The silence of fifteen thousand people was deafening, a calm before the storm. Each panicked heartbeat was a drum ushering the tempest.

Shock blinded most to the amber lantern fading into the sky. For many of those watching, this situation probably did not feel real. And in the wake of manifesting impossibility, the world tends to crumble

While time stood still, the Breaker stretched. His form was relaxed, and his expression was at ease.

The guard on his left held up his halberd, blade covered in mercurial blood.

He was one of Providence's Tails. The guard on Romulus' right, now a headless corpse, lay in a rapidly expanding pool of liquid silver.

The commotion did not rattle everyone. The warriors of the sun, the Dawnguard, were swiftly advancing toward the stage.

They had drawn their swords as the world held its breath. Their alertness was commendable. But focusing on a single tree could obscure the entire forest.

So, the Hand of Providence remained still, fingers on the bowstring, hunters in the dark.

"EEEEEEK!"

The Bloodbane's eerie cry kickstarted the clock. There was panic, yes, but the Breaker was a single man. He could not slay fifteen thousand in a single sitting. Moreover, he was injured. Thus, no one tried to flee yet.

That would not do. So, the Hand of Providence cast out the net of chaos. Starting a row amidst a frantic crowd was not too difficult.

Anxiety easily gives way to fear, and fear quickly turns to anger. Finding individuals willing to act on anger was trivial in a crowd of this size. A shove here, a prick there.

It took less than a minute, and the first punch opened the floodgates. A cascade of violence fell, and people grew frantic.

They jostled and pushed, trampled and yelled. The violence spread like wildfire, and the soldiers stationed throughout the Colosseum were overwhelmed by the mob.

Fear blinded the mass, and it turned into a beast that began tearing itself apart. Injuries mounted, and there would likely be deaths before all was said and done.

Ignoring the frantic crowd, the Breaker let out a breath. He glanced to his right and casually reached out to pick up the dead guard's halberd. He rolled his shoulders, and with graceful ease, he swung. The blade roared, to which he gave a slight nod. Slowly, he turned, sparing the Tail a glance.

"Thank you, friend!" Romulus boomed, remaining unperturbed when he received no reply.

Still, the Breaker's presence warranted acknowledgement. So, the Tail dipped his head.

'Even dead men know fear.' The finger scoffed at the thought.

"Now, I think it would be best for you to leave. In this situation, I'm more likely to kill you than be able to protect you." The Breaker smiled as he spoke.

Without hesitation, the man turned, heading towards the stage's only gateway. Having completed his task, he would try to fight his way out. He would die, but that was his purpose. All in the name of Providence.

Amid the screams and bloodshed, Lysander seized his blackened sword before marching to the edge of his lavish balcony.

Giving a single glance at the arena below, the Duke leapt, and the light of the noonday sun gave him wings. He landed a few meters in front of the Breaker with a flourish.

A wave of anticipation swept through the nervous crowd. People stopped in their tracks, their eyes widening and their chests heaving.

For a moment, the chaos settled as the crowd craned their necks to see the impending clash.

The two men stared at each other for a few moments.

"You cannot beat me." The king of scorched earth said, voice level.

"I know." Lysander acknowledged in an even tone. "Fortunately, I don't have to."

"Do you know why I hate your kin so much?" Neither man had taken their eyes off the other. "Well, aside from you being sadistic bastards."

Romulus tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck.

"I hate you because you're cowards. Worse, you are cowards with power."

"We do not know fear." The Duke proclaimed.

"Most peasants do not know their king." The Breaker began. "And fools are often ignorant of their foolishness. I should know. After all, aren't I a chief among fools?"

"You mock us. Yet we flourish while you and yours lay broken."

"Our broken pieces will cut you deep."

"Those wounds will turn to scars. They will be our trophies of battles won."

The Breaker chuckled at the Duke's remark, but his eyes were cold and sharp. Both men were buying time.

"Even if we are under the sun, you are still mortal."

The first Dawnguard had arrived. The figure was lithe, and their movements were nimb. The king of scorched earth slowly lifted the halberd, held steady in his right hand.

He took a step forward and swung. The air screamed as the blow tore it asunder. The weapon was a blur. A clang echoed across the arena as the Duke deflected the blow. Or he tried. As Lysander stumbled back, arms trembling, Romulus smiled.

Fear washed over the seventh finger as he watched the scene unfold, but it found no purchase. Still, he had to admit the Breaker was a monster.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Lysander was a man amongst men, bolstered sixty-four times over. Yet, there he was, being overpowered by his foe. The wrath in Romulus' veins covered the sun.

