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Chapter 7: Let the Dawn In

“In all honesty, I had initially thought that our tenure on Incendius, no matter how short, would be filled with everything fire. We would learn about Pyromancy in all its aspects as that was the primary magical practice on the Station. Mentally bracing myself for being constantly taught that ‘fire does more than burn’ was exhausting and I did not look forward to the idea that while all my classmates became stronger as their knowledge of Pyromancy was expanding, I would be left in the dark unable to participate.

“I was not disappointed.”

Dead Tails Operations (JD)

First Dawn

The land was blackened. Once, it had been lush, beautiful and reflected the passion of a fiery deity. But a fierce flame had burned it all to ash. Now there was nothing left but the dying embers sitting amongst the charred remains of a once gorgeous world. A dying planet hovered above, looming like a giant eye in the sky watching the dead world for the next opportunity to pounce. Amongst the ash rested a single, enormous throne. Its material seemed to be made of living fire. Taller than even all of Pinnacle, vicious, blackened chains sprouted from it and wound themselves around the body of its sole, colossal occupant.

A being of immense stature, the creature fit the throne perfectly even though the spiked chains dug into his flesh and drew bright, glistening, fiery blood. The bird-like humanoid was vastly different from any Avios that JD had ever seen. Four powerful arms were pinned to its body or throne. The upper pair was nailed to the armrests of the throne while the lower two were crossed against his powerful chest, the chains binding them there. Four immense wings with feathers of fire sprung from its back but were likewise nailed to large extensions springing from the throne. Its head was partially obscured by a terrible torturous helm with screws seemingly drilling into its face. Bright, red eyes were accompanied by a third, vertical eye placed right at its forehead.

“Champion,” rumbled the God of Fire.

“Adramalech,” JD greeted calmly. Glancing down, the Wulfun noticed he was dressed in white and gold armour. A cape billowed out behind him, silky and alabaster in colour, pure and unmarred by the chaos around him. It felt strange but it didn’t restrict his movement in any way.

“Haamiah has brokered the deal that places you under my protection,” rumbled the deity. “He seeks to redeem me. You see him as a benevolent deity. I shall shed some light to dispel that erroneous perception.”

JD shook his head absently. “Haamiah is no saint. He knows that it was his creation of the Chronomancers that led to the single greatest loss of life on Tower Thirteen. It was often his inaction in times of need that led to events that could’ve been solved had he simply waved his hand. But then again, that’s why he makes a better God, doesn’t it? People don’t rely on him like your followers relied on you.”

The deity bristled. “I see he has instilled the same values in you as he holds. The perception that we, the Seraphim, have no right to be the gods of this world even though we created it.”

“At the cost of the old one?”

Shock flashed across the deity’s features. “What do you know, child?”

He stood his ground against the God of Fire’s intense gaze. “Everything. I know about the Synchronised Experimental Reality And Planar Harmonics project. I know about your betrayal of all the people who put faith in you. I know about Athena’s sacrifice and how you were all tricked by the Demon King.” His eyes narrowed threateningly. “I know about Earth.”

The Seraph of Fire leaned back in his chair at least as much as he could. “How…?” he rasped.

“I may be Haamiah’s Champion but I am not his puppet. I can look into the Machine just like he can look into my future.”

There, the God chuckled darkly. “You poor naïve, child. You think what you do is not by his design? You have some illusion of free will? He is the God of Time_. He controls the_ Machine_, the very thing that binds all existence save for the Gods together. Even the_ Illuminus Weizar holds but an ember to his Machine_. Should he wish it, he could annihilate all of existence and start over._ That is why Asmodeus fears him and that is why Asmodeus sought to take Athena hostage in an attempt to coerce him.

“You believe that you can look into the Machine and know our past? It is only because he allows you to see it. He is the Machine, pup. He is Tower Thirteen.”

The booming of the god’s voice was replaced by a terrible, rhythmic screeching noise. The image and fiery landscape abruptly vanished and JD shut his eyes tightly.

“I am not going to follow the cliché of waking up from a nightmare-slash-vision in a cold sweat and a terrified scream,” he told himself. So, even as the alarm continued to blare, he slowly opened his eyes, straightened in his bed and calmly switched off the source of the unholy noise.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness and, as with every morning, he glanced at his feet and wiggled his toes just to reassure himself that he could walk again. Satisfied that he had full mobility, the young Wulfun slipped out from beneath the sheets and gazed out onto the second floor of his room on the cruiser, Godslayer. The clock said that it was well into the morning. To preserve his slumber, the dome’s windows had been configured to appear like a starry night sky.

JD strode towards the edge of the platform and pressed a paw against the black, curved surface. A small display glistening with green and blue lights asked him if he wanted to shut off ‘snooze mode’ and he confirmed his choice. The darkness peeled away in a wave of shrinking hexagons from the point where his paw made contact.

No matter how many times he had seen it in vids or books, the sight of Incendius’ capital still took his breath away. Snow-capped mountains didn’t exist on Haven as everything was covered in the towering eldertrees and the land was mostly flat save for the differing heights of the motes which still varied in size. Basked in perpetual warm weather due to its proximity to Chrysalis Core, Haven never had any variation whatsoever in its climate. The sight of the Flarim Ranges which dominated the northern shores of the Incendian mainland was beyond compare. The pale whites glistened against the blue skies, giving way to the gentle greys of the rocky peaks. Greenery took over as the incline evened out and spread across the flatlands that were dominated by farms and the occasional patch of forest.

At the base of the tallest mountain stood Corona, the capital city of Incendius. A sprawling metropolis made of white stone, red banners billowing on rooftops and glistening with the magic of Incendius. The broadly circular city slowly took over the entirety of the south-facing peak of the mountain. Farmlands dominated the outlying areas past a great, white wall emblazoned with the emblem of Incendius. As one drew closer and closer to the northern parts of the city, the buildings became more elaborate and tall. Walls divided sections of the city into indistinct shapes like parts of an enormous puzzle that fell together seamlessly. The most outstanding section of the city had to be by far the tallest edifice of the city – the Sun Spire.

Perched at the northern most section of the city and placed at the very top of the tallest peak of the mountain range, the Sun Spire was an enormous tower that emitted a powerful but gentle light from its very top. This light managed to cross countless miles in almost all directions, giving illumination to all of Incendius. Even though the people of Corona were directly beneath the Sun Spire, none of them were blinded by its radiance as supposedly the Sun Goddess Apollia guided the light of the Scorium Axis to never harm any of the Station’s inhabitants.

It’s like stepping into an entirely different world.

The Godslayer was positioned well above Corona and a respectable distance from the Sun Spire. Incendians were extremely protective of their beloved tower and even cloaked, the Godslayer was not allowed within close proximity of it. Not too far below them, placed within the upper city of Corona was the Incendian branch of Pinnacle Academy. A glance at the time told him that despite the time difference, it was still fairly early in the morning. Enough time for a quick run through the cruiser before breakfast.

This morning was slightly different from his usual routine. It had been a year or so since he had last been on the Godslayer but he still remembered where everything was. The enormous observation deck seemed so terribly empty given that it was made to allow for at least a hundred people to watch the majesty of the Station that they were touring as the cruise liner drifted through the skies. With his bed barely taking up a hundredth of the space, everything else felt empty, hollow and lonely.

He padded a few feet away from his bed and pressed a foot against the floor. The specially retrofitted surface sparked to life, traces of luminescent golden light streaming out in sharp angles like circuitry. The lines gathered in a circle a foot in front of him. A segment of the floor highlighted by the glow slid upwards revealing a standing rack of clothing. He plucked a pair of black nanoweave pants bound by a sharp, brown belt. The fabric was smooth, silk an absorbed all light so that it was in no way reflective. Breathable and initially figure-hugging, it was nonetheless flexible and did nothing to limit his mobility. It was also quite cooling to the touch which was welcome in Incendius’ warm weather. The moment he slipped them on, however, a faint sizzling filled the air as the mark of Adramalech was burned into the left pant legs.

A red vest went over his shirt with the edges trimmed with bright yellow. It hugged his figure so that his form was perfectly outlined when the light hit it just right. Made from a smooth hexweave-nanometal mix, the fabric would appear as the highly stable and tear-resistant hexagons when under a microscope but on the surface appeared like regular cloth. The moment it touched his chest, that burning sound arose once more and another emblem of the God of Fire burned itself on his right flank, spreading slightly across his right pectorals in burning black to contrast against the searing white on his pants.

He plucked his favourite white jacket off the rack, sliding it on so that the bright ‘47’ remained emblazoned and uninterrupted against his back and partially hid the emblem on his shirt. Collar popped up slightly, JD leapt down the hole at the centre of the second floor of the observation deck and into what he liked to call his ‘quadrangle’ – the first floor divided into the four sections that Buster had toured.

Feeling energised, he headed out the door, ready to break out into a run. That enthusiasm was quickly curbed when the big, green and yellow, scaly wall of muscle barred his path.

“Morning!” Wood exclaimed cheerily, dressing in nothing but a pair of black, running shorts which might as well have been a thong.

“Good morning,” JD answered guardedly. “You’re up early.”

The big, green Draconis rubbed his mane absently while a sheepish grin was plastered on his face. “Yeah. I heard you liked to take morning runs and since I was up and you’re up…”

Though he had to admire his friend’s intentions, the delivery and transparency needed work. JD rolled his eyes and brushed past Wood. “You’re taking that speech from my dad too literally, Wood. You don’t need to stick by my side every waking moment and you certainly don’t have to watch me sleep. I can take care of myself.”

If I were a dick I’d probably point out that I was carrying the whole team against the Fuocotan_. Then again, dealing with assassins is my element…_

“I’m not doing this because I need to protect you,” Wood reasoned. “We’re in this together, right? So I figure I should spend some time getting to know you more.”

There was an earnest need for companionship behind those cornflower blue eyes. Being a Fallen amongst rigid military personnel and assaulted by distrust from a former friend likely was not easy. It was only normal to look for some way to find some connection with someone so that he wouldn’t be alone.

The irony of the situation struck JD as rather exhausting. Once before, Wood had been the popular, well-known kid whom everyone wanted to know. Now he was the outcast, decried by everyone and pushed into the shadows. In a mirror of the situation, JD was the one who had been pushed into the spotlight and now had all the friends. Where he had been comfortable to live in obscurity and bear the fire from the criticisms, Wood was desperately reaching out for someone to call a friend.

All those fireballs, metal spikes and icy spears hurled at him to cause grievous harm all came hurtling back with even more pain and intensity than before. Cackling faces filled with mockery twisted into expressions of demonic torment. Memories from that awful day that he had been forced to watched people die while being tormented melded with his days at school. The demons and his schoolyard bullies all become one and the same and Wood became a focal point of it all. As a Fallen, he was no better than a demon himself.

Would it be so wrong to spurn his plea of friendship?

Yes. Yes it would be.

“Alright,” he said turning towards the metallic hallway. “I’ll even slow down a little so you can keep up.”

Wood’s expression brightened greatly and his wings ruffled excitedly. “I can hold my own.”

“No matter how strong you’ve gotten, you’re not as fast as lightning.”

JD bolted ahead, his footsteps as light and soundless as a gentle breeze. The big Draconis’ heavy footsteps were right behind him. He started off in a steady jog, waking up the rest of his body for the rest of his early morning routine. They passed the small maintenance room that Wood had taken residence in. Though there were military barracks and staff quarters offered ever since the Godslayer fell into the Inquisition’s hands and was retrofitted as a proper cruiser, most of the ‘specialists’ as they came to be known had taken up residence in personal quarters. Alex naturally stayed at the captain’s quarters commonly referred to as the ‘loft’ as it sat right above the bridge. The observation deck was JD’s room and Wood’s had once been a break room for the cruise liner’s maintenance room right next to the observation deck.

Buster had taken up residence down in the barracks with the rest of the troops while Skye took up a room amongst the science crew. Roran had made his home down in engineering where he siphoned some of the reactor’s power to power his forging machines. Kane lived in the armoury like he did back in the old Dead Tails days. Rayne lived up to his role as a ‘coach’ and took up residence in the training room. Kira, not to be treated anything less than royalty, converted one of the former state rooms that had been turned into a library back into a state room for herself alone.

JD picked up his jog, deftly dodging past of the crew who were milling about. They gave him quick salutes and he nodded in return. Wood, being much bigger, was slowed by the rest personnel as he often rammed into them. The hallways of the Godslayer itself still retained much of its class from when it served as a cruise liner. They were big, broad, roomy and allowed for many people to walked abreast if they weren’t rushing. Though much of the decorations had been removed, the clean, white walls were still maintained and the floor was perfectly polished an almost obsidian black. Everything was well lit and every intersection had clearly marked signs.

Remembering a prior promise he had made, JD took a right and jogged down to engineering. Even though the escalators provided an easy route for him, he still ran down the steps on his bare footpaws all the way down to the bowels of the ship. It was only when he got to the engineering door did he notice that Wood was lagging behind.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked, barely winded.

“I’m… I’m good,” wheezed the Draconis, droplets of acidic saliva dripping from the corners of his muzzle. “Fuck… how are you not winded right now?”

“It wasn’t that far.”

“This ship is three fucking miles long! We’ve covered at least two of those miles non-stop.”

He smiled toothily. “I guess I’m so used to such runs. I go on one every morning.”

“Every morning?” Wood exclaimed in disbelief.

Feeling sympathy for the dragon, JD gently patted Wood’s shoulder. “Tell you what, big guy. We’ll make a stop at the cafeteria on our way back. You can at least get some water and food in you.”

“No,” swallowed the dragon bravely. “I can do this.”

“Uh-huh.” JD turned towards the sliding doors of engineering. “Just remember that it’s early in the morning, we’ve still got the run back and you’ve got a full day of school ahead.”

Wood collapsed where he stood, slumping against the wall. “I think I’m just going to sit here for a bit…”

Chuckling mildly, JD said, “Rest up. I’ll be right back after I have a word with my Forge Daddy.”

The engineering deck was deep within the ship itself and situated around the rector. It naturally had the thickest plating and the most powerful shielding as the reactor was very… unconventional. Where most starships in the fleet were powered by a combination of magical or mechanical power sources, the Godslayer was powered by a biomechanical reactor. A column of glass contained a pillar of glowing crystals that sprouted from a deep, blue plant-like growth. Fed by light and waste from hydroponics and the rest of the ship, the Prism Plant was an experimental power source developed after the Fall as a means to maintain power of medium-sized ships on deep-Void expeditions. The Godslayer was one of the few ships that were equipped with it as interest waned from taking the war to the demons and turned more towards internal reconstruction.

The reactor was visible from behind the reinforced glass at the far end of the semi-circular chamber. Roran had set up shop to the far right, farthest away from the head of engineering’s office. He had his workshop positioned against the wall where he could siphon off some power to fuel his experiments and develop more weapons. The engineering crew gave him a wide berth as he worked quietly beneath the crude scaffolding while surrounded by boxes of supplies like they had purposefully quarantined him.

JD made a beeline for him even as many members of the crew saluted him and bid him a good morning. Roran’s actually sleeping quarters were just a little off to the right in a converted maintenance closet. The Tigris was already up and tinkering away with the Matter Converters that he was learning to use.

“How is it using Converters versus traditional blacksmithing?” JD asked, standing ‘at-ease’.

Roran lifted his gaze from where he was working and lifted the goggles he was wearing. “You’re up early.”

“I’d say the same thing about you.”

“Fair enough.” The Tigris regarded the large mechanical arms that were hovering above him. “I must admit that it’s really very different being able to alter the molecular composition of a weapon through these machines. I’m used feeling the metal in my paws while I pound it into place. Working like this… I’m not sure how I feel.”

“Wave of the future,” JD said with a shrug. “Or just how different Stations do it. Both have their pros and cons I suppose, but I’m no expert.”

Roran lifted an eyebrow at him. “I heard your signature weapon, Validation, was made in the field.”

“By another member of the Dead Tails. Not me.” He nodded towards the workbench where Roran was making what appeared to be a basic club in his style. “Is that for the Great Game?”

The feline blacksmith shook his head in a negative. “No. I’m just trying to practice using the Matter Converters right now. I’ve already signed up for the Game again and activated my tracer spells. The moment word reaches Oren Baltherview’s ears, he’s going to try and chase me down and demand a challenge.”

JD searched his knowledge of the Great Game and Incendian smiths. “Oren Baltherview. Currently ranked number 25 of Incendian smiths. Publications call him your rival particularly because his designs seem to be heavily derived from yours. Tends to explore the darker side of Forge Arts by infusing his works with shadows and blood. Greatest project so far was the Sizzling Sceptre. A wand that channelled a wide variety of Pyromancy spells that could be enhanced through the sacrifice of blood.”

Impressed by his knowledge, Roran straightened and tore the goggles off his head. “You know your stuff.”

JD let out a resigned sigh. “If you’re going to be my Striped Forge Daddy I might as well learn as much I can about you and see where I can help. Just letting you know that Oren is in Corona right now or at least last I checked which was last night. He’ll likely want to talk.”

“Talking is the last thing Oren tends to do,” grumbled the Tigris dejectedly. “Knowing him, he’ll have set up camp outside the smithing school I have here. I honestly don’t see why he targeted me.”

“Because of your prestige. You’re a veteran of a war. Your works have gone all the way up to sit on the heads of leaders and are widely used by the Church’s soldiers. If he can defeat you, he’d not only shoot up in the ranks but also prove himself better than you outside of the Game. He proves that you don’t need to be an overly macho, testosterone-addicted, meat-head with arms the size of melons to make the top twenty.”

Roran’s ears folded back slightly. “Is that how you honestly see me?”

“No but it is how he sees you.”

“And how do you know that?”

JD snapped his heels together, prepared to leave. “An assassin knows his target before he strikes. If Oren becomes a threat to you or my dad, I won’t hesitate to target him.” He turned, giving Roran a brief nod. “That’s all I came here to say. Just a heads up on your ‘rival’s’ whereabouts.” Two steps away, he added, “And I also happen to know that my dad really needs to piss after sex and talking here for the last ten minutes has probably made him fit to burst.”

The door to Roran’s room slid open slightly and Alex poked his head out.

“You’re mean!” whined the elder Clarke. Roran looked on embarrassedly, his cheeks going a bright red and his brown eyes wide in shock.

“An assassin knows his target,” JD recited coolly and headed back out of the engineering deck.

He was honestly surprised that Wood was still there waiting for him. Seeing the Draconis spring to his feet the moment he entered brought a faint smile to his heart. Nothing was seen outwardly, however, and he kept his features unreadable.

After a short nod to his self-imposed guardian, he broke out into a run and headed towards the mess hall with Wood right by his side. The run was still another mile and a half since they avoided taking the tram. The hall was a high-ceiling room wide enough to fit the hundred or so personnel that were currently working within the Godslayer. It had remained mostly unchanged since the Fall but to see it filled with so many people was vastly different as back then, the ship had been manned by just the nine Dead Tails.

JD received some standard military fare for lunch and he was honestly surprised that Wood didn’t cringe at the sight of the synthetic ham, digestion-friendly chicken fingers and ‘oatmeal’ that was all designed to maximize nutrient intake and taste. Most of it was actually very flavourful thanks to the magical arts of Gastromancy but there were naturally detractors who claimed that it was unnatural and was breeding ‘grotesquely muscular freaks’. There was no denying that most military personnel were bigger and more muscular than the average citizen or even those in Haven who underwent cosmetic surgery to look bigger and had the time to exercise religiously. But he didn’t see how it was anyone else’s business but the people eating the food and choosing to serve the military.

With his tray of food, he headed over to his usual table which was located at the farthest corner of the windowless, brightly-lit mess hall. Buster, Skye and Kane were already there as was the norm the past few days as they had stayed on the Godslayer and made the trip to Incendius. He sat down beside Buster and bid the bull a good morning.

“Morning babe,” Buster replied cheerily, muzzle filled with the oats. “Ready for your first day of Incendian class?”

The night before had been spent memorising the entirety of his two-week rotational schedule so he knew exactly what was coming up. Naturally, everything was geared towards Pyromancy and Incendian history. Though some of Class 969’s professors had accompanied them to the Station of the Sun, most had been replaced with Incendian counterparts.

“I guess,” he admitted. “Our professors are coming with us and it looks like they’re going to try to shock us into fire magic.”

“PracMagic first period,” Skye listed off, another heft book in his paws while he ate with the other. “Incendian History second period. Gym third. Forge Shop, then Combat Class followed by a double period of Fire Dancing.”

JD cocked an eyebrow. “You’re taking up Fire Dancing as your elective?”

The Tigris grinned broadly. “Yvanir told me that the practice was built off the traditional practice of worshiping Adramalech by the Avios. I’d like to absorb as much culture as possible while I’m here.”

For some reason, he couldn’t quite imagine Skye dressed in feathers while wearing a wooden beak and flapping his arms around wildly like a bird while twirling sticks of flame everywhere.

Haamiah quietly appeared behind the Tigris.

“Fire Dancing was actually derived from the Spiritual Pyromancy branch that followed the Totem of the Phoenix. It’s a branch of Pyromancy that plays more a supportive role but explores ways of using fire in other ways apart from burning. Skye wishes to use his arts more to help people instead of harm and being characterised as the ‘damage dealer’ by Buster has made him feel a little like he had strayed from that path.”

“Wish I could see you in that class,” he admitted. “But I chose Ars Ignea Pungo as my elective.”

Skye’s green eyes lit up. “Really? I figured you’d either pick that or Alchemical Pyromancy. Though aren’t you worried about the fact that you can’t actually cast the spells?”

JD blinked a few times in surprise. “I honestly just took it because I’m least likely to get burned.” He gestured at the various emblems of Adramalech covering him. “Partially protected from fire, remember?”

That and I’ve been curious about finding ways to pinpoint the sources of Pyromancy in the body. Ars Ignea Pungo has an anatomy portion to the curriculum

Buster nudged him slightly. “I guess we’ll be in the same class then, eh babe?”

“You’re taking Ars Ignea Pungo too?”

“Yep! I wanna do more than just swing my sword around and heal people. Besides, part of the class is learning about how certain signs can help you heal injuries and how those spells can work on specific parts of the anatomy.”

