Pillars of the Kingdom

Chapter Twenty One

Jacin looked at the faces of his startled comrades. There lay Alan Booker, saved from death by one of the most powerful magic users alive and yet he was saying they could not bring him to a place where he could be healed? He was somewhat surprised to be alive, considering the damage the elite warrior had taken from a foe which he fought without difficulty. Only his spear seemed to have taken harm - It was slightly bent and its metal had chipped away against the dark angel.

“I have to go somewhere. Nobody has to come with me, but I have to make this journey. The...” Jacin trailed off, the black-robed mage looking up to him with a frown on his lips.

“There’s an artifact you have. A powerful one, a Relic even. A Major Relic, no less. How did you obtain it?” Shade addressed him directly! Him!! And at the same time as he was honored, Jacin was terrified. It wasn’t every day that a living legend just...Asked you questions. About the new toy you’d come to possess.

“I...It called to me, told me that it would help me win if I went to that other location which Starsen had proposed. I agreed, and it helped. I can go alone, its no big deal.”

“Shade, we don’t have time for this. That relic is powerful, but Alan’s life is in danger,” Cassandra warned. Everyone seemed to acknowledge this, yet...

“I’ll go with the kid, to make sure he’s alright,” Branden stated. He was slowly regaining his color, the exertion he’d placed his body under being forgotten at an all too slow rate. Still, as his strength returned he began to infuse himself with healing magics to soothe aching muscles and bones, offsetting the physical discomforts so that he might function more efficiently.

“Branden Frost, wake the hell up, we don’t have time for this! It’s a powerful relic, alright, but do you think its practical that we obey it?” Cassandra shouted. Clarice looked somewhere between dizzy and fully ill, having recovered from her previous shout.

“I’ll go with Jacin,” She responded, retreating on her former stance. Her own injuries were minor enough to be treated by Serge through the less rapid methods of bandages and healing ointments.

“Are you out of your mind? Clarice, come on, you’re going to leave Alan at this crucial time?” Cassandra again objected. If it made sense to others, it was lost on her.

“Lover,” Shade began in a soft tone.

“What?” She responded, hushed somewhat by her consort’s statement. If Shade felt something was important, perhaps...Perhaps it was. That had been Cassandra’s way of thinking for the last fifty years, after all.

“This has to be done. Trust me, there is value in keeping this Relic and likely in this quest. Like I said, its not to be trifled with. Furthermore, you and I, along with Serge, Charles and Kathy, can get Alan home safely.”

“Actually...” Kathy somewhat nervously stated.

“Oh, not you too!” Cassandra shouted with dismay. She might have seen this coming, but...Well, she was too blinded by her consort’s surprising support for this idea to anticipate it.

“Yes, me too,” she said in a deep voice, “I’m going with Clarice, and that’s final.” A smug look on the scientist’s face was accompanied by the archmagess throwing her hands up.

“Its up to you guys. We’re out of here. Come on, lover,” she stated to her consort. Shade nodded and motioned to Serge. Scarred Peace picked up the injured man and Charles assisted him in carrying the unconscious figure, making sure Alan’s body was supported in a way which would not cause injury.

“Jacin!” Charles exclaimed loudly over his left shoulder

“Yeah, man?” The young blonde said as he looked toward his departing friend.

“Meet you back at Emor. Be cool, be safe.”

“You too,” the spearman said to his friend.

“Jacin, be careful. Come right back to the kingdom, alright?” Serge cautioned. It almost felt as if Jacin were going off to a far greater task than he was, and even with Branden’s help he knew this party was terribly overwhelmed and could perish from any small confrontation.

“Will do, old man!” Jacin responded playfully.

“Good,” Serge said with a grin. At least there was some hope for the party, as even Jacin had gotten into the spirits of calling him old..

*****
“So, where are we going, again?” Clarice asked as the four rode their horses through the woods. Hearing Clarice ask this question was far more pleasant than hearing Charles repeat it every twenty minutes, though it was likely because females had a more soothing voice to his ears.

“A bunker...Ancient one, even. I can’t explain how I know, I just do,” Jacin responded with a smile. This precognition was interesting enough, knowing where they had to go to complete their journey.

“Yeah, you don’t know too much, do you?” Branden queried with a soft laugh. The insult got across and the rest of the group chuckled.

“An ancient bunker, eh? I’d like to get a look at this place,” Kathy remarked in a wistful tone. The scientist always seemed to prevail in her.

“Well we will,” Jacin responded with a smile on his lips.

The horses rode through the forest easily enough. No paths existed to their destination, yet the spacing between the trees was, for the most part, more than wide enough for a horse to pass. It was a relatively cool day and they were making great time, thus nobody was ready to get edgy with one another.

“Clarice,” Branden stated with a soft, almost cautious tone, “Do you think Alan will make it?” He sounded like he had few doubts, but was worried about any she might have.

“I’m pretty sure he’ll be okay. Starsen is going to take great care of him,” the swordwoman responded. If she was convinced, it hardly sounded it.

“I don’t know about that, Clarice,” Kathy started. She received a rather harsh glare in response yet held her hand up to halt protest. “His wounds were critical at best. Lady Cassandra stabilized him but a full recovery is improbable.”

Perhaps the truth had unnerved them, but Branden noticed the whole party’s mood seemed to take a down-turn. Branden didn’t even begin to mention the emotional damage the poor young man had suffered - That was more dangerous than any number of wounds, in his experience. He smiled a bit and tapped his horse on the forehead softly, reassuringly.

“Hey, lets not forget that we just took a huge step toward saving the world,” he said cheerfully.

“Yes, but I can’t help wondering,” Kathy stated with another sigh, “What if that damned Angel thing was only the tip of the iceberg.”

“True,” Branden said in a somber tone, “As he died, he tried to say something starting with ‘Syd’. Wonder what it might have been.”

“Yeah, I bet its no good,” Jacin stated flatly. A hush fell over the group for just a moment, one quickly broken almost out of fear.

“Whatever it is, we can take it. That, or Shade and Cassandra and Serge will.” Clarice certainly sounded optimistic if the world were threatened by another divine force. “Just think of it like this: If there’s evil deities there have to be good ones.”

“Again, another true point,” Branden remarked. This seemed to brighten the day just a little. Certainly more than discussing ancient deities of evil.

“What exactly are we looking for, anyhow?” Clarice asked, changing the topic from that depressive bent.

“Don’t really know. I suppose destiny will tell me when I’ve found it,” Jacin responded without much conviction. If he didn’t believe in this cause, how the hell would those he inadvertently dragged with them? It dawned on him that part of the reason they followed him was to make sure he wasn’t tempted by the Saints and therefore seeking them out, but no...He was innocent of that charge, by far.

“Well, who knows,” the cheerful Brnaden stated. He was nothing less than his old self, compared to what he’d been when destroying Lilith so utterly. “Hey look,” he said as he pointed toward the changing patterns of the trees, the distance between each starting to widen, “We seem to be coming up on something.”

There was no dirt path leading to this place, no feel of sickness as the previous tomb had held. There was simply a remnant of an age passed. The foundations of the place still stood, although the cracks in the cement had allowed ivy and other plants, sometimes even trees, to grow through it. The airfield was small, and the remains of planes could still be seen, overcome by green shrubbery in an attempt by nature to reclaim it. The four hopped off their horses and began to look around.

