Silas parried a low blow for his legs and twirled the outstretched sabre with his spear, flinging it to the side. With the weapon out of the way, he lunged in for Lucian, aiming to pierce deep into the Warlord’s chest. But Lucian reacted just as quick, punching out with his free hand to stop the spear before it built momentum. This caused minor damage but hardly any worth consideration given his regeneration rate.

Noting there were no opportunities this close up, Silas backstepped but Lucian chased, intent on maintaining their close quarters. It was a frustrating match-up for the Duellist since the Warlord kept such a tight defence, refusing to take a reckless offence as he likely saw this as a battle of attrition. In a couple of minutes, Silas would be killed from within, whereas he would have free rein to takeover this war then.

But something beyond both of their expectations occurred then as Silas’s coating of blood visibly healed, causing Lucian’s eyes to widen with alarm. Meanwhile, Silas heard the niggling voice again, which had been gone for… well, for some period. When the bloodlust had overcome him, he had promptly feasted his mind on unadulterated violence, the stuff of nightmares, and so the voice had vanished. Only God knew where it had gone, but now it was back, whispering past his mass of bloodlust. Try to stab his feet and slow him.

Silas smirked at this as the voice spoke while he was midway through the action, his spear piercing through the air towards Lucian’s feet. If its counsel for combat was on a time lag, then it might as well not have piped up in the first place.

“Mountainbreaker,” Lucian shouted, stamping his foot before the spearpoint reached it. Suddenly, Silas’s vision shook and he stumbled back, an intense earthquake passing through the ground underneath. He was reeling, trying to drag his vision from the sky back to his opponent when he saw a brilliant sabre cut through the sky, chopping towards his head. Silas didn’t think; he simply acted. He ducked to the side, then burst behind Lucian with a thunderous crackle, his mana running low. It was then the niggling voice spoke again. Duck the chop and get away.

Silas should have ignored the useless voice, but he couldn’t as it was no longer a whisper, now a proper voice in his ears. And so, even though he flanked Lucian with the perfect opportunity for a backstab, he instead ducked a phantom blow and leapt back, confusing even himself. What was going on? He glanced down and saw the blood clearing from skin as if he was being purified, and a most curious feeling emerged in his head: it was like he was in great searing pain, but simultaneously being soothed by a healing coolness.

Lucian used this random pause to engage, screaming, “Might of Ten Thousand,” as he went for the winning sweep. Silas hopped back again, and the niggling voice spoke, now dominating the caverns of his mind, its sound waves bouncing off the hollowed walls. You’re being healed by Elisha. She must be using some purification ability. Transcendence is leaving your bloodstream.

And suddenly it was so, as his vision went from vibrant and oh so beautiful to grimy and dreary and miserable. His Transcendence-fuelled ego was shrieking for its life, shrinking with every heartbeat, and Silas knew he needed to eat more gummies, but he couldn’t as Lucian assaulted him, finding opportunity in the hesitation. His reflexes were slowing, his mind dimming, the terror of ordinary life crashing into him and swallowing him whole.

Silas screamed incoherently, continuously bumbling back from Lucian who watched him wolfishly. “Stop the healing,” Silas screamed, frightened by the reality in front of him. He hated the pain, the misery, the slowness, yet the healing stream did not stop as he could now accurately feel his flesh being regenerated from inside. He would rather die than live on this lower plane of existence, and so with a burst of conviction he lunged his head for Lucian’s sabre, hoping this nightmare would end. Then the voice spoke, now uncontested. Trust me, Silas, you’ll win this. Trust mee… the voice drawled, fading slowly but instantaneously, the rattled junkie at the steering wheel getting pushed aside and being replaced by Silas himself. The voice was no longer a voice; it was him.

Before his head got chopped off, his hands thrust forward and parried the sabre with his speartip, giving him enough time to create some distance. He knew this was not an ideal situation; although his body was healed, his mind was exhausted, making his reflexes slow, and even worse he was out of mana. That meant no Weakness Vision, no Harrying Blows, no Luminous Land, and certainly no Rupture. But Lucian wasn’t in the best of shape either, abused by a junkie for the last however many minutes.

So Silas played with the fact that he had appeared vulnerable and confused for the last few seconds, eyes focusing into the distance and mouth gaping open as if he was once again under a daze. Lucian had no hesitation, lunging with surprising speed and unrivalled ferocity, but Silas ducked in the nick of time, the manastone weapon shearing through his hair while he stabbed his own into the Warlord’s gut. It was a weak blow, but it had the effect of forcing Lucian back, whose consuming black eyes trained on Silas with bitter vitriol.

There were no words exchanged between the two as they circled each other, aware at the back of their minds that this was it. No second chances; this was it. So Silas bolted in, and just when Lucian did likewise, he dashed backwards, causing the Warlord to question the moment and scramble to slow. Was this a trap? Was someone else joining in? And in that moment of hesitation Silas raced forward once again, building his momentum to its max while Lucian tried to catch up. But it was too late. They were on each other now, and Lucian raised his sabre to defend, but Silas’s spear snaked forward like a viper, baring its fangs for the slightest of seconds before it pierced through Lucian’s gorget, punctured his throat, and blowing him back.

Lucian clutched at the wound with his free hand, raising his sabre in a futile attempt to defend. No mercy was shown as Silas stabbed him from above, riddling his armour and body with holes until the Warlord fell onto his side, and then Silas ended it with a wide swing, decapitating the Mayor of Brightmoor.