Huh… Our interests might align in that regard.

Wood grinned broadly albeit shakily. “I guess I’ll be the odd one out and be studying the anti-Daemonium Ignis.” The table immediately fell silent save for Buster muttering, ‘You would’ into his mug of milk. The awkwardness levels quickly rose until Kane spoke.

“I’ll be taking the class that looks into creatures that normally channel Pyromancy. I think it’s called ‘Natural Pyromancy and the Beasts that Use It’.”

Everyone spun towards the black bear in surprise.

“You’re taking classes at Pinnacle?” Wood exclaimed.

“Yeah.” Kane was obviously trying not to laugh, hiding it all behind a smug smile. “Why is that so weird? We’re all in this together, right?”

“But… But you can’t just get enrolled in our class like that!”

His cousin shrugged his broad shoulders, the accusation rolling off the rounded mounds easily. “You can if you’ve got the right connections.”

Knowing Kane, those connections were not necessarily the most reputable ones. Unlike him, his ‘cousin’ was very well travelled and it didn’t surprise him that Kane ‘knew a guy’ that could get him into Pinnacle. If ever they needed resources that were outside of the military’s reach, Kane would be the person to go to.

I had wondered what he’d do while we were in school.

Alex was likely to deal with the politics of the Generals and the current Apex Clericus Solis, Tynvandar. Roran had his smithing games. Kira was likely to hunt him down at every possible moment and was legally obligated to stay close as their ‘chaperone’ while Rayne was still their teacher and would likely be compelled to stay close.

“How are you even paying for the tuition!?” Wood shouted. “Pinnacle isn’t cheap.”

“Different ways,” Kane said with a shrug. “You ever heard of the Association?”

That explains a lot, JD mused quietly.

No one else on the table knew but he did. “The Association is an underground, illegal fight club,” he said. “Rich aristocrats normally consisting of entitled, human males would pitch their ‘best fighters’ against some ambitious contestants in fights that only the exceptionally wealthy are invited to. For a steep entrance fee, that is.” He set down his fork and straightened in his seat. “When’s the next fight, Kane?”

“Now don’t go judging Kane for the way he makes a living, JD,” Skye said gently. “You’re lucky to have a dad that supports you.”

Huh. Looks like Skye has taken a real shine to the Black Cannon.

“I’m not judging him,” he answered. “I asking because those that control the fights often stack the odds against the contestants.” Kane exchanged a knowing smile with him. “I’ve had to… ‘convince’ a few of sponsors to even the playing field for Kane before.”

His cousin grinned broadly at him. “Next fight is tonight but I’m not competing. I’m still waiting to hear back from the league on my registration. People down here don’t like the idea of someone from Haven who has all the technology and training available to them ruining their ‘spread’. I’m just going to see who the contestants are.”

“And get me to identify them and run some checks so you know exactly what you’re up against,” JD finished.

Kane batted his eyes at him.

“Give me the time and place and I’ll be your shadow.”

“You can’t condone this!” Wood cried, leaping to his feet and slamming his hands against the table. “This is illegal!”

Buster rumbled in agreement. “I’m going to have to agree with the dragon. This is really risky, JD. You really don’t want to be making these rich, powerful guys your enemy, do you?”

“What will they do?” JD said with a smirk. “Accuse me of sabotaging their little toys that are designed to give the guy that they’re betting on the advantage? I just even the playing field. Even anything that would give Kane the advantage is disabled.”

“And the spying?”

“I look out for my cousin.”

There was likely no convincing either Wood or Buster but Kane would be immovable on the subject as well. The Fens were a stubborn clan. Rising from his seat, he announced he was done from breakfast and would meet everyone down at Pinnacle. Kane followed him out of the mess hall while the others continued to chat amongst themselves, likely trying to convince Skye to see things their way.

As they left earshot range, Kane spoke.

“You didn’t mention how I hate establishment and particularly love depriving these elitist pricks of their money,” rumbled the Ursus.

A small smile touched his lips. “I also didn’t mention that despite your vagrant lifestyle, you have a very hefty bank account due to all your wins and it irritates your dad to no end that you can afford a life of luxury, but live like someone who is getting by pay check of pay check.” He turned towards Kane, inclining his head to the side in Skye’s direction. “Did you tell him that you’re doing porn and are an escort?”

“You know me, cuz.” Kane reached forward and ruffled the smaller Wulfun’s hair. “I’m interested in him. So I give him all the facts from the beginning.”

One of his brown eyebrows rose. “But did you tell him it’s not because you have to but because you want to? That you get pleasure from flaunting your lifestyle in your father’s face and getting horny men to shoot while women leak all over the floor?”

The Ursus flexed his arms suggestively. “Everyone loves them some military muscle.” He lowered his ‘guns’ and pulled JD into a light hug but it was really just an excuse to whisper in his ear. “What about you cuz? You planning a salty threesome with the bull and Fallen? That’d make for some angry, kinky sex.”

Just the thought of being pinned between Wood and Buster churned his stomach in a bad way. It felt… wrong. “I’m still underage, Kane. That’s so far down my list of priorities that it’s number is one I can’t even fathom.”

“Oh shit!” Kane exclaimed, suddenly pushing him out at arm’s length. “Your birthday is coming up!” Features brightening, he waved one of his meaty arms back at the other guys sitting at the table. “Hey guys! It’s JD’s birthday next week! And he’ll be legal! I call dibs on buying him the condoms! Someone needs to get the stripper!”

“If you can find some that fit me, kudos to you,” JD rumbled bitterly. Those meaty fingers had loosened around his shoulders and that gave him ample time to slip away. His black-furred rogue of a cousin knew better than to give him chase and bolted back towards the others proclaiming loudly that he was going to plan the entire birthday experience.

As JD left the mess hall, Haamiah appeared over his shoulder.

“You should take the time to enjoy yourself. Not everything is about the mission.”

“That’s something coming from you,” he muttered softly under his breath.

“I have all eternity to wallow in my mistakes or to learn from them. You have a finite amount of time. While spending every waking moment in sacrifice for others is truly noble, Heaven only has one gate and once you’re in, you’re in.”

JD stopped in his tracks and stared at the God straight in his golden, marked eyes. “Are you saying I should count my good deeds and once I think I’m good enough, stop?”

Haamiah stared back at him, impassive, unreadable. “I’m saying that you only have one soul and a single life for which to fill it with meaning. Would you rather spend eternity in Heaven regretting the life you could have lived or live a life – sins and all – but look upon it with satisfaction and embrace whatever comes after with open arms?”

Calibre Grade(Wood)

School of the Sun

An atmospheric transport was waiting to take the students down from the Godslayer. As a military vessel, it had no windows and rattled and shook like a tumble dryer. Wood could not complain. Being on the cruiser gave him a sense of security. Not from the outside world but rather from himself. The power he had felt as ‘Calibre’ still coursed through his veins. Everything he did had to be done delicately. Even the simple act of picking up a spoon could easily result in him twisting the metal into something unrecognisable. His condition was not something he cared to admit especially to Buster who was only begrudgingly tolerating his presence for JD’s sake.

The transport shook and he instinctively reached out to stabilise himself. His claws dug into the thick, armoured metal of the small ship’s hull. The grating noise of twisting metal was thankfully masked by the rough shaking of the tiny craft and its roaring engine. Buster hadn’t noticed as he, Kane and Skye were talking about how Kane’s duffel bag had a planar displacement spell on it which allowed him to store his enormous cannon inside and retrieve it with ease. They sat on the starboard side of the hull while he and JD were parked on the other side with a good ten feet between them.

The sound of a blade being unsheathed cut through the chatter. Wood went rigid when Validation sunk into the hull between himself and its owner.

Shit! Is he pissed I twisted the wall!?

“It’s easier to keep your balance when you’ve got something sticking out of the wall like this,” the red Wulfun offered as an explanation. “Your arm doesn’t get pulled out of its socket by hanging onto those handles up there.” He pointed at the handholds hanging from the ceiling, one of which Wood was grabbing onto but it was didn’t do much to help them during their rapid descent to the surface.

“Won’t that break?” Buster asked, genuinely concerned.

“As long my will is strong, no.”

Another quake hit them and sure enough, they were thrown from side to side. JD managed to keep himself stable by gripping onto Validation which was lower than the handholds but much higher than his head.

He… He’s telling me to grab on too.

“Would you mind if I…?” he began.

“Go for it.”

JD never looked him directly in the eye but Wood felt his heart swell at the small gesture. But he froze when he realised that there was only one handhold on the etherium blade and if he grabbed the edge, he was sure to get cut. Tentatively, he wrapped his bigger fingers around JD’s, feeling the soft fur beneath his palms. The transport shook again and this time, he was forced to hold on to the grip tightly, squeezing down on JD’s paw in the process.

Buster’s gaze was like a burning inferno that could’ve set his hair on fire. That was one gaze he desperately tried to avoid. Thankfully, the last shake came from them landing. JD pulled Validation from the wall and stood in a single, smooth movement with every step soundless as ever. The rear doors sprung open and a ramp quickly unfurled to provide ease of passage onto the ground. JD took the lead, the scarf wrapped around his right arm billowing slightly in gentle breeze of Incendius.

Wood was right behind him, unwilling to be separated for too long. His devotion wavered, however, when he saw the Pinnacle Academy of Incendius. There was certainly no comparing it to the Pinnacle of Haven. Where the Havenese version long, organic shapes, stabilisation rings and was simply sizzling with magic, the Incendian branch was a vision of architecture. The same five spires of the main campus were present but they were built out of a white brick with sweeping arches in place of floating rings. Each spire was also connected to one another by long bridges with red tiled rooftops providing cover. Intricate, sweeping lines and curling beams were integrated into the designs making them look more organic and less blocky whereas everything on Haven was so geometric.

They were let off in the main garden which encompassed the base of all five towers. Lush greenery was placed in strategic locations to provide ample shade to the those lounging on the grass but there was plenty of natural lighting for the white-brick paths that formed a regular pattern through the gardens. The Plaza which was positioned at the centre of the garden features a massive mosaic on the ground that depicted what Wood could only guess as the Sunshadow War given that the statue at its centre was that of a farmer wielding a blazing sword in one hand and tongue of flame on the other. The flames were enchanted, naturally, and continued to burn regardless of weather.

“Woodie!”

That high-pitched scream made Wood’s blood curdle. Yvette came bounding over, hair now dyed red, orange and yellow to look like fire and enchanted to perpetually stay up like a tongue of flame. Her stylist was very good because Wood had to take a few seconds to realise that her hair wasn’t on fire. Irina, Natalia and Shaun were right behind her. Shaun was beaming as brightly as ever, that smile of his could rival the Sun Spire in radiance. Irina hide behind him slightly, still abashed in the presence of large crowds. Natalia was nervously checking the pills she had wrapped around her chest.

Small, manicured hands with black, inch-long nails wrapped around his arm as Yvette pressed herself against his flanks.

“Oh you had me so worried!” she exclaimed. “I heard all about what happened at Altima Meadows! Why didn’t you call?”

Because I don’t have your number and I’m under no obligation to notify you of my wellbeing.

She immediately noticed his feet and particularly how they were now a distinct digitigrade stance instead of plantigrade and that he was no longer wearing any shoes. “Oh! What happened to your feet?”

Wood froze. His transformation from Calibre had left its marks on him. Rayne told him that he was very lucky. Some Paladins who fell tended to have their Sins grafted onto their skin and they often had to amputate the limbs to even bring them to a semblance of a normal life afterwards. Apparently, because he had obtained his Valour and Fell in such a short time, he was only marginally impacted. Still, it had left his legs and feet warped.

“I… Uh…” he stuttered, trying to scan his brain for an excuse – any excuse.

“The wonders of magical surgery never cease to amaze me,” JD said striding past them both and making for the building with purpose. “How lucky for you both to be able to alter your physiques so easily. You, Yvette, with your hair, and you Wood with your legs.”

Thank you, JD!

“I just wanted to try something new,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, I like the feral look.” He growled playfully at Yvette. “Makes me feel a little more primal.”

Yvette giggled and batted her eyes at him. “Oooh. Primal. I like that.” Then her cold eyes turned towards JD. “Why don’t you get those scars on your back or face fixed, Clarke? I’m sure Wood could pay for it. In fact, we could all chip in to make you look better.”

I’m honestly not sure if she’s being sincere or she’s trying to put JD down by making him a charity case.

“Because I prefer to see these scars are badges of honour. They’re reminders of what not to do.” JD’s laser-like eyes pierced both Wood and Yvette, freezing them in place. “They remind me not to get hit.”

Wood only realised he had stopped breathing when JD looked away. The vice-like grip on his arm relaxed in the same instance and Yvette let out a shaky smile.

“Mother Goddess, is he always like that?” she whined.

Not always.

The raw emotion behind JD’s words when he had stood between Wood and Haamiah was something the young dragon would never forget. Maybe it wasn’t a direct opposition to the God of Time but it was still the Champion proposing an alternative to what the God had originally wished. That would stay with him forever and for that brief flicker, Wood had seen who JD was behind that steely face.

“Pretty much,” he laughed softly. “But you got to admit, he’s pretty badass.”

Yvette uncurled her arms from around his forearm and swept a hand over her flaming hair. “Yeah, yeah. Everyone was talking about how you all went through the trifecta of achievements the past few weeks.” She batted her eyes at him. “You have got to tell me all about it.”

It was painfully obvious that she only wanted him for his money and prestige but he was also aware that he had effectively alienated Buster. Skye now had a Great Spirit occupying him so the only person he really had to confide in was JD. Desperate for more than one friend, Wood endured Yvette’s superficial ‘friendship’ and escorted her to the classroom.

Just the short walk to the student’s tower already had him sweating. Incendius seemed to be in its ‘summer’ phase. Haven was perpetually in mild weather, a perpetual springtime. The temperature was much hotter even so high up and close to the mountains. That left the air much more humid as well making it a little difficult to breathe without feeling like he was inhaling smoke.

Incendian students and students from other branches of Pinnacle milled about the garden with a few taking notice of the transport that had dropped them off. There was little fanfare to their arrival, however, as other transports and even portal continued to bring in students from other classes. Chaperones were positioned at the base of the student tower beneath giant flags with their class numbers.

Wood made for the one emblazoned with Class 969. Clive Mirasaka and Stephen Claxton were already there; Clive giving him an acknowledging nod while Stephen bounded over and slapped him heartily on the back to congratulate him – for what must’ve been the fiftieth time – on the success at Altima.

“Hey bro!” exclaimed to Rodetian. “Think you’ll be hunting the rest of those Reaching Flame bastards down here after you wiped the floor with them back on Haven?”

A prickling sensation gnawed at Wood’s nape. A few Incendian-based students were giving him a foul stare after Stephen’s loud proclamation.

“I was just trying to do what anyone on Haven would,” he replied with a terse smile. “Besides, I heard you, Clive and Shaun were pretty busy too. Didn’t you guys get caught in that would-be supervillain’s trap or something?”

Stephen rolled his eyes and blew a raspberry. “Please. Whirlwind was all hot air, excuse the pun. His ‘big plan’ was to use these Gale-Force Gems to generate enough wind power to blow two industrial motes together because he was pissed at them polluting the air.” Stephen threw his bright, pink paws into the air in frustration. “For fuck’s sake, man! Motes are held up by magic and they’re whole, fucking islands! No storm is going to knock them away! Plus, the ‘industrial’ motes are pollution free! They’re not like the factories on Xaos or smokestacks here! We’re environmentally conscious, man!”

He mentally winced as Stephen again loudly compared Haven to Incendius. That feeling of hateful scrutiny grew even as the chatter around them grew louder and louder with more and more students crowding around their class flags.

Please, dude… shut up!

“I honestly think Whirlwind was Incendian,” Stephen said, rolling his big, brown, expressive eyes. “Idiot was wearing metal armour and shit. Like that’d protect him.”

“Uh, Steve?” Skye began, shuffling up next to the big mouse. “Maybe you should keep your voice down. I don’t think the locals much like your tone.”

“What?” There was pure innocence in Stephen’s eyes. He likely didn’t understand the mild racism he was spouting.

“Just… no comparing Haven to Incendius, okay?” Skye pleaded. “We’re on their turf, remember?” With a hike of his thumb, he gestured at the blazing stare of some nearby Incendians.

Stephen’s cheeks turned bright red and he gave the locals a meek wave. “Oh… sorry…”

A whistle blew somewhere and suddenly, the column of Class 969 was moving. Rayne, Kira and few others of their professors and chaperones were leading them into the student tower. As they walked, it occurred to him that a lot of the Havenese students were much taller, much more muscular and – as vain as it made him sound – better looking than any of the other students. The contrast reminded him of the benefits of being born and raised in the ‘Station of the Goddess’. Suddenly very self-conscious, his wings folded slightly, trying to hide himself from those judgemental eyes. People like Yvette and Shaun basked in the attention with Shaun having to be pulled away from a homely Incendian Porcinus by a fellow classmate. The dark-skinned human obviously like to use his status to flirt. Yvette kept her head high and was blatantly looking down on the non-Havenese.

His other classmates and friends were all reacting to the attention differently. Natalia was gripping her bandolier of formulas and concoctions tightly, scared and looking a lot like Irina. Both girls instinctively found shelter behind Buster’s immense size, the Bovios marching forward and occasionally glancing towards them to make sure they were safe. Clive was as cool as ever and strode near the head of the column, eyes closed on his avian features and nearly disappearing into the shadows every time they passed a column. Skye had his nose buried in another book while Kane – whom was still a mystery to most of Class 969 – lingered at the back away from everyone else, a solitary island of big, black furry meat carrying a duffel bag.

JD was nowhere to be seen.

The class was led to an enormous, open-air auditorium. Almost like a huge amphitheatre save for the fact that it was a full circle instead of semicircular. The seats were made from hard, white stone trimmed with red and gold. Yvette complained loudly on how uncomfortable they were and Wood dearly wished that she wasn’t sitting next to him. That moment was fleeting however when JD suddenly appeared on his other side and sat down beside him, quiet as ever.

Other classes filtered in, filling up the auditorium with ease. He never realised just how many students there were under the Pinnacle brand. Students of Class 969 was always somewhat isolated to members of their own class and rarely interacted with other students. Seeing what must be thousands of students filling up the immense structure left him with an awful feeling of being a small fish in a tremendous ocean.

Maybe I should kick up the overconfident rich-boy persona.

He glanced over to Yvette and noticed how some non-969 students were already looking directly at her and her flaming hair.

But would that really be smart given what’s happened to me?

Then his eyes fell on JD who could’ve faded into obscurity there and then had he wanted.

There was a loud chime from the centre of the auditorium. Eight men and women were perched at the central area.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed the woman facing them. She was a Scalion, a distant cousin of the Draconis with the exception that they did not have wings or any elemental breath weapons. They were also cold blooded compared to the warm blooded Draconis. To compensate, they were immune to most if not all poisons, produced their own neurotoxins and had the unique ability to change their scale colour. Today, this woman dressed in billowing, white robes was going with red scales. “My name is Tresemene Celphernia. I am your Dean.”

The other seven were saying something similar, he guessed, but their words were directed at the eighth of the auditorium that they were addressing.

“All of you have come to Pinnacle because you are exceptional,” Celphernia continued. “Each and every one of you has something special in you. It is the hope of the faculty, of your parents, of all of Tower Thirteen that you will be the next generation of scientists, leaders, warriors and defenders that will see us through to the future. But this is only something that can be achieved only if you put your heart, mind and body to it.”

Each of the other Deans had their own speech as Celphernia was quite rigid, standing in place with her arms crossed while the one to her right was expressive, waving his hands. The one to her right was flashing bursts of fire from her paws.

Great we get the strict, tight-ass Dean…

“While for many of you, this is the first time you’re getting off your home Stations, for others, you have crossed that threshold before. So you already know the mandate of how you pass and fail.”

Wood’s brow furrowed. “What’s she talking about?”

“Didn’t you read the info-pad?” Yvette whispered back. “There’s a points system. We’re given objectives to meet and our grades for that period are dictated by how well and how many of them we complete.”

“What?”

“Tests, projects and presentations will only get you so far,” boomed Celphernia. “At most, getting the highest grade in them will get you just under a failing grade.”

Wood immediately shot Skye a worried look. The studious, bespectacled Tigris immediately dropped his book in horror and stared at their Dean in shock. Clearly, he hadn’t read the info-pad either.

“You must explore Incendius,” continued the Scalian. “You must make the most of your year here. The entire Station is open to you. Whether it be a warzone, a farm or the unknown depths, I encourage you to explore to meet the fifteen thousand objectives available to you.”

“Fifteen thousand!?” Buster blurted. Many of the Class 969 were equally shocked and the vast majority of the other classes were similarly surprised. “There’s never been that many before!”

Okay… so maybe Buster had read it.

“It must be because there’s currently a civil war going on,” whispered Clive from Yvette’s other flank. “There will be plenty of opportunity to help the community. I doubt they’d condone participating in the battle itself but at the same time, more students especially those from upper Stations means more resources.”

And Clive read it too. Clearly has some things to say about it as well.

“Naturally, you should not put yourself in danger,” continued the steely Dean. “That is why you will have a multitude of chaperones accompanying you. You must obey your chaperones and professors. Direct defiance of their orders will only lead to you being penalized and a possible reduction of points. Death is no excuse for failure.”

JD crossed his arms with a grimace. “This education system is more dysfunctional than the US.”

Wood gave him a startled look. “The what?”

“The University of Symbiological Studies. They have about three hundred students come in every year and only one gets to graduate at the end of three years.”

“It’s that hard?”

“I wouldn’t say so. You just have to kill and ‘absorb’ your other classmates, gaining their knowledge, strength and powers for yourself by the end of three years. I was briefly considering attending but then I realised I’m already disfigured enough without having a second head sticking out of my shoulder or some other place I’d rather not think about.”

We have a place like that!?

The Dean then issued one last welcome to Pinnacle before striding off the podium. Rayne and the other professors took them away from their seats. Hostile gazes had faded and had instead been exchanged for looks of shock and worry. Even veterans of the exchange program were looking very worried. Many of them theorised that with so many objectives, it meant that each one was worth less points and they would have to meet more before actually getting a satisfactory grade. Others were already theorising that some objectives were related to the Lupus Civil War and that was time critical. If the Civil War was resolved before the end of the year, then some of the more valuable objectives may actually be taken off the list leaving them will less to work with.

