Is this some kind of sick alternate reality?

Alan raised his head over the foot of the sled to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t. Amid endless ocean waves kicking up mist below, and thick grey fog clouding his surroundings, stood Gregorian on a cliff, letting go of Neesha’s hand to draw his electrified bow. It buzzed with threatening lightning Saro, prompting Flint to raise his staff to deflect anything that might come their way.

“Neesha!” Alan called, his voice echoing through the fog.

Gregorian grumbled, lowering his weapon.

“Scatter!” Flint waved for them to step aside, then sent a stream of snow shooting from his staff to soften their landing. Alan braced as they touched down hard, then used a flash of Red Saro to flip ostentatiously onto his feet while Flint dove the other way.

He brushed himself like it was nothing while Flint flapped his robes clean.

“Now I see… it’s not a hero that died, but rather a coward that lived,” Gregorian scoffed. “No wonder the dragon returned.”

Neesha slammed hard into Alan, similar to when they first met. Only this time for a different reason. She cared.

Alan’s arms remained spread as he peered down at the beautiful woman hugging him. He remained frozen in awe, until finally returning the hug.

“I thought you died. The dragon… Orange Saro talons ripping into you.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” Alan chuckled, then winced when Neesha punched him in the ribs.

“You don’t write.” She punched again. “Or leave a trail.” And again. “Or come find me!”

“Hey, hey!” Alan put up his hands defensively.

“That’s because he’s a coward, Neesha. He portaled home, knowing full well what would become of us by fleeing.” Gregorian narrowed his eyes. “The dragon was after you, wasn’t it, Merchant?”

“Should I have let him take me to Jaeger?” Alan gently peeled Neesha off him to confront the Archer. “To where I’m supposed to grow as some ungodly threat to the realms?”

“Pfah!” Gregorian backhanded the air. “You think too highly of yourself.”

Alan shook his head, then turned to Neesha. “You have to know, I meant to rush right back to Ojin—”

“Then why didn’t you?” Gregorian stepped forward before a long sparkling staff pressed flat across his chest.

“Because Strangey Town was under attack, by Hyndole himself,” Flint spoke evenly.

Gregorian smacked the staff away. “The Rift Maker? He would never risk open war amongst the interlocking realms.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Flint grasped his staff in both hands and stood tall beside Alan. “Circumventing the laws of gods by poking a stampede of void minions sounds right up his alley to me.”

“You speak nonsense, Wizard.” Gregorian bared his teeth, then extended his hand for Neesha to reclaim her place.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Alan asked.

“We are bonded since the great fight against Drisara, the Helldraken. The City of Shara-das is preserved, no thanks to you, and the dragon’s skull now sits in a Merchant’s glass window.” He flexed his fingers, and Alan’s heart dropped into his stomach when Neesha delicately walked over to him.

“Bonded? What does that mean?” Alan whispered to Durger.

“They merged their Saro in a near-death event,” Durger said solemnly. “A defense mechanism that rarely occurs. It happened in my group once. The two couldn’t stand one another, but in the face of death, Saro intervened to preserve two vessels. They were drawn to one another thereafter. Strangely so. It took fortnights to unravel, Sir Alan.”

He eyed their hands clasped together, making him grit his teeth.

It can be undone, was all Alan focused on.

“You’re not the only one who suffered, coward.” Gregorian peeled up his mesh armor to reveal a horrid pink scar caving his abdomen inward. “I owe Neesha my life. Now we will travel to the orange fog and gain her Answer Stone until my debt is repaid. A quest you could never fulfill. Stay out of our way.”

Neesha’s expression looked pained as Gregorian turned to drag her away.

“Have you lost your free will?” Alan asked bluntly.

“It’s not like that.” Neesha stopped Gregorian. “The prompt… was my decision. Had I not accepted the bond, Gregorian would’ve died, and we would’ve lost the city. Sharas-da would’ve fell to dust."

“So what, that’s it now?” Alan spread his arms. “You follow him on a short leash?”

She clenched her jaw, seeming unsure of herself.

It hit Alan now that she was extremely vulnerable – that the Question Stone she nabbed from the Yero-losh was probably taking a hard toll on her mind. She needed a companion more than ever.

“I mourned you, Alan. For months.”