The base itself was gone, though melted tower fragments remained as a testament to those who built the place. The distorted formation of a rifle could even be seen along with a military helmet and a few tatters of cloth though its ammunition chamber - which, from all accounts, was designed to use Crystals - had been completely destroyed. Upon closer inspection, the planes were also demolished, having been melted completely out of shape.

“This is amazing,” Kathy whispered in awe. She knelt to brush her fingertips over the cement and a thin layer of ash came from it. She wiped them clean on her pants and sighed. “Absolutely amazing.”

The bunker itself was hard to find, but after minutes of searching Jacin called the rest over and pointed to a small, circular hatch. The lever on it seemed to be melted shut, forbidding the group from opening it.

“What the hell could be down here?” Asked Clarice in a soft voice.

“Never mind that. Help me open this,” Jacin whispered. His eyes, though none were looking at them, had lost their focus a little while ago.

“You got it,” Branden said as he drew his sword and made a quick motion. He very nearly landed the blow, too.

“No!” Kathy exclaimed, Branden managing to divert his swing and strike nothing, nearly removing his own leg in the process.

“The hell?!” Frost exclaimed. He looked up at Kathy with a furious glare in his blue eyes.

“Lets try to open it without hacking it to bits, so we can replace it without any overt harm.”

“You have to be effing kidding,” Branden replied to Kathy.

“It really doesn’t matter, guys. Just open it,” Jacin pleaded.

“Fine,” stated the scientist, who pressed her hands along the outside of the ring of the silo. Feeling around for a solid minute, she managed to find what she sought and pressed down upon the emergency release button. Perhaps it was nature’s luck, but the hatch slid open without query, offering only a loud hiss of old air mingling with new.

“Alright,” Jacin muttered, “I’ll bite. How’d you manage that?”

“I figured they’d have an emergency access keypad or something, and I hit it. Now let’s get inside,” Kathy retorted. She looked downward toward the ladder, waiting for Clarice to arrive.

Someone might have called her on how she knew that, but inside the bunker they could clearly see that light was on. No, nothing terribly sophisticated, but the soft hum of electric lights was detectable. The ladder which led down into the stronghold was apparently in perfect condition.

“This is definitely creepy,” Clarice muttered as she began the climb down. Her eyes remained closed until she hit the bottom and drew her swords. She heard electrons shooting through wires, heard dust settling as if it were sand being poured downward, but all in all the place appeared to be well preserved. She took a step forward and tapped her sword against her sheath twice before she opened her eyes.

Branden came down next, deciding to skip the formality of the ladder rungs. He leapt down and drew his sword, stepping to his right as he did so. Had he seen an attacking foe, the motion of his sword readying could have instantly been modified to a slashing attack.

“We’re clear,” the blue haired Hora spoke, and the other two followed downward.

The bunker smelled...Well, uncharacteristically like cologne. Few people imagined that walking into a war relic would lead to a beautiful scent assailing one’s senses. The floor was hardly even dust-covered, and every door seemed fully operational - Most had green lights upon them, yet one marked “storage” was conspicuously locked. If there had been men living here before, they were long dead - Yet the place was in pristine condition, no skeletons and no weapons.

“You know, it has been terribly too long since someone came,” Declared a voice from the darkness. The dimmed lights lit up upon a very faint figure - The streams of light filtered through the man in an old military trench coat. He had a hint of an accent, that was for certain, yet somehow it was almost like those put on by Yenoharan play-actors in bad night clubs who tried to sound old-fashioned

“Now this is fucked up,” muttered Branden without any idea what else to say. He remained on guard, but did not advance.

“Who the...” Jacin began.

The image flashed through his mind - This man in the trench coat was watching the sensors as they indicated impact. The outside camera feed showed them the gargantuan explosions taking place outside before it vanished. The lights flickered as the ground shook, and yet he lived for a time with his men. He saw the soldiers digging against the reinforced stone walls, imprisoned by the very same thick material which had saved them. Those in the bunker, all of them - they slowly died. Some allowed hunger and thirst to take them, others took the hunger and thirst out of the picture and fed themselves lead. This man too, the one before them, was a dead one.

“The...The storage room. That’s where you are, yet you’re here,” Jacin whispered, growing pale. The vision’s fading had restored him to his senses, and he was afraid.

“Jacin, what’s wrong?” Clarice asked in a nervous voice. The young woman was ready to draw her own sword, but seeing Branden’s calm prevented her from doing so.

“He’s dead...” Kathy said under her breath.

“I am dead, you are correct Madame Arcanic, My body’s in the storage room with the others.” The ghost said plainly.

Finally, Malach’s earlier statement struck Clarice full in the face and nearly sprawled her on the floor. Anger rose to her throat ever so slowly. “Arcanic?!” She shouted, turning to face her beloved.

“Even fucking better!” Branden exclaimed. Other then a momentary outburst, Branden kept his calm. Come to think of it...Kathy always seemed to be more aware of them then a normal rifle-woman would...

“How dare you?!” Kathy exclaimed, raising her rifle to aim at the ghost before her body twitched, recalling it was indeed a ghost, and she lowered it.

“Realized that shooting the dead, even with such a beautiful weapon as that, will not effect me? Well, at least not seriously. Crystal is magical after all...” The ghost seemed to lose its train of thought.

“Who...Are you?” Jacin ventured the question on the minds of all the living in the base.

“Who? Now that’s a fun idea, me being an ‘are you,’” The phantom said with a smile.

“Wait, and for that matter how do you know this language?” Kathy asked.

“Easy, this is a bunker belonging to the nation of Rhinegold,” The apparition’s revelation was somewhat shocking to the group, yet it only got better. “Furthermore, my name was Lieutenant-General Marcus Lancir.”

“Lancir?” Asked Jacin very, very quietly. Everyone else looked from the young spearman to the ghost with astonishment etched into their faces.

“Yeah. Lancir, as in Jacin Lancir. I know you, as well as the pretty little relic you bring to me today. I’m your great something or another uncle,” the cheerful spook said gleefully.

“Oh man, I think this is seriously fucked up. Someone, please explain this!” Branden yelled, his powers of reason slowly being overwhelmed by the constant battering these revelations dealt him.

“Mr. Frost, you’re not exactly human either, so lets not play games of accusation, shall we?” Marcus’ spirit responded. The group exchanged glances, but nobody said a word to Branden. “But you’re here for a reason. Shame you didn’t come before facing Malach though.”

“Alright, I’ll bite again,” Jacin said as he canted his head, “How did you know we faced Malach?”

“The same way I knew you’d come, and the same way you saw the last moments of the Free Empire of Rhinegold’s existence. As you call it, the Conflagration,” the ghost confirmed. Everyone seemed to pause at this. The Conflagration, the unparalleled flame which had destroyed everything in its path, including everything from over 900 years ago...A force of ‘nature’ which this man had apparently died from. Suddenly, it seemed this was no natural disaster.

“You mean...You just sent images into my head, images of your demise, how the hell did you manage that?” Jacin queried.

“Easily, you and I are both given the gift of foresight. You see, as the Tero-Nuclear weapons impacted I prayed to see the future. I prayed to Gods long forgotten, givers of Arcanic power long banned in our society, that I could see our future. I saw this girl, wearing the same colors of Rhinegold,” Marcus said as he pointed toward Clarice.