Wood’s heart was pounding in his chest as they entered a more traditional classroom setting. A large number of seats were arrayed outwards from the front of the room. A blackboard and a desk was positioned at the very front where Rayne and Kira stood. He froze at the sight of Alexander Clarke amongst the ranks of those standing at the front of the classroom. Keeping his head down, parked himself at one of the seats, a little conscious that the flimsy metal creaked beneath his weight. He turned to Yvette while the rest of the class was getting organised.

“Why didn’t we get this sort of treatment back in Haven?”

“Those that don’t go on the exchange program go on the standard educational system first to prepare them,” she responded with a shrug. “Students who come to Haven go through the same thing but I guess they don’t go through all the fanfare they did here. I mean, it’s not like they’re really pushing us to do anything really dangerous. It’s about time and energy management.” She smiled haughtily to herself, lifting her nose into the air as she began her lecture. “We’ve still got a pretty full school week, remember? Five days at school, two half-days for extracurricular activities and then one weekend. The staff and chaperones still value our education so it’s not like they’ll let us skip classes. The focus is still in the stuff we do in class. We can probably do other stuff like objectives on the weekends. Just make sure to manage your clubs and stuff.”

Already doing his calculations, Wood knew he still had Manallium practice every Bernday and he went to extra workshop classes on Adraday. That only left him Dewday to do anything to meet the objectives. Though he could do other objectives after practice, he usually felt extremely tired afterwards.

A large red tome was placed into his hands by Buster and he looked up at the Bovios in confusion.

“It’s all our objectives,” the bull grunted before handing another tome to Yvette. The tome had to at least be a five hundred pages long. Upon opening it, there was disclaimer on the very front page.

“Pinnacle Academy does not accept any risk to students’ wellbeing should they willingly partake in any Demon-Level objectives which can be found in the black-marked pages of this book,” he read aloud. “Pinnacle will do everything in its power to protect and resurrect its students but all students, parents and guardians accept that should a student willingly partake in any risky venture, it is of their own volition and was not brought on by peer pressure, compulsion to excel or expectation as a student of the Academy.”

“Basically means we can’t sue if we wind up dead,” Yvette clarified. She leafed through the pages. “Citizen-Level objectives look pretty simple. Worth a few points too. Look.” She pointed at one of the objectives outlined on the pages.

It read ‘Learn how to construct a Wand of Fireball’ and was worth an astounding fifty points.

“That doesn’t seem too hard,” Wood commented. He flipped to the back of the book where the pages were all completely black and everything was written in white ink. These were the Demon-Level objectives. One such objective read ‘Disband the Redew Bandit Clan’ and was only worth a measly one point.

“Seems like they really are discouraging the harder objectives,” Clive mumbled, stroking his ochre beak thoughtfully. “They would be extremely difficult but would only be worth a single point. Given the time and effort you’d be putting into the objective, it would not be worth the effort.”

Unless you’re some sort of glory-hog that’s in it for the prestige.

Leafing through the book, he noticed that all his exams, test and project culminated into 10,000 points if he got perfect scores for everything. As an average academic student, the best he could hope for was perhaps 8,500 points. What he noticed, however, was many of the Citizen-Class objectives overlapped with his classes. He would naturally learn how to forge a Wand of Fireball from his workshop classes. Going to the Hut of the Brave Farmer would likely supplement his knowledge gained from his Incendian History class.

I suppose they want us to retain the knowledge and put it into practice instead of just learning by rote.

In that regard, he could see merit in the system. Given that grades were also obtained based on one’s own merits instead of how the rest of the class did, it offered a sense of achievement instead of fostering competitiveness.

What he did notice, was that to get a passing grade – an D-minus – he had to get at least 12,000 points. To get the top score – an A – he needed 20,000 or over. A-plus students got 25,000 points which meant that they would have to accomplish a lot of objectives. There was one last grade – S – which was for those who achieved 30,000 or over.

“Alright class,” Rayne bellowed from the front of the classroom. He was flanked by at least twenty other professors or chaperones. “You heard the Dean. This will all be a bit of a culture shock to you but that’s how Pinnacle works. It’s up to you what you get out of your education here. You can’t just get by on taking tests and getting the best scores. That doesn’t prepare you for real life. You’ve got to find your own destiny out there.” He gestured towards rest of those at the front of the class. “Each of the fine staff and volunteers up here are going to be your chaperones. You’ll note that there are much less of us compared to you. So if you want to go out adventuring and completing some of those objectives, you’re either going to have to do so as a group with one of us or book time with us. We can’t be there for everyone unfortunately so this is an exercise in time management.”

Hands clasped behind his back, Rayne cast his gaze around the classroom with a chilling aura of command. “Remember, there is no curfew here. You can be out as late or as early as you want but you still have a responsibility to your parents, families and your education. Staying out all night stalking for some shadowy guild won’t get you many points and could jeopardize how you do in your classes.”

That seemed directed at JD who was as stiff-backed and unreadable as ever.

“So let’s introduce your chaperones.”

One by one, each of the staff and volunteers introduced themselves. There was a bit of murmuring when Kira re-introduced herself and even more when Alex stepped up and announced he was JD’s dad. Of course, he wasn’t the only concerned parent there but – at least to Wood – Alex got the most attention.

“So let’s begin your class,” Rayne said. The chaperones moved to the side of the room where there were several seats available just for them. “First period is Practical Magic. What better way to teach you about the practical side of magic than from someone who practices it extensively?” He lifted a hand towards the wooden door of the classroom.

The moment it opened, Wood’s breath got caught in his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Rayne boomed. “Please welcome Alleria Penfire, Paladin of Incendius commonly known as the Bluefire Paladin.”

Wood could feel Vulcan burning from where it hung on his hip.

Oh shit.

Summoner’s Sojourn (Kira)

The Bluefire Paladin

Alleria Penfire was one of the few Paladins to survive the Fall of Haven. Though the majority of the fighting did occur on Haven, internal strife and civil unrest broke out in the other Stations as the Church of the Tower, the singular pillar of society that had held up Tower Thirteen, was attacked at its very heart. Paladins were called to Haven to defend the order that they represented. Unfortunately, many of them either Fell or were killed.

From what Kira could remember, Penfire was one of the few that remained on Incendius to help quell the Vampiri uprising that eventually led to the Custodia Vampiri becoming their own individual nation separate from the Church and Corona.

She held very little respect for the overzealous Paladins and their superiors, the Templars but she could not deny that there was an aura of power and confidence that radiated from Penfire. The Paladin was naturally dressed in a black-dominated attire. Tight, figure-hugging pants of a material should couldn’t identify wrapped around her strong dancer’s legs that led to a slim waist. Her chest was disappointingly flat but Kira gave that over to the fact that Penfire had rather broad shoulders and was quite muscular. Were it not for her gentle, clearly feminine features, it would be easy to mistake her for a man. The sable cloak of a Paladin hung from her shoulders, bound by a golden pauldron on her right shoulder trimmed with red.

Her chin was narrow and pointed which led perfectly to her subtle jaw and rosy lips. A squashed nose that looked like it had been beaten often and was now permanently reddened and slightly swollen detracted from what would have been a casual beauty. A light dusting of freckles dotted the space under her eyes and faded into the redness of her nose. Her left eye was a blazing red and the right was an icy blue. Clearly she did not pluck her eyebrows because Kira could already see the shadow of a monobrow. Her brown hair was kept long and possibly the only other sign of her femininity. Her fringe was allowed to grow long and parted down the middle, framing her features in an icy blue border thanks to the sparkling, glittering dye she used. The rest of her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail which was dyed red from where it was bound.

She was a clear creature of duality.

Kira’s eyes went to the black devices that Penfire wore around her arms and feet. The black, metal boots were trimmed with an icy blue and had a clear snowflake motif given the design of the spurs. The gauntlets she wore were also dominated by black but were melded with a fiery red.

Firefrost, Kira thought, the only Valour to merge the opposing elements of Ice and Fire.

Though she recalled despite Firefrost’s abilities, Penfire had never been able to demonstrate the ability to use both skills simultaneously. She drew close in how quickly she deployed both Pyromancy and Cryomancy spells but she did not actively practice Bluefire Arts.

Alleria took up position at the front of the class and performed the normal Incendian greeting – a hand with a single finger extended pressed against her chest first, kissing that finger and then lifting a single finger into the air. The students performed the normal Havenese by crossing their arms across their chest, kissing their dominant hand and then lifting three fingers into the air – their thumb, middle finger and pinkie

“Good morning Class 969,” Alleria greeted with a bright smile and a light, feminine voice that belied her husky stature. “As your instructor said, my name is Alleria Penfire. I’m the Bluefire Paladin. I’ve been a Paladin for twelve years now.”

She is only thirty-two. Trained as a Paladin since she was ten years of age. Only became fully ordained as one twelve years ago.

“I’ve been asked here today to give Haven’s best and brightest a bit of insight into the practical uses of Pyromancy and to tell you that there are more ways to use fire and indeed Pyromancy than just to burn things.”

It was a carefully rehearsed speech. Paladins were much like celebrities now that they were so rare. Venerated by the common people as living saints, Paladins were carted around Stations like a sideshow act. The upper stations even had trading cards of them.

Kira’s eyes went directly to Jack Denver Clarke while Penfire continued her speech about hybridised forms of Pyromancy. Clarke appeared to look bored, slouching in his seat, one arm hanging absently by his side while the other was positioned casually on his desk. However, his sharp, blue eyes was piercing as ever and carefully scanning Alleria for any signs of weakness, analysing her, scrutinising her.

If he was in anyway half as impressive as she knew he was, he would have already picked up that Alleria was not one for controlled environments. Just the way she was tapping her left foot impatiently indicated she wanted the practiced speech over and done with, a sure sign that she was the type to rush headlong into battle. That she was able to memorise a lengthy lecture perfectly also led to her impressive memory which hinted at a vast array of spells. Her broad frame at an impressive 6’1’’ also meant she hit hard. The way she dyed her hair and held herself warned of an overconfident personality and there was just the slightest tilt of her head which suggested that she regarded the class with curiosity instead of superiority.

She was an impatient fighter, one who prefers to attack headlong instead of calculating her enemy’s tactics. Likely a short temper as well but she is clearly loyal and had a sense of duty. Her vast array of spells likely came from necessity. Balancing both her Pyromancy and Cryomancy skills was essential lest she favour one over the other and reveal a potential weakness.

A small smile touched Kira’s hidden lips. A tiny little, red-coloured rat sprang from beneath her cloak and quickly darted over to the students, particularly JD Clarke.

“But I think I’ve done enough talking,” exclaimed Alleria. “How about I demonstrate to you exactly what I’m talking about? Is there anyone here willing to do a little sparring with me?”

Everyone in the class shrank back though Kira noted that both Clarke and Kane were just a second off, obviously trying to hide the fact that they would likely be able to stand their own against the Bluefire Paladin.

That is, of course, until the little Flare Rat that Kira had summoned bit down on Clarke’s left foot.

“Yeow!” JD cried, leaping immediately to his feet.

There are dangers to going around barefoot, Clarke-sama.

“And we have our volunteer!” Alleria laughed heartily. “Come over here, kid. What’s your name?”

JD had all of a second to throw Kira a foul stare before striding forward. “Clarke. Jack Denver Clarke. But people just call me JD.”

“Well JD,” said the Paladin with a smile. “Why don’t you show me what Haven’s got? You hoping to be a Paladin?”

The red Wulfun strode forward and placed himself a respectable distance from the Paladin. “I’d be the farthest thing from a Paladin, ma’am. Just hoping to survive through this school year.”

She laughed brightly, hands on her hips. Now she was more in her element. Kira guessed that she was more suited in the bar drinking with the ‘guys’ compared to teaching a class. “Your classes can’t be that rough. And who knows where the future will take you? Your Valour might appear out of nowhere in the last moment you’d expect.”

“It’s not my classes I’m worried about,” he replied, offering Alleria a wry smile. “It’s more the assassins, conspiracies and corrupt so-called-charity-workers.” Before the multi-colour-haired Paladin could respond, JD said, “But with all due respect ma’am, I doubt I’d be able to stand up against to you. What are the rules to this engagement? Do I just try to dodge what your throw at me?”

Her smile didn’t fade. “Nah. Try to throw as much as you can get. But let’s be safe, alright?” She held up three fingers. “Three hits each. If you can hit me three times without me blocking it, you win. Same goes with me.”

Kira narrowed her gaze slightly. Clarke had poor defences. Though he could block with Validation and his iron-will would prevent the blade from breaking, those two swords were extremely thin and provided little coverage. If Alleria could match him for speed, then she would win.

“I see what you’re trying to do,” came a soft whisper from his right. It was the elder Clarke, Alexander. Those Alex’s eyes were the same colour as his son’s, they didn’t have the same intensity. That said, there was still a chilling aspect to them that had Kira’s heart plummeting.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she denied.

“Okay,” Alex said dismissively. ‘But just so you know, one of the Dead Tails was a Paladin. Better, she was a Fallen. JD sparred with her all. The. Time.”

There went her plan.

“Alright then!” Alleria exclaimed. “Anyone want to count us down?”

Rayne crossed his arms. “Ready? Set.” He paused for a whole second as Alleria lifted her fists and JD remained stock still. “Fight!”

Kira held her breath, fully expecting an explosion of fire and ice. Instead, the two just remained still. JD didn’t move and though Alleria tightened her fists, she didn’t move either. Were they just moving so fast that light could not catch up?

No, impossible. They really aren’t moving.

Alleria’s impatience bubbled to the surface. “Uh, hey kid. You may want to try and hit me if you want to win.”

“Not sure that’s true,” JD answered with the faintest of smirks. “See, victory means something entirely different for you than it does me. For you to win, you’ve got to hit me three times without me hitting you three times first. For me to win, I’ve got to do the same.”

“Right and –”

“Or…” JD suddenly pointed upwards to where there was a large traditional clock ticking away just above the blackboard. “… I run out the clock.”

Kira hid a grimace. Neither her nor Alleria had thought of that and clearly the Bluefire Paladin didn’t quite understand as she gave JD a quizzical look.

“What?” asked the Paladin.

JD lowered his paw, his smile remaining in place. “Class ends in fifteen minutes, ma’am. I figure if I can get away without being bruised and battered by a Paladin, that’s a win for me.”

Alleria froze up for a moment then she broke out into a hearty laugh which sounded surprisingly girlish for her figure. “You’re clever. But now that you’ve revealed your secret to me, I guess I’ll have to go on the offensive. And fair warning, in my squad, I’m the offense specialist.”

Her form suddenly blurred, a sure indication that she was using a technique exclusive to all Paladins and Templars – Velocity. It was some form of heightened movement where their bodies were accelerated and they could cross distances almost instantaneously depending on their skill with the technique and their own personal endurance. The downside was that they moved so fast they could suffer from windshear. That was why they always wore their black cloaks trimmed with the colours of their Station – they were enchanted to prevent any damage from using Velocity.

There was little but a black blur as Alleria crossed the short gap between her and JD. Her figure resolidified and her fist shot forward in a blow that would’ve collided with the Wulfun’s right cheek. But there was a crackle of crimson lightning and suddenly, Alleria had the blunt edge of Validation’s scabbard pressed up against her neck.

JD was right behind her, his arm curled around her shoulder as if he were there to slice her neck from ear to ear. Everyone in the classroom had taken a sharp breath at that moment.

“I’m not sure if you want to call that a point to me but how about we start with full disclosure first?” JD said. “My name is Jack Denver Clarke. During the Fall of Haven, I was part of the Squad 47, The Dead Tails. Incidentally, there was a Paladin amongst our ranks. The Natasha Lilac also known as the White Crusader. She told me a little something about Paladins and how to fight them.”

He disengaged from her, leaping back deftly, silently with his feet barely making a sound as he landed on the polished wooden floors of the classroom.

“Paladins always have gimmicks,” he continued. “They’re highly specialised fighters. Exceptional and well above the norm but they always have something about them that they default to. A tick. A trick. A twist. Something while they train hard to try and grow out of will always be the foundation of their fighting style.”

“That’s a dangerous generalisation to make,” Alleria said, turning halfway towards him.

“I’m talking about your Valour, ma’am,” JD said calmly. “You can grow all you want. You can develop your techniques, patch up your weaknesses and undergo cosmetic surgery to make you appear like someone else but your Valour will always remain static. It will always be a pair of boots. It will always shoot out fire and ice. It will always be your weakness.”

Clarke slung Validation back around his shoulder. “Judging by the few seconds that I’ve engaged you, I can already tell I’m much faster than you.” He pointed at her black boots. “As strong as those are, they actually hinder your movements. You’re geared more towards powerful strikes than speed. If I were to guess, you’d cause bursts of flame from your fists to speed up your strikes while you’ll generate ice across the floor with your boots to compensate for your lack of agility while also hindering the movement of your enemies.”

She opened her lips to counter but then he was gone, appearing right behind her.

“Doesn’t matter how fast you move if your enemy can teleport,” he said, his back pressed up against hers. He gently flicked her right ear. “One.”

She swung her fist around in a haphazard haymaker that made Kira wince. JD didn’t even flinch as he quickly grabbed her arm – away from her Valour – and threw her over his shoulder, leaving her sprawling on the ground.

“All your focus is on your extremities as well. You have strong legs and powerful arms but you need to work on your core. Your centre of gravity is off.” To prove his point, he gently nudged her stomach with his toe. “Two.”

She grit her teeth together and slammed her heel into the ground. The icy spurs erupted in a burst of ice a whole three feet tall. It was enough to propel her leg upwards, coming swinging towards his face. Naturally he dodged the blow and released her arm but instead of leaping back, he hurled himself towards her, perfectly anticipating her next movement as she twisted herself through on the ground to get back to her feet. He leapt over her form and seized the spire of ice that had appeared. He snapped it clear in half and was back on his feet exactly the same time as her. She stopped when the blunt club of ice stopped just above her head.

“You’re also a very passionate fighter,” JD said. “The kind of person that enjoys it when her opponent participates in the fight, dances the dance. Shows some emotion. It puts you off and makes you doubt yourself when someone is cool, unresponsive and calculation. Makes you wonder what they have up their sleeve and shakes your confidence.”

He tapped the club on her head.

“Three.”

JD then tossed the icicle over his shoulder, his cool façade immediately breaking into a bright grin. “That was fun. Sorry if I went all ‘assassin-mode’ on you. I just had to ‘switch on’, you know?”

By the looks of his other classmates, Kira was sure they were wondering if there was really any difference between when Clarke was ‘on’ and ‘off’. She knew the truth, though. JD was not giving the fight his all. He had zeroed in on a vast majority of Alleria’s weaknesses and attacked with devastating precision.

First, he placed a sense of urgency on the situation with the time limit, forcing her to become a little reckless. Then he disarmed her with his speed, casting doubt into her abilities and injecting some fury into her veins by putting into question the entire Paladin Order. Her physical weaknesses then became much more evident and he proceeded to add humiliation to her injuries by making his ‘hits’ little more than little taps. The cool façade was just the icing on the cake and drove her entirely to recklessness.

That’s the Red Lightning. Give him any signs of weakness and he will pounce.

She was sure Clarke had a whole arsenal of humiliating exploits he could unleash upon Alleria now. Though she had to wonder if what he said about Paladins were true. It rang true, at least. Paladins could grow, learn new spells, become more experienced but their Valours will always remain static.

That’s something I’ll have to remember for the future.

“You… You’re very skilled,” Alleria stammered. Her face was flushed red with embarrassment and she stood stiffer than when she was delivering that lecture. “If I knew everyone on Haven was a war hero, maybe I wouldn’t have taken you so lightly.”

Fatal mistake. Never underestimate anyone regardless of their Station.

Kira was ultimately disappointed in the Paladin. She had certainly expected more from one who had fought and survived the Fall. Clearly, she was still a child and inexperienced. Rayne quickly took over the rest of the class and, seeing there was less than ten minutes left until the end, he gave everyone a lecture on the proper practices of guarding a caster from being burned by their own flames. It was cut short, unfortunately, long bells rang out indicating it was the end of the period.

Along with the rest of the chaperones, she escorted Class 969 out of the classroom and brought them to their next class. She quickly grew bored of the classes. None of them really interested her. Clarke was wise to her intention to humiliate him in front of the class now so he would be more guarded against her summoned beasts at least for the rest of the day. That and Rayne and Clarke Senior were now watching her closely.

It was during the lunch break that she caught sight of JD peeling apart from the rest of his group of friends and chasing down a black-cloaked figure.

Clarke intercepted Alleria Penfire just as she was heading out of Pinnacle’s grounds. Kira remained a respectable distance away and far from their line of sight but close enough to overhear them.

“Listen, I’m sorry if I went a little overboard back there,” began the Red Lightning. “I didn’t mean to humiliate you. I just didn’t want to hurt you.”

Alleria regarded him with a mix of confusion and anger on her features. Then that expression softened abruptly and she lowered her gaze. “It isn’t your fault. My Marshal tells me that I’m often too hot-headed for my own good. I guess I just like to fight. No better way to meet new people and get to know them than through my fists.”

JD returned an awkward smile. “I will admit to not exactly being the most socially adept myself. Just so you know, Natasha had a caveat when she mentioned the whole thing about Paladins having a gimmick.” The Bluefire Paladin’s eyebrows rose. “Paladins tend to fall back on the same old patterns brought on by their training and practice with their Valours. But it’s when they learn not to depend on their Valour so much, when they learn to accept themselves as mortals and that they can and will make mistakes but will better themselves for the experience, that’s when they transcend and become Templars.”

Did the White Crusader really say that, Clarke-sama, or are you lying to make her feel better?

“She really said that?” asked Alleria.

“I made a promise long ago never to lie and I’m sticking by it,” answered JD. “Besides, I could never get her lectures out of my head. She would try and drag us into ‘prayer circles’ every night.”

The Paladin chuckled softly. “Are you sure you’re socially awkward? You’re doing just fine.”

