Eric stared blankly at his former mentor for several seconds, his brain trying to catch up with what he’d said. Maybe he’d heard him incorrectly, he thought. But the logical, attentive part of him said that, no, he’d heard him perfectly. Without quite meaning to, he let out a snort of laughter. As soon as it escaped him, he felt horrible. Ehran had made the suggestion seriously, and the last thing he wanted to do was dismiss it rudely. But he couldn’t stop himself, and the singular snort turned into a full bellow of laughter.

“You can’t be serious,” he said, trying his best to quell the laughter. “I can’t do Ancient magic. Hell, I can barely do physical magic!”

If Ehran was offended by his reaction, no sign of it showed on his face. He merely stared back at Eric, calm and persistent. “Samuel seemed to think otherwise.”

That did the trick. Eric stopped laughing, and he blinked, thrown by the statement. “What are you talking about?”

“He said that he made you, right? I mean to say, he crafted the body.”

“Sure,” Eric replied. Samuel had told him the same thing. “But he could only do it because he didn’t know how to bring my body across too, and he wanted me to have a chance to use the magic of Ahya. But it’s just a body. I can’t pull Ahya’s energy into it to use ancient magic.”

He was sure of that, despite the fact that he’d never actually tried. It was just a logical assumption that he’d settled long ago. There was a period of time, after the battle against Attos, where he’d tried to learn how to use magic like Megan. He’d seen the perfect combination of arcane and physical magic many times, such as in Michael’s fighting style. But studying arcane magic had taken too long, and he wasn’t up to it, so he’d settled for the wonders that physical magic could provide.

“Samuel told me that you don’t have to,” Ehran said. He remained patient and deliberate in his speech, and it was that which registered strongly with Eric. “He said that your body is made out of his mana.”

“And?”

“Well, his mana comes from Arcana, doesn’t it?”

“Huh.” Eric leaned back in his seat, absorbing that revelation. “I never knew that.”

“He told me about it long ago,” Ehran admitted, taking another sip of coffee. “He said that his body was made in the same way yours was. That means that your body is essentially solid mana of an Ancient.”

Eric took another long drink of coffee as well, more to give him time to think than for any other reason. Samuel had constructed him a body twice. The second time, he’d made improvements. There were runes, invisible to the normal eye, etched into his back, along his spine, and his shoulder blades. Few knew about them, of course. Megan had examined them once out of curiosity and had said that she’d never seen more complex runes in her life.

The purpose of these runes, as explained to him by Samuel, was to repair his body in the event that it was critically injured. The runes themselves drew power the same way an Ancient would, pulling it directly from Ahya. But for its power, it took a good long while to recharge. At least a month, he remembered. The runes had come in handy several times. Once, his arm had been severed, only to grow back an hour later. He remembered now the rush of powerful energy that had flooded into his body, almost knocking him unconscious with its pressure.

He set the cup down, frowning. He forced himself to think it through carefully, then said. “It’s possible. But I imagine that even one spell would destroy my body.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Ehran said, leaning back and frowning as well. “We definitely can’t have that happen. If you fall, the plan fails.”

Eric was touched by that, but he also completely disbelieved it. “I doubt that. If I can get at least you across, then you’ll be a hundred times more effective than I could ever hope to be.”

“I appreciate your confidence in my skills,” Ehran said with a slight grin. “And you’re right, of course, but I won’t be taking part in this fight.”

“You won’t?” That wasn’t a pleasant bit of news to hear. It was the very thought of Ehran’s support that made him so confident in his mission. “How can I expect to win alone?”

Ehran shook his head. “You constantly underestimate yourself, you know. You’re more than strong and fast enough. It’s particularly your speed that you’ll need. Once you’re in, you have to move fast. And Hunter will help you.”

“I’m not underestimating myself,” Eric corrected him. “I’m being realistic. I’ve fought a strong Infernal already, remember? That took more than just me alone, and I’m willing to bet that the Infernals holding the palace are even stronger.”

“Well, technically you’ll be in the tunnels under the palace,” Ehran pointed out. “But that’s beside the point. “You’re going to have enough help in Hunter alone. He can guide you, and tell you where each rune is by sniffing them out.”

“Except for one problem,” Eric replied, crossing his arms. “Hunter can’t talk.”

“Yet.”

Then, it clicked. Eric saw what his mentor was getting at, and he was surprised it took him so long to see it. His eyes wide, he sat up properly in the booth. “You’re going to make me a Divine Warrior of Shigeru?”

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“Not quite,” Ehran said, lifting one hand to calm him. “But we will give you a deeper connection to Longfang’s power.”

“And you have the authority to do this?”

“With Shigeru’s blessing, yes. In reality, he’ll be the one giving you the power. We just have to commune with him.”

“He’s willing to give an outsider that sort of power?” Eric asked, his head spinning with the gravity of the suggestion. “As easily as that?”

Now Ehran looked less certain. “He has said that he will agree to the plan.”

“But?” Eric prompted, sensing that there was more to that answer.

“But he wants to test you first. He wants to make sure that you’re strong enough to hold the power.”

Eric had heard of Shigeru’s method of testing. It usually featured a fight with one of his chosen warriors, each one so strong they could beat Eric with their hands tied behind their backs. “I can’t possibly beat one of his warriors in combat. You’re the youngest of them, and I can barely touch you.”

