The Godknight stood amid the ruins of the city he had sworn to defend. His mighty shoulders slumped in the face of the destruction and his knees buckled beneath the weight of his failure. Where once there had been an ever welcoming smile, now there was nothing but slack-jawed disbelief.

Enek’Chok felt a momentary tinge of sadness at the sight of him. Once so mighty. So righteous. So brave and so strong. Everybody’s protector. Everyone’s friend.

It was clear now that all the intelligence that had been gathered on the current state of the Godknight had been accurate. He truly was a shell of his former self.

Still, that shell was dangerous. Perhaps still the most dangerous man—if one can call such a being a “man”—in all the worlds. Enek’Chok knew his sadness was misplaced, but did not chastise himself for feeling it. His emotions—and those of the Order—were strengths, not weaknesses. But there would be time to mourn later. For now, there was still work to be done.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy his work.

Enek’Chok did enjoy what he did. Was enjoying it now, despite his conflict of emotions. He never felt more full, more alive, than in the heart of a battle.

Enek’Chok watched as every member of the Fellowship of the Faithful—the rather quaint name the lower initiates had chosen for themselves—within sight of the Godknight hurried into position. He had not given any order; they had trained for months for this moment and had been more than prepared. They all knew the likely outcome of this phase of the fight and the peril they were putting themselves in, but had eagerly rushed in just the same. And in so doing, had affirmed their dedication to the Order, and to Lord Malphor.

The Godknight stood in the center of the square, just a few meters away from his tower. The soldiers of the Order surrounded him in a wide circle, allowing for space between themselves and the Godknight. Civilians were quick to pick up what was happening, and those who were able, fled. The soldiers parted just enough to let them by. They were distractions now. Unimportant.

Verity’s Lament held its position well away from the battle. But Enek’Chok’s eyesight was as keen as his strategic mind. He could see everything.

He felt love for his troops in that moment. And pride. So many of them had been tossed aside for one reason or another. Cast out or rejected. Or conquered, yet had chosen to pledge their allegiance to Lord Malphor anyway.

But their resolve was staggering. Their bravery, unmatched. It reminded Enek’Chok that sometimes all a person needed—whether Aeonic or human—was something to believe in.

Enek’Chok’s thoughts were interrupted by a lone scream piercing what had become a silent standoff. One of his soldiers had apparently cracked under the pressure after all, and was charging full steam towards the Godknight. Her back was to Enek’Chok, showing nothing but black armor, but Enek’Chok recognized her all the same. He was disappointed, though not surprised. She was an impetuous young lady named Dyris, a relatively new member of the Order with attitude to spare.

Her feet splashed in the puddles formed by the now steadily falling rain. Her screaming never stopped, one single “ah” sound that stretched on forever. She closed the gap quickly, her metal fists prepared out in front of her. When she was within striking distance, she reared back to throw a punch.

Enek’Chok never saw the Godknight move. One moment he had been standing in his deflated, shoulder slumping stance, his eyes cast down at his feet. The next moment his arm was extended and holding Dyris in the air over his head, the metal of her chest plate crumpling under his grip like paper.

She grabbed at his arm futilely. Tried to kick him with her dangling feet. He looked her dead in the eyes, and she ceased struggling. Enek’Chok, along with every other soldier on the battlefield, could imagine the depth of Dyris’s terror.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

He pulled her closer to his face, so they were eye-to-eye. Held her there for a long moment.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, she was airborne. Her arms and legs flailed as she soared away, higher and higher into the distance. A moment later, she disappeared into the storm.

Enek’Chok’s breath caught in his throat. He felt a cold surge of raw terror throughout his body, a feeling he had not felt for a very long time.

He had prepared for every eventuality his experience and imagination had conjured. Every twist and turn and variable of this battle. There would still be unexpected occurrences, of course. Coincidences or chance. But he was a master not just of war, but of adaptation. He was ready for surprises as well.

There was only one thing he had never truly considered. In all his hours and hours of preparation, discussions with his generals, staff, and even Lord Malphor himself, this scenario had come up only briefly, and had been summarily dismissed as an impossibility.

The way the Godknight had thrown Dyris out of the city… the power and the distance… there was no way anyone could survive that.

Which meant the Godknight had just done the one thing he had refused to do for centuries. Perhaps millennia. Despite countless times when it would have been deserved. Or would have solved kingdom-wide crises, definitively and permanently.

The Godknight had just killed.

Enek’Chok whipped his head around to Tua Aoy. Her eyes were already locked on his, as wide and unbelieving as he felt. Enek’Chok pointed sharply at her. “Do not let them feel your fear!”

She nodded quickly and squeezed her eyes shut. She was disgusted with herself, Enek’Chok sensed, and with her momentary weakness. Enek’Chok shared her sentiment.

There was no more time to delay. It was time to attack.

But just as he was about to give Tua the order, a new scream pierced the storm. Raw and primal, and so powerful it caused his tower to shake, forcing Enek’Chok to brace himself against the railing of Verity’s Lament.

He returned his attention to the battlefield in the city center. There would be no need to give the attack order. The Godknight had initiated that on his own. He was a blur now, moving in and out of the throngs of soldiers, sending them catapulting off in every direction.

Enek’Chok stood straight and tall, casually straightening out his robe. He took a moment—and it only took a moment—to collect himself. The fear was gone now, the moment of doubt passed. The fight—the real fight—that they had long planned for was finally underway.

He glanced back at Tua, whose eyes were closed in fierce concentration. “Tua,” he said softly. “Did she survive?”

Tua gritted her teeth in reply, reaching out with her mind for the answer. The effort was likely spreading her consciousness thinner than either of them would have liked. But she did not open her eyes or question Enek’Chok. Her hands were clenched into shaking fists in front of her face and her eyes moved rapidly behind her lids.

“She survived,” she said, the two words coming out so quickly they merged into one.

That was good, and set Enek’Chok’s mind at ease. He and Lord Malphor knew the Godknight well enough to know he would rather go to his death than take a life. He had been foolish to think otherwise. Dyris must have come down softly into a baleful of hay somewhere, or perhaps dropped into a lake. That was more like the Godknight he knew.

Of course, the Godknight had never been pushed as far as Enek’Chok and Lord Malphor expected him to be pushed today...

Enek’Chok returned his attention and his focus to the “battle” playing out in front of him. It was a lopsided fight, the Godknight having as much—or more—of an advantage as his troops had had earlier against the helpless people of Brightholme. But that was not unexpected.

This first stage was meant only to gauge the Godknight’s current state. Tire him out, perhaps, if he had been weakened enough. The real challenge was yet to come.

Enek’Chok settled in, his calm smile returning. Everything was going according to plan. This would be a day long remembered as the single most important victory in the ever expanding empire that was the Order of the Holy Ascension. The Godknight would, at last, be broken.

And Enek’Chok would be remembered as the one that broke him.