town.

A siege on Kettleborough was not how Dragoon had envisaged spending his night. Built on the convergence of three gently bubbling brooks, Kettleborough was a pastoral idyll. Its low, thatched buildings nestled against rolling hills, a picturesque landscape swathed in a blanket of blooming heather and gorse. It was the kind of town you'd expect to host a lovely fair or a festive seasonal market, not a battleground for survival.

But now, the cobblestone streets ran slick with an unsettling mix of substances best not dwelt upon, and screams perforated the once tranquil air. Emerging in hordes—from the forest, the homes, all around them really—were the ogen, horrifying humanoid creatures with too many teeth, too many eyes, and an unholy fondness for flesh. The group had been at this for hours now, and while they’d been racking up Experience, their collective strength was dwindling. The enemies weren’t particularly strong, but there were far too many to make it any easy fight. This was further emphasized by the lack of Esper Nodes floating above them.

At first, there’d been others aiding them in the fight, but over time, the majority of them had either died, or had fled screaming. Then they died.

Rua, her red hair gleaming like flame in the chaos, was thankfully holding her own. With each swing of the Behemoth Blade, an ogen was sent spiraling into oblivion, shrieking in surprise and terror. Sweat was trickling down her face, but her eyes held an unnerving seriousness.

"Gah! These things are activating my trypophobia!" she shouted.

Dragoon merely grunted in reply, an ogen attempting to chew on his boot. With a swift kick, he sent the creature sprawling, quickly dispatching it with a bolt from his crossbow.

"Less talk,” he said. “More killing.”

His crossbow hummed as he activated Bolt Barrage. A volley of spectral missiles burst forth, piercing through the monsters attempting to encroach upon him. Despite this, however, his eyes remained resolutely on their goal.

“Rua,” he called out in a measured tone. “Our priority is the temple!”

Veruca was weaving her way calmly through the melee, her voice raised in an elaborate monologue that curled and twisted in the air. As the words left her tongue, her Arcana created visible, solid sound waves that lashed out, stunning the ogen in their tracks.

"And verily did the sun rise upon a scene of utter devastation, the fallen leaves of autumn crunching beneath the weight of gnashing foes,” she said, reciting phrases that came to her in an instant; tempered by her matter-of-fact tone. “A bittersweet vision, steeped in an undercurrent of raw, pulsating fear. The dire hour of judgment descends upon this hallowed ground."

Rexen was hovering around near Veruca, having decided her feats were the most interesting to watch at the moment.

"Yes!” he squealed, darting hither and thither, seemingly just for the joy of it. “Fear is just excitement in need of a bop on the nose! Ooh! Now stab that one! Stab him!"

"You’re not helping!" Rua retorted, her blade slashing through the air to behead an ogen that had come too close. “This isn’t the time for this!”

"When life gives you ogen, make ogen-ade!" Rexen trilled, his fluorescent form twirling gleefully.

Rua regretted telling Rexen about lemonade almost as much as she did teaching him the idiom about rolling with life’s punches. He’d been trying to fit every possible situation over the last day into one he could use “ade” for.

Jumpy, Cluck, Slappy, and Mortimer were bouncing about like homicidal beach balls. They crashed into the ogen with savage joy, the air around them filled with a macabre chorus of chittering.

"We need to get to the temple," Dragoon barked, reloading his crossbow. "The townsfolk—"

"Are relying on us," Rua finished for him.

“Not far now," the human continued. "Stick together."

Rua nodded, her expression hardening.

"Right. Temple. Survivors. Ogen-ade. Got it."

That was when all manner of hell broke much, much further loose. There was a loud crash, and swarms of ogen suddenly spilled out of a hole in a formerly scenic little farmhouse at the edge of the town. The tidal wave of spawn began racing toward the group’s location, screaming with feral abandon.

"Ah, the quaint customs of country folk," Rexen mused, twirling in the air as the remainder of the group lost their collective cool over this new and unsightly vision of terror storming their way. "Mass carnage really brings a community together, doncha think?"