“These colors are the national colors of Coaslund, we created them,” she responded in an attempt to dislodge the spirit’s revelation. The ghost might have been amused.

“Wrong, these colors are the ones the survivors of that city decided to establish as their so-called national flag. They remembered what they used to wear in their military garb, but most survivor groups threw Rhinegold away completely. Now, can I get back to my point?” Asked the ghost impatiently.

“Yeah, sure, why not,” an exasperated Clarice responded. “You’re the dead fucker.” Her irritation was not the only anger being vented by the party. Kathy had long ago walked off to stand in a corner of her own choosing.

“Well as I was saying, Jacin, it seems you’ve been asked to inherit these little powers as well. Not so much asked; our entire family has had the gift, but only you’ve really hit the buttons within yourself to accept it. Anyhow, I have a gift for you, as well as a little advice,” Marcus stated.

“Why do you give us a gift so readily?” Kathy asked.

“Because after this I finally get to go to the afterlife for what I’ve done. The gift is a staff, a pole for your spear. Its wooden but it will hold up better than your steel will, and to top it off it will help you harness your gifts. As for the advice, perhaps it would be better put if you call it passing along information. The officers’ room is open and there is coffee available...Pity that, all they stocked this place with was a lot of coffee. The biggest pity is that we didn’t expect the silo to be welded shut so we couldn’t get the hell out.”

Jacin and Clarice went into the officer’s room, the metallic door “swoosh-ing” open and closing behind them. The spirit moved through the door into the Storage room.

“Well, this is not a normal day,” Branden said as he moved over to Kathy with a smile. “I had a feeling you were an Arcanic...Why not use it?” It was an innocent question, that was for certain.

“I’m not allowed to,” she responded with a glance downward. “I can’t explain it now, but I really don’t like the feeling of magic.” Branden could agree - When he did magic other than ice manipulations, it was an awkward feeling he’d never quite gotten the hang of.

“Malach saw through it, though. I remember what he said about you holding back. Self-silencers. I think the rest remembered and just discredited it, but who cares? Its your choice to use Arcane power or not,” Frost said cheerfully.

“Well that’s nice of you to say, Branden,” And Kathy genuinely seemed glad. “And about you not being human, I think the legends about your family speak for themselves. Somewhere in your line you bred into an ice-elemental,” she paused, then hastily added, “Not that it’s a bad thing!”

“Yeah, Great great great grand-daddy. I’m 1/8th, maybe less, its lost exactly when. But this babe was smokin’ hot, and...” He said quickly, attempting to defend his ancestors. Kathy just laughed.

“Shh,” she silenced him, “No need to explain. It happens, love transcends all forms, bodily and racial sometimes. Albiet, keep it within the sentients, no sheep or anything.”

Both of them laughed. The sound of a -swoosh- could be heard again and the rest of the group came with cups of coffee.

“Made it how you like it,” Clarice said to Kathy. The scientist took the cup with a smile as the spirit of Marcus Lancir came back to them. Clarice didn’t seem very willing to talk to her, but she was at least willing to offer coffee, so the hope remained that this was recoverable.

“Glad to see you’re all comfortable. Now, then, let me give you a quick history of what’s gone on.” As the spirit spoke, Jacin mentally prepared himself for a rather long diatribe. “It started, oh, I dunno...I wasn’t around for it, but long ago. The Gods walked with men and-“

Interruption already struck. Clarice was blinking her eyes. “Gods?”

“Yes, Gods, don’t interrupt. Gods and men and Angels and all that. The good and the evil never got along and started a war. The Onslaught, one of the prevalent dark Gods, nearly did win but the good managed to push things back into a balance and demand a truce on this and other worlds.”

“Other worlds?” Branden asked with bewilderment. These were, after all, childhood tales at best and examples of insanity at worst. It almost made the Presians sound as if they made sense, speaking of all-knowing deities and divine wars.

“Dammit, boy, stoppit! Anyhow, the Gods both left something behind - The gods of evil left these demonic creatures behind to finish their job, and the gods of good left Arcanics behind. The Arcanics, called so because they use Arcane powers such as magic, quickly amassed all the power in the world. The Gods had left behind “Major” relics and the Arcanics made “minor” ones. There are also those somewhere in between, of course. The little gauntlet of yours is not at all a minor one.” A gesture to Jacin. The ghost’s rambling was revealing yet cryptic at the same time, almost as if he chose to tell less than he knew on purpose.

“Well fuck, that’s cool,” Kathy stated while looking over toward the youth’s gauntlet. The old general shook his head and focused his ghastly eyes upon the scientist.

“Are you idiotic? So anyway,” the specter continued, countering interruption with rudeness, “These warlords decided to lay everything to waste in a conquest attempt. Their wars were pretty bad, and they blew shit apart. I know I’m playing fast and loose with language here, but no big deal, right?” Some military men kept a tight reign on their words, while some such as sailors were said to curse constantly. This man apparently was on the latter side of things.

“That caused the Conflagration?” Jacin asked. At least the young one thought he’d found a fair opening to speak, yet his ancestor’s agitated glare found him after all.

“Okay, that’s one each. Now keep your mouths shut. No, not the Conflagration, we’re not there yet. The people who re-built things after the Arcane wars that destroyed it all discovered that Crystal was good for more forms of passive-to-active energy conversion than magical. The science behind it allowed for technological empires to rise, and they banned Magic entirely. Of them were the Free Empire of Rhinegold, my kingdom, and the People’s Republic of Cernai.”

Finally the ghost sounded as if he were talking about issues he had first-hand experience with. “It was Cernai which constructed a small army against international regulation and led to a big military showdown, which caused the aforementioned Conflagration.” The ghost sighed lifelessly, then continued. “Tero-nuclear war ensued, and finally, we’re here. Jacin carries my blood and the blood of prophecy, but he cannot control it like I can. It will be long before he does. I prayed for the ability to see the future, you hear, and now I’m still a spirit to pass on my talents to the next.” It finally began to click together for the listeners, and for once they didn’t interrupt.

“Suffice to say, you must remedy each of these archaic evils of the world - The Epoch of Man, the Epoch of Arcane and the Epoch of the Gods. Malach the Betrayer was but a fraction of your quest. Now, return to the place called Emor - The second of these dangers is moving near there, and part of the first is not far behind it.”

The spirit rose and bowed once, speaking in a joyous voice. “And now, I’m out. Good luck,” it said, then began to fade with an ever-widening smile on its lips. In its place a staff came into existence. Jacin moved to the wood and lifted it. Sure enough it was perfect for him length-wise, custom made by a force which seemed to know him better than he knew himself. Affixing a spear tip atop it would be easy, and the wood was smooth and almost warm to the touch. He moved it into a ready position, as if prepared to take on an invisible foe, then smiled.

“Its perfect. Seems this guy really was a psychic,” Jacin smugly remarked. He moved toward his bag and started to get his gear together, heading outside with a smile. They then heard the recently-departed voice.

“Its odd, it just so happens that someone is waiting for you outside,” Marcus’ voice echoed through the room. The spirit hadn’t totally left, so it seemed; it had simply begun its trip.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Branden muttered softly.

Clarice began to head up the ladder, reaching the top to look left and right. She saw only one figure.

“You there, young squires. Time for me to get to work on you,” spoke the resonating, archaic voice of Shade.

