FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

Blue lights pulsed in the darkness, like a field of blighted stars.

The ground rushed into sight. Sadik landed on his sandals, rolled onto his shoulder, his bronze armor scraping against stone. He came out into a crouch, his sword braced at his side. He expected a rush of infected. A chorus of screams.

Instead, he saw an empty garden, stretching into the dark.

Kavaia landed next to him, cracking a path of cobblestones. Xaeyr fell through the canopy of an olive tree. Lanir gazed down from above, gave a clumsy leap, and trampled an entire field of roses. Curses echoed through the gloom.

Sadik gave a signal to halt.

Ahead, on every side, there were forests of cypress, pots of hibiscus, vines laden with grapes, terraces bursting with jasmine, walkways curving between walls of hedges. It was exactly how he remembered the gardens of Kohav Yaran. Almost too exact.

The only difference lay in the fruits. Each one was glowing a bright cerulean, from the bountiful pears to the ripened dates, and they were all gleaming with such a soft and gentle light that the leaves only casted a faint shadow upon the cavern walls. Sadik followed the light down to the roots of the trees, and he saw the roots were made of intestines, actively sucking the fluid from the soil. Blood pooled around the contracting flesh.

“Sadik?” Kavaia asked, hammer raised.

“Hold your ground.” He tried to look between the foliage, but the glowing fruits were too dim, and the darkness too vast. There was no telling how long the garden extended.

He could not get over the feeling of familiarity. When he raised his head, the ceiling of the chamber seemed to be a constellation of stars, burning a white flame into the dark. Were they white crystals? Fireflies? A shining legion of bone?

Around him, the trees and shrubs began to sway in a gentle breeze, the rustling of the leaves like the whisper of voices.

His resonance climbed into a fever pitch.

“Contact!” Xaeyr yelled.

They whirled in place. In the distance, below a swarm of glowing figs, a lone figure hobbled from the darkness. There was a stilted shape, protruding bone, a whirling length of metal.

Sadik recognized the face. Next to him, Lanir reared back on her hindlegs, ready to leap and stomp.

“Stop!” he yelled. “Stop!”

The three gods paused. Sadik made his way through the forest of their legs, approaching the figure. It walked with the cadence of an old, tired man.

“Zaeed?” Sadik asked.

“Ya fuckin’ stomped the roses!”

The man drew close. He was a stunted figure, with a face as brown and worn as a saddle, and a posture as hunched as the fig trees around him. In better times, Sadik had known him as Zaeed, the royal orchardman, responsible for the preservation and care of the palace gardens. He had lived among the fruits and leaves for so long that even Haakon couldn’t remember a time when the old human was not trimming the hedges, or whacking the birds with his cane.

“Hoi!” Zaeed shouted, glaring up at Xaeyr. “You! Shoe for brains!”

Xaeyr seemed like he had never been more startled in his entire life.

“You got eyes wider than a camel’s cunt, ya red-arsed monkey! Get my olives off your frock!”

Xaeyr looked down at his toga, saw a few fruits glowing within the rolls, and scrambled to brush them away. Zaeed turned his attention to Lanir, whose draconic feet were clumped with pink, lavish petals.

“My deepest apologies,” the dragon said, bowing her head. “Any restitution could be demanded, if you wish.”

The old human scoffed, nudging the scales of Sadik’s armor. “Always the gods, right, waladi? So tall, hardly lookin’ where they shit.” He cleared his throat, attempting a quick prayer. “Praise be to Aldunya, god of gods, such and such, thanks for the plants. However it goes.”

Sadik raised a cautious brow. “It’s nice to see you again, Zaeed.”

“I’m always nice to see, ya stupid bastard.”

“Well,” Kavaia said, shuffling on her feet. “Sadik. Care to . . . introduce us?”

“I fuckin’ well know the lot of ya,” Zaeed replied. “Saw you pluckin’ my figs, often enough. We all knew you was comin’, anyway.”

Sadik raised his other brow. “Did you?”

“Just so. Got asked to be the doorman, so to speak. Like I don’t got better work needs doin’.” He threw up a dirt-stained hand. “Both you and the jackal.”