Months? I’ve been gone a few weeks, at most.

“You look perplexed, coward of Strangey Town.” Gregorian smiled evilly. “There is an expression we have here, in Ojin. Those who rest in their hometown, let the world pass them by.”

“Licking your wounds to fight another day is anything but cowardly, Archer.” Flint curled his lip. “In fact, I might wager it as intelligent. Sure beats the alternative.”

“A glorious death is something Mujungo followers could never understand,” Gregorian hissed. “Come, Neesha. To the orange fog.”

Alan boiled inside. Watching them turn their backs on him after all they’ve been through in the Pink. They were supposed to be on good terms now. Instead, this bastard chose to demonize him… for what?

They were slowly swallowed by dark grey fog. Neesha was still hesitant in her step, Alan could tell. It destroyed him. He didn’t just survive a fire-eating wound to be dismissed like this.

“Neesha!” he finally called, and she turned quickly, almost as if she was hoping for Alan to speak up. “Saro might bond you to this prick. But we have our own too. It may have started tumbling around in a swamp and with a hit over the head… but we helped each other.”

She appeared bashful, her blue eyes glowing bright in the cloudy light.

“I vowed to take you to the Orange. And I will. But first, I need a favor from you,” Alan spoke strongly.

Gregorian shook his head. “Favors are forfeited once you abandon a raid.”

“My request wasn’t addressed to you.” Alan held firm. “I need access to the forbidden shops under Sharas-da. The ones requested from Lord Osmi if we slayed the dragon. And we did. Let the warriors with short memories say what they will, but deep down, they know I deserve my share.” Alan broke his gaze with Neesha to eye Gregorian. He used the Bubble of Vosh to save him and told him of the power to shackle the dragon. “So easily we forget.”

“Fifteen warriors perished when the dragon returned,” Gregorian yelled. “Fifteen is greater than your one!” He pointed harshly, the fog rippling off him like a dragon’s smoke. His eyes pulsed with electrical energy.

Would he have to combat Gregorian, here and now, just to move forward?

“I’m not a coward.”

“He is anything but,” a familiar voice resounded around them, followed by a pulsing flame that Alan recalled from Strangey Town. Lucius and his Orange Saro bat.

He swooped in and dismissed his mount in a puff of black smolder, then skulked right into Gregorian’s face.

“Lucius.” Gregorian’s eyes widened, and even Neesha noticeably tensed.

“You know this prick?” Alan asked, the tension slightly defused.

“We’ve crossed paths in raids before. And he will respect my declaration of your honor,” Lucius assured.

“Greg. I want to seek out the forbidden shops again, and pay a favor to a friend,” Neesha said. “Join us, and then you can escort me through the fire.”

The Archer bared his teeth, furious.

“It is settled then!” Flint raised his staff. “A curt grumble from an angry man can only mean yes, yes, doubly yes! Hm. I don’t know why I’m so excited, considering this is one step closer to me losing my Herald. Oh my, oh me.” He paced away, talking to himself.

“Glad you’re alright, buddy.” Alan slapped Lucius on the shoulder.

“Prick Wizard couldn’t have guided the portal to land?” he grumbled.

“As he would say, ‘where’s the fun in that?’”

“C’mon, Greg. We’re only two fogs over from the Pink. It’s barely out of the way.” Neesha squeezed the Archer’s arm.

Alan hated the physical affection she showed Greg, but hoped her actions spoke to a connection more powerful than the one they shared. Either that, or this would be all the more reason to go home and be done with this place.

“We’re on a tight schedule, Neesha. The cliffs—”

“Bah, the cliffs! We’ll be fine.” Flint materialized an icy map in his grip and flipped it every which way to make sense of it. Alan could tell it was much more detailed than the living one he had of his own. Of course, Flint had been exploring Ojin for years, probably. Maybe even decades.

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Wading through the fog proved cumbersome at times. Beastly roars caused panic on more than one occasion. And after an hour of travel, Alan finally understood what Greg was on about with the cliffs. They all dropped to the ground when a quake ripped the entire body of land out from its foundation like a loose tooth. Before Alan could ask what the hell was going on, the land zoomed forward as if on a track, straight across the ocean. Alan knew he’d be eaten by that enormous beast, but when the puzzle piece of land interlocked across the way with loud thuds, he was no longer so sure.

