Dakkar’s every breath was fire and smoke as he dragged himself back from the edge of death.

The ground beneath him was charred and scorched beyond the capabilities of fire. The air tingled with heat while something akin to crackling sparks danced all along his skin.

The last thing he remembered was seeing the Sunkiller before them. Then heat consumed the world. Heat so hot it was colder than the northern ice of Syrytos. Heat so powerful, Dakkar had felt something in his very being shift as if reality itself had been altered. And the heat hadn’t even actually touched Dakkar.

Kalai’s desert and army had vanished, replaced by the original battlefield of the Trial.

Those unlucky enough to be hit by whatever Semiramis had unleashed left no bones. Only smoke and ash.

Melted bones from those skimmed by her magic laid about the scarred earth.

“Gods and Kings…” Dakkar rasped as he took in the destruction.

“You. You are the pretender’s general, right?”

Dakkar’s body locked up.

Ancient Kings protect me.

He mustered just enough will to turn around. Facing the Sunkiller alone seemed an impossible task.

Her cold green eyes bore into his primordial fears, learned by his ancestors in the Wild Age, as if appraising a slug.

“Do you and your people understand yet?” The Sunkiller asked.

Dakkar could only stare at her with slowly drying eyes.

“This class war you all insist on fighting. We do not suppress you commoners because we believe it to be right or to make ourselves feel better.” The Sunkiller said. “We sorcerers are the only thing keeping the masses from becoming something too dangerous for this universe. Humans cannot exist without order. Otherwise, we provoke his wrath.”

Dakar furrowed his brow. The mixture of abject fear, confusion, and grief for all the surrounding dust was clouding his mind. He hadn’t understood a word of what she’d said.

“We all belong to the Scaled One. From him we are born and to him, shall we return. He is not afraid to punish unruly children. And so you and your vagabonds will surrender to your betters. I have commanded it so.”

Dakkar’s hand went to his belt for his sword. He didn’t really understand what she meant, but it sounded like the same excuses all the other nobles gave for their wrongdoings. The excuse the nobleman gave after hiring his Penelope, knowing well she would die that night.

“You cannot hope to best me, old man. Even in a contest of iron.”

The deadness in her voice…The emptiness in her actions…made him furious.

He didn’t care if she had the power of gods at her fingertips. He would not let his soul die before his body.

“You know…” Dakkar muttered. “Of all the evil Setanta the Black Tongue did in his life, he taught me the most valuable lesson anyone could ever learn.”

“A lesson that will be rendered invalid upon my hearing it.”

“He put a knife to my throat on the anniversary of my daughter’s passing and asked me something. He asked if I wanted to die in an alleyway, forgotten and miserable.”

“Then, are you satisfied dying on a battlefield, forgotten and miserable?” Semiramis generated a small golden light in her hand.

“Not forgotten. Not miserable.” Dakkar drew his blade. “If you insist on my surrender, then I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees. And if I must die, I will die knowing I lived. I will die knowing I didn’t have that ugly, repulsive look in your dead eyes.”

“Mere words. Nothing you do or say will change the fact of your death.” Semiramis unleashed her light.

Light flooded all space and time. Heat incinerated the world.

Dakkar burned.

But he didn’t die.

In front of him, holding a now melted cleaver sword, was Kalai, the Queen of Conquerors. Her armor glowed with a slight orange tinge, and blisters covered her skin.

“Kalai!” Dakkar exclaimed.

Kalai tore her armor off, letting a long black braid fall loose from under her helm and reveal her musculature under a charred linen shirt.

“I had my doubts about you, Dakkar Nevin.” Kalai said. “I believed you were past your time. But I should know better than anyone, that one’s time can come again. You are a warrior. And you, Sunkiller, should acknowledge him.”

Semiramis’ eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates, quivering in their sockets.

“I unleashed the sun itself on you, King Cleaver.” Semiramis muttered. “How is it you still live?”

