Students of the Lex Constituo did not receive instruction in the art of engineering beyond the basics. But those cadets assigned to the colonies received an overview course on the subject, focusing on the primary functions of a standard Numantian colony city and its Gnosis harvesting mechanism. Terminal Drain was one function covered in this course.

  It had been explained to Jarel Craith by his instructor. How the process is initiated, and whose credentials were necessary to do so. He also learned the primary and secondary effects on the colony world itself over the course of Terminal Drain’s typical three day duration, and the aftermath.

  Jarel Craith remembered wondering what it must have felt like to stand upon the ground of such a world and feel all its Gnosis funnel in one direction as if caught in an ocean undertow.

  His heart sank into the pit of his stomach as he realized he no longer had to wonder.

  He stood over the bodies of the seditious Imbued. There were a few more left to finish off. He’d deal with them swiftly and return to Taracon—

  But as quickly as he tried to calculate a new plan, the current in the air changed again, and his dawning fear became bewilderment. The pull became a push. An outflow. Even the dimmest mortal could have felt it, power was flooding back through the Astral Highway into Volos.

  This function was absent from the syllabus.

  Craith’s grip tightened on Lawbringer, the blade humming faintly in response to his unease. The ground trembled beneath his boots, and two things happened at the same time.

  First, a giant phantom flickered into being overhead, looming above the entire city. It was a woman, long haired and pointy eared, with pale skin and luminous blue hair and eyes. She stretched out her hands and Jarel realized the rumbling he’d felt a moment ago was coming from beneath the streets.

  Then, all around him, giant ebon trees with blue foliage erupted from the ground.

  His sharp senses caught faint distortions in the air—signs of something approaching fast.

  At the last moment, he saw it.

  A streak of crimson tore through the sky. Craith’s body reacted before his mind could fully process the threat. He sidestepped just as the figure slammed into the ground where he had stood, the impact shaking the sturdy stone roof they stood upon.

  The creature straightened, its form towering and monstrous. Long crimson hair flowed down its back like molten fire, and horns curved like blades forged in the abyss grew from its temples. Its three eyes—black sclera with glowing red pupils—locked onto him with predatory focus.

  Redmane.

  He’d changed. Evolved again.

  Craith’s jaw tightened, but his breathing remained steady. He’d fought this one before and survived. He could handle it.

  Or so he thought. The extent of Redmane’s power gain did not become apparent until he moved.

  It was a blur of crimson and shadow. Though his evasion was nearly instantaneous thanks to rigorous training, Craith’s mind and body just barely managed to react, his muscles tensing and senses heightening. He escaped lethal damage by less than an inch.

  Craith ducked a strike meant to decapitate him, claws whistling inches above his head. He pivoted, Lawbringer flashing in a precise arc. The blade bit deep into Redmane’s side, shearing through scales and flesh, and the creature roared as the Praetor’s blade flowed into the next technique in the sequence.

  He spun and angled out to the right, Lawbringer coming down like the axe of a headsman, aimed at the nape of Redmane’s neck. But before the blow could land, a second figure streaked through the air, slamming into the ground between them.

  Another Redmane. An identical clone, its crimson hair and glowing eyes a mirror image to the first. Its tail lashed behind it, the stinger at the end of his tail gleaming as it struck toward Craith with blinding speed.

  Craith leapt back, the stinger grazing his forearm as he brought Lawbringer down in a sweeping arc. He cut off the end of the tail, and the severed appendage spun through the air, landed and writhed on the ground as if it were still fully alive.

  The first Redmane was on him again, his claws a lattice of slashing death. Craith parried and evaded, his blade a streak of silver as he moved with superhuman speed and precision.

  But even as he fought, a third figure emerged from the chaos.

  This Redmane descended from above, his draconic wings beating the air as it landed with a ground-shaking impact. Its fangs glinted in the dim light, and its claws flexed as if eager to rend flesh.

  Craith’s lips curled into a grim frown. “How many times will I have to kill you.”

  “More than you have the strength for,” said Redmane.