“The hell?!” Clarice muttered as she got to her feet atop the silo.

“Is that Shade?” Kathy asked as she moved to the surface as well. Clearly more than one person doubted their ears.

“You’re darn tootin’,” the elderly man replied. He sounded relaxed as could be, considering he’d traced a party of highly talented warriors to a location that wasn’t supposed to exist.

“Where’s your horse? Surely you didn’t walk out here,” Clarice asked disbelievingly. She offered a hand down toward Jacin, who was climbing out as well.

“No, I sent him back with Cassandra,” Shade said with a bow of his head. “Sir Lancir, I see you’ve met your friend who is aiding me in this technique.”

“What are you talking about?” Jacin asked as he offered a hand to Branden, who quickly leapt to the surface and moved to his horse. “I guess you can ride with me, by the way.”

“I mean we don’t intend to walk back to Emor. Partially Starsen, partially our friendly spirit and partially me are going to activate a very old spell which I have, errr, fallen into possession of.” Shade smiled as he spoke, as if hinting that his knowledge was not 100% innocently obtained yet was not evil either. Kathy gave an awkward look to Shade, then shrugged.

“Okay, what are we all going to do, fly?” Clarice asked skeptically.

“Well, I would need a small amount of help from my friend Kathy here. Not so much need as request, and I’m not sure how precise I can make this, but we won’t be moving far at all.”

“Moving without moving? Okay Shade, what gives?” Branden asked. There was only one man crazy enough to propose what it seemed was being offered, and that man was Charles Maxton - And that offer would be just a joke.

“In fact, Lord Frost,” Shade said with emphasis, “I think even you could help me with this. Its urgent we make it back to Emor as fast as possible, and you’ve probably read my theories on non-physical motion.”

“Yeah, enough magical power can connect someone someplace they’ve left magical artifacts. The more power, the closer. It’s a bankrupt theory....Wait!! You don’t mean to test this?!?!” Branden shouted in something of panic. The side effects Shade had outlined in this thesis were not pleasant.

“Its something that I think you know we need, Lord Frost. Serge is waiting for you at the Kingdom, and I dread what a delay in our reaching our goal would do,” Shade adamantly continued.

“I see,” Branden said with a gentle sigh from his lips. He knew what time it was and knew how long they’d need to return if they had a painless, weather-blessed trip. “Fine, lets begin.”

“Just think of home, Shade?” Kathy asked with a frown on her lips. It was clear Branden was not the only one who doubted or understood what was going on.

“What?” Jacin and Clarice asked at the same time as they moved to and mounted their horses. Kathy also moved to her horse, choosing not to mount it but to simply touch it instead.

“Yeah. Think of home, its part of the theory. For a magic user it channels our focus upon the primary caster’s goal. Of course, the possible downside is that it goes to one of our homes as opposed to another,” Branden remarked as he mounted Coldflame.

“Duly noted. Now focus,” Shade said. The feeling of magical power building overwhelmed them, when suddenly vertigo struck the five of them, and they awoke in a far different place.

Chapter Twenty Two

“Sir,” the voice said softly, weighed down with concern. Things went from good to bad in an instant.

“What’s up?” The Captain-On-Guard responded. This military installation in southern Ralase was always laid back, as no Presian army had dared to attack the kingdom in years. Troops had recently been syphoned off to do duty in Gam, yet the command center still was fully staffed. The normally bright lights quickly dimmed to a dark glow and red flashes spurted up from the ceiling as alarms sounded. The Captain’s attitude went from pleasant to determined. Northern Agincourt was under attack by a Presian army for the first time in centuries.

“Well, Sir, our riders are back and they spotted an advancing military force coming from Presia,” The lieutenant responded as he looked up to his superior.

“They’ve gone mad. Gunners, deploy those Yenoharan chainguns and unload on them. Standard policy,” the Captain responded.

The entire shook as one of the television screens lit up. “Sir! Reporting serious damage to the walls, chainguns one and three offline. I don’t know what hit them but...” But what, they’d never know. The camera systems failed under the magical attacks. They only got a glimpse of the coming army from their live feed, but it was just enough.

“My Gods, they’re...” The Captain responded. A third voice rose to finish his statement.

“They’ve got Arcanics, they’re barbarians, and they’re over 10,000 strong?! How did they break Presia’s southern border and get here this quickly?! Furthermore, they have prisoners from Presia heading northward,” This lieutenant was genuinely scared.

“I don’t know, Sir, but this is not good. I’m relaying messages to Castle Emor that they’re directly in the path of invasion and I recommend we withdraw immediately, leaving our perimeter defenses on an automatic delaying tactic until a fifteen minute evacuation period ends, after which the high-explosives under the foundation of the base explode,” the first lieutenant offered.

“Agreed, hit the orders into the speakers and...” He paused as the foundation of the base trembled from the force of another spell. Things were indeed falling apart. “Lets get the hell outta here!”

“Sir!!” Shouted both men, taking the advice to heart.
*****
“Lord Serge!” Exclaimed the pike-wielding, heavily armored guards. Each of them were Fecha and he knew them well, yet under these conditions he could deal with them adding a “lord” prefix. His sword was at his side as he entered the throne room and found only a few men at the ready.

Himself and Cassandra Retholden were the two most noticeable figures, yet a number of common nobles were present as well. Most of them hardly deserved ranks and Serge hadn’t quite learned their names, and he was surprised to find the other two, higher ranking members of his council not to be present. Militaristically speaking, aside from the King and perhaps Cassandra, he was in charge of this mess-in-the-making.

“My King,” Serge addressed.

“Lord Lenkmen, glad you could make it. We’ve called every Hora and Fecha we have, but aside from assurances from Lady Cassandra that we will survive we have little elite, Named defense,” King Anatoly Tevalain responded in a somber tone. The monarch was not unaccustomed to fighting, but he had to confess he’d never dreamed of a situation like this one. “Ain’t it a shame Kendrick isn’t around?”

“Not to worry, King, I will take care of them personally,” replied Serge. He didn’t want to dwell on the prince who had left the Kingdom, deciding instead to simply reassure the father that the son’s absence would not be damaging to their cause. In some way, Shade knew, this would vindicate his old war buddy and himself at the same time. He’d raised the Castrell brothers, Branden, and Kendrick almost as well as their own parents did. In Branden’s case, he was the ‘parents’.

“No need. We’re in fairly good control. I’ve ordered the new Yenohar-produced weapons mounted at our southern gate, with one at each of the Castle’s north, west and east gates just in case they get smart. The Horas would be more for reassurance. Unlike at the Second Battle of Agincourt two hours ago.”

“They’re moving that rapidly?” Cassandra asked with a puzzled look on her face. Agincourt had been a battlefield only once before, during the Presian-Ralase war centuries ago. Ralase had led an overwhelming victory thanks to the third son of the Castrell family in power at the time; Kendrick Castrell. As expected, that particular prince was Kendrick Tevalain’s namesake.

“They probably rationalized that if they blockade the city, they can intercept any incoming reinforcements and deny us any trade,” offered one of the Media in the throne room. The strategy made sense on an ordinary city, as starvation was a damn powerful tool in forcing decisive battles.