“Just follow the trajectory. Bah the cliffs,” Flint repeated, getting to his feet and pointing at his map, then the land ahead. “Understanding direction is a gift, you see,” Flint said confidently, then started scratching his head.

Alan feared they may have veered off course.

“Hm. Seems we will have to clear a sectional minion or two. Can’t tell my ass from my elbow in this thickness.” Flint presented the thick wall of fog blocking their path.

“Whatever you do, don’t lure a Siosh from the ocean, you clumsy mutt,” Gregorian growled.

They trekked carefully on, listening for minions. Gregorian had some kind of ability to sense creatures without seeing them, guiding them away from danger. Apparently certain minions were tethered to that horridly large beast in the center of the ocean, and if they angered it, they would wind up drowning from a world-ending quake.

“That’s probably why this place is so barren. Aha!” Flint joked to no one’s amusement.

“I thought the dark grey fog was harmless in comparison to others.”

“Nothing in Ojin is harmless, fool. Just categorized.” Greg got to his knees and pressed his ear to the floor. “Quiet, I’ve got something. A Mistborn.” He turned his head carefully, tracing vibrations. “Ready yourselves. Twenty paces east.”

Alan drew Durger and activated Red Saro. His heartbeat pulsed through his ears as time slowed. Discerning his friend’s footsteps was the first step so he could push them out of his mind to understand what Gregorian sensed.

Highly pressurized waterspouts resounded up ahead. It was faint, but Alan was able to latch on like a wolf hunting prey. Still, there was nothing to see beyond the fog. Not yet.

Th-thump. Th-thump. His heartbeat pulsed harder, the sound of Lucius’ weapons clanging against his gauntlets echoed at his back.

He crouched forward, flipping Durger so the blade lined his arm.

Grrrrr. A low growl accompanied the angry mist swirling in the fog.

“There!” Gregorian shouted. “Kill it before it can fully form!”

Time sped up. Arrows whizzed by Alan’s head, and the beast roared, clearing a wave of fog back in all directions. They challenged it officially – same as when Alan fought Akira Black.

What remained was something odd – like a water ghost trapped in sparse armor. The metal snout of a wolf, shin-patches for each leg, and a saddle held contained water in place. It was pulling vapor from the air – filling itself up like a muscular balloon.

It growled viciously as Gregorian’s arrows bounced up and down as if caught in a river. Lucius dove with his Soul Collector blade out, and Alan followed.

Shink! Shink!

Both warriors struck the channeling beast, their weapons sinking deep, disrupting the vapor’s flow – violent waters spouting everywhere to unhook them. Durger gargled, trying to say something to no avail. The Mistborn’s current became too rapid. Their weapons would be ejected at any moment, so Alan pulled out – swinging in a three-sixty from the momentum, while Lucius was flung airborne.

“Aho!” Flint whipped his staff forward, sending an ice bolt directly at the beast’s face.

Rrracha!

It chomped on the magical conjuring and burst it right back in the Wizard’s face, forcing him to create a last-second shield that shattered and sent him reeling off his feet.

Alan pulsed his Blue Saro to interlock with his Red, trying to predict what would happen next. White Saro seemed useless, Yellow was ineffective, and Orange had no effect.

Maybe Pink? he thought, grasping the pendant, and changing his role entirely like he did with the dragon.

As soon as Durger pulsed Pink, Alan charged the beast, pretending he was going to strike head on.

The Mistborn turned to him, eyes glowing a fierce blue. It roared out high-pressure mist, that Alan evaded with a flashy spin, then dove, swinging the Pink trail of Saro in its face.

Its eyes blinked different colors like those clairvoyant frogs back in Strangey Town.

Alan somersaulted back to his feet. “Quick. It’s stunned!”

Lucius pulled an ornate axe from the molten ground beside him, reeled back with two hands, and shouted as he plunged the head down onto the saddle. The Stalker was flung away as if trying to attack a waterfall. Gregorian’s arrows ricocheted faster than they were launched.

“This is no normal Mistborn.” Gregorian lowered his bow, gritting his teeth. “Perhaps Ojin is not pleased with our alliance with a coward, Neesha.”