Suddenly, a form burst from the door of the building designated as the tavern—an establishment, which under normal circumstances, would have been boisterously serving Kettleborough's finest ale to its residents. Now, the door was splintered and broken, and a pale figure was hurled out to crash in a sprawled heap in the street. She groaned, pushing herself up from the rubble and dusting herself off.

"By Palima's light, that stung a bit," she grumbled in a subtle Veloceian accent, her voice echoing with a strange, hollow timbre.

As the woman rose, the glow of the still-remaining lanterns painted a halo of ethereal amber around her. She was a wraithborn—called Ileyrri—a child born not of the world's green womb, but in the ghostly depths of the Wesas Catacombs—and she was the only person who remained from those that hadn’t come with the group of sojourners.

She looked like a ghoul standing amidst the earthly chaos, her skin as pale as moonlight, her eyes burning yellow and pupil-less. Her hands, bigger than any human's, seemed like they belonged to a sculpture—elongated fingers tapering into bone-hard claws that only added to her otherworldly…shall we call it charm? She had an unnaturally hunched posture, giving her an intimidating, predatory silhouette. The tattered remnants of her clothing were dusted off, and then her head turned sharply, glaring at the source of her disturbance.

An ogen, larger than its brethren, burst through the remaining tavern wall, its wild, bloodshot eyes focused on Ileyrri. The creature was monstrous, its visage twisted into a snarl of pure malice, eager to tear into the wraithborn before it.

"No manners," Ileyrri sighed, her yellow eyes narrowing. "Well, let’s have it out, shall we?"

With that, she flexed her hands, the clawed tips gleaming dangerously. She took a step forward, her stride much more natural than her standing posture, before launching herself at the beast.

What followed was a stunning display of athleticism and hand-to-hand combat.

Ileyrri was a force of nature, her claws slashing, her body twisting and dodging, calm and focused was she amidst the chaotic fray. Her technique was rough, unrefined—not that of a trained warrior, but of a brawler, relying on her own strength, speed, and the powerful strikes delivered by her formidable hands.

With a swift, upward leap, she reached the ogen's head level, her fists blurring in a whirlwind of strikes. Each blow landed with devastating effect, sending shockwaves through the ogen's form, weakening its stance. She landed on it, slinging around to the beast’s back and kept on with her unrelenting assault, flashing out multiple times in quick succession with one hand as she clung to the monster’s body with the other. The ogen, frantic, began chasing her with its own blows, but deft was Ileyrri, nimbly ducking and diving away with each hit and she clung to the ogen, successfully fooling it into pummeling itself. She used her clawed digits to slice open a mosaic of unsightly gashes in its back and then kicked off of it, sending herself into the air. Then, with one final, downward strike, she drove the creature into the earth, leaving it a lifeless heap of flesh and bone.

Ileyrri landed ungracefully, stumbling as she hit the ground. But her yellow eyes shimmered in triumph.

"Look at that," she murmured, a smirk pulling at the corners of her contrastingly-dark lips. “Think I taught him to be polite.”

Her gaze then shifted to the others, her posture returning to its hunched stance.

"Well, that's one less to worry about," she said. “How are you lot faring?”

“Splendid!” Rexen said.

“There is an inordinately robust deluge of the creatures heading right this way,” Veruca said, her tone not giving away the clear and present urgency required to sort the situation.

Ileyrri glanced toward the farmhouse.

“Ah,” she said with a sigh. “Figured you’d have made it to the temple by now. On we get, then.”

As they wrestled with the horde, it became painfully apparent that their undertaking was not going to even brush lightly against ‘simple.’ The temple was their only hope, a beacon of sanctuary amidst the chaos. However, the ogen were swarming the building like a pack of overexcited tourists, still thankfully unsuccessful in breaching its hallowed walls. The paramount question, of course, was whether they'd manage to cross this veritable gauntlet in time. And then, the small matter of whether there'd be a single soul left to rescue upon their arrival.

And, so, Rua, Rexen, Veruca, Dragoon, Jumpy, Clucky, Slappy, and Mortimer…and Ileyrri, continued. All the while their already considerably miniscule energy further faded. Except for Rexen, of course.