“Good,” Tevalain spoke up, “It becomes a simple matter of Lady Cassandra lobbing a few fireballs into their ranks and circumventing enemy spells, watching them charge into lovely red plasma from our new weapons, and chewing any remnants up for breakfast. If they don’t attack and try to siege, we simply deploy the twenty or so Arcanics we have in the city and ensure that they don’t sleep. We turn the attackers into defenders, and they are forced into the attack,” the King finished with a smile.

“That sounds doable, King,” Cassandra replied. She looked to Serge for the elder knight’s opinion, dutifully wishing her consort were present to assist in this defense.

“Almost too easy,” Serge added with a nod of his head. “With your permission, King, I would like to lead the defensive stand at the south gate.”

“No, my friend, I need you here in case something else goes wrong. These new weapons could fail and we could need to re-evaluate. How are your friends in the west?”

“Well, my comrade and apprentice Charles Maxton, Media and lieutenant of Gatamene is standing outside, probably trying to get a laugh out of the royal guards.” Scarred Peace sounded quite glad that Charles was such an easygoing man. “The rest are still occupied,” Serge responded.

“Good. Sir Maxton can handle the defense of the south in your stead. I trust he is capable of such a task?”

“Provided, King, that he is not presented with anything too radical in battle, he has my full trust. He dealt with the ‘Dark Angel’ incident admirably,” Cassandra replied for Serge, giving him an additional boost as Cassandra’s word was just as powerful as his own.

“Agreed, King,” Scarred Peace offered.

“Good,” Tevalain said as a man rose and stepped out through the large doors. It appeared the message would be delivered quickly enough that this battle would have no painful, casualty-causing delays.

“Anything else, Lady Cassandra, or are you ready to do your job?” Serge asked with a smile. The job that was mentioned was quite dangerous indeed, but it was one she was well suited to.

“I’m very ready. Take this, King, so that you may see what I do,” Cassandra stated, handing him a pair of glasses. Serge had seen this tool before; it allowed the wearer to see exactly what the maker of the glasses was seeing, provided she kept the link between the artifact and herself active.

The King put them on and nodded. “And my beard is well trimmed, I see,” The statesman said. The chamber laughed - The humor kept them somewhat balanced on that edge they rode. Cassandra rose and began to walk out of the doorway, and the sound of battle not long after followed.

“Sir, are you sure its wise to trust one woman with the defense of the entire southern perimeter,” asked one of the attending warriors. The fool had to know of the tales behind Cassandra Retholden, had to know at least something of her circumstance, and the painful silence which followed his words chastised him.

“I am absolutely confident in her,” the King responded after letting the hush set in, “I know legends often overstate one’s skill but she truly is second only to Shade. I would not be surprised if the guns do not fire even one shot, nor would I be surprised if the sight of her alone scares the entire enemy force off.”

The King watched a vision only he could see with Cassandra’s glasses. For the next twenty minutes he smiled. The battle was going well, and he cheered quite often. Then, as the wind changes, he suddenly took them off and slammed them to the ground. Almost thirty seconds later two men charged, terrified, into the hall.

Serge reached for his blade, while many others drew their own. He spoke first, “What the hell are you doing?!” The fact of the matter was, such restraint as he showed in not drawing was testament to his training - He thought first, others reacted instead.

“Sir! King! The western gate has completely fallen! One, maybe even three enclaves of Gammin Monks have overwhelmed us out of nowhere!!” The soldier’s panic was apparently justified, yet for monks to appear out of nowhere...? Hallucinatory? No, because the King’s eyes did not dim down.

“No way, so then...” The King trailed off. Wails of despair rose up, and even Serge seemed to pale. The situation had gone from easily controlled to disastrous, especially if any of the monks were of Hora gradient. If all of them were...

“King Tevalain!!” Another pair of soldiers, one of them with a wound on his back, burst into the chamber shouting. “Three Cadres of Swordpriests - Damned Swordpriests - have taken the north gate! We’ve only got the east!!” The shit had hit the fan, as two of the most potent elite organizations had apparently raised arms against the Kingdom of Emor. This was not just unfounded, it was virtually unstoppable. With full divisions in the city’s grounds, it was only a matter of time until the defenders fell.

“This can’t be right, why would Ralasian swordpriests betray us?!” Tevalain asked anxiously. “Not to mention the timing on the attacks...Perfect...” The coordination he’d seen was tremendous, all things considered, and spoke of an elite organizer who was likely yet to be seen.

“King, I strongly advise I take you and evacuate eastward. There is little likelihood that our combined military presence can stop this attack,” Serge stated flatly, clenching his fist as he began to weigh where he was more useful - Defending the city or evacuating the king.

“No. In case you have forgotten, old friend,” The King said with a gentle smile. His middle aged appearance seemed heavy with duty as he stretched his arms over his head, “I am a Hora as well. I will fight alongside you and my men. We should instead head westward, where the Gammin monks are. We have the most experience against them, and together should be able to put them down.”

“King, I do not wish to question you,” Serge put his words delicately yet with the underlying idea that he felt this to be suicide, “But our chances of survival against this many foes is very dim. I repeat my recommendation that we begin a strategic retreat from this city, holding our lines only long enough to evacuate the civilian populace, a feat which has already been mostly accomplished thanks to your Highness’ decree.”

The air hung thick with the criticism. Despite all its sincere care and very, very selective wording, the statement was still a sharp judgement on the Monarch’s plan. Then Tevalain smiled.

“Old friend, when I say I will fight I will. The Kingdom can survive without me, no matter how good you may think I am for it. I’m honored you have such faith in me, but consider me as you did before I was King - Another Hora in the battlefield, an ally to cover your ass,” he said with a smile as he drew the longsword which had made him famous, a blade which glowed with a gentle blue light.

“Then west we head!” Serge said with a reluctant grin as he fixed a radio unit to his head before donning his helmet. “After all, I’m too old to argue with you and too old to expect to be able to have these kind of fun duels much longer!” A resounding cheer came from the men who were in the room.

As the leading council checked their transceivers and stepped out, a last pair of men encountered them. “Sir, this might or might not matter, but the Eastern gate is also under attack from outside mercenaries,” The men said. The King just laughed as a man winning a bet would.

“See, told you I’d be risking my life, Serge. Either way, risking my life.” The King said with a smile.

*****
Charles thrust his sword into another man and felt him shudder before dying. He withdrew the blade and took a long breath, studying the sight. He’d done well with holding the gate, considering Cassandra’s brilliant spellwork and the fireballs she was launching from above, yet he knew full well this was bad. The plasma guns were non-operational, their power lines severed from behind, and he knew that resistance outside the gates would end in his death at this rate. He signaled and the men still watching him retreated inward.

His enemies followed, and he barricaded the large, solid metallic doors after the last of his men was through them. He smiled to himself, unsure how long their safety would last yet knowing they needed the breather. “Okay,” he said as he looked to the men around him, “now what, guys?”

*****

The party appeared in the center of the city, near the castle. Appeared, as in poof, because their not approaching was a damn impressive sight to the men guarding the citadel.

“Not bad,” Shade said proudly to himself, looking around at the gaping faces of the few soldiers in the area. The armored warriors had stopped their charge toward the west in order to stare, mouths agape, at the feat of magic they’d just witnessed.

“Can I be sick now?” Clarice stated as she shook her head repeatedly. She looked up around her, taking note of the situation at hand as best as her nauseated mind could handle. It was a situation of nightmare and was only getting worse - Carts and cars were overturned, occasional corpses lay in the street, and buildings had suffered minor damage thusfar.