“I guess my far more gregarious friends are rubbing off on me.” He held out his paw to her. “I’ve made it a point to try to make as few enemies as possible and I don’t want this thing between us to be one of those scenarios where the fate of the world is at stake, I’m the ‘Chosen One’ that’s the only one that can save the world and you decide to throw aside everyone’s fates just to settle your grudge against me.”

Somehow, that felt like a jab against her. Did Clarke know she was listening? Was that a warning to drop her honour just because he considered himself too important?

Your tricks will not work on me, Clarke-sama! Do not take his hand, Alleria Penfire! Do not!

Alleria smiled and shook his paw even as Kira dearly wished she had some talent in Psychomancy so she could influence the Paladin’s thoughts. “You must think very highly of yourself if you believe yourself to be the ‘Chosen One’.”

“It’s like Dean Celphernia said, right? We’re the next generation. Maybe one day that will be the case.” He shook her hand firmly. “And even if you don’t become my friend, I hope at least you’re not an enemy. I’d hate to see how things go between us if you activated your Valour.”

A realisation struck Kira. Alleria had not activated her Valour. At most, she was at half-capacity when fighting JD. Sure, he hadn’t drawn Validation either but that meant neither of them were fighting at their fullest in the mock fight. Perhaps the Bluefire Paladin was not hopeless after all.

“I just didn’t want to hurt you,” Alleria fired back. “And thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For this talk. It brightened my mood.”

JD grimaced slightly. “To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t my idea. My boyfriend, Buster, the Bovios over there…” He pointed back at the group and Kira quickly ducked behind the tree she was hiding behind to avoid being seen. “… has been grilling me for the past few periods to at least apologise to you. I stole the line about the ‘Chosen One’ from him. The whole making a point of not making enemies is mine.”

The Paladin was amused and not angry. “So you didn’t consider me a threat to come to that conclusion yourself?”

“Gods, yes. If I have a Paladin bearing down on me, I’m pulling out all the stops.” He rubbed his neck absently. “Natasha drilled that lesson into my head more times than I can count. I just figured you wouldn’t go out of your way to enact a vendetta against an uppity, genetically modified, Havenese kid like me.”

Alleria gave him a forgiving smile that burned Kira’s blood. “Let’s not get into stereotypes. As far as I can tell, not all Havenese students are rich, self-centred and have never lifted a finger to work in their lives.”

The sight of these two being friendly with one another sickened Kira. It was clear that Clarke was just putting on another façade to get in the good graces of a Paladin. Likely as a ploy to manipulate the Bluefire Paladin to help Wood in his own journey to become a Paladin.

That must be it! He’s gathering information on how Bladebreaker can become a Paladin himself!

Not out of any sort of malice against the Draconis but Kira moved out from behind her tree and stormed over to the two if only to ruin Clarke’s plans.

“I do hope you were not planning to leave school grounds,” she announced abruptly. Both Clarke and Penfire turned to her in surprise. “You, of course, will need a chaperone to accompany you if you intend to undertake any objectives.”

JD narrowed his eyes at her. “If I need a heavy blunt instrument, I wouldn’t rely on that five-hundred page tome. I’d just use your thick skull.”

“Clarke!” Penfire exclaimed in shock.

“You’re right. You’re right. It’s better to use her stone-cold heart instead. Maybe my target would at least suffer from frostbite from contact.”

Kira refused to fall for his antagonistic jabs. “Exactly where are you taking this student?” she asked Alleria directly.

The Paladin exchanged glances with JD and shrugged. “Honestly, we were just talking Mrs…”

“Kurasama. Lady Summoner Kira Kurasama of House Kuriki.” She nodded towards JD briefly. “Based on your current trajectory, you were heading out of Pinnacle. Whether it be by accident or not, I must insist you cease.”

“Kira,” said the Red Lightning with a cocky smirk, “you and I both know that if I wanted to sneak out of this place you of all people would not be able to stop me.”

“Hey now,” warned Alleria. “You’re saying that in front of a Paladin. I’m going to have to insist on obeying the rules here.” She smiled pleasantly at Kira. “Besides, I was just going to head out of Corona for a little bit. Needed to clear my head after that display. If either of you aren’t doing anything, I could use the company.”

Kira’s gaze met Clarke’s and neither of them would budge in their staring contest. “Perhaps some fresh air away from all the judgemental eyes would serve us well. I know someone who would much prefer keep to the shadows than stand in the light like the rest of us normal people.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be referring to the person in the mirror, would you?” JD countered. “I mean, given the fact that she wears a mask over the lower part of her face, it’s easy to believe she’d be more at home amongst the rats than in broad daylight.”

“I honestly couldn’t tell. Most mirrors I come across are generally shattered because the visage of a scarred Wulfun usually causes them to commit ritualistic suicide.”

“Funny, most of the mirrors in my room are shattered because they committed ritualistic suicide. You haven’t been sneaking into my bedroom to watch me sleep, have you Kira?”

“Only because you wake half the country with your screaming and night terrors. Pity you can’t just wedge yourself between your two fathers so that they can soothe you as I could.”

There, Clarke’s eyes flashed in fury. “That’s crossing the line, Kira.”

She raised her hands in mocking surrender. “Of course. I apologise. You don’t have two fathers. It’s more like a hundred now given how your originator tends to whore himself out to every man with a bouncy rear and tight abdominal muscles. Have you met any of your bastard siblings yet?”

JD immediately drew Validation and Kira was sweeping her cloak back in preparation to summon.

“I will cut you!”

Alleria immediately jumped in between them, holding up her gauntleted hands. “Whoa! Rein it in kids! Simmer down!” JD was growling fiercely and Kira took the moment to bask in the glory of having enticed a furious reaction from him.

“Mother Goddess!” sighed the Bluefire Paladin. “You two clearly have history. Given how you’re a military assassin” – she gestured at JD before turning to Kira – “and you’re a Diatollian Lady Summoner, I don’t think Pinnacle will survive a fight between the two of you.” She grabbed their shoulders and turned them towards the exit of the garden. “So how about we all go out of Corona, take a breather and cool down? It’ll be good.” She glanced over her shoulder at where some of the other students had already started erecting magical barriers around themselves. “For everyone.”

“Let’s go somewhere distant,” JD snarled. “Away from civilisation.”

“So no one will be there to see you weep?” Kira taunted.

He flashed her his fierce, piercing stare. “So there are less witnesses.”

Regret crossed Alleria’s face over sandwiching herself between them but she was determined, if anything. She guided them away from Pinnacle itself and walked them through the wide, white-brick streets of Corona.

Kira was on guard the entire time as JD had yet to sheathe Validation completely – he had only sheathed one of the blades. Many of the citizenry bowed in respect to Alleria and she waved at them in return only for her hand to fall once again on one of their shoulders; a security measure to keep them from assaulting one another.

When it became clear that they wouldn’t reach their destination before their lunch break was over, Alleria warned them to shield their faces. Knowing what would happen, Kira did as she was told. The world around them seemed to slow. Bystanders froze in their waving, birds stopped in mid-flap and the wind grew still. Alleria just nodded at them and kept her hand firmly on their shoulders as they strode down the alleys and corridors of Corona’s winding streets.

Every step was like walking through thick mud that covered her entire body. Mud that was embedded with razors. The air itself resisted her movements but she persisted predominantly because JD showed no signs of injury from moving through the use of Velocity. The enchantment from Alleria’s cloak protected them somewhat but even the simple act of breathing was incredibly painful.

No wonder Paladins need the specialised equipment. This is torment otherwise.

Though it seemed like they had been walking for hours, the same clouds in the sky that had lingered there from the moment Alleria had initiated Velocity were still hovering there. Even when they approached the distant farm that bordered a thick, lush forest, nothing seemed to have moved. Only when Alleria dropped the use of Velocity did the world’s time started. Kira let out a gasping breath, thankful that she could breathe normally again. Though it pained her to show any signs of weakness in front of her rival, she couldn’t help but stumble and fall to her knees.

“Sorry about that,” Alleria apologised with a sheepish grin. “I’m not the best Velocity user around and I haven’t been able to fully negate its effects yet. Hope you’re not too winded?”

‘Winded’ is my last concern right now.

Kira let out a ragged cough and waved away her concern. “I am fine.” Mustering her strength, she rose to her feet and took in her surroundings.

They were placed well outside the city of Corona within the farmlands surrounding the white city. This particular farm seemed to be one of more outlying ones and had been unattended for some time. The trees from the nearby forest had already started to encroach upon what had once been flat, rich land. Nature had begun to reclaim the red brick frame of the farmhouse with fines and moss growing across its surface. Fences had collapsed and any evidence of livestock were long gone having since been overrun by weeds and grass as tall as Kira’s shoulder.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“It’s where I used to live,” Alleria admitted, turning towards the farmhouse with a look of nostalgia. “We Paladins aren’t all born saints, you know. Not all of us have humble beginnings either but still.” She shrugged her broad shoulders and sighed wistfully along with the howling winds.

There was a sense of dread and death that hung in the air. Though Alleria’s features were calm, serene and wistful, everything about their surroundings whispered terror and pain. The Sun Spire seemed to have dulled around them casting a grey overtone to all the colours. Rustling from unkept grass and weeds howled of agony long past. Were Kira a less rational person, she would have believed the presence of ghosts haunting the place.

“Why is it all rundown and unattended?” she asked.

“My beginnings weren’t very… pleasant,” admitted the Bluefire Paladin. “I was just a little girl when it happened.” Her tone grew sombre. “Just a little farm girl. Living so close to the forest left us vulnerable though. Bandits came one night and threatened my mother and father. I heard all the yelling. They put me in the cellar to hide. Then they set the place on fire. Torched the homestead from the outside and left us to burn.”

Alleria laughed bitterly. “My mother and father held each other tightly inside. They died holding one another even as their home burned around them. But as the fire reached me, the Mother Goddess must have heard me because she gave me Frostfire at that moment. The flames were exhausted but it was too late to save my parents.” She lifted her gauntlets absently into the air. “I like to believe that the Mother Goddess took my parents’ last prayers and forged them into these. Fire and ice. From what I remember, they were two different people but they still somehow came together and made a life.”

Kira frowned beneath her mask and looked to nearby forest. “Have you ever felt the need to seek revenge? Surely those bandits don’t deserve to live after what they did to you.”

“Classic revenge story,” JD rumbled in his gravelly voice. “Kid gets orphaned. Kids gets superpowers. Kid seeks vengeance only to release at the end that it won’t fill the void in their heart where their parents use to be. Please tell me you don’t have a cliched mindset as the Lady Summoner here.”

She shot him a seething stare which he met with a quick flick of his ear towards the nearby brick wall. She quickly understood.

That wasn’t an actual jab at me. He wanted my attention. But to what?

She regarded the bright, red wall that was covered in overgrown shrubbery. And she immediately understood. Before Alleria could respond she quickly gave Clarke a look and he shook his head slowly. Though she tried not to agree with him often, she had to agree with him in this case and nodded very subtly.

“The Paladin Order taught me not to be so hasty in my judgement,” Alleria responded, turning back to the Red Lightning with a gentle smile. “I’m still a little temperamental but I know that vengeance will not get my parents back. I still want the Redew Bandit Clan to be subdued for the safety of the citizenry but not for my own personal vendetta.”

That sounded as contrived as your speech, Alleria. I am not convinced.

“I think we better get back to Pinnacle,” announced the Paladin. “Lunch hour will be over soon.”

“If it’s all the same with you, you can go ahead,” JD said. “I don’t think I can handle another trip through Velocity.”

Considering how he seemed mostly unaffected by the trip here, Kira concluded this was just an attempt for them to be alone. “I’ll have to agree,” she said. “We can make our own way back. As the chaperone, I will ensure this student returns to Pinnacle Academy before lunch break is over.”

“Alright then,” Alleria chuckled softly. “Good luck to you both. I’ll see you again soon.”

Then she was gone and a blur of black motion.

Kira immediately turned to Clarke. “There are no burn marks on the outside of the homestead,” she concluded.

“Exactly,” JD said, crossing his arms and peering intently at the red bricks of the burnt farmhouse. He padded over and brushed his paws across the bricks. “Not a single one. If the fire started on the outside inside there should’ve been signs of burning. It could be that she cleaned it up but judging by how it’s still in disrepair and the rooftop shows signs of charring, I doubt that.”

“Something isn’t right about her tale. Could it simply be that her memory isn’t clear?”

“Maybe.” Clarke turned to her. “But something tells me this is more than just a girl’s young mind mixing things up from a traumatic experience.”

“Not everyone has a keen memory like yours, Clarke-sama,” she chided.

“That’s not what I’m saying. Paladins are vetted extensively even before the Fall. You’ve got to make sure they aren’t psychopaths or mentally unstable from their ‘humble beginnings’.” He gestured at the house to make his point. “Those that go crazy are more likely to Fall and the Church doesn’t want more Fallen especially ones that they personally trained.”

That makes sense.

“So you are saying that the Church of the Tower will have done their own investigations and it is likely that Alleria’s version of history is the one officially condoned but may not necessarily be the truth?”

“Pretty much.” The Red Lightning glanced back towards the house. “I’ll see what I can find from the military records. The Church has been forthcoming with their archives but every now and then we still find pieces of information that they conveniently ‘forgot’ to give us. Could be that the truth behind Alleria’s tragic past is there.”

Kira frowned beneath her mask and placed her hands on her hips. “Not to be a contrarian but perhaps this would be something better left alone? What business is it of ours if the Bluefire Paladin’s recollection is inaccurate?”

He shot her an exasperated look. “You saw how she responded when you asked her if she wanted revenge. She took my out with the same enthusiasm and fake smile that she gave us when she was making that speech at Pinnacle. This is eating her up inside. If we’re ever going to get a decent instruction from her, it’ll be when she doesn’t have this hanging over her head. Besides…”

Clarke strode past her, stopping just a foot behind her. “Coming from someone whose dealt with them in the past, I can tell that after over a decade of being a Paladin, Alleria is on the cusp of becoming a Fallen.”

That sent a chill down her spine. A Fallen in the middle of Corona especially one as hot-headed as Alleria would be disastrous. There were millions of people in the city alone and if she Fell, the death count would be astronomical.

“Go find out what you can about her from your military databases,” she said. “I will find out what I can from my resources in the city.”

There was a moment where Clarke didn’t respond. The wind seemed to seal their agreement as it blew his scarf and her cloak in the same direction. Not for the first time, they were going in the same direction for the greater good.

“Thanks, Lady Kurasama-san,” he said. The use of two honorifics was unexpected but also not unwelcome. “I’ll see if I can dig up anything about the Taldaluur while I’m at it.”

She froze. He wasn’t meant to know about that. No one outside her House and those related to it was meant to know.

“How –” she began, spinning around. But he was gone.

She cursed lightly to herself but had to smile a little at his performance.

“You always have to have the last word.”

Forged (Roran)

Where the Game Begins

“And this is my workshop.”

Roran pushed the simple, wooden door open. Dust particles danced around his paw as he let both Alex and Wood enter the small facility positioned on the outskirts of Corona’s outer wall. Most of the renowned smiths tended to give some respectable distance between one another especially if they were participating in the Great Game. It was just sportsman behaviour and to avoid any unnecessary clashes between smiths and those chosen to wield their weapons.

It had been at least a couple of years since he had been to this particular workshop. His main base of operations was in the town of Clockwork far to the south but he maintained a school and a smithy in Corona for times when he was visiting. But ever since joining the Reaching Flame, he hadn’t been to the any of his Incendian workshops. That left the place covered in dust and cobwebs and he saw a lizard scurry away as the light from the doorway streamed in.

Naturally, he brought his own tools with him and now that he had access to the Matter Converters on the Godslayer, he was hoping he would be able to pump out some more exceptional pieces of work that would far outstrip anything any Incendian smiths could cook up.

One step at a time, he told himself mentally. First Incendius, then the rest of the world.

“It’s surprisingly small,” Alex observed, striding forward into the smithy. “Your forge back in Haven was much bigger.”

“Corona may seem big but it’s actually pretty damn cramped,” he explained. “People have stopped building outwards and started building up.” He glanced out the nearby window which was mostly blocked by the shadow of the towering outer wall. “I liked to keep this place relatively obscure from the rest of the city so that I can work in peace. Smiths tend to get swamped with adoring fans especially if they know where you are.”

Alex gave him a lopsided smirk. “So am I dating a celebrity here?”

“Are you kidding!?” Wood exclaimed, blue eyes shining. “Smithing is basically the only universal art that’s as popular as any vid stars! I mean, vids are only really a Havenese thing. Xaosians have their ‘movies’ but they’re not the same. Our actors tend to bomb in any other medium especially since other Stations have their different tastes. But smithing is universal!”

It was hard to think of himself as a celebrity but Roran had to face the truth of Wood’s words. Every Station had its own aesthetics, their own architecture, their own forms of entertainment that propelled those that excelled in it to heights of celebrityhood. Often, those talents couldn’t translate to another Station or if they did, they would not translate to all Stations. Smithing, however, could. A sword was universally recognised and though there were nuances that every Station appreciated over the other, there was no the efficiency and beauty of a weapon especially went matched up against another. That was why the Smith’s Union was a national institution.

“I’m not exactly the best,” Roran said. “Haven’t made the top ten on Incendius and I’m not even in the top two hundred in the world.” He dusted his big paws enthusiastically. “But I’m going to change that.”

I’ve gotten some practice with the Matter Converters but I’ll need to practice other forms of smithing, not just the traditional kind or the ones I’m best at.

“Where should we start!?” Wood asked, bouncing on the balls of his mutated feet. It was cute seeing such a big, muscled dragon acting like such an overactive child. “Do you need materials? Are we going to go out looking for some rival smith’s weapons? Do you need me to go gather some information on who’s in Corona right now?”

I already know Oren is in Corona, Roran thought bitterly. He’s going to pay me a visit soon, I know it.

He set down the heavy bag he had been carrying and set it on the workshop desk. From within, he retrieved the miniature Matter Converters he had been carrying and began to arrange them. The large, disc-shaped devices were light and it was easy to see why Wood had taken to carrying four of them as his primary weapon.

“I won’t need any materials,” he said, pulling out the crystal pad that would allow him to command the Converters. “With these Matter Converters, I can make even the rarest of ores that I could use to make something. The only question is what do I make?”

That was the burning question that had plagued him since he had resolved to reignite his competitive spirit.

What should I make?

“Oren Baltherview is likely to bring up a challenge the moment he catches wind of your activities,” Alex provided. “Maybe make something that’d put him in his place?”

“I’ve thought about that,” he said, tapping away at the keys of the crystal pad in front of him. The eight Converters in front of him shimmered and began pulsating with a gentle, blue light. Tiny sapphire particles flickered upwards from the hand-sized discs. Pieces of metal, chunks of ore and even a radiating globule of blood-red fluid appeared, hovering over the devices.

“Oren likes to get ‘inspiration’ from what I make but tries to counter them. I like infusing my works with light and fire, Luxmancy and Pyromancy. He tends to go with fire and shadow or darkness and they’re always needlessly extravagant. Always really flashy.”

“Sounds like you’ll beat him if you make something more practical.” Alex wandered over to some of the empty shelves and ran his paw over its surface, briefly brushing aside some dust.

“Not really how it works in the Great Game. Your work has to ‘defeat’ another smith’s. It’s as simple as smashing another weapon but there are other things to consider as well. You don’t know what kind of spells or abilities your enemy has infused into their weapon. You can’t just focus on the offensive. You’ve got to think about the defensive as well. Then there’s also the person you’ll entrust your weapon to…”

“Don’t count JD amongst those,” Alex warned immediately. “He doesn’t use Validation much and you’ve seen why. He often fights with them still sheathed and only takes them out when he really wants to do some damage.”

Roran gave him a light smile. “Well I was actually thinking about making something for you… except…”

Alex lifted an eyebrow at him. “What?”

He gave the Wulfun a sheepish grin. “I actually have no idea what kind of weapons you use.”

His lover gave him a surprised look and then stuck out his tongue. “That’s because as an Illusionist I like to keep things hidden. But if you must know…” Alex reached towards his shoulders and pulled something free from them. The air shimmered, shattering like glass with the pieces transforming into luminescent white shards that vanished a moment later. Alex suddenly held two large pistols in his paws. “I fight with these. Oh and this guy.”

With a wave of his hand, the same glass-shattering effect appeared just over his right shoulder. Roran jumped lightly and even Wood looked surprised at the presence of the large vaguely orb-shaped device that was hovering there. A drone of some form, it had a single, large, circular lens while different hexagonal shaped pads sticking out from its central form helped direct its position. The black metal it was made from made it hard to see even with the illusion dispelled. Two barrels jutted out from beside its lens.

“What is that?” Roran asked.

“It’s a customised _Harlequin-_Class drone,” Wood answered, padding over to the device. The mechanical, hovering orb pulled away, shying behind Alex. “They’re mainly used for scouting but were discontinued because they were so bulky. But this little guy has been heavily modified.”

“Picked him up during the Fall,” Alex supplied. “Snipers need spotters to be able to clearly identify where targets are. Rascal, here does that for me.” He tapped a space beside his ear and again, the space shattered like glass to reveal white, metallic visor with a light-green display wrapped around his eyes. “He uploads what he sees straight to this handy device and helps me take aim from a distance.”

Wow… He’s been carrying that this entire time. Has he been hiding those even in bed?

“Can you really snipe someone with those pistols?” Roran asked.

The crimson-furred Wulfun shrugged. “Well, these babies aren’t just any ordinary set of pistols, you know.” There was a soft click and the pistols shifted slightly, hidden mechanisms jutting outwards and a few compartments sliding open. Alex slammed the two together and the black metal twisted and shifted, the two barrels jutting outwards to form an impressive double-barrelled shotgun.

“You can merge the two?”

“And more.”

Alex reached for his hip and pulled out a third pistol, once again shattering an illusion. Like the first two, a hidden mechanism unlocked on his command and he brought it colliding with the shotgun. The weapons twisted and unwound, transforming into a long assault rifle. He tossed the rifle from one paw to the other and used his now freed paw to pluck and fourth and final gun from his other hip. Like the first three, he merged it together with his weapon, reconfiguring it entirely into the long barrel of a sniper rifle complete with scope.