Around them, a gentle breeze rustled the trees and shrubs, like the whisper of a secret. Stars glistened in the cavern sky.

“Where is the jackal now?” Sadik asked, slowly.

Zaeed straightened his back, leaning heavily on his cane. After some stiff curses, he managed to point over Sadik’s shoulder, across the length of a winding cobblestone path. Between the rows of hedges, and the trees laden with fruit, Sadik could just barely see the edge of the cavern, where dirt and stone became the carefully laid bricks of a palace archway. Statues leered from the dark.

He wasn’t liking this.

Sadik turned back, facing the creature that looked exactly like Zaeed, and he saw that his cane was now made of bone, like the ones in his arm had come shunting out his palm. His other hand was no longer a hand at all—instead, it was a spinning fan of metal, composed of clippers and shears and other gardening tools, actuating like a pair of fingers.

“Hoi, waladi,” Zaeed said. “Eyes up.”

Sadik nearly snapped into a salute.

“That puckered cunt you call a god—the jackal, what’s his name—” The weathered human shook his head. “Well, he’s on a bloody path o’ war. I should know. He slew me up there, personal-like.”

“. . . did he?”

“By the tree, he did. Just as you please. One night, some weeks after you gone, I saw him walkin’ tall through the grass, the ones that hadn’t been burned to ash, and when I told him to keep off, he took my head clean at the shoulder. You passed me old body, most-like.”

Sadik was not sure how to respond.

“Fading Dawn,” Zaeed said, giving a wry chuckle. “Ain’t that right?”

“. . . how do you know these things?”

“Don’t be askin’ silly questions, waladi. You got some more callers, just ahead.”

Sadik glanced at the cavern exit. There was no sign of movement. When he returned his gaze, Zaeed had hobbled over to a nearby hedge, using the spinning metal of his hand to shear the foliage. The air filled with the scent of fresh-cut leaves.

“One more thing,” the old human said, focusing on his task. “Cheer up a tad, would ya? You’re always broodin’ and such.”

Sadik lifted his gaze toward the cavern ceiling, watching the imitation stars. “There is much on my mind.”

“Just smell the flowers, waladi. Just smell the flowers.”

Sadik kept his gaze on the cavern ceiling. For a moment, he could almost imagine that he was standing in a true garden, on a night like any other, where he could sample the fruits, and lie beneath the fronds, and ponder, and pray, and dream. The smell of tulips whispered at his mind, and he took a deep, longing breath.

And, below the flowers, there was a stench of blood, a scent of ferrous metal, trimming the sweetness from the air, just as Zaeed continued to trim the leaves.

The illusion was shattered. This place was only a reflection of the past. An imitation of a memory.

And Sadik did not need its comforts.

“Thank you, Zaeed,” he said.

The old human waved the bony point of his cane, as if they had disturbed his silence long enough.

Sadik turned on his heel and marched through the garden. Three gods followed at his back, watching the cerulean shadows and shining crystal stars. It took them little time to reach the exit. When they did, Sadik gazed up at the archway, where statues of previous Viziers stood upon tall, marble plinths. Their faces were either unfinished, with a few features scattered upon an empty face, or outright malformed, with several Viziers having their masks exaggerated into parody. A snout as long as a blade, hair as stiff as thorns, feathers the size of palm leaves.

Something compelled Sadik to touch the foot of a statue. When he did, the stone was warm and spongy. Exactly like flesh.

“I feel as if I’ve entered a dream,” Kavaia said, staring up at the statues.

Xaeyr kept his spear pointed behind them. Lanir peered her long neck around the corner of the archway, into the hallway beyond. Inside, the architecture slowly became a spiral—a tiled floor twisting like a ribbon, columns spearing in every direction, reliefs melting into the ground, sagging up to the ceiling, each of them carved with half-remembered faces. By the end, the recreation of a palace hall had been twisted into a furious snarling of stone.

Sadik thought of a length of linen, twisted tighter and tighter until it was only a series of bounded cords.

Familiarity squeezed from the structure.