“Dear Gods! This place is a mess!!” Shouted Jacin, looking around for himself before sighing. It was evident where the battles were fought as they were the only ones with abundant fires.

“....This isn’t good at all,” Branden said as he took a slow breath. “Shade, do you know if the King’s been evacuated yet?” His first thought having been to ensure a solid government would survive the attack, his second was to quickly ready himself for the battle ahead; one he was heavily responsible for.

“I doubt it, Branden. You can see it, smoke at all four corners. Four separate attackers,” Shade said with a pleasant smile on his lips, looking at Branden without a hint of annoyance. “I will take the east. I trust this is good according to your plan?”

“You’ve already got a plan?!” Kathy asked Branden, looking at him as if he were some form of genius..

“Yeah. Shade, minimal deaths. Minimal,” he said with a nod of his head. So much for being discovered. His helmet soon found its way over his blue hair and he took a deep breath.

“Branden, go to the castle and help the basement brigade run stuff. I trust you will be content with this request?” Shade asked, knowing exactly what Branden really thought about being a commander-in-chief.. “I’ll walk there with you, even.”

“Fine. Jacin, go to the south. Clarice and Kathy, take the west,” Branden said idly, taking on the air of a leadership figure despite his apparent lack of a desire to be so. “And get head-sets from the local commanders!”

“Sure!” Jacin said as he wished them all luck then ran along, prepared to execute the plan to the best of his ability.

“This is great! Good job, Branden, lets go!” Clarice cheered for the de-facto leader, moving to pick up her share of the quest over in the western sector.
*****
Jacin arrived on the scene with a gasp. There were soldiers engaged in combat to both his left and right, though he could clearly make out the armor of his friend Charles. The men strewn about were both barbarian and Emorian, and he leaped into action. His staff - No spear attached, still - smashed into the first man’s armor and pierced it almost as if it were bladed. The ease with which the blunt end penetrated the barbarian’s armor nearly threw him off balance.

“Woah!” He said as he entered into another motion, completely taking another warrior off-guard and bypassing his defenses before the foe could raise an axe to defend himself. Three more fell in seconds and Jacin stood amongst a circle of defeated foes.

“Not bad, kid!” Charles exclaimed, taking some slow breaths. “Trouble’s comin’. He’s yours, I’ve been holding for half an hour and my arm is damn numb.” Maxton was leaning on his blade and two wounds had slashed through his black Gataminian armor - One large one on his left arm and another on his left knee.

“Fine, gotcha,” Jacin responded as he took two more down quickly. The enemy stopped charging (a wise move) before forming a circle around him instead. The scene was damn near a theater production’s idea of a battle, and had Charles been in better shape Jacin would have expected to hear him say this. For a moment, the only thing which frightened him was his being able to anticipate the lieutenant’s bad jokes.

“Lemy Shatterock’s m’name, and killin’ pretty lil’ Emorian bastards’ m’game,” came deep voice as a tall, well armored man approached with a large hammer in his hands. Indeed, just like a dramatized battle; and what came next never turned out good for the hero.

“The shit has hit the fan,” Jacin heard Charles mutter. So the uppity Maxton was actually serious? This wasn’t a first, but it rarely spelled good times ahead. Lemy was easily 6'5, weighed possibly twice what Jacin did, and carried a huge warhammer which was silver yet tainted with red all over. The source of that red was obvious, for Lemy also carried with him a man’s removed, slightly crunched head.

“Damn right,” Jacin responded to his old friend, raising his staff in a defensive position.

“So you be causin m’Cousin trouble, eh? Well, Sir Jagger’s ‘n his boys ‘ready won this battle, and you’re just cleanup!” The barbarian exclaimed as he moved forward.

Jacin expected speed and strength to be an even blend, and he was right - Just not in how powerful the blend turned out to be. The man moved with dazzling speed, and Jacin barely ducked down underneath a wide swing. Perhaps he simply remained ducked, perhaps he started to rise and ducked again, but the hammer swept over his head once again and elicited another loud gasp from his lips.

“Eat this!” Jacin exclaimed as he thrust the staff into the ground, stones slamming into the barbarian’s face. The earthen spike smashed into his quickly raised arms, yet as Lemy stepped back Jacin quickly realized he hadn’t penetrated Lemy’s heavy bracers.

“Shit!” He exclaimed, yet that wasn’t the end of his troubles. Lemy held his left, empty palm open and facing skyward. Where once there was nothing, Jacin observed a slowly gathering, green light. His eyes widened tremendously.

“Oh...Fuck,” He whispered as Lemy pressed his palm forward.

The green energy smashed into Jacin’s arms as he raised them to cover his face. He felt his heels dig into the ground, quickly coming to grips with the notion that the earth was giving way underneath the weight of the attack! Jacin focused every ounce of his willpower into deflecting the bolt of energy, and when it ran dry he fell forward to his knees from overcompensating.

“Jacin!! Get up, he isn’t done!” Charles shouted, yet if the young knight heard he took no action. Jacin knelt there, paralyzed by nothing more crippling than exhaustion.

“Take it!” Exclaimed the large barbarian as he wound his hammer up and smashed it into Jacin’s left side. Pain exploded before the young man’s eyes as he felt himself tumbling along the ground. Only a barrel of fruits broke his fall, and he found himself staring up at broken apples.

“That...Hurt,” he impotently muttered as he got to his feet. He was sore, yet the blow was oddly weak - It didn’t leave him crippled. What gave? He flexed his left arm underneath his armor, ensuring that his arm worked okay, then proceeded to grip the staff tightly. “You’ll pay for that!”

“Well, ‘e’s up ‘n ‘a movin’!” Lemy exclaimed with a chuckle. He moved forward then, and in the blink of an eye Jacin was again ducking a hammer blow.

“Gotcha!” He shouted as he reached his hand up to grasp the hammer as it passed over his head.

The relic whispered into his mind. “Swear to draw out another energy attack and let me have it, and I shall crush this hammer,” its tantalizing voice beckoned. This wasn’t much of an offer, it was blackmail - But no matter, Jacin was welcoming the help from the beginning.

“Wha’ ‘re ya goin’ ‘ta do, boy-o?” The barbarian asked as he moved to yank his hammer free. One might even have envisioned his face turn from gleeful to frightened as he pulled frantically at the weapon, but Jacin wasn’t looking to see the giant man’s reaction.

“I do so swear!” Jacin exclaimed. Without further ado, his hand simply crushed the metal, breaking it into pieces. A loud gasp came from the Barbarian, who, true to form, distanced himself and gathered a pair of green lights - One on each hand. Predictable was a suitable word.

“Good. Now, let me face it,” spoke the relic. The young spearman didn’t have to think very long about how to address this request.

Once Lemy pressed his palms forward, hell broke loose. Both hands snapped together to concentrate the beam of light on his foe. The very ground underneath them quaked and broke apart, dust swirling into the air and joining with the attack only to be immolated. Jacin felt fear rush over him yet also felt a bulwark against cowardice as the green light collided with his gauntleted hand. The light was simply absorbed into his palm, and when the dust began to settle Lemy was kneeling and out of breath.