“Human will manifests us Champions. That’s why we are champions. Because our will was greater than a god’s. You cannot break my spirit. So you cannot kill me.” Kalai growled.

Semiramis birthed yet another ball of light and unleashed another beam at Kalai. This one was smaller and weaker than the other two.

Kalai repelled the attack with the flat of her blade.

“That one was disappointing.” Kalai said. “And my prince is going to love all this information.”

Semiramis’ face twitched, but she kept her dead facade.

“Are you aware of your prince’s deception against you?” Semiramis asked Dakkar. “The pretender claims to be fighting for your grand ideals. But in reality, he fights yet again for the sake of his beloved. He plans to turn the crown over to-”

“I don’t care what Matty’s doing.” Dakkar said. “I have faith in him. He knows what he’s doing. And if he doesn’t, he’ll make it right. Even if you stand in his way.”

“You want me to beat this lesson into you with iron? Fine. But no matter what you think of him, he will betray you. And you will die at my hand. Fate will remain unchanged.”

Dakkar stepped up to Kalai’s side as Semiramis drew twin khopeshes. “I think we’ll like it just fine that way. There wouldn’t be any fun in it otherwise.”

“Then come. Face your inevitable demise.”

Dakkar burst off the ground with a spike of energy he hadn’t felt in years, closing the distance between himself and Semiramis in a moment.

And his blade soared true, right for the Sunkiller’s neck.

***

Adriana stepped through the arched gates to the Diamedes estate, trepidation in every footfall.

The estate was completely empty. It made sense to abandon it after someone stole a prized artifact from the property unnoticed, but Adriana was still wary.

Abil said that he would investigate the scene, but she needed evidence now. The Trial of Idealism would happen tomorrow, marking the end of the Bellirex. If Mattiew won, she couldn’t let him hand over the crown. If he lost, she needed to force her father to release them.

House Diamedes fielded a grand estate reminiscent of an old northern temple, with rigid architecture held up by columns carved from marble and contrasting wild greenery.

But the outside was of little importance to her.

Adriana stepped inside the main house, her footsteps echoing off the perfect, polished mosaic floors.

The Diamedes collected a menagerie of sorcerous artifacts from the Wild Age. No doubt they’d stored the Jewel of Ascendancy along with that collection.

She went from room to room, checking under every rug and behind every tapestry for a hidden entrance to some catacomb or tunnel network. But none revealed themselves.

Like each noble estate, they sectioned a separate room off to act as a shrine to the Ancient Kings. Perhaps there was something in there.

The Diamedes shrine was small and cozy, unlike the rest of the house. Two small openings provided an entrance and exit on the same wall. No light was allowed in through the other walls. Only candles lit the altar, with eight small statues dedicated to the eight ancient emperors.

Why are there candles burning?

The building was abandoned. Who would’ve lit these candles? And why?

The sound of weak breath scraping against cracked lips caused Adriana to turn and face the wall of the entrance.

Between the entrance and exit, a deformed body hung from the wall, its hands bolted to the stone like a crucifixion.

Upon closer look, she saw rings. Wisps of a beard.

Abil.

“Ancient Kings…” Part of her wanted to scream, but her rushing mind was too occupied to process the request.

Dread sank in, accompanied by violent nausea.

Adriana lost her footing and collapsed to her knee as though a thousand pound weight attached itself to her spine.

Her head pulsed like it was being swung around like a sling as she lost strength in her muscles.

It was a miracle she was aware enough to even notice the mana trail.

A curse. No, the curse.

Adriana pushed herself to her feet, staggering about until she managed to lean on the shrine wall for support.

“I never thought I could be so impressed yet so appalled by you.” Reina Callione emerged from the light of the hallways beyond.

“Mother?” Adriana asked.

Phygius and her father appeared in the opposite entrance to the shrine, dim orange flickering off their black robes.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Adriana could only croak her demand. “Did you do this to Abil?”

“You were willing to go through with a whole coup d'état just to get away from us? Betray your whole family?” Reina’s voice was hollow except for an ever present feeling of outrage.

