Death's army had not reached the wall. Not yet.

His soldiers charged down the hill and maneuvered their horses around fallen comrades without so much as a glance in their direction. Heart hammering, Hartley waved to the god behind him.

“Terrain!” he shouted. "Take out those soldiers!"

A slender god stepped forward. Thick moss trailed up his hands and disappeared under his armor. He strode towards Hartley and, without a second thought, swiped a hand through the air.

Distant rumbling shook the walls.

The ground in front of Death’s riders disappeared. All that remained was a large gap stretching around the Court like a boundary line. Voices laced with fear, the enemy soldiers screamed for their horses to move faster until they finally reached the edge of the crater. Without stopping, their mounts leapt through the air.

A fourth didn’t make, vanishing swiftly into the darkness below. The rest whooped at their victory as they landed on the other side and raced across the valley.

Terrain raised his other hand and flicked up.

Towers of stone jutted from the ground, some mere inches from their targets. Riders slammed into them. Those riding behind them crashed into their backs with a yelp, and the remaining gods yanked their mounts around the wreckage warily.

Soldiers cheered behind Hartley— but it didn't last long. The first group reached the wall, and a god experimentally fired shards of ice. More spells followed suit. Hartley was suddenly grateful for the barrier the Goddess of Shields created, keeping those with teleportation affinities from materializing next to him. Risking a glance over the battlements, he inhaled sharply.

"Ladders!" Hartley roared.

The Wings of the Court all looked down at once. An enemy stood with his hand on the wall, surrounded by gods that shielded him from view. Thick vines trailed up the stone, and before the soldiers knew what was happening, Death’s army started to climb.

Belthore bellowed hoarsely, "Take those blasted vines down!"

"Archers!" cried Athema. "Aim for the climbers!"

Spells whirled past Hartley. While a few enemies fell from the wall, the vines and their creator remained intact.

Moments later, shouts rang out over the battlements, and before he realized what had happened, Justice stormed over.

"Where the hell is our barrier?"

"Shields is resting," he shouted back. "She burned out."

Justice nodded to Terrain. "Can we get some trenches?"

"That would only delay them. It's a waste of power." Terrain's voice rumbled across the wall as he turned to Hartley, clenching his jaw. "Permission to aid those at the gate?"

"Granted."

Terrain stormed off, and soldiers scrambled out of his way.

Justice butted a lesser god with his sword hilt and sent him tumbling back down the wall. Turning to his men, he flipped his sword around and gave them a lazy smile.

Justice yelled, "Raise your weapons!"

The wall of the Court of Balance became a battlefield. Even Grief unsheathed a small dagger and sliced it through infiltrators like they were made of sand. Hartley focused on prevention, his group throwing the brunt of their power on— what he assumed was— the God of Vines below.

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As he searched desperately for an opening, something, or rather, someone flickered in front of him.

It was a god of shadow and smoke. He wielded a short sword in each hand and, without a moment of hesitation, charged toward Hartley with a scream. At the last second, he raised his shield and grimaced at the vibrations rumbling up his arms, and then the man disappeared.

Whirling around, he reappeared at his back, but something was wrong. Instead of striking, the man jerked back and cursed at him.

Hartley moved.

He shoved the god back, years of training coming back to him with every swing, but his blade only sliced through smoke. The God of Peace turned, but instead of materializing behind him again, the soldier reappeared in the exact same spot, but now Hartley’s back was to him.

Before he could react, the man slashed the blade across his shoulder and pain coursed through him. The next strike was aimed at his neck.

The Goddess of Momentum shouted.

Time slowed, but only for the God of Shadows. Hartley used those precious seconds to duck swiftly under his blade. Putting all his power into his arm, he surged forward and buried his weapon in the man's stomach. With a look of confusion, the man dropped his swords and fell. He twitched once and didn't move again.

The Goddess of Momentum glanced at his blood-smeared blade. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He rotated his shoulder and winced. "I think you just saved my life.”

“Barely,” she muttered.

Before he could respond, Grief charged over and pulled him aside. Despite the fighting around them, she lowered her head and glanced from side to side. Taking her cue, Momentum returned to the fighting and left them alone.

"What was that?"

Hartley raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"You told us Peace couldn't be used for fighting." At his flabbergasted look, she hissed, "You used your power on that god. I saw it with my own eyes."

Hartley breathed, "Don't be ridiculous."

“I saw it. And if it’s going to keep you alive, then I suggest you use it.”

Without another word, Grief swept back to her unit. Hartley stared after her.

“What are you—”

He nearly choked on the realization.

His power had affected the shadowed god— his inclination for Peace had made him hesitate. He didn’t want to believe it. Somehow, the peaceful nature didn’t carry over well on the battlefield. Not for the other side, at least.

As more soldiers crested the wall, the battlefield came back into focus. Hartley clutched his shield tighter to his chest. He rejoined the fighting, and as more soldiers died by his hand, the truth buried itself deep into his bones. Every strange look and every hesitation was his power, giving him an advantage over the enemy.

His peaceful aura had suddenly become a weapon.

Hartley cut down god after god, their faces contorting with confusion as they fell. After a while, his motions became rhythmic, and he couldn't remember the eyes of the soldiers he killed. Despite his heavy armor, the sweat running down his back made him shiver.

A scream pulled him from the fighting. Athema had promised to retreat when the wall was breached, but she hadn't left her archers. Hartley sworeand moved towards her, his armor clanging against the flurry of soldiers. The battlements were so chaotic that he could hardly tell friend from enemy.

He grabbed the Goddess of Sight gently. "Athema, you have to leave."

When she didn't respond, he followed her gaze to the horizon, where a portion of Death's army waited on the hill. Smoke pooled into the air around them, and his heart missed a beat. In the distance, he could barely make out a single figure standing among them. Hartley's thoughts wandered to Maruble, but he shook his head and turned his attention back to her.

"What is it?" he asked Athema carefully. "What do you see?"

The Goddess of Sight looked at him, but her eyes were glazed over as if she was still looking at that distant hill. Hands trembling, she loosened her elbow from his grip and pointed it to the Death’s army. The soldiers behind them, who had been listening without reservation, all turned at once, their eyes growing wide.

"Is it your son?"

"It's not my son," she said, voice trembling. "It's my husband, Theon."

Belthore appeared beside them. The fighting had barely begun, but he already looked exhausted. The God of Balance closed his eyes and shook his head softly, his words barely audible over the screams of soldiers.

"He’s wearing a collar."

A shudder ran through Hartley.

In the early days of the Court of Balance, gods who caused trouble were given a collar. That device kept them from using their power until the Court deemed them safe. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but it was later discovered that the collar made gods more vulnerable to having their powers siphoned. If the God of Death had gotten ahold of such a thing...

"Get the Goddess of Shields. Now." He raised a hand before Hartley could respond. "Even if she's about to burn out, we need her ready to form a barrier." He paused before adding, "Our lives depend on it."

Hartley shouted the order to a passing soldier and turned back to the horizon.

The God of Volcanics was supposed to be on their side. He was supposed to give them strength, but Death had bound him to his will. Hartley’s breath quivered as he searched for Theon among the smoke, but he didn't have to look long. All at once, lava gushed from the hill in a steady stream.

And it was aimed right for the front gate.