“Not a physical fight to show your strength,” Ehran corrected. Then he grimaced. “Although, to be honest, that would be easier for you to pass.”

“Okay,” Eric said slowly, hesitant to ask further. “What kind of test then?”

Ehran let out a sigh, then drew his left hand out of his robe’s pocket. It was strange, Eric thought, how he’d failed to notice that his mentor had kept that very hand out of sight for the entire time they’d been speaking. Even when they’d embraced outside the gate, he’d not moved his left arm and had hugged Eric with one arm. Now, as the hand appeared, he saw why.

There were thin silver runes all across his hand, wrapping around his fingers, and stretching out of sight up his wide sleeve. Eric had never seen runes packed with that much power before, so much that they gave off a faint glow in spite of being dormant. Yet, despite the strange design of the runes, he could guess at who, or rather, what they came from. In the exact center of the runes, on the back of Ehran’s hand, was a wolf’s head, carved in that same silver light.

“This kind of test.”

Ehran rose to his feet, and, faster than Eric could even blink, leaned across the table to strike his palm into his former student’s head. The touch was light as a feather, but the power that discharged from the runes into his body, into his very soul? It was far too much for him to endure. It left just enough of him intact to register that he’d been utterly and completely destroyed by it. Then, an instant later, that part of him vanished as well, and he was gone.

-

Bora Bora Ciayol, God of Dragons, stood above the body of the fallen warriors, his mind a sea of violent emotions. There were so many emotions that his mind couldn’t pick one to start. They whirled around inside of him, surging and collapsing on top of each other without an end. If he hadn’t been a Divine, they might have threatened to tear him apart. As it stood, they rooted him to the spot, confining him as he faced the undeniable proof of what lay before him.

There were two of them. In reality, they were surrounded by their strongest followers, who also lay scattered around them, but it was only these two that he focused on, for their deaths were the only ones that mattered. The woman, tall, strong, and powerful. In life, she’d commanded the power of the seas. The man, broad of shoulder and clever, had fought for centuries against the unfair imprisonment of the common folk. Both had championed causes, not just for their family, but for the people they led.

Now here they were, lifeless and defeated. His mind tried to shift aside the fact, tried to find evidence to say that it wasn’t true, but it was a vain attempt. His firstborn children, the two that had continued his legacy after his first ascension, the first rulers of Tyrman, his strongest, most devout followers, had been killed. Struck down together, in virtually the same spot. It was inconceivable. It couldn’t be true. But the evidence was before his eyes.

Long ago, he’d faced a choice. A terrible, frightening choice. Continue on his quest for power, and let his chaotic nature consume him. He would have been the strongest mortal warrior. But then the Ancient Grimr would have been forced to cut him down. In order to spare that same fate, he’d accepted the decision of the wise Khanmara, and had a family, entrusting the growth of his legacy to his future children, accepting his ultimate prize of ascension to divinity.

His children had achieved all that he could have hoped of them, and more beyond that. They’d taken hold of the dying country in which they lived, yanking it back from the edges of chaos that it had been teetering towards. Piana, with the help of her brother Atlas, had reforged the nation into what it was today, creating the strongest military the world had known. She’d cast out the invaders who’d sought to make it theirs, and sat atop the throne as the Queen, the first ruler of the great Empire of Tyrman.

After the end of her life, when she ascended from a battlefield, Atlas had taken the throne and proved every bit the equal of his sister. He had completed the reformation of the country, creating fair laws regarding imprisonment and the treatment of the common people, thereby ensuring that no noble or tyrant could ever harm them again. It had been that love of the people, and their love for him, that had ascended him to divinity as well, long into his life, when he’d died peacefully in his sleep.

And, of course, his third child, Elena. Beautiful, graceful Elena. The only child born from his second, now dead wife. She’d been struck down first. It was too direct a strike to be anything but a personal attack. Someone had done this to strike down his legacy. And they had, for what was his legacy, if not his three eldest children, the mothers and father that had led to the glorious expansion of his bloodline?

He couldn’t settle on one emotion. He didn’t need to. He would use all of them. He would let these emotions guide him, and fuel him. He’d find the swine who had done this and end him. No, he thought, feeling the chaos inside him building. He wouldn’t just end him. He would wipe every last bit of proof of his existence from the face of the world so that nobody would remember him. Then he would destroy the last piece, that evil killer, himself. And he would squeeze every last bit of the chaos inside him out to achieve it.

He knelt down to kiss his children on the forehead. Now that he was settled on a course of action, he would allow the chaos to consume him. It didn’t matter what would happen after. Let the Warden strike him down for all he cared because his legacy was gone.

“Wait for me, dear Piana, dear Atlas,” he said softly. The fires around him seemed to waver with the soft sibilance of his voice. “I will join you shortly in Oblivion, and I will bring him with me. Wait for me.”

He rose again and turned away. He could feel his mind clouding over, and made no effort to resist the encroaching chaos. Even as he could hear the voice flaring to life in his mind, he knew that it would not redirect him from his task. Chaos wanted a powerful Champion for his cause, no matter how short the service. Fine then, he decided. I will be your champion and unleash all the chaos he could. With one mental command, the scythe flew into his hand, and his wings flared out, ready to take to the sky.