“Will you give it a damn rest!” Alan shouted, focusing on the beast, trying to figure a way to get through its armor. His vision started to tunnel… the Mistborn’s armor.

A trance overwhelmed his vision, one he was compelled to let happen.

He witnessed that same wolf-snout armor, only this time, it wasn’t attached to some ball of violent water, but instead a great warrior of flesh and bone. It was flat, woven into his breastplate, designed to inspire fear in the warrior’s enemy, and the shin guards and helm were of the same make. He was marching through a snowy land with a tight ten-warrior force at his back.

“Grey Wolf.” A fur-coated man waved the warrior down, out of breath. “Grey Wolf! The scouts return with news of an army marching from the Deep Blue! Aquatic beasts in numbers we cannot fathom.”

Grey Wolf stepped forward, dropping a large, armored gauntlet on his worried friend. “Then you best learn to count, Captain. Gather the other squads. We hold the valley at nightfall.”

The trance sped forward to a violent battle filled with sewage-rotten fangs and weapons too big for their wielders. He understood Grey Wolf’s armor had a rare ability to expand the mass of allied weaponry, and also… that the armor was alive.

One more leap forward in time showed Grey Wolf impaled by a six-clawed beast with arms the size of trees. He tried to swing his axe in counter, but the beast chomped down on the warrior – ending his powerful life with one bite.

The armor was repurposed by the dreadful minion army and thrown to the mist at their rear. They underestimated the armor, just like Alan’s friends were now.

When Alan returned to the present a few heartbeats of real-time later, he noticed the Mistborn shaking out of its Pink Saro stupor.

“Gregorian is right. This is no ordinary beast. It dons the armor of Grey Wolf, a Grey Saro commander!” Alan shouted.

“I know a Grey Wolf.” Flint held his hat while trying to freeze the Mistborn’s paws in place. “Perished in the Deep Blue chasing a legendary axe forged in the icy dunes of Noah.”

“Your clairvoyance is off, coward,” Gregorian called. “How would that armor be a world away, in the dark grey fog of Sominyos.”

We’ll see about that. Alan rushed forward, cycling a ball of Blue Saro into his dagger. He swung it forward, dousing the enemy in a cerulean glow.

“What is the meaning of this. Be gone, mortal!” the armor’s voice rang like struck metal in Alan’s head.

“By the heavens, Alan. The armor is alive!” Durger spat.

The Mistborn chomped at Alan, but a flash of Red Saro gave him the wherewithal to duck and deflect a swipe of its claws – dagger to steel.

Clang!

The beast touched down, skidding across the ground, growling at Alan. In a show of power, it exhaled all of Gregorian’s electrical arrows out of its watery body – eyes now glowing the same as Gregorian’s.

“You are affixed to Grey Wolf still, aren’t you?” Alan said, his voice echoing in a translation he didn’t understand.

“Talking to it won’t do anything, coward! Beasts of this nature cannot be reasoned with,” Gregorian scowled.

“Let the man work! Do you not see the Blue? He communes!” Flint started cackling despite his struggle back to his feet.

It lunged at Alan – but he flipped high in the air and threw Durger with steadfast precision right beneath the saddle. The steel dangled in place from the violent pressure of the mist, giving Alan the second he needed to activate White. Elemental Saro proved useless in penetrating the mist… but what about when steel was already lodged inside? He mentally transferred the Saro into Durger, and he didn’t hold back on depleting his energy this time. A pulse of ice exploded from the dagger, reaching its core.

Bang!

The armor went flying in all different directions, and Alan willed Durger back to him through a pool of Orange Saro at his side.

The group stood dumbfounded.

“Deflective shell.” Lucius stalked forward and impaled the shin-guard. “Vulnerable core.”

“Is it over?” Neesha held a reserve of Green Saro cycling her fingertips.

“No, my friends. The grey fog still holds,” Flint bellowed.

“Brace, everyone!” Gregorian nocked three arrows.

Lucius drew his second blade and stabbed the other shin-guard closest to him.

Alan knew in that moment Lucius understood what was going on, just like he did. The armor was alive, and the cause for this insane power.

Grey Wolf’s armor quaked in place as a ball of mist rapidly reformed, attempting to vacuum all of the pieces back.

