Four balconies. So many options. With Racquel there were five of us. We could have dropped one Griidlord on each balcony with the fifth backing Tara, our weakest. We had no reason to think they were imminently expecting us. But if they were we would be playing type-advantage lottery.

  We opted to rush a single balcony together.

  We leapt, one after the other, as the Eagle passed close over the Tower. There was no autopilot. Without a Griidlord at the helm, she would lose power and fall. Well, unmanned I guess that meant she would crash. Magneblade had done his best to cut speed enough that she wouldn’t hit down too hard, but he wanted to leave enough momentum that she would land beyond the walls of the city. She would be damaged, but she could be healed.

  As the last of us leapt free, we committed ourselves. The Eagle lost power and glided on. There was no going back. No escape plan. No plan B.

  This was a one-way ticket.

  I hit the platform at a roll, sword coming to my hand almost by its own volition.

  The five of us charged in, Olaf at the fore, his Shield raised to protect us all. The Arrows at back, most protected and most capable of striking from our formation to take advantage.

  They would have the Tower’s Griidlords waiting, Perdinger, Bonefrost, Snowfang and Jythorne. Would their Scepter be waiting in the Tower or posted somewhere outside where Scepters were most useful? We’d taken no fire from a Scepter on our approach. With those five remained Tyson Sorrowfell, the Cincy Axe, and, according to Enki, Dame Geante, the Indy Shield.

  It was interesting how Morningstar had failed to mention one of his own teammates going rogue.

  We were outnumbered. But Magneblade and I were very strong. Racquel would have been devastating as well, but for the limp that slowed her. They had the numbers. They had the defensive position. We might, just might, have had the element of surprise.

  Of course, they also had Danefer. He had been able to overpower me in my lower levels, but what about now? I had watched him fight Magneblade. He had been on the defensive but he’d held his own until he was forced to flee. Would he be a real factor in a battle like this?

  As we surged into the archway of the Tower, I felt more a vibration of excitement than one of dread. This was it. So much would be laid to rest in the next minutes. Either the curse of Danefer would be gone from me, or I would be dead. Either the war would be over, or I would be dead. Boston saved, Buffalo ours, Racquel saved and mine, or I would be dead.

  There were no Griidlords on the upper level of the Oracle Chamber. Knights awaited us, the best Buffalo could muster. But they were amassed against five Griidlords.

  The fight was fast and furious. Their armor was sublime, their weapons rare and excellent. They had relics that created force bucklers, and body shields. There were 12 of them. The fight lasted 40 seconds. I took four of them myself. Setting the tone. The Sword of Boston.

  As I’d cut the second of my four kills, from shoulder to hip, my blade devouring flesh and armor like a harvester, I glanced down. Danefer was there. Hunched over a device. It was clearly pre-Fall. The bulk of it was mirror smooth, the size of a large barrel on its side, glowing lights and pulsing strips. It had appendages, cylinders and rods that had clearly been appended to it. Danefer worked furiously. Beyond him was a long oblong box shape, draped with a white sheet.

  As the last of the knights fell, and we found ourselves alone in the chamber with the target of our aggression, not counting two priests who cowered against the wall, I felt the sense that this could happen. We could take him. The priests would take no part and we were desperate not to harm them. If we seized the chamber it would be they who would adjudicate that we’d conquered the Tower, it was they who would perform the rituals with the Oracle. We needed them as badly as we needed the win.

  I was the first to drop down to the lower level. As my boots hit the ground, Danefer glanced up. He’s always carried the taint of Griid-madness, but it seemed more intense in his eyes in that moment. He looked at me with more than concern. More than rage. More than hatred. There was an unhinged wildness to his eyes. He was about to implement a plan decades in the making, a plan his warped mind had made his only goal. He would not be denied easily.

  In my ear, Enki.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Danefer continued his operations, tapping at little consoles, but he snarled, “If you’re here then he can see me now as well. There’s no reason to keep them out.”

  I didn’t let his words distract me. I moved right for him, sword raised. I heard the thuds of the others dropping down to join me. I heard the hiss of a door to my left. My sword was above my head, blazing with the flames of CUT. Danefer was laid below me like a platter, served and ready.

  BEAM struck the side of my head. I spun and tottered.

  When Jythorne’s CUT arched for my skull it met the Shield of Olaf, the big man diving in to defend me.

  I found my senses, turning to see them over his shoulder. They were all there. Even the Scepter, pouring through the door.

  The explanation was meaningless. The fight was what mattered. I was intensely aware that there were two Axes and two Shields, and the mismatches they could create. We, however, had a Shield of our own and a Sword with Axe-break to deal with the Axes. For the Shields we had two Arrows.