Roran was incredibly impressed. “So you’re packing four guns that can be switched into a shotgun, rifle or a sniper rifle?” he asked.

Alex beamed at him proudly. “So that I can cover short, medium and long ranges with ease.”

A stroke of inspiration hit Roran like a bolt of lightning. A grin split across his face and he immediately seize Alex by his shoulders. “Alex, I fucking love you! You just gave me a brilliant idea!”

He only got confused stares from both the aspiring smith and sneaky sniper. His mind was racing too fast to explain, however, and he hurried back towards his pack. There, he retrieved his sketchpad and a set of rustic, graphite pencils. Fresh with the memories of Alex’s morphing guns, he hurriedly began drawing out his ideas.

“Who made your guns, Alex?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Another of the Dead Tails. Ethan Warner, the Blue Barrier. He was our engineer and defensive support. Walked around in this huge mech.”

Wood’s tail slapped against the ground excitedly. “I remember reading about him. He would erect barriers and traps that would control the battlefield. If he had to go on the offensive, he had this big lance and shield that he could use.”

Thinking back to the Fall of Haven, Roran remembered distinctly where he was during the insurrection that had begun on Incendius. When news had hit them that demons had attacked Haven and that the very heart of the theocracy was cut off from everyone, Incendius was one of the first to Stations to immediately send troops to support. Starships, Paladins and Templars had all rushed to their aid which left Incendius itself vulnerable.

Demonic troops had poured out of rifts in space or descended from the skies in writhing, unholy, indigo fireballs. Clockwork was spared a vast majority of the assault as the Custodia Vampiri had come to their aid. Unfortunately, they used this as a platform to fight for their independence. Church conservatives were unwilling to give the Vampiri what they wanted but revolutionaries quickly took up arms and fought for a Vampiri republic. Suddenly, they were fighting a war on two fronts – from the demons on the outside and the Vampiri on the inside. The Custodia Lupus fiercely defended their borders and provided aid to the Church but it was only when the military stepped in under the guidance of the Generals was the insurrection quelled.

“I’d like to meet this Ethan one day,” Roran said. “I heard he was the one that made Validation for JD too.”

Alex rubbed his right shoulder absently with his left paw. “Yeah that was a tough one. JD couldn’t use magic at all and most of our weapons still use the Illuminus Weizar to unleash its full potential. I honestly only let him have Validation as a means to placate him and try and get him to stay out of trouble.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I figured that if he at least had some sort of weapon, he’d try to be more careful and stop interfering with our operations. Boy was I wrong.”

That’s a good point. Even if I were to infuse magic into a weapon, it’d still call on the reserves of the wielder to be able to use its innate abilities.

He gently bit the end of his pencil as he pored over his designs. Unsatisfied, he flipped the page and started again.

No. There must be a way to make the energy source of the weapon independent from the caster. But it has to be well hidden or it’ll be vulnerable to attack…

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when a loud trumpet-like sound erupted from outside. Even without looking, he knew exactly who and what that noise was. His groan was drowned out by the very public, very loud parade that was quickly coming down their way. A funny choice given that his workshop was at a dead end of a street.

“What is that?” Alex asked.

Roran growled and tucked his notepad into the thick, black vest he wore. “An annoying flea that just won’t get off my back.”

“You don’t mean…?” Wood began, his eyes widening.

“Yeah. That’s Oren Baltherview.”

The Draconis let out a loud, high pitched squealing noise, his wings flapping excitedly and kicking up the dust around them. “Oh-my-Goddess! I can’t believe it! Oren Baltherview is coming here! His designs are so dark and moody! His latest masterpiece, the Darkember Staff is being hailed as a tremendously brave design especially against any rogue Fire Elementals that may be running around! It’s being used all over the world!”

“Darkember Staff?” Alex asked.

Roran scoffed as he pulled open the door. As expected, there was a huge crowd of people coming their way, throwing confetti in the air, blowing trumpets and heralding the approach of a convoy of horses, carriages and even an elephant which wasn’t native to Incendius. “It’s a derivative of my Phoenix-Wing Staff that was briefly considered to be used as the Custodia Solis’ standard weapons but it was passed over for another design.”

Wood practically bowled him over as the eager Draconis stepped out into the street, bouncing on his feet. The noises grew louder and despite the immense fanfare, the little carriage that Oren sat inside atop the back of the lumbering elephant had its black curtains drawn. Riding right beside the immense and clearly uncomfortable beast as Oren’s manager and one of his chosen representatives in the Great Game, Axter Remming.

The lean figure dressed in tight-fitting leather armour was a Snow Felonix Leopardis. Cloudy, black markings dotted his predominantly grey fur. His long, fluffy tail was just as dangerous as either of his paws as it was crowned with a wicked-looking spiked tip and there were rumours that he had trained it to be semi-prehensile. An excellent people manager and publicist, Axter was also a brilliant warrior who wielded a variety of Oren’s designs from his red and black armour that was a clearly ‘inspired’ by Incendian Paladins, a choker with a golden bell on it and his twin rapiers.

The parade drew closer with the people out front immediately starting to spread out to surround Roran’s smithy to prevent any escape. Bystanders were being pushed aside rudely just to make way for the preening smith at the centre of the spectacle. Roran noticed the presence of a second individual striding next to Oren’s elephant that was clearly not like the rest of the uniformed individuals.

Though dressed much like the rest in black and red attire, this Otterian was very different. Most of his kind were generally squat and stocky but this individual was quite tall, at least his height and clearly brimming with muscle albeit with a little bit of a belly protruding as much as his pectorals. The male strode forward in thick, black, leather boots with fluffy, dyed red rims. Nothing concealed his thick legs save for the metal pads that hung from his waists that formed a sort of open front ‘skirt’ that revealed how his crotch was protected by a studded, leather cup. Similarly, his chest was barely protected save from thick, black bands that met at a circle over his pectorals in an ‘X-shape’. This left his stark, platinum-blonde chest hair with formed a treasure trail from the base of his pectorals clearly visible. Hardened, black, leather pauldrons trimmed with the same, red, dyed fur hung over his broad shoulders. An enormous double-edged axe nearly as tall and as wide as he was hung from his shoulders.

“Who the hell is that?” Alex asked.

Roran had to wonder if his lover was wondering out of professional curiosity or lusty desire. “I have no idea,” he confessed.

“That’s Balrin Riverfrost!” Wood supplied, eyes doubling in size. “He’s Oren’s best fighter and wields the Suncleaver. He’s comes from the eastern mountain ranges and has been hailed as the ‘Savage of the Sun’.”

“He looks like a barbarian plucked straight tout of a corny movie with nothing but fantasy stereotypes,” Alex muttered with a frown. “What he wears can’t protect him very well. Plus, if he lives in the mountains, don’t his nipples freeze and fall off?”

Roran smiled inwardly at the Wulfun’s mockery. “Oren kind of plays to the public a little more. I’ll admit that he has a pretty damn good publicist and has some excellent brand awareness.”

Any further conversation was cut off when the parade came to a stop around them. All the performers turned abruptly to them with Axter and Balrin flanking the elephant which still faced the wall to the right. The dusky curtains on the elephant’s palanquin pulled open. Roran held his breath in preparation of what was to come.

“Ooooooh…” came the whiney, nasally voice. “It’s too bright.”

We’re right beneath the goddamn Sun Spire_, you mascara-wearing bitch! Of course, it’s bright!_

Oren Baltherview stepped out into view. Ebony stairs sprang magically into existence at the base of his litter, slowly unfolding so that each of his delicate, high-heeled, black boots could take its sweet time striding down them. Even though it was humid and warm, Oren still wore the tight, constricting, heavy pants that tucked into his calf-level boots. A ridiculous number of bents wound over his thighs more as a fashion statement than any attempt to provide protection. At least three different styled belts with their buckles all askew from one another wound over his waist and another two crossed his chest akin to Balrin’s design. A heavy coat with its collar lifted hung from his scrawny shoulders predictably with more belts hanging loosely around him. Fingerless gloves protected his delicate fingers from the rigors of blacksmithing while his long, dyed, black hair hung over the left side of his face to give him a moody expression but not to hide the multiple ring-shaped piercings he had on his lip and right eyebrow. Those long, Harian ears were bent back while thick mascara and purple lipstick decorated his fur.

“That’s Oren Baltherview?” Alex whispered.

“It sure is!” squealed Wood, clapping his hands excitedly in short, mini-applause.

“I may be showing my age but he looks like a fucking, teenager currently going through his goth phase.”

Roran beamed and turned to the Wulfun. “I love you.”

Whether it was just an act or how he really was, the dark-clad rabbit had captured the hearts of young women all over Incendius for how ‘dark and moody’ he was. Incendius was still mostly unaware of such fads that were old news to Haven and considered unsavoury. If, as Alex said, the smiths were considered celebrities, Oren would be the kind that was sullen, introspective and constantly complained; a regular anti-establishment personality despite everything he did only promoting said establishment.

When Oren finally made his way to stand between Axter and Balrin, he sighed, shoulders slouched and appraising Roran and the company he kept with lazy, disappointed, weary grey eyes.

“Really, Roran? You’re just going with all muscle? Where’s your originality? You’re so, like, five millennia ago. Not all fighters have to be huge, hulking, swollen freaks, you know.”

Alex growled, baring his fangs. “I hate him even more now.”

Gently patting the elder Clarke’s shoulder, the Tigris blacksmith turned towards Oren and stepped forward, puffing out his chest. “I assume you have some reason for coming all this way with your entourage, Baltherview?” he asked.

Oren scoffed and turned his head away. “Look at his worn down little smithy,” he said to no one. “Shabby. Unkempt. Looks just like another squat building. Nothing about it screams ‘Number 14 Smith of Incendius’. Makes my eyes bleed just looking at it.”

It was bait but he wasn’t going to rise to it. “And yet with all of my poor equipment I still manage to outrank.”

That set off a blaze of fury in the Harian’s eyes and he whirled back towards Roran. Before anything could spill out of his glittered, purple lips, Axter stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“This is an official challenge, Roran Northridge,” said the Felonix. “To settle once and for all who is the better smith.”

“The Smith’s Union clearly places me a whole eleven places better than Oren.”

Oren was fuming. He was biting his lower lip while shaking in fury. It was even audible. With all those belts, every little quake caused a bit of rattling.

“We all know that you two have been at odds in recent history,” Axter said, unperturbed. “In order to settle this matter once and for all, I propose a three-on-three challenge between two chosen warriors and the smith on each side.”

A three-on-three challenge. No way there could be a tie. Plus Oren probably only trusts Axter and Balrin.

Still sounds fishy though. Either they’ve been planning this for a long time or they wanted to pounce the moment I got back in the Game before I disappeared again.

Before he could consider the situation more, Wood suddenly bounded forward.

“He accepts!” exclaimed the Draconis, pumping a fist into the air. “And he’ll have the full resources of Connors Manufacturing the whole way!”

Roran would’ve been pissed if Axter and Oren didn’t look utterly mortified at the prospect of a Havenese weapons manufacturer with a global influence backing the smith that stood against them. Axter’s mind was already racing; it was in the Felonix’s eyes. No matter how celebrated he was, Oren was still an Incendian smith and not one of the top ten. While lauded as a celebrity, he didn’t have access to the resources and technology Wood and his mother would have.

“I hardly think it fair if a Havenese corporation backed you,” began Axter.

“Did you think I was spending the last few years in Haven just working for a charity?” Roran countered. “As blacksmiths, we put all our knowledge, resources and heart into our pieces. If you’re going to restrict me from not using my resources, get rid of the parade and elephant.”

That was something Oren was unwilling to surrender as it was part of his identity – albeit one appropriated from another smith that was even more gaudy. The grey-furred Felonix knew this and without looking at Oren said, “Very well. But should we win, you will publicly announce that Oren is better than you and will formally hand him your rank in the Great Game.”

That’s ambitious. He’d jump up eleven places and make it into the top twenty.

Wood spoke for him before he could even respond.

“And what’ll it be for us?” demanded the Draconis. “Even if we beat you, Roran will barely get any points for it.”

“Is the adoration of your fans and your return to the Great Game with fanfare not enough?” asked Axter.

Oren clearly wanted something more. The way the Harian tapped his foot impatiently while similarly tapping his arm was evidence of that. Still, he was not a fool and he was going after Roran with the full knowledge that he risked nothing in the process. The gains were incredible but were he to lose, there was little to no impact. He would just disappear for a few months, come back with some other ‘great work’ and tour it across Incendius to increase his fanbase again.

No… This has to stop. I can’t have him hounding my every step.

“That won’t be enough,” he said firmly. “You’ve dogged me and the other smiths over and over in the past few years, constantly challenging us and spreading rumours or scandal for the purposes of elevating your own position and rank. Well I’ve had it.” He made a slicing gesture through the air. “So here’s what we’re going to do.” He jabbed a finger in Oren’s direction. The dark-haired rabbit didn’t flinch. “If you win, you get my place in the Great Game. You jump up a whole eleven ranks. But if I win, you retire from the Great Game. You vacate your spot in the rankings. Go keep making weapons, armour or jewellery for all I care but you will never again compete in the Game.”

Oren’s eyes doubled in size and he shot Axter a fierce look, desperately trying to figure out the calculations spinning in the Felonix’s mind. The grey-haired feline narrowed his sharp, orangey eyes and briefly glanced past Oren to Balrin who looked utterly bored.

“Fine but the competition will not be decided by who wins the best of three rounds.” Axter turned back to Roran. “It will be decided by a panel of Union judges. Standard Game Rules. Whoever obtains the most points out of the three rounds is the clear winner.”

“Fine by me.” Roran strode forward and held out his paw. “Deal?”

Oren threw Axter a dubious look but it only lasted for a few seconds. He strode forward, unwilling to look weak in front of his fans. Their paws clasped around one another and Roran squeezed as hard as he could. Oren had a surprisingly firm grip, a testament to his blacksmithing experience.

“Deal,” rumbled the Harian lazily. “I’ll get Axter to send you the dates.”

“No way,” Alex said, stepping forward. “Not letting you dictate when we will fight.” He held up a finger. “You get one day to decide who your other two representatives are.” Then he held up a second finger. “Another day for us to jointly decide on the venue.” Then he held up his third finger. “And the last day for final preparations. We meet for a fight four days from now.”

Three days. That’s not a lot of time to experiment and create three things that’ll get me a win.

“Agreed,” said Axter. “Four days it is.”

Oren let go of Roran’s paw and lazily turned around, shoving his paws into his pockets and mumbling about needing a bath. The blacksmith went back to his little, wooden throne behind black curtains and the parade turned, bellowing their support for him and marching back down the street. The other citizens on the street began emerging from their homes, looking relieved and watching the procession disappear back towards the city’s core.

Roran turned to his two standing beside him. “Needless to say, you’re both going to help me fight.”

“Yes!” Wood exclaimed loudly, pumping both fists into the air and spreading his wings. “I’ve always wanted to be in a Great Game fight! Oh! Oh! I’ll be your apprentice!”

“Don’t push it,” he growled back. “You accepted the terms of the fight without even thinking. Still, you turned it around well enough.”

Alex was looking confused. “I’m going to need some context here. What’s going to happen? You make something for us, they do the same and then we flash them in front of a panel of judges?”

Roran shook his head sadly. “Not so simple, I’m afraid. I’ll explain…”

Judged fights in the Great Game were heavily regulated. It wasn’t a matter of who won over another fighter as the judges were measuring the value of a blacksmith’s pieces and not the people wielding them. Points were generated from a piece’s durability, usability and appearance. A blacksmith was allowed to enter a total of three pieces per fighter and it was a common tactic to address one of the three criteria per piece as it was hard to make something that looked good also be practical and durable.

“When it comes to judging…” he continued.

“Judges allocate points before, during and after the fight!” Wood chimed in, his tail thrashing excitedly from side to side. “You make a statement first and foremost. It has to be clear, concise and describe what you made with no surprises. The judges actually frown on surprises.”

He knows his stuff.

The Display Stage of the competition was all about making a first impression on the judges and gave them something to measure all else against. Those opening statements were also very important. Misleading statements could cause a severe penalty in points. If a blacksmith boasted that their weapon was unbreakable and then it broke during the fight, then they would lose a lot of points. Modesty also was not rewarded because any ‘hidden abilities’ would consequently be punished as it was not in the statement. So it was very important that during the Display Stage, everything was described perfectly.

“It’s during the Exhibition Stage that we actually pitch our pieces against one another,” Roran continued.

And that was where the bulk of the points were generated. Based on the statement made in the Display Stage, points would be given if the piece met those criteria. A five minute timer started the moment the signal was given and the two fighters would do whatever they could to sabotage the other’s work. Points were deducted every time a blacksmith had to repair the judged object. Since both fighters knew exactly what their opponent’s object was designed to do from the Display Stage, it was up to them to do whatever they could to contradict those statements. They didn’t have to necessarily use their own weapons either. Anything was permitted.

Alex appeared worried. “Sounds like it could get really messy out there.”

“It can get intense,” agreed Roran. “These fights don’t occur often as a result but when they do, they draw a huge crowd. Lots of revenue too.”

The last stage was the Judging Stage where the pieces were each compared by the judges to how they had fared during the Display Stage. The closer they were to the original, the more points they received. Broken or unusable weapons were given zero points. It was basically the last opportunity for a smith to claw back their way to victory.

“There’s a lot of tactics involved as well,” Wood exclaimed brightly. “You could enter a piece that is targeted to win all three stages. A beautiful piece of armour for the Display Stage, a massive weapon for the Exhibition Stage and a piece of jewellery that you’ll never let get hit for the Judging Stage. You’d get points for all three and have a more even spread. Or you could just enter one piece to make sure your focus is more on the single weapon or something and possibly get better points as with three pieces, you have more targets to hit.”

“There’s also the more underhanded tricks where you purposefully enter a piece of shit to prevent the other team from gaining any more points,” Roran grunted. “You don’t lose any points for your weapon or armour breaking at the Judging Stage but if your thing breaks during the Exhibition Stage and you focus entirely on showing off the weaknesses of the other guy, you could prevent them from generating points and even keep some of your own. Stating outright that ‘this thing will break in 30 seconds’ and meeting the criteria will actually get you points for meeting the criteria of your statement. You discard the thing at the very beginning and focus on beating the other guy’s armour while the poor sod can only defend himself because he doesn’t have a target. And yes, hurting or knocking the other fighter unconscious is illegal and costs a lot of points.”

Alex grimaced and rubbed the side of head. “Sounds really complex… But I guess I have three days to learn.” He beamed and placed his paws on his hips. “When do we start, coach?”

Roran liked that nickname and smiled. “Let’s start with getting some raw materials for the Matter Converters. You and Wood grab me some ore. Something cheap that I can convert into something else. I’ve got some designs to perfect. Afterwards, I’m going to need to see your fighting styles better so I can make you something.”

Wood squealed excitedly and was already bounding down the street, eager to start.

The Tigris smith shook his head and sighed. “Not exactly how I wanted to return to the Great Game but I honestly look forward to getting to trounce that gothic, whiney bitch.”

Killer Kane (Kane)

Chilled Fire

The Association was incredibly secretive as was the very nature of their business. Contrary to this, access to their various arenas across the world was fairly easy. The duality of the Association’s existence was that they were clearly illegally hosting pit fights but no one had enough power to stop them. Righteous crusaders had attempted to bring them down but something always made them back down whether it was their superior, the threat of a loved one, manipulation or their own greed.

Still, finding the entrance to the arena came with its challenges. Not just anyone could get to it, after all. They had to earn it. To find the Blood Sun Arena, Kane had to wind his way through the twisting streets of Corona in a particular order, passing the same street five times from different directions until he found a shop that hadn’t been there before on his sixth pass.

Simply named ‘The Association’, the quaint little store appeared like a store selling trinkets and baubles. The old human male sitting at the dusty counter regarded him when he entered with a pleasant smile but with hungry eyes.

“Good evening to you both,” croaked the grey-haired elder. “Late night to be shopping, is it not?”

“Money never sleeps,” Kane responded.

That grin grew even broader. “Indeed. Are you looking for something for yourself or someone else?”

“Just me, thanks.”

The man’s silvery eyes turned to regard JD who was standing quietly beside Kane. “And your associate?”

“A bit of extra security. The streets are dangerous this time of night.”

With a nod of acknowledgement, the elderly storekeeper turned and gestured towards the door behind him. “I see. There are some things that may interested you down here. If you would follow me.”

Kane followed the man with JD shadowing him quietly. They passed into the ‘back’ of the store which featured a small set of stairs leading down into an underground facility. It wasn’t long before the shouts and roars of a hearty crowd began to reach their ears. The smell of booze, sweat and blood wafted in and his heart began to pump, testosterone shooting through his veins.

They emerged into a vast atrium of sorts. Several bars were set up along a wide street. Several men of all ages and species shouted and roared as the vid screens above the bars showed the current fight. None of them were the rich, sophisticated aristocrats that funded the Association. These were the average working male that wanted to unleash the primal beast by watching a blood sport but without actually being involved in a fight themselves. In this way, the Association was open to anyone but with the caveat that no one speak of it to anyone else without the intention of inviting them first. Anyone hoping to dismantle the Association would only find themselves going up against the richest and most powerful individuals in all of Tower Thirteen.

“This is it, gentlemen,” said their host, gesturing towards the bars. “Enjoy yourselves. Refreshments are free for all. Should you require anything, look for anyone with a chain collar around their neck and they will be able to assist. I ask that if you see anyone wearing a mask, please do not engage them. Other than that, you are free to do as you please so long as you do not disrupt the peace.” The man smiled at them wryly. “Save the blood for the arena.”

With that, the man turned and strode back up the stairs to man the shop.

Once he was gone, JD spoke. “I’m honestly surprised there is Havenese technology here.”

“The Association likes to flaunt just how rich and powerful they are compared to everyone else,” Kane said with a shrug. “If anyone tries to stop them, someone will get paid off, blackmailed, threatened, extorted or killed to make that someone stop. That’s just how powerful the Association is.”

He strode forward towards one of the bars, using his bulk to muscle through the men there and catch the bartender’s attention. There was no request for an ID or even money. Just two beers and the bartender slid them two bottles that could only be found on Xaos. Another appeal of the Association – free booze. JD refused, naturally, so Kane happily began consuming both beverages.