As they finally stepped onto the stage, the members of the Dawnguard encircled the king of scorched earth, creating a cage of flesh. Eighteen in total. Even for the Breaker, that would be too much.

Romulus took a breath, and his blood began to boil. Phantoms reached out from his body, desperate but unable to escape.

Two hundred eyes and four hundred limbs. One hundred crimson ghosts, all bearing the Breaker's form. Images of potential overlayed over the original. A hundred-man army in a single soldier. Lysander took a step back.

'Coward.' The finger thought. But, he understood.

Fear reigned in the absence of strength. For men, playing gods, to be clothed in weakness every night. It must be maddening.

Knowing shame, Lysander charged, appearing before the Breaker in a near instant, trying to render the halberd's advantage of reach impotent.

Pivoting on his heels, Romulus easily avoided his foe's ebony blade as it came bearing down.

Five Breakers lashed out, ethereal halberds bearing down on the Duke. Three turned with their blades meeting that of a guard charging from behind while the remaining two took a bite of the Duke's flesh.

A fountain of yellow erupted as the ghosts lifted the sun-kissed warrior that tried to strike the Breaker's back off his feet. They knocked the man several meters away.

Ninety-two other wraiths were fending off the assault of the rest of the Dawnguard.

The fallen guard still lived with smoke billowing from his wounds as his flesh slowly knitted itself back together. It was but one of the sun's many gifts.

Meanwhile, ignoring his injuries, the Duke swung wide, but his sword struck the shaft of an ethereal halberd as another phantom parried the blow.

An ordinary man would burn before the blood of Helios. But the false saviour appeared to be toying with his foe. While they didn't pack as much force, the Dawnguard seemed more of a threat than the Duke.

They moved with astonishing coordination. A wave slowly trying to erode the mountain standing before them. When Romulus beat one back, another flowed in to take their place. Each dealt with at least four phantoms at a time.

Finally, they began to chip away at the Breaker's defences, slipping past the ghosts to leave notable cuts on flesh. But the mounting injuries only fueled the madness in Romulus' veins.

From a mountain, he turned into a storm of carnage, and the first member of the Dawnguard fell, bisected at the waist by their foe of flesh.

Undeterred, the warriors of the sun continued to apply pressure. Hiding behind the radiance of the Duke, they struck from the shadows, creating and seizing chances.

The Breaker's ghosts began to falter. Sustaining so many for so long a time was astounding. Still, weakness was weakness.

As Romulus claimed his second kill, severing his foe's neck, another charged in, angled low, with her sword slanted upwards, aimed at the Breaker's heart.

Another guard, a bull of a man nearly as large as the king of scorched earth, was cleaving down. His blade cut through the phantoms in his way.

Lysander saw a chance, and like a bow loosed, he charged ahead. Three hands of death encircled the Breaker. So, he surrendered, letting go of the breath he was holding.

Yellow, gold and crimson splattered onto the arena floor as a heart-wrenching cry reignited an ember of dread within the watching crowd.

Steam roiled off Romulus' body as scarlet ichor flowed from the stump that had taken the place of his left arm. The king of scorched earth seemed unperturbed by the injury as he wore a casual smile.

Crimson blood sizzled as it fell upon the puddles of yellow, slowly spreading from the headless corpses at his feet. They belonged to two of the three hands of death.

It was a terrifying thing to see your god fall. Because it meant they had never really been a god.

The crowd remained silent, watching in muted horror as the Duke lay on the arena floor, crying in anguish. Golden ichor poured out from the gash that ran from his left hip to his right shoulder.

The Breaker had bitten deep with his halberd, tearing flesh and snapping bone, running Lysander through.

The Dawnguard had rushed to surround the fallen noble, easing the pressure on Romulus.

The calm lasted for a moment before the crowd, bolstered by irrational, newfound fear, renewed their efforts at escape.

"Kill him! Kill him now!" The Duke shouted, his voice hoarse with pain and rage.

The Duke screamed, unable to stand, unable to move with his spine severed. It was time to close the curtain on this act.

From the confines of his cloak, the seventh finger drew a white handkerchief, waving it once. The other fingers, across the arena, mimicked the motion.

Each finger moved into position, swimming through the mounting chaos to deliver their gifts of pocket-sized canisters. Their contents milked from the Mouth of Providence.