“Put him out of his damn misery!” Shouted Charled, but Jacin smiled a bit. He wasn’t going to go down the path of the angry officer, no matter how much he wanted to finish the barbarian off himself.

“Wave the surrender flags, and I won’t kill you where you stand, Shatterrock,” Jacin demanded. The offer was good - Emor was known for treating prisoners of war very well, especially if they could help bring about the end to it. If Lemy was the cousin of one of the leaders of this disaster, he could look to earn his freedom easily if the war ended.

Lemy removed his helmet. He was, all in all, a relatively handsome, blonde haired man. He pulled a tiny knife from a concealed sheath and ran it along his throat with a smile, just before extending his middle finger toward Jacin.

“No!!” The young knight shouted, moving forward to try to stop him. Too late, the rivulets of blood gushed ferociously for just a moment before dying to an easy drip. To some, it seemed, surrender was more painful than death.

“Damn. So much for an easy surrender! Here they come!” Charles said, stepping between the oncomers and his friend. The charge was a suicidal one, the sort made from blind following of a leader, albiet a noble one. Of course, the smart barbarians ran right back out of the gate they came from. Which was most of them.

*****
“There!” Serge exclaimed. He saw the sight as plain as day - One man, unarmed, wading through an entire crowd of Emorian soldiers and showed no signs of stopping.

He’d managed to keep King Tevalain from serious injury, though Anatoly still held his old skill with a blade, making it less body-guard duty and more a trip down memory lane. The King had been tagged by one or two Ken-Jeh attacks and had recently seen his legs give out under the force of them. Medical squads had come instantly, but the King would probably need physical therapy to fully recover. This sight he now turned his gaze on, however, was nearly unprecedented. Though three other monks worked near him, this man stood clearly out.

Men were literally flying from the force of this Monk’s blows. While most of the other Gammin monks had fallen or withdrawn, this one remained - And as any wise man should, Serge simply watched. If asked why he didn’t jump in, he’d probably have laughed and attested that he didn’t want to die just yet, and wanted to study his foe to have a small chance of winning.

Serge knew all about the Gammin School - Four elements, four techniques. Most monks could only master one while dabbling in all, yet this man was an oddity. He was clearly a “Quadragammin,” or “Four-School” Monk, but something was radically different about him. He went through the techniques in his head.

The Fire Stance, a rapid-attack discipline with the special technique of launching oneself into the air and descending quickly while attacking. Aerial combat was the Fire Stance’s forte.

The Water Stance, by contrast, involved evading a foe while setting oneself up for a counter-attack. The Water Stance’s specialty was to literally drown an opponent in blows while almost engulfing his attacks, much like an overflowing river.

The Earth Stance was as strong as a mountain and was arguably the hardest style to master. This method involved being able to raise one’s aura, a Fecha-level feat, in order to help deflect physical and spiritual blows directed to the user. The master technique of this school was known among Emorians as the “earth-rub,” a trick by which a man creates a sort of roll in the ground which throws an opponent into the air...Usually for another powerful blow.

Finally, Serge’s least favorite, the Lightning Stance. This methodology preached strong, powerful attacks and was very hard to predict - A user rarely struck in the same place twice. The perfection technique for this school was the Ken-Jeh, a two-fingered...Two-fingered!...Strike done using the middle finger’s tip and the index finger to support it.

The powerful blow was done almost as any slashing motion, thus it could come at nearly any time. The middle finger being the longest, it was used to focus every ounce of strength in a user’s body into one spot. Ordinarily the finger would snap before an opponent’s body, but with another finger backing it and years of precision training (Not to mention a long graduation time to get out of finger-splints) the Ken-Jeh, pronounced “Ken Yay,” became a blow so powerful that in the hands of a true Quadragammin monk it could split a cubic foot of steel.

Yet Serge had never seen a master of the Gammin arts this talented. He flowed between each stance without even struggling, and seemed to incorporate the Earth Stance’s resistance to damage throughout his entire battle. Thirty men surrounded him and in thirty seconds there were thirty men on the ground a solid thirty feet away from him. It was almost as if the invader had planned that phase of the encounter down to a T.

He would indeed be a moron to charge in. He instead took to doing what he could - Calling orders out. He had the men form ranks instead of circling around the Monk. Encircling a monk of this talent often gave him ammunition to throw at people - Other people.

He stalled the man for a good five minutes, minimizing casualties and applying cover fire from the few available riflemen he could scrounge up through his radio headset. He even managed to exchange a few blows with the monk, aiming to keep him on his toes and not treat this as any other gauntlet of opponents. The ranks thinned quickly however, and he mentally began to prepare himself when he heard a welcome voice.

“Serge! Jacin’s banged up but alright, and I’ve had a little rest. Jacin took the last badass so I get this guy!” Charles exclaimed, running up to Serge with his helmet not even on. Jacin was with him, but his armor was dented and he was clearly exhausted, his helmet also removed as he probably couldn’t breathe well with it on.

“Charles, no! Don’t do it, this guy man is simply too skilled!” Serge warned as the last of his men fell beneath the monk. Stepping into the glow of a street lamp, the first clear look at the man was granted.

He was somewhat tall, nearly six feet of relatively slender muscle. He bowed his head to the three assembled men, looking directly at Serge. So much for hiding my identity, Serge thought to himself. The monk wore a black robe which covered most of his features, but the fighting had removed parts of his face and revealed the shaved head of the man underneath.

“I see by your armor,” He spoke politely, “That you are Scarred Peace, the man known to us as Serge Lenkmen. It is an honor to meet you.” The monk bowed - actually bowed - to a man reputed for killing so many of his comrades.

The group didn’t know how to react. Serge quietly called for manpower to divert itself northward against the Swordpriests, that he would take care of the Monk; then he leveled his attention on their foe. “Indeed I am. Might I have your name, that I could share the honor of our meeting?” The words were spoken in the common tongue, yet Serge repeated them - In Gammin.

The monk paused, then shook his head. “I do not do this, as you might assume, for Gam. This is not a vendetta against Emor for its victory in the war. Our people fought stupidly and lost stupidly, and you deserved your victory. My name is Ammon, and I seek only an answer.”

There was little sense in these cryptic words that any of these three could make, but Serge nodded his head. “Then I honor you, Ammon, as I prepare to fight you!”

“Poor guy doesn’t have a sword. Here, let me put these down and we’ll have a tussle!” Charles stated, lowering his sword and shield to the floor.

“Idiot, pick that up and stand back! You can’t take him, he’s mine,” Serge cautioned sharply. Scarred Peace had not come to like even Charles’ worst jokes just to see him die...Wait, he thought to himself, I like those jokes?

“Yeah, Serge is right man. We gotta let him handle it,” Jacin added, trying to advise his friend and hoping that their closeness might do what Serge’s rank couldn’t.

“Nah, I’m good. Alan went to the wall against Malach and really helped out, and you came through against Lemy, so its my turn!” Charles’ response was rather below the average intelligence, yet at the mention of the name Lemy the monk did give Jacin an askance glare.

“I suggest you listen to your friends, young man. Sir Lenkmen is the only opponent I wish to test myself against. If you insist, however, I will have no choice but to wound you further. I do, however, honor your challenge and that you offer it in a wounded and unaware state,” the monk said.