The vid screens were showing a fight between a human male and a red-scaled Draconis. It was a ranked match and from the headlines, the male was one of the Association’s Favoured. As their name would suggest, the Favoured were the Association’s top fighters and generally lived lavished lifestyles. They drew in all the crowds and they provided a steady source of income to the Association. Fighters would often pitch themselves against the Favoured in an attempt to usurp their rank and live the life that they enjoyed.

It never ended well as all fights against a Favoured were to the death.

“The Ash Prince,” JD observed softly. “Never thought a Searanti priest would actually abandon his cult and fight for the Association.”

The human, the aforementioned Ash Prince, was a bald-headed, wry man dressed in a loincloth decorated by bones and red feathers. A chest piece consisting only of pauldrons shaped from the same bones and feathers hung from his shoulders. Charms wound by black leather and adorned with red jewellery hung over his grey-skinned flesh which was pained by ornate white decorations. The Prince only held two short wands in either hand, each one made of bleached-white bone with a head that looked like it was shaped like a lion’s maw clutching a red orb.

Kane grinned savagely. He looked forward to crushing the Favoured just as he had crushed the Favoured of Haven. Well, all except one. He didn’t want to be the only champion of the Association on Haven so he purposefully avoided fighting the lowest ranked Favoured. It drove the fans and the Association into a frenzy. On paper, he was a Favoured but he refused to act like it or even take the rank. He just enjoyed utterly humiliating the Association, taking their money and leaving the guy who clearly could not stand a chance against him to wallow at the bottom of the rung.

“That’s just how powerful the Association is,” he said. “They can buy off anyone.”

“Except you.”

He turned that grin down to his ‘cousin’. “You know me better than anyone, cus.”

Both the Ash Prince and his opponent were accompanied by one other person. It was a rule in the bouts that any challenger could bring as many people as they wanted into the fight but the Favoured would get an equal number of supporters as well. Kane grinned at the memory of some of the more epic fights involving at least a hundred people on each side. It was a massacre. One of the reasons why he went into fights alone, however, were that the Favoured had specially trained apprentices. Those wanting to be just like the Favoured would train under said Favoured – for a substantial fee, of course – and thus generate more revenue for the Association. Those same apprentices may one day be encouraged to challenge the Favoured. If they won, it would be one hell of a fight, the Association gets a new Favoured and there would be more money generated. If they lost, there would still be a profit.

Another reason why the Association hated Kane. He killed Favoured without ever taking their place.

The fight was growing intense with the Draconis seemingly gaining the upper hand. He and his fellow fighter charged, their bodies becoming encased in a shell of searing fire. The Ash Prince immediately seized his apprentice and hurled him right in front of the two charging fireballs. The collisions caused an immense burst of flame and the poor lackey being reduced into a pile of scattered embers.

A smile crossed the Ash Prince’s large, full lips. He waved his wands in the air and that same pile of ash suddenly sprung up. Like a swarm of angry flies, the cloud of ash rocketed towards the two fighters, instantly shoving themselves down the throats of both the Draconis and his companion. Both men were forced into a grinding halt, their fiery auras dying as they struggled to breathe. Within moments, they were collapsing to the ground, desperately gasping for air and convulsing while coughing out ash.

The battle was over the instant they stopped moving.

“Same as ever,” JD mumbled. “No regard for the value of life.”

“That’s something coming from an assassin,” Kane chuckled softly. He finished off one of his beers and tossed it aside into one of the many garbage bins. “So what’s your gauge of the guy?”

JD cocked his head to the side slightly. “He’s a showman. Never had any intention to keep that apprentice of his around. Searanti use Ashland Arts which is based entirely around the presence of ash. Given that there was none of that around, he either had some way of burning someone to ash or was fully expecting to sacrifice his apprentice. Still, he kept the poor guy around until the very end just to make people think he’s losing just so that he could turn it around in the end.”

“So a cocky bitch.” Kane shrugged his mighty shoulders and began wandering the rest of the atrium, his cousin right beside him. “What else?”

“Likely comes from being in a position of power back amongst the Searanti. Now that he’s been exposed to the vices outside of their cloistered cult, he’s experiencing all the excesses that he can possibly get his hands on.”

Kane briefly narrowed his gaze at his cousin, his grin fading for the briefest flicker.

Kind of like you, eh cuz? What’ll happen when the damn finally breaks on all that control you have? What kind of man will you be if someone you care about dies in front of you?

He hated to admit that he saw three possible scenarios. The first was the Red Lightning becoming the greatest threat to all life, a hollow unfeeling killer. Then the second was no better with the Champion of Time becoming a broken, depressed boy that finally acted his age and gave his heart time to bleed. The last depended on whether or not anyone could warm his cold heart and Jack Denver Clarke would finally embrace death and walk side by side with it instead of fending it off and directing its fatal touch to those that he saw as enemies instead of those that he cared for.

“Deny a man something for the majority of his life, give him a taste and he will crave it until he dies,” Kane stated, turning back to the screen where the Ash Prince was languishing in the victory he had just secured. “What about his capabilities? I note that despite the match timer going for over an hour, he hasn’t got a single injury on him.”

“I’ll have to see more of his matches before I can actually measure his strength,” replied the Red Lightning. “But from what little I can see, he’s at least a 6-Nihilist.”

The Trovsky Scale. Anyone that’s a 7 or higher that’s a Nihilist, Demon or Vigilante are heavily monitored by the military. The Association probably keeps his rating subdued. I highly doubt that a Searanti priest would be allowed to walk anywhere in Corona.

“Still fairly dangerous,” Kane surmised. “Gonna have to keep an eye on him.”

The Ash Prince headed out of the blooded arena as robots quickly came sweeping in to clean up the mess An announcer went on to explain that the next fighter came to them all the way from Haven so it was only fitting that they pitch a worldly fighter of theirs that had recently returned from the Station of the Goddess. The challenger brought with him two others. A big, burly Tortasian with his shell painted gold. All three of them were Tortasians and built like tanks.

Then the Favoured stepped in.

Kane visibly gagged and he sensed JD tense beside him. The Racoorin’s features were all too familiar even though her hair was now completely white and shaved down on her left side leaving her with the appearance of a one-sided Mohawk. The right side of her scalp had been completely shaved off, even down to the fur leaving bare, pink skin with visible circuitry cutting through her flesh. Though it had only been two weeks since they had last seen her in a pitiable state of being mostly charred, she was looking better than ever. Wearing a pair of tight-fitting, red hexweave pants and an alabaster and crimson hexweave blouse that showed off her muscled midriff, she had the appearance of a woman who embodied more values of masculinity than most men Kane knew. Curiously, her tail was entirely white save for the black rings around it. Were it not for her pointed, triangular features, Kane could’ve mistaken her for a Lemurian instead of a Racoorin. The rest of her fur remained the grey that she had born with.

“She’s definitely had some work done,” JD muttered dryly. “One week after being charred black by Gae Bolg and now she’s fighting for the Association as the ‘Fiery Fist’. Hardly an original name.”

To become a Favoured in two weeks is very impressive. To fit in recovery from my attack and then whatever she underwent is even more impressive.

“I wonder what she can do…” mused Kane. “Her problem had always been controlling the flow of energy. She had great reserves but expended way too much of it even while standing still. It wasn’t her technique so much as it was her approach.”

Go for the big, flashy moves that while it’ll hurt, there would be more tactically sound attacks to make.

The announcer gave the fighters the green light. Sylana didn’t waste any second and immediately threw her head back, letting out a fierce cry. Red, ethereal flames erupted from her body, signalling her immediate use of Fusion Style. Her two compatriots were shocked at the sudden transformation especially when she raced forward and began assaulting her Tortasian opponents. As was the norm amongst Tortasians, they ducked inside of their shells, their natural magic erecting barriers around themselves so that even as Sylana’s fiery punches struck them, little to no damage was done. Meteorites came crashing down from the air, summoned by Sylana’s magic. Kane noted that the edges of the flames were tinged with silver.

She’s been enhanced.

“The Association did nothing to temper her penchant for using excessive attacks,” JD analysed. “They encouraged it.”

That’s right. They just gave her more power to expend. That must be what some of her cybernetics are for.

It made for a grand spectacle. As the seconds ticked by and Sylana pounded the admirable defences of the all-Tortasian team, the betting started veer away from her and favouring the challengers. But there was no sign of her slowing down like she did when she faced Rayne. Her fists just kept pounding the defences repeatedly, blasts of flame erupting from every impact and sweeping across the circular arena. She was grinning the entire time. As the vid focused on her expression, there wasn’t a single sign of exhaustion on her features even as she continued mercilessly, showing little variation in her techniques.

Then the first crack appeared.

The ethereal, golden barriers protecting the Tortasians began to waver. In a typical ‘Trinity Formation’, the reptiles reinforced one another with their triangular positioning. Clearly they know who they were up against and hoped that by using a tried and true method of defence, they could exhaust her. That was a fatal mistake as the faintest fracture appeared against the gold barrier and a flicker of flame leaked through the crack.

Sylana was winning.

What did the Association do to her to give her this kind of durability?

“She’s got to at least be a 7 or 8 on to Trovsky Scale,” JD whispered. His features were still, unreadable. When he was passive and his features became a mask that he was at his most focused. Kane could usually tell if his cousin was taking a fight seriously by his eyes. If the laser-like intensity was gone, no matter how he acted or what he said, then he was fully invested in what was happening.

Kane looked back to the fight, watching as Sylana’s features grew more and more frenzied with each punch. The crack along the Tortasians’ shields grew more and more and they were physically backing away. “More like a 9 or 10. She’s toying with them. Punishing them for thinking they could wear her out. She’s just punching and using Meteor Fist over and over again. If it were me, I’d launch them into the air. Trinity Formation is useless unless it’s maintained. Hit the ground, cause them to lose their footing. Reposition them. That’d be easier.”

“But she’s not going for easy, is she? She’s not even going for showmanship. All she’s doing is…”

“Humiliating them.”

Just like how I humiliated her, Kane thought. I’m going to enjoy my fight with her.

His eyes switched to the betting number and predictably, they were stalled. More manipulation by the Association. They wanted people to think that Sylana was going to tire out but cast some doubt on the Tortasians as well with their defences cracking. The numbers were still against the Racoorin and people were changing their bets, paying the fines to do so.

Any moment now, Sylana is going to unleash a ‘grand finisher’ and crush the Tortasians quickly. The Association will get all the money.

Just as he predicted, one of Sylana’s punches pierced the magical barrier. She opened her fingers and a torrent of flames erupted from her fingertips. Fire engulfed the interior of the Tortasians’ dome, cooking them alive. Kane could almost hear their screams of agony. Their barrier fell just in time for one of Sylana’s meteorites to come crashing down and squash the tortoises where they stood. There was even a burst of splattered blood to show for the impact.

“Well that was something,” Kane grunted. “She’s going to be fun to fight.”

His cousin was silent and when he glanced down to the smaller Wulfun, JD was gone. Though he really shouldn’t have been surprised, he still had a moment of shock at his cousin’s disappearance. At the very least, he was not at all worried. JD was fully capable of taking care of himself and was likely scouting out the competition.

Knowing they would meet up against later, Kane grabbed one more beer to go before leaving through the same storefront. The elderly man saw him out the door while handing him a small paper pamphlet to tell him when the Blood Sun Arena would be open next. He took it despite knowing full well that the next time he entered the Arena, it would not be as a mere spectator.

Perhaps it was the booze but he was feeling rather mellow. Both Sylana and the Ash Prince were formidable foes and had their differing tactics but he was not at all worried about them. The Association was likely wise to his tactics and that was why they were taking so long to process his application. They knew that he would likely take a lot of their money from them just for the sheer thrill of it. No doubt they were already plotting ways to undermine him. A reason he was glad JD was scouting for him.

He glanced up towards the Sun Spire. The glow from the tower was fading, leaving the sky a soft, gently grey. This was their version of ‘sunset’ and the people on the streets were already heading indoors. Unlike Haven when this was the moment when the nightlife would begin, the streets were quickly growing quiet in Corona at least in the market places. His keen ears picked up a few people in nearby taverns making noise and decided that he needed more to drink before settling in for the night.

The big, black Ursus roved the streets, checking the taverns for anything that interested him. First he passed a place with a lot of people and there was a whole ensemble of bards and musicians singing inside, enticing the patrons to join in.

Too mainstream.

Several blocks away from the city’s centre and he found another tavern that was quieter but looked like it doubled as an inn. The mood was incredibly sombre and he noted that there were quite a few members of the red-armoured Custodia Solis there.

No way I’m getting close to any armed forces. Too depressing.

Further away still and getting close to the city’s outer walls, he found what appeared to be the Incendian equivalent of a dive bar. It was a dusty, two-storey place squashed between a store and a warehouse. It appeared like someone had just stuck the establishment there to fill a gap between two others.

My kind of place.

As he padded towards it, he caught a glimmer of green from the corner of his eye. Wood Bladebreaker was emerging from a nearby alleyway carrying a long piece of parchment and hefting a heavy backpack behind him.

Now what’s he doing out and about at this hour? A goody-goody like him should’ve been back at the Godslayer by now.

“Wood!” he announced, waving a paw.

The Fallen Draconis turned to him and smiled thinly. “Hey Kane. What’re you doing out here?”

“Whatever I want,” he answered, shuffling forward with a shrug. “What about you? Shouldn’t you have a chaperone with you?”

“I’m actually with Alex.” Wood gestured at the parchment. “I’m working with Roran on some things for his upcoming match with Oren Baltherview.”

Huh… I didn’t expect Roran to pitch a fight with his ‘rival’ so soon. Especially since he’s still getting used to those Havenese Matter Converters. Guess it makes sense to have Wood around since he’s an expert with them.

“And he has to running errands?” Kane asked, snagging the list from Wood’s hands. “And what the hell is a ‘Crimson Cardamille’?”

Wood snatched the parchment back. “It’s a flower that grows only on Incendius around Corona. Roran has seen pictures and vids of it but he wants to actually see one to inspire his designs.”

“Sounds like he’s being like one of those art students that needs to ‘experience’ the world.” Shrugging, he said, “Can’t say I blame him. It’s better to be out there than cooped up in a place anyway.” Kane glanced towards the seedy tavern. “Why don’t you take a break and grab a beer with me.” He eyed Wood cautiously. “You are legal, right?”

“More so than you,” rumbled the Draconis defensively. “Aren’t you JD’s age?”

“A few months older than him, actually so yes, I’m legally allowed to drink.” He winked slyly. “But I’ve been tasting booze since I was fifteen. Come on. My treat.”

“Why?”

Man he’s suspicious.

He swung a thick arm around Wood’s shoulders and leaned on him lightly. “Primarily because I don’t want to drink alone. Secondly because I just got back from an Association fight and my blood is pumping to punch someone. It pays to have a wingman when you get into a fight. Oh and because I’m thirsty but that’s at the bottom of the list.”

Wood threw him an incredulous look. Kane hadn’t really been aiming for a fight. Though he trusted his cousin not to get in trouble, if JD did need help, he wanted to be sober enough to rush to his rescue if needed. He just threw the Association line in there because he knew it would piss off Wood.

“You fought in an Association match!?”

“Just observed. Sylana was there.”

That caught the Green Draconis off guard and he took a step back, slipping away from Kane’s arm. “Sylana? As in that Sylana.”

“Yep,” he responded with a pop of his lips on the ‘p’. “Seems she’s got some enhancements too. When full on Fusion Style and maintained a ferocious assault on three Tortasians using Trinity Formation for a whole fifteen minutes without breaking a sweat.” By the glazed look on the dragon’s features, he realised that Wood wasn’t exactly that well-versed when it came to combat techniques.

I should’ve guessed that when he asked me what kind of styles there were in sign combat.

“Suffice to say she’s stronger than ever,” he concluded. “I’ll tell you more about it over a drink. You interested?”

Wood was clearly torn and he quickly glanced down at his list. No matter how lawful good the dragon may have considered himself, he had switched more to a neutral good stance now that he had Fallen.

At least he’s embracing his more carnal desires.

“Alright. But you’ve got to tell me more about Sylana.”

Clearly there was a spark of ambition and perhaps even selfish desire in his eyes. Did he want to spring this surprise news on JD and earn some brownie points? Or was he going to report it to Rayne and Alex to earn himself some bits of redemption in their eyes? A greedy wish but at least he wasn’t preaching some holy mantra under the Church.

“Then follow me,” Kane said, cheerily striding towards the bar. Still with his duffel bag around his shoulder, he burst through the door. Though he did not expect much fanfare, he was still greeted with a few grunts and baleful stares from the few inhabitants of the tavern. Wood visibly grimaced at the mouldy roof, creaking seats and wooden floors with so many balls of dust it might as well have been a desert.

He strode up to the bar where the barkeep was wiping down a dirty mug.

“What do you want?” growled the portly, balding human.

“Just some beer, thanks.”

“No beer. Ale.”

“Then some of that.”

Wood sat down on the stool beside him with a barely hidden scowl. “That’s pleasant.”

“You can’t exactly expect all the finery and expensive alcohol you gold-bloods get up in Strato-Haven,” Kane taunted. He made a gesture of sipping tea complete with an extended pinkie.

“Hey, I can and will drink anything,” countered Wood with a snarl.

“Really now?” A mischievous thought crossed Kane’s mind. “Hey old man,” he said, turning towards the barkeep. “Got any Lupus Chilled Fire?”

The barkeep gave him a startled look but only responded with a short, “Yup.”

“Two of those, thanks.”

Ignorant as ever, Wood said, “What’s Lupus Chilled Fire?”

“Incendian specialty,” Kane answered vaguely. “Made by the Custodia Lupus. Got a real kick to it. Burns a bit but will keep you nice and warm.”

“Whatever.” Wood slammed a fist against the grubby bar. “Tell me about Sylana.”

The Draconis was certainly focused and that was admirable. Very driven. Though that very drive was what got him to turn his back on his friends and betray them for a ‘higher cause’. No one escaped their sins and Wood still held his by his hip without ever drawing it.

It was something that he admired about his cousin. JD weaponised his sin. The blades that had taken so many lives mercilessly, ended so many futures and could brutally rob anyone of magic and leave them to die slowly were wielded with pride and no remorse. If the Demon King were ever foolish enough to give the Red Lightning a Valour, it would likely turn into a Sin instantaneously.

Wood was staring at him so he surmised what he had seen down at the Blood Sun Arena. Everything from Sylana’s altered appearance, her clear cybernetic enhancements and the outrageous endurance she possessed to maintain Fusion Style for so long.

“Admittedly she didn’t execute anything that was extremely costly but Meteor Fist is still pretty expensive,” he concluded. “I counted at least a hundred and thirty-eight uses. She didn’t even break a sweat afterwards.”

“Mother Goddess…” Wood grimaced. “What have they got her on?”

Kane decided not to mention that JD was likely trying to figure that out as they spoke. “I don’t know.” He grinned savagely as the barkeep returned with two, dark mugs. It was impossible to tell what was in the mugs but he knew that Lupus Chilled Fire was meant to be blue and look like it had flickering flames inside. In those mugs, it just looked like some greenish-black liquid.

“But I’m going to find out,” he finished, plucking the mug off the bar. He lifted it towards Wood in a toast. “To the great unknown and whatever the fuck comes after.”

Wood gave him an exasperated but amused smile and picked up his own mug. “You are utterly psychotic.”

“Neutral evil, baby!” Their mugs collided in a light toast and they immediately poured the brew down their muzzles. The moment it got within an inch of his tongue, he could already feel the terrible burning sensation that it brought. If fire could be liquefied, Chilled Fire came very close. The sensation was fleeting, however, as the searing heat quickly came with a soothing cool. With the way paved by a scorching inferno, his raw tongue and throat were left with a pleasant, tingling sensation from the following coolness. It settled down in his stomach, first burning and then radiating a soothing, calming chill that turned his thick, muscled limbs to rubber.

“Wow! That’s got one hell of a kick!” he laughed heartily. “What do you think, Wood?”

He blinked and realised that the green blob in front of him wasn’t the emerald-scaled Draconis that he had been sitting next to. In fact, he wasn’t even sitting anymore. Confusion was quickly replaced with mild surprise as his vision began to unblur. By far not the first time he had blacked out drunk, he was surprised that he of all people had actually gotten so drunk that he suddenly found himself in a wooden bathtub staring at an enormous, green, mouldy patch in the ceiling from one drink.

Feeling started to return to his limbs in that awful pins and needles way. He shook his paws to get the dead rubbery feeling out of them and slowly propped himself up. A faint wetness pressed against his chest and he glanced down at the rather numerous wet splotches on his chest marred by some bits of thick, sticky, white goo. Little surprise that his camouflage pants were wrapped around his ankles and his thick, eleven-inch furry dick was standing at half-mast.

Unlike his cousin who had a pure canine dick, the Fens had a bit of human in them. That resulted in some part soft their anatomy being a little more human than most of their species. Ursus normally had long, tapering, cocks but Kane and his father benefitted from having a more human-shaped member complete with a foreskin. The flesh along the length of his cock was jet-black just like his fur but his cock itself was a bright red. It made for a nice icebreaker when he was in bed with someone and if they weren’t already intrigued by his confidence, complete disregard for personal space and rippling muscled, then his dick would usually do the trick for him. Exotic dicks got all the chicks. Or pricks. Whichever was available.

Speaking of pricks…

He grimaced and seized the side of his head. “Ow… internal monologues hurt.”

Still fighting off the effects of the Chilled Fire, Kane pulled himself out of the primitive, wooden tub. Somehow, he had made it into an inn complete with an en suite. Not too bad but he distinctly remembered not carry that much cash on him predominantly because the denominations on Incendius were measured in metal gears and cogs for some reason and could be rather heavy.

Pulling his pants back up and stuffing his dick back into the jockstrap he always wore – only because it was easier for non-humans with tails – he checked the room for his ever-present duffel bag. Much to his relief, it was nearby and nothing seemed out of place. A quick glance out the window revealed that it was still very much evening as the Sun Spire had darkened even more than it had last time he was conscious. Unless, of course, he was out for an entire day then he would be really impressed by the Chilled Fire.

