Bordain walked onto the battlefield, confident in his eminent superiority. Three days, he estimated. That was how much longer the Asmuisillans could hold out. Far to his left stalked Topaz. Today she had taken the form of a Feralli. Smaller than her usual forms, it only came up to his hip, but then, she’d been forced to expend more of her gathered supplies and was slowly running out of more powerful forms she could use. Of course, she had kept her most powerful forms for their return to the Capital. Facing his sister’s gathered vassals would likely be more challenging than putting down the Asmuisillan Champions. And put them down he had. Three dead so far, though they had managed to regain the Enchanted Armours, while his own forces had yet to suffer a casualty. More proof that the approach of the Asmuisillans was flawed. Power borrowed wasn’t power at all. It was a crutch. A crutch that broke under the weight of true power.

  Every day they had sent three against him. Three: just enough to keep him contained, albeit barely. That was how they had lost two of their three casualties. The remaining one had been due to Obsidian assisting Topaz momentarily, granting his pet shapeshifter an opening that resulted in a swordsman being sent back to the Asmuisillans sans a head. Obsidian was mostly being kept out of the battles. Not because he wasn’t capable, though offensively, he was less effective than Topaz. Bordain was keeping him out of the battles because he needed the man fully charged with mana in case they needed to return to the Capital suddenly. Obsidian could cross large distances with his Portals, in fact he specialised in doing so. The cost, however, was not cheap, and having him waste his mana fighting the trash that was Asmuisillan Champions wasn’t worth it.

  The wind around him began to whistle and his opponents for the day’s battle made their way towards him onto the field. His eyes narrowed. Only two? Had he been wrong? Were they already running out of capable Champions to wear the armour? As they got closer, he recognised the day’s challengers. Theora, Wind of the East and Kalista, Bastion of the South. Asmuisil, he knew, liked to title their few Platinums based on the area of the country they hailed from. Platinums, wearing the Champions’ Armour. It wouldn’t be enough. He had refrained from going all out, content to slowly whittle away at his enemies. He had the time. Morgane’s forces were still weeks from the Capital and spending himself here would mean that if he needed to react to something in the city, he might be at a disadvantage. It was the exact same reason he kept Obsidian back. An overextension here could lose him everything he had worked for if his sister had something up her sleeve. Anger bubbled up inside him again and he shot a glare at Topaz who cowered, her sleek cat-like body pressing against the grass under the weight of his displeasure. If his pet shapeshifter had done her job, he wouldn’t need to be careful. His sister would be off the board. The Duchies of Pleras and Korinth wouldn’t be able to amass forces to contest him, and he could have swept these fields without needing to worry about losing control of the Capital.

  Putting those thoughts aside, his anger still simmering, Bordain focused back on the two Platinums of Asmuisil come to test themselves against him.

  “Finally done holding back?” he asked them, his voice easily carrying across the churned field.

  “Finally ready to put you in your place,” replied Kalista, the woman standing tall in her armour. “We’ll accept your surrender now. It won’t save you, of course. But it will save your subordinates from execution.”

  He laughed at the ridiculousness of the statement. They may be Platinums. They may be wearing Champions’ Armour, further empowering them, but they were still so far below him.

  “The only surrender that I have in me is the surrender of the grave. It is also the only surrender I will accept from the both of you. Kneel. Accept your end. Do that, and I will spare your army. The alternative is the decimation of your forces. None will be allowed to flee. Your arrogance and foolishness shall go down in history as a lesson to those that come after you. When faced with true power, all one can do is kneel.”

  He waited for their response. It came in the form of a blade of wind slicing towards him. As it flew at him, he started marching forward towards them. His Skill, Supremacy’s Might, suffused his being, making him more durable as he crashed into the blade of wind uncaring. He had faced similar attacks from others, walked through them like they were nothing to him. Less than the bites of insects. So, he was surprised when the blade of wind left a thin cut on his unarmoured cheek. It had barely pierced his skin, not enough to get more than a thin line of blood that didn’t even flow beyond the tiny slash. But it was the first time since fighting his Father that he had seen his own blood. And these two were not his Father. They were not Mythic Class-holders. They were not Gems. They were High-Platinums wielding stolen power from weaklings that were little more than parasites themselves.