  They swarmed in, putting themselves between Danefer and us, pushing at us…

  Well, we pushed back.

  My CUT thundered against Jythorne’s blade and he staggered back. His face was hidden behind his helm but I could see his body stiffen in surprise.

  “That’s right,” I said, “I’ve grown since the last time.”

  It was seven against five but I truly felt I was worth two of any of them. The two Axes, Sorrowfell and Snowfang, drifted around me. I had one Axe-break and two Axes to contend with. Olaf surged at them but Dame, the Indy Shield, crashed into him. Olaf had grown strong and had done it quickly, but he was still the weakest link. She smashed him back like an avalanche, Snowfang stepping into the gap. Jythorne stabbed at me and I parried with ease, but I had to keep my feet moving, give them no room.

  Perdinger leapt at me. He must have summoned all of his madness to do it. He was a coward at heart and I was a god against his power. He came at me through the air, screaming, losing his nerve and channeling the panic into assault.

  Katya had told me to bring him to her alive.

  I had made a promise.

  I saw him in the air, everything around me frozen. I cared nothing for Jythorne or the Axes. I only saw the man who had killed my friend. The man who had used the power of a god to slay a mortal. The volcano of rage that erupted in me would frighten me in recollection. But then? It was a hellish ecstasy.

  My sword had never blazed so bright. It was molten death. I carved a full arc as he reached me. The edge of my weapon caught an elbow and barely snagged, ripping through and sending an arm flopping to the floor of the chamber. I pulled, sparing his head, catching the elbow of the other already maimed arm. Exultant resistance pulsed through me as my sword hacked through. He landed, beyond me, cauterized stumps instead of arms. He froze, as though trying to understand what had happened.

  That day, so long ago, yet so recent, when I had fought him in the woods, he had been a match for me. Now he was a minnow. His pause sealed his fate. I swung back, the light of my sword screaming like lightning, casting shadows from every figure in the room. In a single brutal chop I took his legs off at the knees, the raging fire of my blade sizzling viciously as it passed through.

  And he fell, a writhing limbless torso. Powerless. Katya would have her prize if we survived this.

  Racquel was lightning. She darted in, slashing at Dame, sparks and smoke rushing like blood in water. Then she was moving again, pouncing on Bonefrost, the Buffalo Shield, as he hammered himself against Magneblade. I wanted Magneblade loose and free to fight. Incredibly, I still didn’t know his level, but it had to be high.

  Magneblade slipped past Bonefrost as the Shield turned to fend off Racquel’s savagery. He roared, his axe blazing with angry fire as he came for Snowfang. Axe against Axe might have been imperfect, but he was the stronger. The chamber shook with the power of their clashes, axes flashing, smashing, flickers of plasma spraying the air.

  I was holding Jythorne and Sorrowfell’s attention; it was freeing the others to maneuver. Snowfang’s focus on me had given Magneblade advantage and momentum. Sorrowfell lashed at me. I held back on Axe-break, leaping back and parrying. His blow shook my body. He was weaker than I, but type advantage more than compensated. Jythorne tried to slip in to take advantage but I turned, whipping my sword out, knocking his sword aside and scored a molten scar on his forearm. Jythorne hissed, stepping back.

  The room was chaos. But it was chaos that was shockingly to our advantage. Racquel had delivered a wound to Dame and Olaf was suddenly the greater of the two tidal waves of power. Racquel herself had isolated Bonefrost, driving him back, glowing wounds accumulating on his armor. Fighting an Arrow was death by a thousand cuts.

  Magneblade’s axe caught Snowfang in the chest, kinetic energy exploding, smashing him against the opposite wall. My heart surged. We were winning. We were going to win this.

  I didn’t notice Tara hanging back. There was enough to occupy me crossing swords with Jythorne and evading Sorrowfell’s pursuit.

  Danefer was still hunched over the relic, hands flying with urgency. He paused long enough to look up. He frowned, his eyes fixing on a point behind me. He nodded. That was all it was, a nod. A silent communication. Then he was back to his task.

  The madness boiled on. In another second Magneblade had Snowfang pinned to the wall of the chamber. Too close for axe work, his fist was hammering into the man’s helmet. It was savage and brutal and wonderful. Snowfang sagged, his limbs going slack. In another second we would have him free, the tide was turning beautifully.

  Magneblade dropped the limp form of Snowfang and turned on the room. His arms, axe and all, were over his head, and he howled, a terrible and brilliant howl.

  Then Tara slipped behind him and, with her bladed hand, stabbed him in the neck.