“Push!” He cheered, attempting to rally his companions. “Push!”

But as another hour passed, and it grew even darker, their zestful movements grew into labored plodding, their heroic swings into sluggish swipes, and their gusto cannibalized by weariness. Meanwhile, the ogen simply continued their assault, unendingly pouring into the town like an undammed river.

Rua had switched to a smaller blade—a needle-thin rapier she’d recently acquired that would fare better in the tight-quartered conditions they were increasingly becoming exposed to. She focused, most of her Abilities drained of their effectiveness, and stabbed forward each time she saw an opening. But the temperature of the battle was wintery, and she feared they would soon fall. Which would leave the townsfolk undefended, at the mercy of this hellish din. Most of her group would return, but to wherever they had set their Anchors. The denizens of Kettleborough would likely not be so fortunate.

“Can’t you do something?!” the elf shouted to Rexen, but the Dreadnaught Lord just smiled devilishly back at her.

“Oh, I am doing something!” He cheered. “Relishing in our sweet, forthcoming victory!”

The elf bit back a cry of frustration and instead fixated on that which she could control. Stabbing.

“What happened to the barricade?” Dragoon shouted. “It’s gone!”

Rua glanced back at the town gate, where earlier they’d attempted to stopper the coming tide by stacking as many rocks as they could find in front of the front entrance. Now, it looked like it was only half as tall, with ogen pouring through like a leaky faucet.

“Dammit!” She shouted in frustration. “They must’ve knocked it down somehow! Screw it! Can’t worry about that now.”

“Right,” Dragoon agreed in-between shots. “Just a bad sign, is all.”

“I know,” Rua hissed. “This sucks so much butt. So much butt…”

"...summoned from the marrow of the cosmos,” Veruca continued ceaselessly, unerringly reciting the incantations that kept the arcane shields protecting them active. “Harness the vestiges of forgotten celestial echoes. Transcend the protection of realms known and unknown, draw forth the sentinel might that permeates the eternal...”

The barrier was more of a magic wall of platelets, allowing them the ability to continue fighting off the atrocities hurling themselves at the group, though also giving the ogen the opportunity to still reach them—despite a muted effect. The vittra’s eyes were tightly closed, the brow beneath her horns a furrowed fissure as rivulets of concentration perspiration streamed down the channels of her body. She did not know how much longer she had, but she would hold until the very last.

Dragoon loosed a projectile into the face of another ogen and did not spare a glance for it as he pulled the single remaining bolt from the quiver at his side.

“Last one!” He announced, raising the crossbow up and trying to find the best possible target to unleash his final shot on.

Ileyrri was perhaps most attuned to the fray. The only one capable, at the moment, of remaining outside the projected barrier, she ducked an attack and struck out with her fists, rebuffing two ogen at the same time. Then she dropped—almost too quickly to see—and was back up in a moment, two ichor-coated bolts in her hands. She leaped over a lunging monster and tossed the pair of missiles through one of the barrier’s gaps to Dragoon.

“Last three!” She shouted to him, then winked, before delivering a punishing kick to the head of a creature that exploded on contact.

The group, beleaguered and pushed to their limits, teetered precariously on the precipice of defeat. The ogen horde swelled around them, a tumultuous sea of snapping jaws and flashing claws, threatening to submerge them. Rua feared the worst.

This is it, she thought.

Suddenly, Rexen froze in place, a strange look on his face. In what could only be a fit of madness, Rua watched as the minute specter threw back his head, howling in an unhinged melody that was awful to behold.

“Yes!” He cried out, his voice suddenly terrifyingly dark and depraved. “It comes! The time is nigh! It comes! Absorb the might of your foes! Rend them apart and dance in their blood!”

Rua really, really hoped he was casting a Spell of some kind.

But just as the last sliver of hope was about to flicker out, a lifeline was thrown.

A concussive blast sliced through the chaos, arresting the group's downward spiral towards certain biting demise. The roar of the explosion swallowed the ogen's cacophonous war cries, leaving in its wake an uncanny silence that rippled through the battlefield—save for Veruca’s strained chanting.

