It was a melancholic three steps, but one that must be taken.

“Any last word, Captain Hex?” Rem believed it was a proper manner to hear a man’s last request.

Chamomile rose, struggling to move, to accept the unpreventable parting.

Hex’s massive body glowed with ethereal light. Cybernetic fell from his limb, revealing a battered man beneath. His eyes and hand were missing, his metal skin corroded, his eye-socket hollowed but his voice was at peace.

“I don’t have a right to ask you for favor… but please kill—”

“Can’t do it,” Rem’s honesty was harsh. “Your request to kill Wayward is denied, but if it matters to you, Samael Wayward is defeated long time ago.”

Hex was silent.

Rem sat beside his disintegrating body, accompanying Hex’s last journey as a friend.

“I shall not kill. It is a personal vow I made to myself, just freeing you from Orwell’s grasp already pushes the fine-print. The paperwork I must write to inhibit this precedent alone would be soul-destroying. But even if I murder Wayward, it would be an act of mercy he don’t deserve.”

This got Hex’s attention. Chamomile stepped closer as if in a trance.

“Killing him is a mercy? That monster—”

“Never met his parent, they died in a war. Wayward grew-up in an orphanage. He lived a happy childhood with his beloved older sister — one with epic military power in her chest to boot — and other orphan. They are his family. One day a tragedy struck, and he lost all he held dear but one — his comatose older sister.”

Rem made a pitiable smile.

“A sister who taught her younger brother life is precious; that trust and honesty are the greatest gift. Samael Wayward already died when he abandoned the lesson dearer to him than his life. That walking corpse buried his families, carried his older sister up a hill and beg a Spirit there to safeguard her. He abandoned his teachings, his values, and his promises for sake of getting justice for those he mourned — no matter how much blood he must shed. Wayward is a tragic dream with only one mission: to see his sister smile again.”

Rem’s smile sank.

“Don’t you realize it, Hex? Win or lose. Wayward’s sincerest wish will never come true. How could a sister who loathes the violence and betrayal that murdered her parent be happy at the mountain of corpse her brother built in her honor? Even if Wayward win his battles, what awaits him at his journey’s end is a sister crying in horror at the tragedies her brother become. The person Wayward betrayed more than recovery is the person he wanted to save. He already got nothing. Do you want to take his ultimate mission away too?”

Hex silently put himself in Wayward’s shoes. How would it feel to lose almost everything then betrayed what remained for the sake of vindicating his lost? Seal-loathing? Regret? Hex was going to die, but he died protecting what he believed, attended his most trusted subordinates and had someone to hear his last wish. Hex realized Wayward would never receive this kind of send-off.

With the painful past, miserable present, and tragic future awaiting Samael Wayward visible to the blind man, the Captain of the royal-knights pitied his murderer.

“Yeah,” Rem agreed with his thought. “Let him succeed as an inspiration of hard work. It is at least a consolation prize for the man whose greatest victory is his penultimate humiliation.”

Hex sneaked in a weak smile.

“Do I still have that last wish?”

“Go on,” Rem shrugged. “Let me guess. Save this city? No worries, Hex. We got this. That dome will come down today. I promise.”

Hex weakly nodded. His body slowly dissipating to nothing.

Rem walked to Chamomile.

“He have little longer. Go. Treasure this conversation. It will be his last memory with you.”

Chamomile brushed past Rem with tears in her eyes.

What was said that moment was a sacred secret between them — a dying brother’s final testament to his hopeless little sister…

Stuart Hex faded to stardust with contentment next to bawling Chamomile Elragorn. She continued to cry in that wrecked landscape under Rem’s concerned eyes. The knight of Satholia remained stoic in his face, but guilt hammered his heart with every tear-drop.

Fantasy of dozen miraculous secret weapons that could save Hex flashed past Rem’s imagination. None of them happened because Remus Breaker failed. He wasn’t strong enough.

[Arrival of Dream] was still too much for single mere human.

…

Orwell Mehest felt Hex’s defeat and passing from his Spiritium tower.

“Goodbye, Hex,” Orwell muttered. “At least he showed me Jordan’s abilities.”

A footstep clicked on the smooth floor.

“What you turn him into is a disgrace,” Hikma uncharacteristically condemned. The gentle knight held the conversation with barely contained volcano of anger.

“He was dying.”

“You had a million ways to handle the problem, and you manufactured him into a weapon to break Chamomile.”

“That coward deserves a breaking,” Orwell reasoned.

“And who pick you as judge, jury and executioner.”

“And who appoint you to stop me.”