At the end, there was a heaving orifice, as brown as rotting fruit, easily large enough to swallow ten men. He could hear it breathe. Slowly, he realized where the wind was coming from.

“Fuck that,” Xaeyr said.

“That does not sound courageous,” Lanir replied.

“No. No, no, no.” Xaeyr pointed at the writhing mouth. “Fuck that.”

Kavaia shrugged. “It could be worse. Imagine a door made of children.”

“Don’t give it ideas!”

Sadik stepped into the hall. The ground was solid beneath his feet. Nothing lurched from the archways to the side, or the alcoves above. “Zaeed said that we had ‘other callers’ ahead.”

“The plague has consumed many,” Lanir said. “If some still retain their autonomy, like the menial gardener. . . .”

Xaeyr raised his torch into the air, illuminating the half-birthed statues. “Sadik, do you really believe that Amira is still alive? That she’s still . . . herself?”

“Yes.”

The baboon looked at the breathing orifice, pressed his thin lips together, and heaved a sigh. “Fine. But you’re going first.”

Kavaia gave a loud sneeze.

“Bless the pollen,” Lanir said.

“Excuse me,” the crocodile replied, stepping into the hall. “For a moment, I thought the garden smelled of pussy.”

She marched into the twisting hall. Sadik followed behind. Lanir folded her wings to fit into the space, and Xaeyr brought up the rear, muttering “soft-scaled bitch” beneath his breath.

They made their way through the hall. At first, they walked along the stone tile floor, and, when the floor became the wall, they clambered over columns, leaped across alcoves, passed over recessed statues. When the wall became the ceiling, they managed to stagger across the steep, vaulted roof, using the crenellations as handholds. For his part, Sadik kept his eyes on his feet—watching the architecture twist into a spiral quickly proved disorienting.

Slowly, as he drew closer to the orifice, he felt the steady motion of a heart, beating somewhere close below. It quivered through the stone.

The resonance in his chest rose into a constant hum. His mind pulsed at the edges, as if his brain was trying to flee through the walls of his skull. At his feet, the faces of old gods blurred into a mass, twisting into a spiral, half-formed and half-remembered.

He tried to focus on his breath.

After scrambling the last of the distance, Kavaia was the first to reach the orifice. Immediately upon arrival, she slammed the tip of her hammer into the floor, shouting: “Let us pass!”

The orifice widened. Half a dozen membranes slithered open, one after the other, their flesh as thin as eyelids, their veins glinting like metal shards. Beyond, there was a darkened tunnel, snaking down into the earth. Mucus dripped from a throbbing gland.

Xaeyr raised his torch into the tunnel—down below, there was a series of segmented muscles, wrinkled and wet, each of them capped with a ring of membrane. The earth trembled, and the muscles contracted in sequence. A beating heart quivered the flesh.

It was an esophagus.

“I would like to reiterate my statement,” Xaeyr said.

Sadik entered the tunnel, stared into the throat of the world, and, after a moment’s hesitation, leaped into the void.

The darkness rushed to swallow him.

When he could see again, he was falling upon a beach.

His body struck the sand. A wave crashed over his head, bitterly cold and furiously strong. Sadik tumbled head over heels, disoriented, blinded with water, his sinuses burning with salt, losing all sense of direction until his body collided with the sandy floor. Eventually, when the wave broke upon the shore, Sadik was left gasping on his back, surrounded by sand, pebbles, and streaks of salty foam.

Around him, a lonely beach spread into the distance, so long on either side that it seemed to stretch forever. The sky was overcast. The air was cold. Flies buzzed around a scum of rotten seaweed. In the distance, a wall of sandy dunes rose above the beach, blown up from the wind and held together by green, snaking plants.

Breathing hard, Sadik attempted to stand, digging his fingers into the wet, clumping sand.

“Wait!”

A woman grabbed his shoulder. She was wearing a white coat, a ballistic vest. Her face was streaked with tears. Sadik could count the strands of blonde hair, the laces of her boots, the many stars and thirteen stripes of her flag, printed against her lapel.

“Please,” Calisto said. “Listen to me.”

Sadik blinked, spitting sand from his tongue.

“I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. You don’t even know. . . .”