“—the resonance of the eternal…the infinite pulsation of the…void in our favor, embodying the endurance of the oldest cycles and the resolve of aether against the relentless march of—”

An eruption of flame and lightning suddenly unfurled in the distance, the incandescent flash casting long, monstrous shadows that danced and writhed across the landscape.

In the midst of the clamor, a barrage of colorful curses sliced through the muted and tattered taxation. Vulgar and unashamed, the oaths were declarations of defiance and malicious jubilation that could've made even the most hardened pre-teen trying to impress his friends wince.

“Zap-zap, bitch! Fuck you, fuck you, double-fuck you! Ha! Gotcha, ya little—ah! Ouch, you dick turd! That hurt! Fuck-off, fuck-face! Zzzap!”

The ragtag group, utterly spent and running on fumes, jolted at the raucous disturbance. Faces dusted with grime and streaked with sweat turned in unison towards the origin of the uproar. Their eyes were wide, reflecting the dazzling display of alternating blasts of pyrotechnics and crackling fulmination in the dark distance.

And then, they saw them.

Two figures, large in stature and indomitable in spirit, emerged from the radiant mayhem. They tore through the seething mass of ogens with a brutality that was equal parts terrifying and awe-inspiring. The sight was enough to ignite a glimmer of hope in their weary hearts.

Dragoon squinted, trying to discern the identities amidst the maelstrom.

“Is that…Loon?”

It was.

Twirling two wands in a mesmerizing dance of arcane prowess entirely at odds with his chosen Class was the loud, abrasive, potty-mouthed piebald orc. The wand of flames and the wand of lightning ball crackled and spat in his grasp, reducing the attacking ogen to charred remains.

“Disciple!” Rexen cried, his voice happy once more. “Joyous tidings! You made it!”

Then he squinted, tsking.

“Ah. Late! I’m removing some marks!”

"Zap! Zzzzaaapp! Motherfuckin' ZAP!" Loon's gleeful battle cry echoed across the battlefield, adding a layer of surreal absurdity to the ferocity of performance.

Yet, even as relief washed over them at the sight of their ally, confusion followed in its wake. Because alongside Loon, another figure loomed—the second towering, hulking figure that made even the ogen look meek in comparison. The new arrival was like nothing most of them had seen before. All except Rua, who recognized what he was instantly from the mythologies of their previous world.

“An oni…” she breathed.

This man was monstrous, nearly seven feet tall. His broad, muscular shoulders heaved as he moved through the swarm, his deep-indigo flesh glistening in the stark lighting of Loon’s wand, etched with markings that danced and flowed like a language of power and intimidation.

Yet, there was no feral anger in his glowing purple eyes, no battle-thirst reflected in his demeanor. Instead, a look of the most profound annoyance marred his countenance, as though the ogen were little more than a nuisance, an irritation on an otherwise peaceful evening. The enormity of the situation was lost on him—or perhaps he simply didn't care.

The oni was clad in simple attire, almost disappointingly mundane for a creature of his storied ilk. A pair of loose, brownish trousers cinched at his waist, the fabric worn and weathered. Likewise was his shirt, which looked like it was slightly too small for his ample, brawny frame but peppered with holes and patches.

And then, there were the shields—two massive constructs of metal, each the size of a door. He wielded them with surprising ease, the bulwarks held loosely in his grip. His method of progression through the horde was as unusual as he was—he neither attacked nor defended. He simply pushed forward, the shields acting as a battering ram of sorts, toppling ogen left and right as he advanced, the measured rhythm of his strides never faltering.

There was a final surprise. In their wake slid Edwig, his appendages out and waving, carving aside monsters with what Rua thought must be Unseen Hand—his trademark Spell. He had on, what he’d informed her was his ‘battle face:’ a visage-scrunching appearance that made him look less like the avatar of fury he thought it did and more like a case of extreme indigestion. However, regardless of how it appeared, it seemed to be effective.

To the group’s disbelief and confusion, it seemed Loon had arrived with the cavalry. But was it their deliverance or their doom?