  His fury surged and with it he activated a second Skill. Aura of Supremacy bloomed around him, his Concept binding to it demanding that all those beneath him submit before a being greater than themselves. His Mythic Skill hit his opponents and he saw them falter slightly, before they regained some semblance of control. With that control he felt something pressing back against his aura. Kalista, Bastion of the South. He knew her primary Skill was a defensive one. He just hadn’t expected it to be able to resist his aura. His aura was a Mythic Skill. Even if Kalista’s defensive Skill was Legendary, it shouldn’t have mattered. The Champions’ Armour shouldn’t be able to bridge the gap between them. What was going on? With that thought, the battle was fully joined. He could keep track of Theora, but he couldn’t touch her. The elusive woman floated on the wind, her hair streaming like she was drifting through a storm. Under his Aura of Supremacy, she should’ve been slowed and suppressed. But Kalista’s own Skill fought him for control of the battlefield. He burst forward, kicking up dirt as his Legendary gloves drank of his mana and empowered his strength. His fist blasted out at Kalista and was met with a shield. The woman didn’t budge, but the shield bore a small mark of his strike. He’d dented what was almost certainly a Legendary artifact. A fitting tool for one of Asmuisil’s Platinums, but at this moment it just infuriated him further. A slice of wind crossed the back of his left leg and he felt another small cut on his skin.

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  The impossible nature of the exchange grew. They were harming him. They were two tiers beneath him, even if they outlevelled him by fifteen levels. They shouldn’t be able to harm him. They shouldn’t be able to contest him. He was a supreme existence. A second evolution Mythic. An Emperor in the making! He roared at the sky and activated his third Mythic Skill. Supremacy’s Servants. Wisps of soul energy began to form around him as the memories of those fallen upon this field answered his call. The remnants of those who died upon this muddy grounds would not strike at the body, but at the mind and soul. Then, with an army of ghosts at his beck and call, he threw himself into the fight with all he had, his fury unabated at being challenged by bugs! Winds whipped up around them, encasing them in a turbulent whirlwind and he found his remnants stumbling, their soul energy being drawn away from them into the rushing winds. The Winds of Suppression was an Epic Spell. It shouldn’t be able to compete with his Skill. Yet here it was, following its namesake and suppressing him. How high must Theora’s Magic Power be to manage such a feat? How was this even possible? For the first time since fighting his Father, Bordain realised he might actually be in danger. A small part of him wanted to flee. He ruthlessly devoured that whisper of weakness. He was powerful. He was supreme. He would fight to the end and prove his worth to reality. Launching himself forward, he gave up on any kind of defense as he tried to beat his supremacy into his opponents. Into their shields, their armours, their very souls! He would prove that he was beyond any of them! Something trickled into him then, as the world became clear before him. Reality agreed. Now he just needed to prove it right.

  *************

  Garnet stared out of the castle window. She was being lax in her duties. She knew it. But, she found she didn’t care. When Bordain returned he would likely kill her for it, but what did that matter anyway? It had all been for nothing. She had sacrificed everything to save her sisters. Put herself in the service of a madman, committed atrocities, started a war that would cause the deaths of thousands. All to save her sisters from their fate at the hand of her step-mother. And now they were dead. Dead at the hands of individuals that her Master now wanted to recruit. People he viewed as potential peers. They were out there, in the city somewhere. She had debated searching for them. Killing them for taking her sisters from her. But, it wasn’t really their fault, was it? They hadn’t sought out the twins. Hadn’t hunted them down. Hadn’t used them like pieces in a game, to be sacrificed for some small gain. No, that crime rested at the feet of her step-mother. Charlotte Desmarais was now out fighting beside Bordain, also beyond her reach. She was lost. Malachite hadn’t bothered to try and convince her to do her duty. He had simply absorbed the little he cared about into his own tasks, suppressing the populace with the aid of the Guild. A useless gesture. Bordain wouldn’t care.