Adriana kept her gaze on her mother. Reina’s face was painted all over with a suppressed outburst.

She gritted her teeth. “So you know...”

“All this for some mutt off the street.” Reina growled through welling tears. “You disgust me.”

Adriana forced herself to stay upright, despite her quickly draining stamina. “Father, I understand. He’s a malignant bastard. Power hungry. Greedy. Delighted to watch all this. But what in Irkalla is your problem, mother?”

Reina’s response was to open the small golden screen of light that allowed her to manipulate her curses. The curse’s influence grew stronger over Adriana, making the incentive to just collapse and sleep even more appealing.

But Adriana wouldn’t budge, even as bloody spittle demanded to be spat up from her throat. “You act like this was some great betrayal. Like you were undeserving of this. How much dissonance do you need to delude yourself into thinking-”

“You will not speak to me that way!” Reina snapped.

“Kill me, then.” Adriana growled, a trickle of red dripping from her nose. “See what happens! You’ve caught me. Do it!”

“I will-” Reina started.

“Quiet, Reina.” Like a dog, Adriana’s mother fell silent. Andar sighed. “Personally, daughter, I’m impressed you divined...most of my plan. Despite the assistance of your associate here.” Andar cast a glance back at Abil’s body.

Adriana slumped against the stone altar, heaving with effort. “How’d you...find out?”

“You wounded Lagopis rather badly. I’d think the source is rather obvious.”

Adriana’s heart sank. Lagopis betrayed her…

For some reason, it didn’t surprise her in the slightest.

“If only you’d taken the time to sound less crazy as you were pursuing me…” Andar chuckled. He drew a small platinum egg from his sleeve with a motion of his wrist.

Something akin to mana radiated off the etched metal orb. Yet it was entirely different. It felt...wrong.

The Jewel of Ascendancy.

“You were right in most of your assumptions. You almost played your cousin Phygius. Something we’ll have to work on in the future.” Andar said as Phygius’s cheeks darkened. “But I think I can truly say...as a father, I’m proud.”

Adriana spat blood at her father’s feet.

“In the end, only two things went wrong. Two things easily amended.” Andar continued. “I didn’t expect your husband to survive for so long. And I didn’t expect this ‘Abil’ to appear. Well, at least until I found out who he was.”

“What do you...mean?” Adriana groaned.

“Despite how it may look, this is not a corpse.” Andar pointed at Abil. “Abil is not a real person. Abil does not live or die like a person. Because Abil is the betrayer god, Yezrak.”

Adriana coughed out a laugh. “Excuse me?”

Andar smacked Abil’s dangling leg.

The body stirred.

“Without his rings to suppress it, he wields the power of a god. But his mind is a half-baked incarnation of the god of deceit.” Andar said.

“Callione…” a dry and shriveled voice croaked from Abil. “I will...I will not let you…”

“Don’t act as if this is your permission to give and take, Yezrak.” Andar scoffed.

“The Jewel...it grants wishes…” Adriana groaned. “Why? What wish do you have?”

“Well, the Cult of the Scale is far more in tune with reality than ancient people gave them credit for.” Andar said. “The Scaled One exists. And he holds domain over all worlds and all gods. Including our gods. And when he makes his return, I will not be among the masses culled.”

Adriana remained silent for a moment. “You’re fucking insane. A cult?”

“It’s very real, Adriana. Where do you think the Sunkiller gets her power?”

She just stared in blank confusion.

“I thought you’d be picking up on this more quickly.” Andar sighed. He gestured to Abil. “Look at this man. He is the incarnation of a god. There will be more. The second coming of the gods hails the Serpent’s arrival. Our world faces an existential threat even greater than the gods. Why do you think Diamedes and Tammuz made such a bold marriage? They believe their combined sorcery could help humanity fight against the Scaled One.”