Above, lightning surged across the sky, bringing her pale complexion into light.

“You have to understand,” Calisto said, gripping him hard. “I did my best. I kept us alive. I did.” Her face twisted. Tears rolled from her eyes. “God, I really did.”

A wave crashed behind them. Foaming water surged against their ankles, sucking the sand from where they stood. Pebbles rolled beneath the tide.

Calisto glanced over his shoulder. When Sadik followed her gaze, he saw a storm brewing over the ocean, filled with towering clouds, surging lightning, the draping black of a vicious rain. It seemed to spread across the world. Thunder peeled from its belly.

The woman shivered with fear.

The more Sadik stared at the storm, the more it resembled a jagged, chaotic creature. The clouds were a steely grey, frothing like a liquid, forming a brief impression of limbs and organs. When lightning surged through the clouds, a cerulean light burned across the sky.

The storm was heading for the shore, moving faster and faster.

“Sadik. Please. I chose you.”

He turned back to Calisto, the last surviving ancestor.

“Sadik!”

The waves roared in his ears.

“Sadik!” Kavaia shouted.

He opened his eyes. Kavaia kneeled over him, shaking the collar of his kepresh. Above her head, mud-brick buildings rose into a tower, stacked one atop the other, each of the floors and roofs melding so deeply into the next that they began to resemble the vertebrae of a spine.

His skin was dry. There was no sand in his mouth.

For a moment, Sadik tried to breathe.

“What happened?” Kavaia asked, moving her hand to his throat. A leathery thumb checked his pulse. “You were seizing. Speaking in tongues.”

“Calisto wishes to talk.”

She gave a quiet chuff, continuing to examine him. Behind her, Xaeyr was struggling to rise from the flagstones of a city street. Lanir fell through the flap of am orifice, sagging out from the membrane like a mother pushing her child to birth.

Around them, a heartbeat quivered the street, shaking the towers of buildings that rose on either side. It came like the pound of a warring drum.

“Goddess,” Sadik said, attempting to stand. “I’m fine.”

“I will decide that.”

“But—”

She cupped his chin with a thumb, raising it to her face. “Your tattoos are fading.”

Sadik searched for Dusksong, found it lying near his side, and held the greatsword up to his face, trying to see his reflection in the steel. What he saw confirmed her statement—the vines trickling down his cheeks were no more than etchings in his skin, and the crown of thorns on his throat had broken open entirely, as if the point of his larynx had split through the bonds.

He tried to burn the marks of the Luminous Path, willing the light from his soul. Nothing emerged.

The only thing he felt was exhaustion.

“Come,” Kavaia said, lifting him to his feet. “There are miles before rest, warrior.”

Sadik managed to keep his balance, watching a constellation of stars burn across the ceiling. Off to the side, Lanir was forcefully pressing the tip of her snout into Xaeyr’s side.

“You are hiding an injury,” the dragon said.

“Fuck off, you blue-cunt lizard.”

With her teeth, Lanir gripped the folds of Xaeyr’s toga, pulling it over his face. On the baboon’s hip, a pool of blood was clumping the creamy fur. It was the advanced stage of Glimmer withdrawal, when the lesions of the body began to melt into a fleshy soup. The god of cataracts had been hiding this for some time.

Xaeyr attempted to kick the dragon away. After taking the blow, Lanir released his toga from her maw, opened it even wider, and bit down on the baboon’s waist, lifting him bodily into the air. Slowly, she twisted her long neck all the way back, gently dropping Xaeyr onto the center of her spine.

“I recall,” Lanir said, “your words of discipline. I believe the phrase was ‘slowing us down’.”

Xaeyr began to wipe dragon spit from his toga. “I still don’t like you.”

“That is fair.”

“Sadik,” Kavaia said.

He leaned against her thigh, took a deep breath, and turned his gaze to the distance.

The city of Acheron stretched before them. Buildings grew on top of buildings—some were stacked together, forming a melted spire of huts and homes, shops and warehouses, temples and barracks. Down on the street, other domiciles had failed to divide from the other, creating a superorganism of half-birthed buildings, their stone walls stretching like cords of sinew, their windows like mouths and eyes. Even the street itself began to wobble and bend, like the dented length of a sword.