There was a single door out of the small bathroom which was barely large enough to fit him and the tub. Still a little shaky on his feet, he took a moment to lean against the tub and close his eyes. He pressed his paws together almost like he was praying and blocked out all other distractions. Air rushed into his lungs with a single, deep breath. A gentle heat rose up between his paws and within his gut. When he exhaled, that heat was drawn up from his clasped paws, up his arms over his shoulders and into his skull. Similarly, his chest contracted, pushing the heat from his gut down his legs and throughout the rest of his body.

When he next opened his eyes, his mind was clear. The remnants of the alcohol’s effects was gone and the mild headache that came from mild dehydration was gone. Once again fully in control of his limbs, he once again attempted to go to the door and was unhindered by any inebriation. The wooden frame creaked like a banshee but that didn’t keep the inhabitant of the adjacent room from continuing his slumber.

Awww, he’s cute when he’s asleep, Kane mused mockingly.

Sprawled on top of a hay mattress and what looked like a very itchy blanket was Wood. The Draconis was a little too big for the bed and one of his legs hung off its side while the other stretched past the foot of the bed. One arm was draped over his eyes and the other was slung over the headrest. Wood snored loudly, his tongue hanging out past his half-open muzzle.

Using the same technique as before, Kane cleared his mind once more and tried to recall what had happened.

The mind may forget but the body remembers.

The tingle of alcohol was still down his throat and he guessed that after the Chilled Fire, he might’ve had a little more to drink. There was a faint smell of metal on his paws and it was the coppery metallic smell of Incendian currency. A slight bulge on his right pants leg revealed a small pouch that smelled of Wood – likely how he had paid for the room. The Draconis’ scent was all over him but given that he had orgasmed in the tub and not anywhere near the dragon, he only assumed that he had set down JD’s bodyguard in the bed before pleasuring himself. Wood was also free of any signs of masturbation but still reeked of alcohol so the Chilled Fire must’ve knocked him out immediately.

Releasing his stance, Kane returned to the bathroom and picked up a bucket that would’ve been used to fill the tub. A nearby manual water pump was available but the liquid was foul and murky. That didn’t really matter as he filled the bucket to halfway and carried it back to the bedroom where Wood slumbered. He flung the bucket’s contents at the Draconis with little fanfare.

The cold water immediately snapped Wood awake and the dragon sat straight up, spluttering and letting out a loud cry.

“Yeow! What the –!?” He caught sight of Kane. “Kane!? What the hell!?”

“Time to get up, pretty boy,” he said, hiking a thumb towards the door. “Not sure what time it is but we’re definitely out past curfew and Alex and Roran are probably looking for you. Probably.”

Wood sat dripping wet for three entire minutes, just trying to collect his thoughts. In the meantime, Kane reached into his duffel bag and plucked out a few pairs of spare clothing which he tossed to the Draconis.

“What happened?” asked Bladebreaker while holding out the overly large shirt and shorts.

“We drank ourselves stupid, that’s what. I paid for the room, carried you up here and I guess we tried to sleep it off. Not the best decision given how our chaperones might try to scour all of Incendius for us. Which is why we’re going to get up, grab another drink for the road at a different inn and then head back.” He plucked the pouch in his pocket and tossed it to Wood. “Thanks by the way.”

Wood regarded the pouch with a frown. “This isn’t mine.”

Kane straightened and frowned. “Huh. So not only did I manage to get you up here and tuck you in but I either won that or pickpocketed someone.” Grinning to himself, he zipped up his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Damn, I’m awesome.”

“You are absolutely insane,” Wood mumbled, stripping off his wet clothing. “Did you even try to shake me awake first? Did you have to go straight for the water bucket cliché?”

From the corner of his eye, Kane watched the hunky dragon pull off his wet shirt. While nowhere near as big as him, Wood certainly had the definition of a gold-blooded Havenese man with too much time on his hands to workout. The magic-centric society of Haven provided even the worker with a 9-to-5 job with several avenues to hone and craft their bodies. With a lot of automation as well and free access to magical knowledge, people had countless avenues on how to sculpt their forms into the ‘ideal shape’.

For the most part, Wood certainly had a good body. The hard emerald scales bent to the curves of his muscled frame while the softer yellow scales on his belly were offset by just how rigid and firm his abdominals and pectorals looked. Curiously, there was a little tuft of gold-blond hair wedged between Wood’s pecs. Armpit hair was the same colour giving the Draconis a nice contrast of soft and hard, green and yellow. In many ways, he understood why all those magazines considered him one of the most eligible bachelors of Haven.

Since he hadn’t been soaked from the waist down, Wood kept his pants on much to Kane’s voyeuristic disappointment. The shorts were tossed back in his direction and he threw them back into his duffel bag.

“Just how much do you keep in that bag anyway?” Wood asked.

“It’s a planar portal,” answered the Ursus, making his way to the door. “I’ve got some personal storage on Haven that I’ve got my shit in. The bag just lets me reach in, pick it up and bring it out.” He pushed open the door and was surprised to find himself in a hallway filled with similar rooms. Glancing left to right, he could’ve sworn that dive bar he had gone to wasn’t this big.

With him in the lead, he headed down to the first floor which consisted of a tavern. It was definitely not the same bar as before. It was cleaner, busier and the barkeep wasn’t a balding human male. She was dressed in black leather and had a whip hanging from her hip.

“Huh… So not only did I do all that stuff from before but I somehow got us up here. Nice.”

The barkeep saw them and grinned broadly. “And there’s our Champion!”

“Come again?” Wood asked.

She scowled at him. “Not you.” Her smile turned to Kane. “Our Arm-Wrestling Champion returns!”

That explains the pouch of money.

Right behind the barkeep was a large, wooden scoreboard. At least twenty other names were there but at the very top, scrawled in what had to be Kane’s drunken handwriting was the name ‘Fen’.

So I got drunk, carried Wood here, arm wrestled my way to the top of a local tavern ladder, bought a room and still managed to get off?

Damn, I’m awesome.

“How about a round for everyone?” Kane bellowed, snatching the pouch from Wood and tossing it to the woman barkeep. There was a resounding cheer from about the two dozen patrons as beers were quickly distributed by the staff. Kane headed over to the bar with Wood a short distance behind. He sat down on the stool just as a full mug of ale was slid over to him by the busty barkeep. Wood received one as well even though the Draconis regarded it with great trepidation.

“Back for more, eh?” laughed the leather-clad woman. “Sorry to say but we don’t have any more challengers for you. I think everyone has had enough of your arm tonight.” She nodded a little behind him. “Not to mention my furniture.”

A quick glance over his shoulder revealed a heavy wooden table had been split in two. Pride swelled in his mighty chest but he forced it down for the briefest of moments to quickly take up his meditative position. Another quick breath and he distinctly remembered the splinters that had gotten caught in his fur from slamming an opponent’s arm so hard into the table that the wood shattered right down the middle.

“Just here to slake my thirst before we head out,” Kane said with a prideful grin.

“Really? You paid for the room. You’ve only been up there an hour or two.” She glanced towards Wood with one eyebrow lifted. “Then again, I don’t know very many men who would actually buy his one-night stand a drink afterwards.”

Wood visible bristled, his wings shaking around him and his tail going rigid like a blade. “W – W – what!? Me and him!? Never! We didn’t –!” He cast a horrified look at Kane. “Did we!?”

Kane smugly pointed at the splatters of cum on his shirt. “Unless this is yours then no. Actually, let me check.” He an edge of the shirt towards him and licked up one of the stains. “Nope. It’s mine.” Not that he could really tell by the taste but he could tell that Wood was easily squelched by the gesture.

“I’m going to take that drink now,” rumbled the Draconis, pulling the mug towards himself. He took a sip from it and then grimaced. “Urgh… It tastes like rancid milk!”

The barkeep leaned against the bar she was wiping, smirking confidently. “You never said what kind of drink you were buying everyone so I just went with the cheapest there is. If you’re feeling more generous…” She rubbed her fingers together. “You’re going to have to pony up some more cogs.”

“Fine.” Wood reached for the back of his pants where he retrieved a wallet filled with some golden gears and deposited it on the table. “What’ll this get me?”

The woman lifted an eyebrow. “Enough for you and your friend here to get a shot of my most expensive drinks each.”

Kane’s rounded ears perked up at that thought. “We’ll get that!”

Wood gave him an exasperated look. “Really? We just woke up from being so shit-faced that we don’t even remember how we got here.”

“You mean you don’t remember how you got here,” he lied. “I recall all the details perfectly. You’re just a lightweight.”

“Lightweight!?” bellowed the green-scaled dragon, his huge, leathery wings ruffling in frustration. He pulled out more cogs and slammed it onto the bar. “Make it a double for the both of us!”

Kane threw his head back, letting out a hearty laugh. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” He reached over and patted the dragon’s broad shoulder cheerily. “Get those animal instincts out there, bro! You’re a fucking dragon! Top of the food chain! Take what you want! Pillage a down. Burn the king and take his gold! Kidnap the princess!”

Folding his wings back the Draconis crossed his arms firmly against his chest. Their host had set up ten shot glasses along the table and poured them a double of the promised brew. Kane noticed that one of them was at least a sizzling, blue that looked a lot like Lupus Chilled Fire.

“Some of us don’t just act on impulse, Kane,” growled the muscled, blonde dragon.

“Why not?” Kane spread his thick arms, gesturing at the tavern around them. “Haven’t you had a blast tonight?”

“I can’t even remember half of tonight except for the fact that I’m out past curfew and my chaperones are probably worried sick about me!”

The bartender froze and shoot Wood a suspicious look.

“He’s legal,” assured Kane. “We’re both from Pinnacle and you know how they’re really stuffy about rules.”

She took that at his word and continued to pour.

Turning back to Wood, the burly, brown-eyed Ursus said, “Look man, you know what happens when you bottle up all your impulses. Why are you so uptight all the time? You afraid that if you let go a little, you’ll lose control or some shit?”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.” Wood picked up the first of the glasses and regarded the gentle, clear liquid with some hesitation. He sniffed it first before downing it entirely. A shudder ran down his spine but he didn’t pass out. It seemed he did have some endurance after all. “I lost myself to the inner beast once and it almost led to disaster. If it weren’t for… for JD then I know I would’ve regretted every second of my life.”

Kane could only imagine what had happened in the depths of The Machine. He had only entered Haamiah’s realm once and it had been during the Fall when JD had taken him there as a confidant. Not even Alex had been to The Machine and Kane doubted the Silver Sniper knew the entirety of his son’s story. Dealing with the Gods of Tower Thirteen was far beyond his meagre understanding but he would always be there to support his cousin. Upon learning that JD was once again on the move, he had to get involved. Wood was going to be a permanent fixture in the team but if he was going to continuously doubt himself, restraint his powers and put limiters on his abilities, it would only lead to heartbreak and pain later.

“Listen to me,” the said gravely, picking up his own shot glass. “In battle, you can’t play around. You can’t hold back. You’ve got to give it your all from the get-go. People will say that you should never show your hand at the very start but that’s bullshit.” He downed the drink, felt it burn on the way down. “You only get once chance at killing a man. If you don’t take it, it’s gone. You only get one life as well. If you waste it trying to be some saint, you’ll end up looking back at what you’ve done and ask yourself why the fuck no one ever did the same for you.”

The look on Wood’s face was strangely… pitying. “You’ve had it rough, haven’t you Kane?”

Damnit. That didn’t turn out the way I wanted.

He slammed the shot glass down and picked up another. “Kicked out of the military. Overbearing dad. Dead mother. Usual shit.” This drink was a little stronger but had a cinnamon-like aftertaste that left his throat feeling a little dry. “My point is, life is too short. Hold yourself back. Do whatever the fuck you want but if you endanger my cousin because you’re too much of a pussy to be everything you can be, then you can bet I’ll rip you from whatever underworld you go to, beat the shit out of you, eat your fucking face and shit you back into a demon’s throat.”

“That’s graphic…” muttered Wood bitterly.

“JD and I have something in common. We protect those we care about even to a fault but where he’s all about self-sacrifice, I’m about preventing the damage before it has a chance to lift its sword.” He threw Wood a threatening stare. “It’s why he and I make such an awesome team.”

Wood looked sullenly down at his empty shot glass. Few times in his life had Kane ever felt regret and he wasn’t about to feel any remorse from Wood Bladebreaker of all people. As a being who preached seizing life with every opportunity, however, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to at least get what he wanted out of Wood.

“Look,” he said, “you’ll get a chance to prove yourself. Some people will take more convincing. But the one person you’ve got to satisfy is yourself.”

The barkeep had wandered away to see to another customer leaving Wood and Kane mostly alone.

“What about God?” rumbled the green-scaled Draconis softly. “You know He exists. The Demon King tried to oust him from the Machine and cast him into eternal imprisonment. Don’t you think you need to prove something to Him?”

Kane snorted derisively. “Haamiah will be the first one to tell you that you don’t need to do shit for him to get some reward in the afterlife. He doesn’t fucking care. He watches us like a goddamn voyeur and is playing the long con. He wants something alright. He’s got a ‘Grand Plan’ for us all. You’re not going to satisfy someone who expects something from you.”

He set down his duffel bag on the bar, careful not to knock down any of the shot glasses. “So here’s what we’re going to do. You don’t have to do this for me but I would appreciate it if you did. That makes you decent in my book.” Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a familiar looking wooden shaft with a squat, square, metal frame at the end. “I need you to make this into a serviceable weapon.”

Wood squinted at the object and when his eyes settled on the golden letters that spelled out ‘King’ on the side he reeled back in shock. “Is that Skye’s mailbox!?”

Kane regarded the pilfered lawn ornament with a smirk. “I thought I’d teach his parents a little lesson. It distracted them from his new ink and he got to slip away a bit. I’m pretty sure he’s got some ammunition to get them off his back. Just mention ‘that Kane kid’ and suddenly they’ll rant and rave about how I’m a bad influence, I’m making him do all this crazy shit, blah-blah-fuck-fuck-tits-cock-penis. All that stuff.”

The look Wood gave him was odd. It was almost… wistful. “What?”

“You and JD aren’t all that different,” sighed the Draconis, picking up another shot and downing it. He pulled the mailbox from Kane’s paws and regarded it with a partially dazed expression. “I’m going to have to replace the wood with something more serviceable. You want to keep it wooden or would you prefer I make it out of metal and give it a wooden finish.”

“Whatever you want, bro. You’re the smith. Not me.”

“I’ll figure something out.” Wood turned the mailbox over. “Maybe I’ll attach rockets to it.”

“A rocket-powered mailbox, huh?” Kane snickered, drinking down one of the shots. “If the mailman doesn’t come to you…”

“… send your mailbox to fetch him,” laughed the mostly drunken dragon. “Aw shit! I should add some kinetic absorbers to this thing!”

Even though he was feeling the buzz of inebriation again, Kane still knew that kinetic absorbers were used to cushion physical blows. Something like that wouldn’t make for a good weapon. “It’s a weapon I want to hit people with not a shield.”

“That’s the thing!” exclaimed the burly dragon, waving the mailbox around wildly and nearly hitting a waitress. “If I stick rockets on, it’ll be like a rocket-powered hammer! Then with the absorbers, you get more power from the impact! Maybe I’ll add a burst discharger on it so that you can unleash the pent up energy in a circular explosion!”

Kane picked up another shot glass and held it up. “Shit bro. Go for it! I wanna see what it’s like to hit something with that!” He downed the drink, finding it rather difficult to keep his eyes open. “Oh fuck. I just thought of something.”

“Fuck it if this is illegal!” Wood said. “I wanna make a rocket-powered-mailbox-hammer!”

“No! Bro!” He gripped the dragon’s shoulders tightly. “I just came up with a kickass name for the thing!” He pulled in close so that he was almost nose to nose with Wood, the dragon’s alcoholic breath wafting into his nostrils. “Kingmaker.”

Wood’s eyes widened. “No! No! We call it Kingkiller!”

“Dude!” Kane’s own eyes doubled in size and Wood came into focus again. “Duuuuuude!” He pressed his forehead against Wood’s more as an attempt to stabilise himself than anything else. “Regicide.”

The alcohol was starting to kick in. He wasn’t sure how many shots he’d had exactly or in what order he had them but his vision was starting to severely blur. Trying to focus again was becoming difficult given he could barely control his limbs. In an attempt to keep himself from toppling over, he locked gazes with Wood’s cornflower blue eyes, making them the focal point of his vision.

“Bro… we are so drunk…” he mumbled. “We should do something! Something you would never do if you were sober.”

Wood giggled, not at all minding that they were pressing their heads against one another and were ridiculously close. “This is stupid… But you know what? You only live once, right?”

“Exactly! What do you wanna do? Right now. No thinking. Just do it.”

For the briefest of moments, Wood’s eyes wandered away and his gaze locked onto the remaining shot glasses. He immediately broke free of Kane’s grasp and grabbed two of the glasses. One a second of hesitation before he tilted his head back and downed them both in one swing. Even before he had swallowed, he had set the glasses down and grabbed another two.

Whooo boy! I like impulsive Wood!

“Consume!” Kane bellowed, pounding the bar with his fist. “Go! Go! Go!”

One after the other, Wood downed each of the shots. When he had finished with his line, he grabbed those from Kane which caused the bear to throw his paws up into the air in excitement.

“He’s going for it!” he bellowed. “Fuck me!”

The last shot disappeared down Wood’s throat and he looked straight to Kane like he was just waiting to explode. Kane met the gaze, grinning broadly and waiting for the alcohol to kick in. Maybe it had been his own intoxication or just how quickly Wood moved but the dragon suddenly lurched forward with a speed that was uncanny for a muscled kid his size. Their lips immediately met, the intention from the Draconis clear.

Holy fuck! This is what he meant to do the entire time!

Wood’s clawed hands cupped Kane’s cheeks as a long, invasive tongue pushed into his muzzle. Being an internet porn star mean that he had kissed a lot of guys before. There was a technique to it. Porn kissing was sloppy, lots of gasping, lip play and show of tongue. Good for the camera but also incredibly exhausting and not at all that arousing in reality. But Wood knew what he was doing. The Draconis’ muzzle took the lead in a sensual tango of the tongue and Kane’s eyelids fluttered with the winding of Wood’s powerful arms around his shoulders, bringing them together.

BOOM!

Wood’s eyes snapped open and he immediately pulled away. “What… hurp… What was that?” he asked, a hiccup interrupting his question.

“The earth moving,” Kane mumbled softly, eyes dreamingly looking off into the distance.

“No, seriously.”

BOOM!

The quakes along the ground were strong and the rest of the patrons were already starting to move. The rest of the world came crashing back into his awareness. He hadn’t even noticed that he had blocked out everyone else apart from Wood in his drunken stupor. Another explosion rang out and he briefly saw a flash of fiery light through the windows. Clasping his paws together again, he triggered his focusing trick to bring back his senses.

“I’d say it was my orgasm,” Kane muttered. “But that’s no joke.” He glanced towards Wood again. “You okay to go?”

Wood wiped his lips with the back of his arm. “We Green Draconis have a natural affinity towards toxins. We spit acid, remember? I’m drunk but not that drunk. My body will probably turn my acid into something a little more alcoholic for a bit.” He got up from his stool, wavering slightly. “I’ll be good to go. Just give me a few minutes.”

Kane jumped off his own seat. It took him a second to rebalance himself. “You have until the next explosion.”

BOOM!

_ _

Silver Sniper (Alex)

Frozen Ones

One thing Alex had quickly learned about Roran was that he was a bit of a messy worker. Notes, half-abandoned attempts and all sorts of tools were tossed aside as the General sat by and watched the Tigris work. The process that churned around in the smith’s mind was indiscernible as his notes were messy and he kept to himself most of the time, only breaking his silence to mutter to himself about something that was beyond the Wulfun’s comprehension.

Still, Alex liked watching Roran work. All too often Alex had seen good soldiers haunted by events of the past and subsequently became husks of themselves just waiting for the next order and killing indiscriminately. On the other side of the spectrum, he had seen people become obsessed with death and revelled in it. Roran was definitely different. He shrugged the trauma off like it was just another raindrop in a cruel storm.

He really is something.

But was he the ‘something’ that would anchor him down and finally make him commit to one man? Alex was glad that Roran’s back was turned to him so that the Tigris could not see the flicker of doubt in his eyes or the way the firelight from the forge clearly showed the temptation that was plaguing his features.

That Otterian that had been with Oren, Balrin Riverfrost, had triggered something in Alex that he was all too familiar with – lust. The way Balrin was dressed, those bulging muscles and just how much fur was exposed… It made Alex’s loins burn and send an invasion force of hormone-infested berserkers crashing against his better judgement that was secured behind a quickly failing wall. Everywhere he looked he saw Balrin flexing for him, winking slyly at him, giving him a ‘come hither’ look or pulling off that scant, leather–

“Damnit!”

A loud crash brought Alex bag from his world of illusions. Roran was sitting slouched against his worktable, head in his paws and forehead pressed against the wood.

“Something wrong, Roran?” he asked, approaching slowly.

Roran lifted his head and grunted loudly. “I’m trying to understand Oren’s latest designs.” The Tigris smith held up his crystal tablet, a souvenir from Haven. “Somehow Oren has what he calls an ‘Limit Break’ in his designs. It’s something that’s come up recently in other smith’s works. I’ve been out of it for so long I have no idea what it does.”

Alex padded over and snatched the tablet from Roran’s paws. The article on it praise Oren for ‘finally’ breaking his mould of Roran’s shadow and adding something the ‘Aging Veteran Smith’ never could – the Limit Break Factor. Apparently, smiths around the world had started introducing something into their weapons that allowed their weapons to synchronise with their wielders as time went on. Eventually, both wielder and weapon would become one and by ‘breaking their limits’, they could become more powerful. The weapon…

“… evolves?” Alex asked incredulously. “It sounds like the smiths are trying to make artificial Valours.”

“Can you blame them?” Roran sighed. “Valours are still under the control of the Church. You get a Valour and the Church starts hounding you, throwing pamphlets and begging you to join them ‘for the sake of your soul and Tower Thirteen.’ Worse yet, Valours come with the inherent risk of the Paladin it’s attached to Falling.”