“But there is no hope for humanity.” Phygius spoke up. “The Scaled One wields unfathomable power. No sorcerer can stop him. Uncle Andar and I wanted to infuse our bloodline with his power. To turn our clan into disciples of his strength. That way, when he comes, we will survive. We may even become the new wardens of this world.”

“You’re just...you’re delusional! With too much power for your own good.” Adriana growled. “I wish—wish—I could believe that insane explanation. It’d give me some sense of meaning behind all this. But no. Please, father. Don’t do this. Nothing will come of it. I’m begging you...”

“Adriana, you are part of our family.” Andar said. “I wish to offer you this power as well. That’s why I tried to kill Mattiew. But I will accept him among us as well, if you will come back to us.”

“Fuck you!” Adriana screamed as loud as she could. “All for nothing! Nothing! I just wanted you to leave us alone! Why…” She sniffled as tears came to her eyes. “All our suffering…for nothing! Why couldn’t you just leave us alone…”

“You’re family, Adriana. An  Acernic always looks out for family.” He sighed and turned to Abil...or Yezrak. Whichever. “For my sacrifice, I require the essence of a god. I will put your immortality to good use.”

Andar held up the Jewel of Ascendancy, the platinum’s technicolor sheen seeming to lurch from the gem and latch onto Yezrak. The god screamed for only a few seconds before the light returned to the Jewel.

His rings clattered to the ground, and Adriana felt nothing. No giant well of mana. Just emptiness.

“House Callione will prevail above all others.” Andar muttered. “Phygius, bring your cousin with us. We’re going home.”

Adriana could do nothing as her body laid limp and tears streamed down her face.

She had lost everything. Everything. And for what?

A delusion.

***

Technically, the dock and the village accompanying it weren’t part of the Trial of Conviction. So, Mattiew’s army stole a fleet of ships.

At least it was on brand for them.

It didn’t take long for the Sea Scourgers to fix the rigging on the ferries and fishing boats to accommodate for the strain of evasive maneuvering, before setting sail into the nearly mile-wide river.

As the oarsmen rowed the boats towards the river bend and Cyrus’s encampment, other Scourgers took up bows in case anyone tried to pursue them.

Mattiew leaned on the edge of his boat, taking in the exhilarating mixture of fresh river breeze and the iron scent of blood.

But he was quickly learning that moments to smell the roses were few and far between in battle, as a flash of white preceded a column of heat and blazing light that cut through the river and forest just behind the ships tailing their armada. A wall of steam hissed to life as what was undoubtedly Semiramis’s magic caused the river under it to boil.

Shit.

All Mattiew could do was hope his cavalry could avoid dealing with that Nightdweller in a woman’s body.

As the Sea Scourgers rounded the river bend, they caught sight of Cyrus’s encampment. Like all the others, it sat atop a hill, surrounded by walls made of wooden posts and flying Cyrus’s personal banner.

“There are reserve forces, Captain!” Dreya called from her boat. “We’re closing in quick!”

“Oarsmen, drive ashore! We take the encampment on foot! Archers, cover our assault!” Mattiew commanded. The de facto leaders of the other boats relayed his orders, causing the archers to fire at will.

Wave after wave of hailing arrows forced the reserves to duck beneath their battlements. Some returned fire, but Mattiew’s forces severely outnumbered the defenders.

The boats drove themselves into the riverbank and Mattiew was among the first to climb the rocks that marked the divide between silt bank and solid ground.

At his command, Scourgers tossed coils of rope to those at the base of walls. Mattiew and five others improvised grappling hooks and tossed the ropes up the thirty-hand-tall face of the wooden walls.

“Climb, sea dogs, climb!” Mattiew roared, wrapping his cord around his hands and starting his way up.

Cyrus’s defenders attempted to fire arrows down at the ground troops, but Mattiew and those climbing with him had more than enough shields to spare.

A few low-ranking sorcerers attempted to douse them in fire, but by the time the bastards actually got to the wall, Mattiew could grab their arms and throw them off the walls.

Mattiew reached the top of the wall and had enough space to pull himself over. He drew his sickle sword and held off those who still had fumes of fighting spirit left, waiting for his troops to secure the area.