To his left, the Syran river, which had flowed through Acheron for millennia, was now a sloshing mass of blood, fed by the drains and sewers from the surface above. When Sadik raised his head, he saw a sky built of flesh, hundreds of feet above. The stars were made of blisters. The moon was now a giant eye, blinking from the meat, its sclera shining a pale light upon the city.

The pounding heart was ever louder. Each beat shuddered through his bones. If he listened carefully, he could hear the blood pumping into the earth, the weight of it so vast that Sadik shuddered to imagine how deeply the plague had spread.

What was it building out there, in the dirt and stone? Was some colossal beast about to rise from the earth?

What was ascension?

“Our callers,” Lanir said, striding forward. Xaeyr gripped her shoulder for balance. “Look ahead.”

In the distance, across the length of the twisted street, there were people moving through the city. The light in the cavern was dim, and the chaos of the surrounding architecture began to clutter the view, leaving Sadik squinting for any detail. All he could see was movement. An impression of bodies.

Further on, so distant that it was little more than a glimpse, a bolt of energy surged from a guard tower. Stone exploded in a cloud. Shadows dashed through a wall of flame. Sadik did not need his many years as a soldier to know when a battle was occurring.

Slowly, he rose from the comfort of Kavaia’s thigh, giving a signal to follow.

They moved through the city. A river of blood gurgled at their left, filling the air with a salty, noxious smell. On their right, a dreg heap of buildings rose into a line of towers, like the rocks and stalactites of an ancient cave. For a moment, the light of the moonless eye fell upon them, bathing their shadows in a pale radiance.

Sadik’s resonance climbed into a sharpened point. His mind stretched beyond his eyes.

And, suddenly, he was dashing across the mangled buildings, his speed matching an arrow, his hands clenched in fury. The wind was a comfort to his fur. All across his body, golden lines surged beneath his skin, as if they wished to view the carnage.

Perhaps the plague was displeased.

He didn’t care.

Rushan slowed to a stop, a cloud of dust blowing in his wake. He faced the guard tower.

“Hit me!”

Energy crackled from the parapets. After a moment, an arrow exploded into flight, screaming with the wind. Rushan opened his arms. The length of bone speared into his hip, dragging his leg beneath him, nearly forcing him to topple on his face.

It wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

The jackal regained his balance, ripping the arm-length arrow from his side. His feet sucked at the rooftop floor. Stone was turned to flesh. As the wound in his side began to close, a cerulean light surged from within.

Beneath it all, there was a delicious pain. A true injury. How long had he gone without a proper fight?

How long would it take to die?

“Come on!” Rushan yelled, opening his arms again. “I am the god of war! Peerless! Invincible! I have brought Calisto to her knees! And when I’m through with you, I will tear this tree—”

Another arrow shot from the tower, bristled with lightning. This time, it struck Rushan clean through the jaw, severing the ridge of his snout, spraying his teeth like a volley of pebbles. Off to the side, there was a glimpse of Faustine rushing through the streets, using the distraction to close in on the sniper.

As he fell to a knee, the jackal looked up, seeing the stars that burned across a fleshy sky.

He saw a vision of the planets, swaying through the blackness of space.

Somewhere beyond, there was a fathomless presence, an inhuman mind, singing with a thousand voices.

And, in an instant, Sadik was left gasping, vision blurred, nearly falling to his knees. He felt like an intruder in his own body. Deep inside, there was a pulling on his soul, like a river dragging a reed from its roots.

The jackal’s rage lingered within.

“What’s wrong?” Kavaia asked, reaching down for him.

Sadik dodged her hand, stumbling back to his feet. “He’s there. Rushan.”

In the distance, another lightning bolt shot from the tower. Flames spread to buildings. The moonless eye swept its gaze over to the battle, illuminating the streets with a pale light.

“I’m going to kill him,” Sadik said.

“Do you have a plan in mind?” Xaeyr asked.

Sadik held Dusksong out to his side, strands of hair falling past his eyes.