  She debated leaving right then. She could fly off into the sky, like the phoenixes from the stories she so admired. Find somewhere else beyond the mountains. Somewhere beyond Bordain’s reach. But that wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn’t change how she felt. Wouldn’t bring the twins back. No, she decided. She would stay. Not for Bordain. She would stay for her sisters. For one last act. Though they weren’t to blame, that pair from the Guild had been the ones to kill her sisters. That was what the eye witness from that night had confirmed. Their slumped forms on the ground, along with the retainers of House Landin that had been assisting them. So, she would give her sisters peace, by killing their killers. Then, she would kill her step-mother.

  Turning on her heel, she headed for the Palace Vault. If she was going to fight her step-mother, there was something she needed. That woman was insidious, but if she couldn’t reach Garnet’s mind, then she would be far easier to deal with. Surely the Royals had at least one Legendary item capable of protecting the soul. With that in hand, she would succeed. Succeed, and then face her death at the hands of her Master. She could accept that. Perhaps, in her next life, she would be a phoenix in truth. She could dream.

  *************

  Coralie stared out the window of the top floor of the Guildhouse. The storm on the horizon was rolling in slowly, like an inexorable dark tide. She knew what it meant. Her mother had been clear.

  “Tonight?” she asked quietly, turning her head to look at her mother.

  Evelynn Allais glanced up from the tome she was writing in. More lies sent to the other Guilds, no doubt. Muddying the waters as she made herself appear the saviour while painting Aisling and the others as rebels supporting a traitorous Princess without payment or Guild approval. Lies meant to counteract anything sent from the other Guilds. They might even work, she acknowledged, but only if her Mother triumphed. If she lost, the victor would write history, and her mother would be painted as the traitor she truly was. The thought made Coralie happy, even if it felt unlikely.

  “Hmm,” mused her Mother. “Unless it changes speed, late tonight.”

  Coralie watched her Mother focus back on the communication tome, ignoring her. If only she had done that for more of her life, instead of controlling her. Investing time and effort into molding and shaping her into what Allais wished she was. Coralie turned back to look out the window and felt her heart flutter. She would see her tonight, then. Kiri. She was alive. There had been a few reports, gathered by Guild members who were assisting the guards. Reports of a female Dagger Dancer who matched Kiri’s description. She’d fought the guards more than once. Fought them, and won, to the point where the guards had standing orders to flee if they spotted her. Her love was alive. She had no idea how. She’d seen Kiri bisected herself. Of course, she knew Kiri was capable of self-healing, but the idea of healing being cut in half seemed ludicrous. At least, it did, for an Epic Classer. But, Kiri had always been better, hadn’t she? Better than everyone, except for Nate. What if she wasn’t an Epic Classer? What if she was something more? The thought had lodged itself in her mind and wouldn’t let go. She hadn’t voiced her thoughts to her Mother. Her dirty little secret. It was the only thing she could do for Kiri for now. Because if they did come tonight, they would face a fully kitted group of Guild Platinums. The Jamisons and her Mother had helped themselves to the Stat Orbs in the Guild Vaults. They were as powerful as they could be. A Legendary blade for Portos. A Legendary diadem for her Mother. The only two Legendary items held by the Guild in Etrua. Secrets she hadn’t known about. And tonight her love, the woman she had betrayed, would come to face them.

  It broke her heart all over again. She hated herself for what she had done. Not for trying to poison Morgane, but that doing so had been a betrayal of Kiri. She should have stood up to her Mother. She should have been a better girlfriend. She should have done a lot of things. So, tonight, she would remedy her betrayal. Tonight, she would be there for Kiri, like she should have been all along.

  The storm clouds on the horizon continued to advance, lightning sparking in their depths. A small light in the darkness. Just like the flicker in her heart that pushed back the waves of self-hate that filled her to the brim. When the storm broke, so would she, breaking her Mother’s control, one way or another.

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