He signaled for the archers to stop firing as more Scourgers joined him atop the walls and started pushing the defenders away.

Skirmishers with short bows fired on their enemies as the infantry Scourgers advanced down the battlements.

The twang of bowstrings and thunks from the arrows hitting their marks covered Mattiew until he was met by armed sorcerers and engulfed in clashes of iron once again.

The sorcerers could spew acid or ice from their hands, but these were nothing like the opponents Mattiew had been fighting. On the battlefield, a low-powered sorcerer was only worth a man and a half at most.

Mattiew’s sheer numbers overwhelmed Cyrus’s primarily noble defending force. His men also used formations, where Cyrus’s trained duelists knew nothing about fighting as a unit.

It wasn’t long before the enemy signaled a retreat.

“The Prince is as good as ours!” Mattiew shouted. “Search the tents! Take whatever arms and armor you can find! Bring me Cyrus!”

The Scourgers roared in triumph as they chased the sorcerers out of their own encampment.

Mattiew’s bandits quickly turned to looting the encampment for all it was worth and burning everything that couldn’t be sold or used.

Aram actually started having the Scourgers gather everything in the middle to be distributed fairly, the way they did with loot from ships they attacked. It was also a good idea to keep track of what they had in case any other army attempted to lay siege to this place while they were still in it.

“Captain!” Sedis called, exiting the largest tent in the camp. “He’s not here.”

“What?”

“The Prince. The coward’s nowhere to be found.”

Mattiew frowned. With someone like Cyrus at the helm, it would not only be out of character, but borderline stupid to take the prince into battle.

But then again, Cyrus could read minds. Perhaps he’d seen this coming. But there had to be some kind of limit to his ability, right?

“The prince was a telepath.” Mattiew said. “It’s possible he read our minds while we were headed towards him. Ready everyone for an ambush.”

“Aye.” Sedis nodded before relaying his information.

“Get archers up on the-”

An explosion of splintered wood cut him off. Wind whipped throughout the encampment, lifting Mattiew off the ground for just a moment as something crashed through the walls and made a small crater in the dirt and rocks in the ground.

Every Scourger stared at the spot where...whatever that thing was...landed.

A groan followed by shuffling revealed Kalai as she staggered to her feet in the crater, leaning on one of her cleaver swords. Her face was horribly burnt, though the scars seemed to be healing quickly.

Kalai’s gaze snapped over to Mattiew. Pain and guilt had replaced the bottomless confidence Mattiew usually saw from the Queen.

“I’m sorry, Nikoliades…” Kalai rasped. “We...we did everything we could…”

“Kalai, what-”

“Then maybe I was right in saying you were unworthy to face me, King Cleaver.”

Every Scourger who’d had their eye on Kalai followed the voice upwards, where a woman coated in golden light hovered.

Silver hair. Emerald eyes.

“The Sunkiller…” murmurs spread like wildfire through Mattiew’s ranks.

Mattiew narrowed his eyes and caught sight of a limp figure clutched in Semiramis’s hand.

Who in Irkalla was that?

“You know, mutt.” Cyrus stepped through the flaming hole in the wall of his encampment, legions of footmen just outside. “I could hear you all chanting my name in your heads from the moment you conceived your plan. You should really be more mindful of your thoughts. Otherwise, I can hurry over to someone like the Sunkiller and ask if she wants your head.”

Mattiew gritted his teeth, but the shock running through him kept him paralyzed. How could everything go so wrong so quickly?

“Now this tournament will have two worthy contenders reaching the last trial.” Cyrus let a shit-eating grin grow along his face.

“Do not misunderstand me, Prince.” Semiramis said from the heavens. “You are a dog compared to my majesty and might.”

“Well, at least I’m a sorcerer!” Cyrus shouted defensively.

“Yes, you meet the bare qualifications to register as a dignified person.” Semiramis said. “I’ve mostly come to deliver this…”

Semiramis dropped the figure she was holding.