  Jarel shifted his stance, Lawbringer glinting in the sunlight. The Redmanes circled him casually, patiently, like a pride of lions with their kill trapped, and now that it was encircled they could take their time and feast at their leisure.

  But the Praetor had slain many beasts. These too would perish under his blade.

  In the background, however, Jarel Craith could not help but make a number of disturbing observations.

  First, there were more Redmanes everywhere. Second, the beastmen doing battle with the legionnaires appeared to be in the process of yet another evolution. Wild growls, roars and animal baying echoed from all over the city as they transformed on the spot, growing larger, faster, stronger, smarter.

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  He only hoped the legion would hold out against them long enough to let him deal with Redmane.

  The three Redmanes came at him again, a blur of claws and crimson hair, and Jarel Craith met them with the precision of a master. Flawless technique guided Lawbringer through the chaos, its blade a streak of silver trailing glittering droplets of blood as it slashed and pierced with unerring accuracy, finding flesh more often than it missed. But no matter how perfect he struck, it was not sufficient to even slow the trio of Redmanes coming at him relentlessly, giving no thought to their own defense, swinging wildly with limbs that could flow into the form of whatever weapon suited that instant best.

  He realized, too late, that the chaos concealed Redmane’s trap.

  Jarel found himself at the center of a triangle, the three Redmanes standing at equilateral points around him. They inhaled mightily, and as they did so their stomachs transformed into huge, toothy maws which also inhaled, gathering power for some manner of combined attack. It took a moment for him to figure out what it was; only when he saw a red glow at the back of their throats did he understand he needed to get clear right now.

  Because three huge gouts of fire breath engulfed the space between them.

  Jarel shot straight up into the air, his leap carrying him well clear of the unnatural flames. The fire was crimson tinged with violet, and its heat carried a sense of ravenous hunger.

  It was a momentary observation. Jarel absorbed it in the space of an eye-blink. But an eye-blink was all Redmane required.

  Pain blossomed from Jarel’s left side. With came a feeling of cold stiffness, which alarmingly resembled the feeling of the wound on his forearm, from where Redmane’s stinger grazed it moments ago. That was a scratch. This was a direct hit.

  From a fourth Redmane.

  Jarel Craith hit the ground like a meteor, the impact cratering the stone beneath him. The force of the landing would have shattered a mortal’s bones, but Craith’s enhanced physiology absorbed the blow. Yet, the venom coursing through his veins was another matter entirely. It spread like a cold fire, numbing his muscles and stiffening his joints, turning his once-fluid movements into a sluggish struggle.

  Four Redmanes surrounded him, their crimson forms a blur of motion even to his heightened perception. Their glowing eyes burned with predatory glee, their movements synchronized with a precision that spoke of a single, unified will.

  The fourth Redmane—the one who had struck him from above—landed with a thunderous crash, its draconic wings folding behind it like a storm cloud retreating. Its tail lashed out, the stinger dripping venom that hissed as it struck the ground. The other three Redmanes closed in, their claws flexing, their fangs bared in grotesque grins.

  Craith shifted his stance, Lawbringer humming faintly in his grip. His breath came in controlled bursts, but the venom was a relentless adversary, sapping his strength and dulling his reflexes, tarnishing his perfect precision, making him feel heavier and less responsive.

  The first Redmane lunged, claws slicing through the air faster than sound. Craith’s blade met the strike in a flash of silver, the impact sending shockwaves rippling through the air. He pivoted, his body a blur of motion, but the venom’s numbing effect made the movement just a little slower than it should have been.

  Jarel clenched his jaw. Willed strength back into his limbs. He couldn’t let himself fade out now.

  Lawbringer arced in a fluid, inhumanly precise motion, severing the Redmane’s arm at the elbow. The limb spun through the air as black blood trailed in spirals around it.

  But before the severed arm hit the ground, the second Redmane was already on him. Its tail whipped toward his legs, the stinger a venomous blur. Craith leapt back, but the venom’s stiffness made the window for a successful evasion razor-thin. The stinger grazed his thigh, another dose sinking deep into his flesh. Pain exploded through his leg, a cold burn that locked his muscles and sapped his speed further.