After a moment, Lanir sauntered forward, lowering her belly to the floor. She motioned with her head. “Climb me.”

He raised a brow.

“I am faster,” she said.

Kavaia looked at the harness of torches, the sloughing blue scales. “Are you . . . well enough?”

“I will be faster.”

Sadik looked into her red, pupilless eyes. Her expression was serious. With a nod, he reached forward, took Xaeyr’s hand, and lifted himself onto the dragon’s back. Kavaia quickly followed.

When everyone was settled, Lanir reared back on her hindlegs, spreading her wings until they shadowed the buildings, blocked the stars from sight. There were great flaps of effort. No flight was achieved. Eventually, the goddess of truth and justice fell back to her forelegs, gasping for air.

Lanir gave a deep, angry growl.

She folded her wings, reared back again, and began to charge across the street.

On the back of a dragon, they raced through the city of Acheron. Buildings passed in a blur. Rivers gurgled with blood. There were spiny lightposts, bulging alleyways, loping stairs and twisting bridges. With every new gallop, the pounding of Lanir’s feet began to join with the beating heart of the plague.

The dragon went faster. She snorted and heaved, gasped and roared, her body constantly bucking with motion. Because there was no saddle, Kavaia was forced to grip the frills on Lanir’s neck, holding Sadik to her breast. Xaeyr gave an “ew!” when she offered the same.

Ahead, a throng of people began to gather in the street, waiting for their arrival.

Sadik recognized them all.

There were Sons who had died under his command, those who had been cut down by Gidros, or eaten by the Exalted. There were civilians who had beckoned from a sick bed, or called from the surface, or moved in a wave through the sewers, begging for shelter. There were gods, standing above the rest, who had all fallen in the disastrous raid of the feasting hall.

They gathered along the edge of the street, clearing a path for Lanir. Arms beckoned with metal, faces glowed with light. All of them spoke at once, directly into his mind.

“Sir.”

“Bless you.”

“Sadik!”

“We are watching.”

“Do not worry.”

“Hope!”

“Escape!”

“Survive!”

Behind the cacophony of voices, there was a presence in his mind again, taller than all combined, singing a song of perfect harmony.

WE UNDERSTAND

COME AND SEE

Lanir’s gallop became a full throttled sprint, racing so fast that spores billowed from the flagstones. They were a dark, metallic grey, and they rose up in a cloud before them, swarming together, moving like a million glinting flies. His resonance grew warm. When Sadik looked up at the fleshy sky, he saw a heavy cloud of spores, flitting past the moonless eye.

And, when he glanced over the heads of the crowd, he saw glimpses of the rest of the city, somewhere between the streets and alleys, where people were divided about his presence—cheering from the side, trying to ignore the commotion, or outright cursing his name. He felt the edges of their voices, like someone whispering across a chamber.

There were Demokrats. City guards. Rebels who had deserted, slaves who had perished.

They all had reason to despise him.

In the end, Sadik did not begrudge their feelings. The city may have been a corrupted dream, but the people that walked its streets were still as varied as they were before.

Not everything had been lost. Only changed.

“Look!” Kavaia shouted.

Ahead, a massive arrow cracked through the air, moving so swiftly that it sent a ripple across the flames. A black figure dodged across a building. A second figure scaled the wall of the tower, claws digging into stone, a curved sword at her side.

None of the crowd had followed. Their gazes remained on his back, watching and hoping.

“Fire at will!” Sadik shouted.

Xaeyr attempted to aim his sunspear, bracing against the rapid buck of Lanir’s shoulder. Sadik twisted Dusksong’s haft, forcing a sunbeam to grow at her shattered mouth—with how much damage the sword had sustained, it was starting to look doubtful whether it could survive more than a few shots.

Rushan stood on the opposite side of the burning street, displaying himself. Faustine reached the top of the tower, swung over the edge, and dashed into the center. A violent scuffle began.

Sadik aimed. Xaeyr growled.

They both fired together.

Dusksong struck Rushan in the thigh, searing off a sizable portion of his fur, while Xaeyr’s beam hit the jackal dead in the chest. He fell back, surprised. Through the flames, a golden gaze fell upon them, snarling with a set of broken teeth.