“Ayoo!” Flint threw a bolt that exploded over the saddle, cementing it in place.

Lucius flexed hard to fight the pull of the two shin guards, and Gregorian used his Yellow Saro shackles to pin down the rest. The only piece that spiraled back toward the mist was the wolf-head mask.

The mist struggled to find form without the remaining pieces, still glowing with Alan’s Blue Saro.

“You’re trapped, aren’t you?” Alan crouched with Durger in hand, ready to evade if the Mistborn struck again. “You’re held in the mist against your will. You haven’t accepted it.”

“Quiet! You’re just another parasite trying to extract my power!” The Mistborn spun, releasing a cyclone of violent mist that tore around Alan and right into Gregorian – knocking the two shin guards free of electrical shackles.

“Alan, that is a minion’s soul trapped against its will. We call them fragments. They’re not like me. They aren’t trapped warriors! Reasoning with one will be like—”

Woosh!

Another tornado caused Alan to flip out of the way.

“I’m trying to understand you, and perhaps offer you peace,” Alan said.

“Peace?” The Mistborn laughed. “I do not desire peace.”

Woosh!

The next cyclone froze to white mid-formation, and Flint speared through it – further impaling the Mistborn and sending the shin guards flying off.

Gregorian sniped them both out of the air using one bloodshot eye, activating shackles once more.

“Then what!” Alan dodged a chomp and sliced hard through the violent shell, striking into its core and activating another bomb of White Saro.

The Mistborn tumbled once and growled at Alan, its breathing labored and body more unstable than before.

“What I was promised! There is no other worthy suitor, so I wish for death alongside my master!”

Alan recalled Grey Wolf being bit by the minion, dying a swift death. Is that all this soul wanted? To rest with Grey Wolf’s corpse?

“Lend me your power, and I will quest to your land and find Grey Wolf’s remains, or find you a suitable master to rival him. This is what I can promise you before my time is up,” Alan offered.

“Another greedy creature wanting my power.”

“I can kill you right now,” Alan bluffed. “I watched it in the visions of your battle against the Blue minions. I’m offering you the reunion you desire, and the sweet release of a soul’s death.”

“Never!”

“Augh! Enough of this blathering! Are you seriously trying to reason with this mist, you lowely Merchant!” Greg shouted.

“I said shush!” Flint snarled. “Alan can strike a deal with gods, the armor of a Mistborn will be rummy cake!”

Lucius left his two blades stuck in cooling molten rock, pinning the two shin guards, and rushing into shade form. A spear emerged from another molten summoning, and Lucius’s shadowy form grasped it, leapt, and shed his shadowy essence mid-thrust.

Clang!

He skewered the wolf-helm into the ground, leaving the ball of mist again homeless. It scattered and thrashed, trying to unearth the separated armor.

“Ahh! Argh!” the armor shouted so loud Alan winced.

“Why won’t it die?” Neesha covered her eyes.

“Fine. Fine! I’ll accept your terms, even though I know an empty promise when I see one. Separate me from this mist, now!”

Trade with DarkShar Initiated

Steps taken to unlock next Title:

1/2

“Tell me how!” Alan shouted.

“I’m bonded with Grey Saro that can only be severed by Green.”

Alan spun around to all his friends laboring to keep the armor in place, all except for Neesha. “Hey! Throw healing waves at the armor, now!”

“What!” Neesha called back.

“Just trust me!” Alan exclaimed. He thought of the most soothing memories possible in this tense moment, and evoked a weak green glow that he hoped would be enough. Neesha’s green ribbons tethered to the lesser pieces all around Alan, but the helm was his.

“Yrrah!” He stabbed hard through the eye of the armor, sending the mist screeching out of its mold. The armor then broke the party’s hold and zoomed straight into Alan’s hand.

DarkShar Armor Received

(Mistborn connection intact)

Ability – Alter the mass of objects within the wielder’s reach.

“You vile sniveling invalid,” the armor cursed, wolf-head turning to growl at Alan. “You reek of lies and unfulfilled promises. Sacrilege. Heretic!”

Alan rewound the Blue Saro to quiet DarkShar and coined him thereafter. “Phew.” He dropped on his backside and fell back on the ground. “Goddamn.”