He doesn’t know about Wood yet. I can only assume he thinks no one is going after Wood because of the military or Gloria’s influence.

“If you can make something just as powerful as a Valour and not have the risk of Falling, it’d be a breakthrough.” Roran sighed and gestured at the tablet. “Seems some smiths are already on their way to doing it though apparently it can take months to get to the synchronisation rate of unleashing a weapon’s true abilities and most weapons are only half as strong as a Primoris released Valour.”

Thinking back to Wood, the young Dragon had achieved Primoris when he had activated Vulcan. That had been a devastating event and any ordinary weapon that was just half that powerful was still very impressive. It was clear what the Smiths’ Union was going for, however. If they could make a weapon strong enough to match a Primoris Valour or even reach Secunda-level, then they could mass-produce soldiers and weapons that would make Valours redundant.

I wonder which of the General’s pet projects this is.

He wondered if the ultimate goal was to beat a Valour’s Burst-Mode and make even the demigod-like Templars redundant.

“That’s still fairly powerful,” he commented. “I can see the appeal.” He lifted his gaze from the table to meet Roran’s eyes. “You’re worried that you won’t be able to learn how to apply a Limit Break Factor to your weapons and thus beat Oren?”

The big tiger ran a paw down his face. The bags under his eyes were starting to show and his sclera were starting become a bit bloodshot. “Oren is, if anything, an excellent mimic. He’ll copy designs from others and implement them for his own. The hodgepodge of different techniques and abilities can’t be rightly called ‘copying’ since he took it from so many different sources. But when you break down the individual components, it’s clear that he just copied the work.”

I see. Then in that case…

“Maybe I can find out how he does it,” he suggested.

Roran regarded him with a look of surprise. “You can?”

“I used to be a spy before I got trapped behind enemy lines,” Alex boasted with a smirk. “I have my ways of getting information.”

The red-furred Wulfun mentally kicked himself. Not even a month into his relationship with Roran – if it could be called a relationship – and he was already making lies of omission. As a General, he knew how important it was to have trust amongst the ranks. But as Alexander Clarke, he really wanted to get that otter dick in him. Better yet if he could get both Roran and Balrin…

“I’m going to seduce Balrin.”

Roran straightened like he had just been speared from behind. His eyes fell upon Alex in shock. “You’re not serious!”

“It’s what I do best, Roran,” he admitted. “Plus, I really want to be fucked by that otter.”

A look of hurt, shock and disgust flashed across Roran’s features over and over again in a maddening cycle. The Tigris closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and his paws tightened into fists before they opened again. A steely gaze met Alex.

“I don’t want to be one of those guys that’s willing to sacrifice a relationship for a competition,” rumbled the Tigris. “But clearly we’re not in that kind of relationship. So do what you have to, Alex. I won’t stop you. I’ll take all the help I can get against Oren.”

It’s a test. He’s testing whether or not I will actually test with Balrin.

“Just so you know, ‘seduce’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘sleep with’,” he said. “Yes I wanna see what’s beneath that leather but I don’t need to get him in bed to know what he knows. That’s a last resort.” He lifted a paw. “That’s a promise.”

Roran’s lips twisted upwards in the faintest of smiles. “I suppose I can live with that.” His brown eyes turned back towards his worktable. “Still… I’m not sure how comfortable I am trying to figure out Oren’s secrets by going behind his back and stealing them from his bodyguard.”

With the tiger’s broad back turned to him, Alex let himself smile a little. Not only were the contours of that muscled back clearly visible in the scant firelight of the forge but he also could see the enormous weight of carrying a sense of justice on those broad shoulders. Even though Oren cheated and clearly plagiarised other’s work, Roran would not stoop to that level.

He’s a fair guy with his own code. I guess that’s why I find him so attractive.

“Knowing how he does this doesn’t necessarily mean that you have to use it, right?” Alex prompted. “People will be far more impressed by your ability to actually overcome something than use it.” A bright grin crossed his features as he imagined a roaring stadium where Oren and his Limit Break weapons lay shattered while Roran’s own weapons stood triumphant over them all. “Think about it. Limit Break weapons are becoming the norm. If you can make something that can break the norm, that makes you a revolutionary.”

Roran glanced over his shoulder with an apologetic look on his face. “You’re really quite optimistic and a bit of a dreamer, aren’t you? Kind of why I like you.” His massive shoulders sagged once more and he slumped into the chair seated beside him. “Limit Break Factors aren’t something that’s a ‘standard’. They’re different for every smith. The Smiths’ Union decides whether or not they really warrant the title of being Break Capable. Generally, if a weapon has a secondary or ‘released’ form, that’s when its considered a Limit Break Weapon but even then, it’s subjective. Every smith does it differently.”

“Any indication how Oren does his?”

The tiger shook his head, a paw over his tired eyes. “Not a clue.”

“Then that’ll be something I’ll find out. In the meantime, you find something that will put you on a different level. Think laterally. You were so inspired when you saw how my guns work.”

Roran snorted derisively. “Yeah but that’s only because I came up with a gimmick that’d probably win me the Exhibition Stage but anything after that… well, I’m not so confident.”

“I know you’ll come up with something,” Alex insisted. “You just need the right materials, right inspiration and to stop comparing yourself to Oren.”

“It’s a competition, Alex. I have to compare myself to him.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t. Take it from a dad who has a son without compare. JD uses different kinds of fighting styles and techniques in how he fights. You can’t even really call his fighting style a ‘style’ because he just uses whatever is around him and what his opponent gives him. He doesn’t fight like that because it’s how his idol fights. That’s just what the situation warrants. He’s fighting for his own survival and to accomplish his goals.”

Jabbing the back of Roran’s head with a finger, he said, “What’s your goal, Roran? Why are you fighting?”

The Tigris gave him an annoyed look from where he sat. “To beat Oren.”

“No. That’s your objective. Something you’re going to do to meet your goal.” He held up three fingers. “In the military and as a tactician, I like to think there are three things that we need to achieve to win a battle. First…” He held up a single finger. “Your goal. What is it?”

“I told you –”

“No it isn’t Roran. Beating Oren is what you’re going to achieve in the next couple of days. A goal is something you’re really shooting for. Something your objective will build to. Something you can look back on and say, ‘I did it’.”

Roran glanced at his worktable and let out a soft, thoughtful hum. “I guess… I’d like to be the best Incendian Smith.”

“Screw that, you’re going to be the best smith of all Tower Thirteen!”

And I’m going to help you. If General sponsoring these Limit Break weapons is who I think it is, then it’d pay to have the top smith close to him.

The brawny, brown-haired Tigris gave him a humourless smile. “You’re shooting fairly high there, Alex.”

“That’s the point! Your goal is a dream. A wish.” He then held out two fingers, going so far as to shove them really close to Roran’s face. “Second, you break down your goal into objectives. What do you need to do to meet your goal?”

Rolling his eyes, Roran rested an elbow against the table and propped his chin against his raised paw. His eyes were looking at Alex with a faintly amused smile but exasperated eyes. “I guess beating Oren?”

“What else?” Normally, Alex would be shouting and berating his soldiers at this point but he knew different people had different personality types and responded to instruction differently. Roran was the kind of person that became motivated if they were gently encouraged but found the way themselves. Handing them or forcing them to pursue a goal would only cause them to rebel. “You need to be the top smith of Incendius, right? What else do you need to do?”

Sighing, the beefy tiger glanced towards his flickering forge. “I guess… I’ll need to beat the other smiths. Maybe come up with my own voice. Something that really is me and resonates with my… soul…” Roran’s eyes began to widen in realisation. “Alex… Your son’s swords are unbreakable, right?”

“So long as his will is strong, yes.”

“I think… I think I may have just gotten my inspiration.” The smith slowly rose. “How does he transfer his will into the etherium of Validation.”

Alex shrugged. “Never really understood it. My kid is pretty damn special.” He pushed Roran back into his seat, holding up three fingers. “Don’t get distracted, though. The third thing you need to know is your behaviours and actions. What the hell are you going to do to meet your objectives? Got that?” One by one, he began counting the steps again. “Your goal. What is it you want? Your objective. What is it that you need? Lastly, your actions. What do you have to do?”

There was a fire in Roran’s eyes again. “Right. First thing I have to do is find out how JD can transfer his energy into the etherium and bind it to his will. The next –”

The door to the smithy opened and Alex had the mentally cursed Wood. The Draconis, after hours of absence, had finally returned. What shitty timing.

“Wood,” he began, turning. “You –”

The entire room became much colder despite the presence of the fiery-haired Confessor standing in front of them. There was no mistaking the man’s waving, flame-shaped hair, the wide, almost manic grin on his features and the red irises. Gone were the robes of the Reaching Flame. Instead, Char stood in armour more reminiscent of the Confessors that Alex had fought during the Fall.

Thick, black armour covered his entire body trimmed with brilliant, red colourations. Burning, purple runes written in the Illuminus Weizar were engraved all along the highlighted edges. The armour was adorned with the motif of human skulls, a common feature amongst the Confessors who considered humanity to be the better species. Skull-shaped kneepads led into pointed, sharpened sabatons. A metal belt shaped like a row of bleached, white skulls held up a chainmail ‘skirt’ that wrapped about three-quarters around his waist, leaving the front open. His ebony breastplate was broken by the presence of a single, jawless skull placed at the centre of his chest and implanted over the red emblem of Incendius. Large, inhuman skulls were placed over his shoulders as pauldrons, their warped, long fangs reaching past his armoured arms. A black cape with the same twisted emblem of Incendius hung from his shoulders.

Alex reached for his guns. Rascal let out a few musical beeps and came to hover over his right shoulder. “Showing your true colours at last, eh Char?”

The Confessor crossed his arms smugly. “General Shadowfire decided that since your little coalition of scared, desperate parasites already know about the Goetia, there was no point skirting around one another. So suffice to say that this is an assassination attempt.”

“Not a very good one,” muttered Roran. Red flames flickered at the tips of his fingers. “You went right through the front door. How’d you find us anyway?”

The red-haired man shrugged and threw Roran a dismissive way. “News around town was that there was a battle between two smiths to occur soon. The name Roran Northridge came up and I just knew that if you were here, so would the rest.”

Damn that Oren!

Char glanced around the small workshop with disappointment. “I must admit that I had hoped to find the Red Lightning here. But I shall just have to make do with you two.”

Alex managed a grin and lifted his pistols towards the Confessor. “You made a grievous error, Char. I’m the one guy that can totally screw your entire production line and you come here alone.”

The manic Pyromancer’s lips pulled back even further almost taking up the lower half of his face. The workshop grew colder and the fires of the forge spluttered, dying out almost immediately. Only the light from the dimmed Sun Spire and the flickering embers illuminated their surroundings.

“Who says I am alone?”

The windows abruptly shattered inwards. Roran immediately leapt away from his desk as shards of glass showered down around him. A twisted icy-blue creature came sweeping in, rolling forward in a tight ball. One such beast invaded the forge from each of the three windows, landing nimbly on their feet and in a limber crouch.

Alex had never seen anything like them before. Vaguely Leomian in stature, icy-blue fur covered most of their body, hugging lean, muscular and clearly feminine features. They had long, powerful legs with vicious claws as long as his fingers sticking out from each toe. A long tail stuck out of their shapely rears but instead of ending in a tuft of fur, it abruptly ended in a tongue of brilliant, blue flames. Their upper bodies were protected by growths of ice that seemed to emerge right from their flesh, curling around their breasts to artfully hide their nipples and sweeping up towards their shoulders as an icy flare. It left a sort of plunging, V-shaped neckline that put to question their purpose as they hid nothing. Strangely, their arms were more supple and feminine compared to their overdeveloped legs with their claws even appearing like manicured nails. Their features maintained feline features of a female Leomian with the exception of their hair appearing as long, white, icy waves that ran down their backs like a Mohawk leading to a mane. Their eyes were completely featureless, blue orbs; lips perpetually peeled back in a snarl.

“What the hell are those!?” Roran exclaimed, forging his trademark bow.

Rascal beeped softly, relaying information straight into Alex’s hidden visor. “I don’t know what they are but they’re radiating a hell of a lot of Ice Magic.”

“Ice!? But Char is meant to be a Pyromancer!”

The felines suddenly moved, their powerful legs carrying them swiftly across the room. Alex immediately jumped backwards, firing off his guns four times in rapid succession. One bullet per creature and not once did he miss. The blue lions flipped backwards in the air, clearly appearing lighter than they were. They toppled to the ground, bullet holes right between their eyes.

“Surely you didn’t think it would be that easy,” laughed the Confessor. “The Frozen Ones may be as delicate as a snowflake but just like snow, they never come alone.”

Blue blurs swept into the smithy. Frozen ones came pouring in from the broken windows and even sweeping in from behind Char. Alex grit his fangs together and began backing away, Roran right beside him. They both fired at the rapidly multiplying feline beasts. For each one they downed, three took their place and the small, cramped forge was quickly become overpopulated.

“Hate to say it, but we’re outnumbered,” Alex growled. “Got any ideas?”

Roran threw him a savage grin. “A few. I’m going to leave the landing to you.”

That puzzled him. “Huh?”

The tiger smith and JD’s ‘Striped-Forge Daddy’ was already moving and quickly a levelled his bow up at the ceiling. Flames gathered around his paws and shot forward in the shape of a large arrow with red tubes strapped to its arrowhead. The arrow was soaring to the roof before Alex could shout a warning.

BOOM!

An explosion and the resulting shockwave knocked all the Frozen Ones to the ground and even pushed Roran and Alex to their knees. The smith was not finished, however, and he placed a paw against the ground with a wave of fire sweeping out from around him in a wide area that encompassed Alex. The ground shuddered beneath his feet and Alex noticed the same red tubes were sticking out of the floor in a ring around him.

“Roran, wait!” he began.

BOOM!

The explosives went off. The wind whipped at Alex’s cheeks as he was hurled boldly through the air and sent sailing through the newly made hole in the roof. Through the smoke and ash, he saw a grinning Char staring up at them as the Frozen Ones recovered. To his horror, he noticed that even the icy lionesses that he had ‘killed’ were rising to their feet.

Regeneration. Great…

Past the forge, the streets were swarming with the Frozen Ones. They crawled over rooftops, leapt from building to building and even launched themselves after the airborne two. Alex quickly combined his two pistols into its shotgun form, firing down at the felines chasing after them. The wide spread of the weapon bushed them back and kept him momentarily airborne. Gravity quickly began to take hold once more and he realised that he would be landing amongst more of the creatures if he survived the fall.

Think fast!

“Roran, fire an explosive arrow straight down!”

Roran immediately drew his bow. “You got it!”

He fired without question, sending another explosion rocketing against the stone streets of Corona and knocked the Frozen Ones back a few good feet. With his free paw, Alex seized Rascal from over his shoulder and hurled it straight down at the newly cleared path.

“Rascal! Defence Matrix!”

The drone let out a few chimes of acknowledgement. The moment it crashed to the ground, it bounced back up and sprayed brilliant blue lights all around it. Brilliant blue hexagons formed a circular wall around the drone, barring the Frozen Ones from breaching it for the moment. Roran flung his paws forward and forged a short slide that cushioned his descent. Alex grabbed onto the side of the slide and swung down beside the smith.

“The shield won’t hold forever!” he announced, quickly pulling out a third pistol. “If you can fire a few more explosive shots in rapid succession, we can carve a path back down the road. If we get back to one of the main streets, we’ll surely catch someone’s attention.”

The icy felines were gingerly pawing at the shield. It barred their passage but it was only meant to deflect bullets and not full physical blows by these creatures. Their touch created a little bit of frost against the faint, translucent blue hexagons. A hit from them would likely cause even more damage.

Their claws can probably cause a nasty bit of frostbite.

Char’s cackling laugh filtered down from one of the rooftops. “Not so confident now that you cannot hide behind someone, are you?” The Confessor lifted a hand towards them, his manic grin seemingly glowing in the dim light of the Sun Spire. Black flames with red edges coalesced around his palm, seething angrily and thrashing around him like an angry snake. “Time to die, Alexander Clarke.”

A bolt of black flames rocketed from his palm, shooting out faster than even lightning. It struck the shield, immediately shattering it with the sound of a mirror breaking. Shards of the shield flung everywhere and Char’s red eyes glimmered at the moment of victory. That was until a faint golden light encased both Alex and Roran.

“Alex?” asked the confused tiger smith.

“Sorry Roran,” he rumbled. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I’m not just another grunt in the military or just a military spy.”

Suddenly, both he and Roran vanished in a burst of golden light. The Frozen Ones were pushed back by a powerful shockwave that shattered the windows of the nearby establishments. Char’s grin wavered when a similar blast of light erupted from behind him, the ensuing shockwave pushing the Confessor off the edge. A transparent orb of flame immediately encased the mage, keeping him afloat before he could plummet to the ground.

Alex and Roran appeared on the rooftop, the Wulfun lifting his shotgun in the Confessor’s direction.

“Ars Deus Festina,” gasped Char. “The Art of God’s Haste. An instant teleportation technique that helped win the Fall of Haven for the military. Only one man in all of Tower Thirteen could use such a skill and he was dubbed the ‘Horizon Lord’ for it.”

Roran staggered back from Alex in utter shock. “You’re General Solomon!?”

Char threw his head back, letting out a riotous laugh. “This is perfect!” he cried, sweeping his hands wide. “Not only do I get to kill a General but I know his identity! Even should you defeat me, I will carry this information to the rest of my colleagues! All of the Custodia Goetia will know of your identity! We will know how to hurt the Generals!”

You’d think so but…

Alex returned a sinister smile at the Confessor. “This was not an assassination mission.” Char’s manic grin wavered slightly. “I’ve seen assassination attempt and this ranks as the sloppiest amongst them. Remember, my son is the Red Lightning. You were trying to make a statement. Your General Shadowfire knew that since we knew the Goetia were now exposed, the Generals would do whatever it could to stop them. So you specifically targeted Roran. You know that you had a good chance of being killed in the process but the statement would be made. Pull your support from the Generals or everyone you care about, everyone you love, will get hurt.”

He flicked his gun towards the Confessor. “That said, I bet you don’t have a chip on you. You took possession of a Pyromancer, gathered your Frozen One army and moved to intimidate Roran into turning his back on us. You weren’t sure who was with Roran at the time and if either JD or I were there, you ran the risk of your Confessor lineage being compromised. JD could use Rupture on you and drag you to the Generals to be interrogated. I could corrupt you if you were still to be uploaded. In short…” Alex’s smile grew slightly broader. “This was a suicide mission. There is no threat of you telling the others of the Goetia about my identity.”

Char’s lips pulled back into a snarl, his teeth still exposed but the cocky edges of his grin were gone. “You do not know that.”

“How about we put it to the test?”

BAM!

The shotgun blasted pellets at the Confessor and Char immediately swept to the right, dodging the blast. Some of the pellets struck his fiery barrier and he immediately shied away from them, crimson eyes wide in shock.

“See?” Alex taunted. “Telling the rest of the Goetia would be far more valuable than staying here and fighting. If you were really able to upload yourself back to the central consciousness and tell the other Confessors who I was, you would’ve just let yourself get killed. A true Confessor doesn’t care about the body they inhabit because they will always get a new one.” Alex tossed his left-hand pistol into the air and flicked out his fourth and final gun. The two collided in his paw, immediately reconfiguring into a second shotgun. “No. The only way you’re going to tell the Goetia about me is if you do so manually, by going to them. That’s why you’re so keen to remain alive.”

Char’s eyes burned with fury.

Alex shrugged, making a helpless gesture. “Of course, in all this chatter you failed to notice that Rascal has been behind you this entire time.”

The Confessor flung around… only to find nothing there.

BAM! BAM!

The Confessor’s shield shattered and shotgun pellets embedded themselves into his back. The mad mage plummeted to the ground, blood spurting out from his lips and exploding from his chest as the bullets tore through flesh and bone. As he fell, he threw a confused look at the General standing behind him, shotgun barrels smoking.

“You’re stupid if you think good guys aren’t capable of lying,” snarled the red Wulfun.

Char’s body hit the ground with a sickening splat. The Frozen Ones around him backed away from the shattered and broken body. The Confessor, however, was still barely alive. Though the pain was unbearable, a mind that had jumped from body to body and endured death after death was far more resilient and such simple attacks would not –

BANG!

The Cleanser stopped thinking. He was dead. His entire head had disintegrated into a burst of blood, brain and bone leaving nothing above the jaw intact. Alex gazed down his formed sniper rifle and fired three quick shots – one to the Confessor’s heart and two right into the groin. The Frozen Ones, now deprived of their leader, began slinking backwards. They turned and fled, disappearing back into the depths of Corona.

“Was that really necessary?” Roran asked.

“I just wanted to make sure he was dead,” Alex answered with a shrug. “The first shot to the groin was because I was aiming for the major artery there but I missed. The second was because I wanted to.”

“You never miss, do you?”

He gave the Tigris a lopsided smile and began to make his way down from the roof, using a nearby drainage pipe.

“You’re really a General?” pressed the Tigris.

He looked up at Roran with a smile. “I hope this shows just how much I care and trust you that I’d reveal my identity to you without wiping your memory.”

Roran’s smile was genuine and appreciative. “Yeah… It does.”

Alex’s tail wagged. “So does that mean I get the green light to sleep with Balrin?”

The smith’s features soured and he immediately slammed a foot against Alex’s paws which were grasping the edge of the roof. Alex let out a yowl and slipped down an entire six feet before grabbing the drainage pipe.

“Alex! Roran!”

Wood’s cry from down the street caught his attention. The Frozen Ones were gone and the only signs of their struggle was the shattered and bloodied body of the armoured Confessor. Alex dropped down the rest of the way to ground level as both his nephew and resident Fallen came rushing over. He could smell the booze from them a whole ten feet before they reached him.

“I’d ask where you two have been but given that you smell like a brewery and you’re Kane Fen” – he pointed at the big, burly bear – “I don’t think I have to ask.” Kane just grinned sheepishly in response.

“What happened here?” Wood demanded. The green-scaled dragon had to steady himself and he was clearly having difficulty standing.

Alex glanced down at the body of the Confessor, any semblance of a smile fading.

“The stakes just got higher.”