Silas Wycliffe (human), the Duellist, has killed Lucian Grimes (human), the Warlord.

22 Sovereigns remaining.

****

A spell washed over the rest of the battlefield when Lucian died, Ajit observed. The defenders gained strength they hadn’t known they possessed, meanwhile the Brightmoor soldiers and allies faltered, doubting themselves. With both Lucian and Sophie gone, there was only Sandip, Astor, and Stefan left on their side, and none of them could legitimately push themselves forward as the next autocrat. Despite this, the fighting did not stop. Matteo lived, Laila lived, and tens of thousands of soldiers from Brightmoor remained, and the blood price couldn’t be forgotten so easily. All the same, the tide had turned, and no one could question that.

Kuraim’s abominations, which had been combating Ajit’s shades in an attempt to harass Elisha, turned and charged Silas now. The Warlock hadn’t expected such an abrupt change, so most of them escaped before he could stop them. But it proved to be pointless, anyway. The Duellist paid them no attention, slipping past them as easily as an eel, his steps springing him closer to the panicking Necromancer. Kuraim was trying to leave, but Ajit refused him this, having shades pummel his barrier.

Silas arrived, chased by a legion of abominations, and said, “Looks like I’ve got enough mana to do this.” He thrust his spear into particular spots of the barrier, and Ajit figured he had used Weakness Vision. Either way, the barrier which had held on for so long shattered in a matter of seconds, and the Necromancer lay bare. One of Ajit’s shades went forth and beheaded Kuraim, but it did nothing as the horde remained upright and the abominations ran ever closer to save their master.

Ajit Ghost (human), the Warlock, has killed Kuraim Jaffer (human), the Necromancer.

22 Sovereigns remaining.

So, Ajit decided on another course of action. Using his telekinesis to freeze Kuraim’s body in position, he floated it high into the sky and levitated after it, leaving the range of the grounded zombies. His mana was rapidly draining as Kuraim resisted, but hopefully this would be over quickly. Ajit touched the Necromancer’s deathly cold body and ran sensing waves through it, finding nothing for his trouble, though. How was Kuraim staying alive, then?

“You’re going to die,” Kuraim spat. “We’re all going to die.” He smiled as best he could, but Ajit ignored this and released sensing waves again, finally feeling the flicker of an arcane presence inside.

The Warlock stabbed his hand towards the pelvis and heard Kuraim giggling maniacally. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked while tearing apart the pelvis, searching through the bone until he found a diamond embedded inside. Taking it out into the light, he knew it was priceless despite being only as large as his fingernail. It was brilliantly cut, and more importantly, it seethed life force onto his fingers.

“Goodbye motherfucker, I won’t miss you,” Ajit said, hastily crushing the gemstone before Kuraim could have the last word.

Ajit Ghost (human), the Warlock, has killed Kuraim Jaffer (human), the Necromancer.

22 Sovereigns remaining.

Below him, the horde collapsed as one, but Ajit refused to believe his eyes or the System any longer. From what he could tell, Kuraim could only come back to life in his own body, so first of all he decided to burn the body and keep the ashes locked up. Secondly, when Kuraim returned, he had access to all his zombies again, so the next course of action was to burn all their corpses too. Only then could he rest knowing that even if the Necromancer wasn’t totally dead, at least he wouldn’t rise to haunt the world again.

But before that, there was a war to finish. Ajit drifted down to the ground beside Silas, who sat in a circle of broken abominations. “Does the stench not bother you?” he asked.

“I dunno. I think my nose is clogged,” Silas said with a weak chuckle. His face set into a serious expression. “I don’t—”

“Save it,” Ajit interrupted, raising an open palm. “We can talk about it afterwards.” He paused and looked to Katerina, who walked towards them in the open, dumping a bloody head before them.

Katerina Ivanov (human), the Hidden Blade, has killed Zafeera Bazzi (human), the Blood Ripper.

21 Sovereigns remaining.

“What’s this? A present?” Ajit asked with a smirk.

Katerina shrugged and looked away to the battlefield where the war still raged, although with a weaker flame than before.

****

While the leaders of the factions had battled, the rest of the Sovereigns had also rallied against each other on the battlefield. Astor had, predictably, murdered Dlyo, but she only managed to put up a pitiful fight against Silas, who had since recovered some mana.

Astor (stingtail), the Blackthorn, has killed Dlyo (stingtail), the Aeromancer.

Silas Wycliffe (human), the Duellist, has killed Astor (stingtail), the Blackthorn.

19 Sovereigns remaining.

It was a similar case with Sandip, who had killed Peryn. He had almost downed Folding Winds too when Ajit swooped in and butchered him. The Warlock killed Dolkar too, who snarled and turned into an explosion of fading glass on death. With both of their leaders dead, the Palyul Monastery army was quick to lay down their arms and wave the white flag, but Ajit wasn’t in a particularly merciful mood.

Sandip Mand (human), the Windwalker, has killed Peryn of Dragonfire (drakkar), the Pyromancer.

Ajit Ghost (human), the Warlock, has killed Sandip Mand (human), the Windwalker.

17 Sovereigns remaining.

It was not long after that the Sovereigns all disappeared, returning back to the starting point. The System hoped it was third time lucky.