Charles might have paused to close his eyes; to focus, or to just plain take a breath, but not long after he ran towards the monk. The monk didn’t even seem to react to the first few punches, and Charles seemed to be doing no damage at all - The Monk simply allowed every blow to hit, even those which rocked him backwards.

“Alright!! Maybe this guy was overestimated!” Jacin exclaimed. It was pretty obvious that Lancir didn’t grasp the severity of how badly his friend was drowning.

“...Now,” Serge said after a pause. The ground trembled and Serge gasped, watching Charles spinning through the air in a free-fall style, thrown upward by the force of an Earth-Roll.

“Enough, young one?” The Monk asked patiently, turning his attention back to Lenkmen.

“Fine. No more games!” Charles exclaimed after barely landing on his feet. He charged forward again, moving so quickly that Jacin’s eyes hardly kept up. Charles might well have been faster than Lemy, and Lemy had been one of the leaders of this racket.

This time, the Monk paid heed to each blow, dodging easily yet seeming to slowly be getting boxed into a wall. Jacin focused on the blows thrown, perfect punches aimed exactly where the Monk should have been, yet just...Wasn’t. Then he heard something - Counting. Serge was counting.

“Forty nine, forty eight, forty seven...” The silent enumeration was not in any particular pattern, sometimes skipping whole numbers and dropping down, though Charles kept up a fairly rhythmic attacking pattern.

“Whatcha countin’ for?” Jacin queried.

“...Each step is another step, once I count to zero this fight will end. He’ll be in position.”

“You’re damn right he will! Charles has this guy pegged, he’s dodging so much he can’t fight back.” Jacin looked back to the fight to watch.

Truly, the Monk was trying to set himself to strike, yet was forced to dodge with each new blow. Serge’s count down proceeded until number one, at which point Charles’ fist was dead on to strike the monk’s shoulder. The fist might have actually grazed the Monk’s robe. Then things got ugly.

As soon as the robe was touched, the Monk grasped Charles’ arm and pulled. The sound of metal and bone popping and dislocating could be heard as the Monk’s hand smashed into Charles’ side, both arms working against him to fully pull him apart. Then his two fingers came into view and he stepped backwards, delivering a powerful Ken-Jeh attack and sending Charles to land exactly at Serge’s feet.

“No way. You...That’s two attacks I’ve never seen?! That Ken-Jeh didn’t touch him, how...How did you manage to hit him without touching him?!” Serge exclaimed. The first was obviously a blow which came at a distance, but the second was far less obvious.

“My secret,” The monk said in a conversational voice, “Yet it seems our time is up. My forces are in full retreat and disarray, and despite my best efforts I have killed a number of your men for which I must pay penance for. I am heading northward if you wish to fight me towards that direction, but I promise there will be another chance to engage me in the future.”

“North? Why are you going there, why retreat?!” Jacin shouted.

“Relax, young one,” the older warrior advised, “I do not enjoy death. It seems our Master and our Fourth do, however, and I disagree and side with our Second on the non-death issue.”

“Last, second? What are you talking about? You mean you aren’t the strongest of your Enclave?” Serge asked skeptically.

“I am the strongest Gammin Monk here. I am not, however, the strongest of my group. I am the Third of Four, the Dark Monk Ammon.” The warrior bowed once again before continuing. “I depart now, however, for I must help keep this mess from revealing our intentions. Good day, and see that your friend gets medical care!” The monk exclaimed, waving even. True to his word, the groans of many men waking from unconsciousness could be heard.

“A truly...Honorable...Warrior...” Serge stated to himself. Suddenly, the invaders were cast in a brand new light. Even Jacin had to admit that Ammon was a fair man, trying to avoid senseless murder. He wasn’t Branden, so unwilling to kill that it took a leap of logic to de-humanize the Saints for his conscience to be eased. No, Ammon was not that naive, but he was not a berserker like Lemy had been, and perhaps knowing he had an intelligent foe scared them the most.

Chapter Twenty Three

Branden was running as quickly as he possibly could. This was no small feat, given what speeds he was capable of reaching in a burst. He delivered blows to any mercenaries or barbarians he saw along the way and left them unconscious before they even saw him coming. He’d followed Shade’s earlier order, alright, and just as quickly aborted it.

“Lord Frost, dear Gods it’s a miracle! Tactical Command needs you in the basement immediately!” Exclaimed one of the palace guards. A head-set was handed to him, and soon after Shade came into view. “And Lord Shade! We’re saved!”

“Branden, go take care of what you have to. Minimize this disaster.” The Arcanic paused, looking to Branden before returning his gaze to the tactical officers. “Lord Frost will not be joining Tac-Com, nor will I, but thank you for the headset,” The Arcanic said as he took it then departed east.

That left him where he was - Charging towards that son of a bitch who ordered burnings. He didn’t know, and rightly didn’t care why plans had changed. All he knew was that this was wrong.

He came upon the northern attack zone - He knew it was called this because he helped plan it all. He drew his sword and prepared for the worst. He knew who he’d be facing, and that chances are he couldn’t kill the man alone. He’d failed once before, after all, but this time he had the incentive of a slaughter around him.

The sword dug into flesh and blood sprayed his face. The blow was clean, he’d nearly cleaved the foe in two - yet he stood there with a slash through his cloak and not a scar on his flesh.

“Give up, old friend?” The other’s voice asked.

“Not at all,” the weary warrior said, “try this!!” Branden shouted as he formed and flung lances of ice into The Lord’s body. The points struck, penetrated, and instantly melted as they did no harm. No matter how much blood had been drawn, he couldn’t cause damage that lasted.

“Enough, old friend. Enjoy sleep!” And with that, Branden felt the blow strike and awoke on a comfortable bed with the message written in blood that, though he didn’t know, was drawn from both combatants.

“You are the Second of Four. Congratulations.”

He was almost certain he’d lose, but...That was the risk. He would die for his people, just as he’d told Serge, for these senseless deaths were never in the plans he made with his “Master.”

As he reached the area, he saw a rather startling sight - Men slain from Swordpriest attacks yet men also slain from something else. Those killed by Swordpriest blows were, as to be expected, Emorian. Those who were not were the Swordpriests themselves, despite any similarities in technique that he could notice on the dead bodies.

“Okay, this is fucked up,” Branden stated to himself. He continued onward through the devastated city and came upon two figures staring one another down.

The first was his familiar black-robed “friend.” The robes were matched with long hair and he carried a broadsword which showed no signs of use - Yet Branden could only imagine how many lives had been taken with its edge. The magic embedded in the sword were powerful enough to repair any damage done.

The woman was lithe, wore armor as light as his own, and used a weapon he’d only seen once before - A Katana?? She was not only using an exotic weapon, but her entire frame was familiar, along with that oddly twisted aura that he could never forget.

“Sarinal?!” He exclaimed loudly, stunned to discover her presence inside the capital.

“...My name is Iona, the ‘Devil’s Hellcat,’ as some call me. And this is...”

“He knows who this is,” the Ralasian-accented voice stated, bowing his head to Branden as the man arrived. Frost responded with a gentle inclination of his own, studying his old comrade with a bit of trepidation. Something told him this could not end well.

“Very well Aubrey, let’s do this while the doing is good,” Iona stated as she slowly drew her blade. Suddenly the air around Branden seemed to grow very heavy, laced with the power of two incredible warriors standing toe to toe, and no longer did he have to wonder about one thing, at least.