The body landed with a splat on the stone. A wave of gasps coincided with the impact as realization dawned on the Scourgers just who the body belonged to.

The corpse of Dakkar Nevin lay mangled and disfigured on the ground in a pool of his own blood.

Mattiew’s lip quivered.

The sight before him was...impossible. And yet, here it was.

He wanted to vomit. He wanted to spit up blood. Remove his own eyes from his skull. Anything that would help him deny the corpse in front of him.

Dakkar had existed forever. From the day Mattiew joined the Scourgers until he eventually returned to be their leader. Dakkar was always there. Always. He…He couldn’t be there on the ground.

Mattiew was so dizzy, he wasn’t sure which way was up anymore. The tingling on his skin could be from shock or the radiating effect of Semiramis’s power.

Scourgers fell to their knees or took several steps away from the body. Others threw up while still others forced themselves to hold it down. Some couldn’t take their eyes off it. Some refused to even tilt their head in its direction. Eyes widened and jaws dropped as the man, who had been an integral part of the Sea Scourgers since the days of the Black-Tongue, laid dead.

“Mattiew...Just breathe. Breathe. Calmly. Cool your head.” Kalai’s voice barely registered.

When Mattiew could find the strength to breathe again, only fire entered his lungs. Maddening fire. His fists shivered, clenching his shield and sword so tightly his wrists ached.

His face contorted in agony and vile hatred. His mouth felt like it was filling with poison as he screamed.

He had nothing to say. Only rage to express. No words could encapsulate the grief and sickening desire for violence in his chest. No insult was hurtful enough. No range the human voice was capable of was loud enough. No glare could accurately convey the murderous intent in his will.

Or at least, that’s what he assumed to be the case when Semiramis descended to the ground, unworried by the slow conversion of all the Scourgers’ shock into bloodlust.

Mattiew took the first step forward, but fate unfairly held his wrist.

No, that was Kalai.

“Stop, Mattiew!” Kalai snapped.

“Let go of me!” Mattiew screamed. “I’m gonna fucking kill her! I’ll kill everyone who stands in my way!”

“Do you wanna go up in a pile of ash, you idiot?” Kalai roared. “And that goes for the rest of you too!”

Mattiew bore into Semiramis’s eyes, trying to pry into her soul. But all he saw was emptiness. How dare she? How dare she kill this man and feel nothing?

“The pretender and his swarm will die whether or not they’re enraged.” Semiramis said. “There’s no use in holding them back, Queen of Conquerors.”

“You heard her.” Mattiew snapped. “Let me go!”

Kalai ignored them both.

“Hold on, Sunkiller.” Cyrus said. “Before you slaughter them, I want to do something real quick.”

Semiramis didn’t look pleased, but she left silence for Cyrus to fill.

“Ruffians! Vandals! I want to reveal something to you about your oh-so heroic leader here.” Cyrus said.

No.

Mattiew hadn’t even thought about it, but he somehow instantly knew what Cyrus was going to say.

“Mattiew Nikoliades, as you know, is being sponsored by Andar Callione. Now, I’ve seen him preach about building you a new nation in which untamed masses like you can run free from the law.” Cyrus said. “But know that he’s been lying to you since the beginning.”

Mattiew’s body went limp with helplessness. Soon, Kalai was holding him up rather than holding him back.

“If he won the tournament, he intended to give the Ouroboros of Tiamat over to Andar Callione himself. One of the most heinous nobles in the Empires according to your standards.” Cyrus grinned. “And all so he could save his trai-”

It was a burst of motion.

Mattiew gave no thought to the action. His body just moved on its own. As if practiced a million times for this moment, his arms broke from Kalai, drew his bow, and knocked an arrow in a split second. And before Cyrus could even finish his sentence, Mattiew fired.

The arrow soared true.

It punctured Cyrus right in the eye. The force of the blow caused the prince to collapse. Right before everyone else followed suit, falling unconscious.