  Craith gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He analyzed the battlefield in microseconds, calculating trajectories, angles, and openings. But the third Redmane was already in motion, its claws raking toward his chest.

  He twisted, but the venom’s numbing effect made the movement just a fraction too slow. The claws tore through his robe, the impact sending him flying, making him attempt to course correct in midair. Blood flowed from the gashes in his side, staining the stone beneath him. He hit the ground hard, the breath driven from his lungs, but he was already rolling to his feet, his body moving on discipline alone.

  The fourth Redmane descended from above, its wings beating the air with a sound like rolling thunder. Its fangs glinted in the dim light, and its claws flexed as if eager to rend flesh. Craith met its attack head-on, his blade flashing in a desperate arc. Lawbringer bit deep into the creature’s chest, black blood spraying in a fountain behind him. The next cut sheared off one of his wings.

  But Redmane barely seemed to notice. It struck back with a ferocity that sent Craith skidding across the ground, his blade barely deflecting the blow. He felt something in his shoulder give way.

  And then he heard them.

  Whispers, faint but insidious, creeping into his mind like a shadow.

  Thou art wounded, Praetor.

  Thy strength doth wane.

  Craith’s eyes narrowed, but he pushed the voices aside.

  The Redmanes pressed their attack, their movements a blur of crimson and shadow. Craith met them with equal ferocity, his blade a streak of silver as he danced between their strikes. But they seemed to grow stronger, their wounds healing faster, their attacks more vicious.

  We can aid thee. You know this. Call us into thy hands, and we shall grant thee the power thou needest.

  Craith gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on Lawbringer. “I don’t need your help,” he muttered, his voice low and steady. Then he cursed himself inwardly for even speaking to them.

  But the voices of Lifedrinker and Soulstealer persisted, their words a constant murmur in the back of his mind.

  Pride shall be thy downfall. Dost thou wish to perish here, unremembered, unavenged?

  Craith’s blade faltered for the briefest of moments, and the Redmanes seized the opportunity. A claw raked across his chest, the impact sending him sprawling.

  We can make thee mighty. We can make thee victorious. Once before thou hast called upon us to win the day, and we made it so.

  Craith pushed himself to his feet, his body aching, his vision blurred. He looked down at his hands, bloodied and trembling, and then at the Redmanes circling him like predators closing in on wounded prey.

  Every time they so much as touched him, it seemed they gained in strength.

  Whereas he kept getting slower.

  Thou art a fool. Thy pride shall be thy end.

  We are thy only salvation. Yield to us, and live.

  The four Redmanes, missing an assortment of limbs, casually walked toward each other and then merged into one, as if only one of them had been real and the other three were illusions. This single Redmane was a little taller, and had all of his appendages intact. He stood over Craith with the bearing of a lord, gazing down at him with his three baleful red eyes.

  “You have lost,” said Redmane. “You and your army both. And your escape route is shut. Yield now, and perhaps you won’t die here in this ruin.”

  Jarel felt his strength ebbing rapidly, from the venom long since having taken root and from the blood flowing freely from wounds all over his body.

  He could yield to this demon or he could yield to another.

  Or he could simply die.

  That would be an honorable end. Whatever may happen here, whatever costs the empire would have to pay to snuff out this colonial rebellion, Praetor Jarel Craith would have played his part and been regarded with respect in the histories.

  But if he could prevail…

  If he and those wicked swords could fell this monster, he would spare Numantia all those costs. He could still make a difference.

  The presences of Lifedrinker and Soulstealer were still and quiet in that moment. Reluctant to speak, so as not to spoil what could be an imminent victory.

  Jarel’s gaze met Redmane’s, and his eyes were steely.

  “I yield to no monster,” he said.

  And he released Lawbringer.

  The weapon vanished back into the God Slayer’s Arsenal the instant he let it go, and in its place two black blades appeared in his hands.