Within seconds, the stage was enveloped by thick white smog, hiding the Breaker, the Duke and the accompanying Dawnguards from view.

***

With his task complete, the finger made his way out of the arena, weaving through the chaos, gliding along with purpose.

True to character, he moved like a wraith darting between panicking spectators, eyes scanning for openings in the human tide.

Like water from a burst dam, the frenzied crowd spilt onto the streets outside the arena, spreading chaos and confusion. Beyond the coliseum's steel gates was an open square, a stone fountain at its centre.

Usually, boisterous stalls now lay abandoned as the vendors fled. The finger did not linger as he was running against the clock.

Notika, while a hub of trade, was only a mid-sized city not among the imperium's grandest municipalities. The finger remained vigilant as he walked along the cobbled streets.

The surrounding architecture bore the scars of time as buildings leaned into each other for support. Wooden shutters adorned the windows of ageing structures, their paint peeling like memories lost to the ages.

Everything had gone according to plan thus far, but man proposes, and heaven disposes. Anything and everything could go wrong in a heartbeat. He had learned this through painful experience, time and time again.

As the finger moved closer to his destination, the atmosphere shifted. The buildings grew more dilapidated, and the streets narrower.

The flies were fatter, and the rats meaner. The scent of unwashed bodies, human waste and rotting garbage was almost overpowering.

It took several minutes before he arrived at the end of the narrowest alleyway yet. His destination was a crumbling archway of moss-covered stones, an entrance sealed by rusting iron bands.

A musty odour wafted out of the opening, the mingling stench of damp earth and decay. The finger stepped past the bars long since pried apart before descending a short flight of broken steps.

He drew out a crystal rod from the folds of his cloak. Emerald light spilt forth as he snapped it in two. It was an eerie glow that made nightmares of the shadows. The finger was among familiar company.

Travelling further along dimmed the echoes of the city above to a distant murmur. He had spent months committing these tunnels to memory, preparing for as many eventualities as possible.

He knew the sewers of Nokita almost as well as the back of his hand. Around ten minutes later, he heard the sound of violent coughing. He was getting close.

Rounding a bend, he arrived at an intersection of four passes. The others were already waiting. The glow of their crystals illuminated the monsters in their shadows.

The seventh's eyes skimmed over the eleven wearing midnight cloaks and settled on the giant in their midst. Wrapped in bandages dyed crimson, whoever had tended to his wounds could have done a better job.

His face bore no sign of pain, but his laboured breathing and constant cough betrayed his fatigue.

'Seven', One of the cloaked figures signed, stepping forward.

It was the fifteenth finger, the highest ranked after Seven in this group. He wore the face of a sickly old man.

'Fifteen.' The seventh finger signed back. 'Is everything ready?'

He received a nod of acknowledgement.

'How long do we have?'

'Ten minutes, give or take.' The fifteenth finger gestured.

'Not a lot of time.' Seven thought.

The seventh finger gave a sharp nod, and the procession began to move.

"So you're the leader?" Romulus asked, falling in without complaint. His voice rose above the sounds of his footsteps, trickling water and distant scurrying of unseen creatures. The fingers meanwhile marched in utter silence.

Number Seven did not respond as he took measure of the man, wondering how the Breaker stayed so calm despite the madness in his eyes.

His boldness was admirable. Aside from the ignorant and the foolish, few could walk confidently surrounded by eleven fingers of the Hand of Providence.

"I appreciate the lengths you've taken to grant me freedom." Romulus continued before delving into a coughing fit.

"I can't image it has been easy." He continued after getting himself back under control.

That was an understatement. Having been the one to come up with this plan, the Seventh Finger had not been confident it would succeed. Digging a tunnel into the arena had taken months.

While getting instructions to the Breaker had cost three Mouths and far too many Tails.

"Now, don't take this the wrong way." The Breaker stopped, causing the procession to come to a halt. His breathing was noticeably heavy.

"But I must ask." The fingers stilled. "What price does Providence demand for this favour?"

The Breaker's coughing broke the brief silence. He brought his remaining hand to cover his mouth, and it came away stained with blood. He was afflicted with poison spat from the Mouth of Providence.

"We aren't friends, are we?" Romulus said with a smile on his bloodstained lips.

Seven sighed. The game was almost at an end. The fingers drew their swords, blades dark as night, while the Breaker took a breath.

Eleven broken ghosts reached out, and the fingers crushed their crystals, plunging the world into darkness.

Then, Romulus began to burn.