He spoke into Sadik’s mind.

“I warned you.”

Off to the side, someone fell from the tower, surrounded by a cloud of broken stone.

Rushan raised his arm. Something morphed. Sadik attempted to aim his sword again, ignoring the smell of ozone, the drip of slagging metal. Seconds later, a spike of bone came launching out of the flames. There was a crunching pierce, a cry of pain, and Lanir crashed into the street, all her weight and momentum cracking the flagstones into shards. The rest of the group went flying overhead, tumbling head over heels.

Sadik managed to hit the ground with a roll. Kavaia landed on her feet, digging her heels through the street until she slowed to a stop. Xaeyr attempted to brace, flinched at his injury, and ended up slamming against a pile of jagged rubble, giving a breathless gasp of shock.

Ahead, Rushan lowered his arm. His snout festered with growth. Teeth twisted through the meat, splitting open the fur.

“Tend to your allies, or move in to fight. Your choice.”

Sadik glanced behind him, slightly off-balance. Lanir bellowed in pain.

“Come now,” Rushan said, his face a ruin, his arm splintered with bone. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Sadik did not move.

The god of war snorted, causing a flap of open flesh. “You don’t have what it takes. You still care. You’re not ready to throw it all away.” He waved a hand, as if dismissing him from sight. “If you want me, you have to earn me.”

“I earned the trust of Ilios,” Sadik replied, thinking without speaking. “I am his last soldier. More than you will ever be.”

After a moment, the jackal’s snout finished growing. It formed an angry snarl.

“Don’t say his name.”

“You know he would be ashamed.”

Rushan’s entire body seemed to bristle, forming spikes and whirls. A pressure heaved through the air.

“The tree is first. Then, it’s you.”

With clenched fists, the jackal dashed up the street, moving so swiftly that he was little more than a golden blur. From the tower, a figure dropped down onto the rooftops, racing ahead with two khopeshes at either side.

Sadik watched them leave, sword braced and ready, before turning back to his friends.

Lanir was lying on her side, a massive spear of bone nearly severing her foreleg. Kavaia raced to her aid, ready to inspect the wound. Instead, just before contact, the myrtle scales of her arm began to glow a bright cerulean, and she quickly retracted her hand, looking down at herself with fear and apprehension.

“Do it,” Lanir whispered, barely able to breathe. “Please.”

Kavaia closed her hand, opened it again, and laid it to rest on the dragon’s brow. A cerulean light passed between them.

Just ahead, Xaeyr had been impaled upon a piece of jagged rubble—currently, he was attempting to rip the spire from his waist, like a soldier breaking the shaft of an arrow. Stone cracked. His movements grew weak, desperate.

Sadik almost moved to help. Instead, he heard a loud, shrieking whistle.

Behind him, a figure strolled out of the flames, her right arm transformed into a greatbow of metal limbs and sinewed string. Lightning coursed through the pulsing veins.

“What took ya so long?” Amira asked.

Sadik blinked. The human scout strolled into his path, gave him a rough slap on the chest, and continued on her way, her arms well-muscled, her uniform perfectly clean. A spark of blue shined in her eyes.

As she crossed the street, Xaeyr looked up at her, wide-eyed.

“Miss me, yet?”

He coughed up blood, groaning.

She bent down over the god. He raised a hand in defense. With a grunt, she grabbed his wrist, laid his arm against his chest, and gave him a long, impatient look. He swallowed, hissing in pain. Eventually, there was a nod.

Amira bent down again, giving him a slow and gentle kiss. A small spark passed between their lips. When she pulled back, Xaeyr licked his mouth, stared at her in shock, and began to run his hands over his face, as if checking for sudden growths. There was no sign. If his infection was anything like Sadik’s, it had barely felt like anything at all.

After releasing his breath, Xaeyr looked back up at Amira, gave a loud laugh, and pulled her in for a second kiss. They did not part for several seconds.

When they were finished, Amira stood as tall as ever, her bow held at the ready.

“Now,” she said, “let’s go win this fuckin’ war, shall we?”