“The goddess ruling all good in the multiverse,” Hikma uttered not a single lie.

Orwell stiffly stood. His Amalgam and sensor told the same story — the utter truthfulness in Hikma’s word.

“You can’t be joking”

“Ask the Olympians how much I am joking.”

Orwell paused. It couldn’t be. Rumors of carnages on Olympus were all the rage before the gods snuffed them. Multiple sources said the Olympians rallied to fight off a lone goddess and received the trashing so apocalyptic it crushed every pantheons’ gut to attack the Earth. Orwell played assumption with those rumors. Let presumed the goddess had limitations in her influence. If she truly wanted to improve Phantasia, her first moves would be installing her royalist.

Oh shit.

Finally, Orwell realized his recent obstacle wasn’t a fluke. He promptly activated his Adamakles and get into attack stance. He didn’t dare to underestimate the knight recruited by the entity who trashed the gods.

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

“It appears you realize how badly you fuck-up,” four circular, triple-layered circles materialized beside Hikma. “Any regret worth voicing, Orwell?”

“Nothing,” Orwell’s four-arms Adamakles ignited spectral swords from their hand. “I am simply using my superior power to balance the scale. Only strength makes the rule in the hell called Phantasia.”

An ergonomically shaped handle slid into Hikma’s hand.

“You are wrong, Orwell,” Hikma flicked the handle, releasing the cane’s full-length. “Power come with acknowledging your weakness and overcoming it. You only accomplishment is surrendering to your worst and becoming a weaker man. Might is pointless without hope and ideal.”

“The result beg differs,” the Adamakles’s 5-meters long quadruple swords spun into attacking stance

“Very well. Remember that and don’t complain when I alter your expectation.”

Blue light coated Hikma’s cane. The two-man breathed and charged. Blue cane deflected a sign-post-length spectral bludgeon like a lightsaber. [Conceptual Construct] whirled to block Orwell’s ghostly swords.

Commenced, the climactic battle had.

…

Battles raged in the resistance frontline. Orwell’s antiviruses worked, directing significant percentages of Amalgam from self-destruction to outputting damage on the resistance’s defenses. Thankfully, several Amalgams still maintained their quack-status. One particularly brave Spiritium golem shaped like a squirrel triumphantly tore into a Death-knight’s eye-socket with such ferocity Rem might have to award medals.

Vice-Captain Kruger glanced at blizzard looming Horizon. When the hell would that second signal popped.

…

In the building above, Andries witnessed the scene from Armageddon.

Snowstorm blanketed the picture like opening of Fimbulwinter. Flames of radiant sun lifted from the ground while lightning cracked the air. Spears of burning light struck the humongous dragon from below, and golden shooting stars peppered it from the side. Trimegal’s war against two of HD’s heaviest hitter won’t be simmering down soon.

…

Shyme Enma coughed.

“Miss Enma,” Princess Velnia tried to push the demi-goddess back to the floor. “You need to—”

“My fucking rest can wait later,” Shyme tried and failed to lift her shambled body. “We need to help him.”

“But Orwell is—”

“Too powerful? Spinle — Ack—”

Shyme collapsed to the ground. Pain racked her body from attempts to move the fracture bones and broken organ she got no business moving. But Shyme won’t tolerate mere critical injuries from stopping her.

“I won’t watch the man who saved my life sacrifice himself for nothing,” she glared at the Princess’s bodyguards barring her with the ferocity that made them gulp.

…

In a black tower of Spiritium overlooking the city, two men continued exchanging blows. Orwell Mehest summoned a green, fiery Amalgam clashing into Hikma’s defense. Flames dispelled against Hikma’s nullification in a brilliant flash of light. Orwell closed in with his enormous Adamakles after seeing his Amalgam destroyed. The spectral armor tanked past the wall of fire Hikma erected to block him.

Crash!

Orwell’s massive spectral swords danced like blender’s blades. He spared nothing to reduce Hikma to paste, but the knight’s defense was impenetrable.

Clang!

Orwell gritted his teeth. A massive swing missed Hikma. A thin cane swirled, batting one lamppost-size weapon sideway and dropping to intercept another at an impeccable speed. A vibration blade — large enough to divide a medium-size home in two — slashed at an opening that was quickly blocked by Hikma’s [Construct]. Orwell’s last cut slipped from its target with a simple nudge of Hikma’s cane.

Hikma’s magical walking-stick swung into an engarde post, waiting for Orwell’s attacks. Thus, the cycle renewed.

The same sequence rinsed and repeated. Orwell's raw physical might and vibration-attack proved ineffective against Hikma’s defense. Even with four arms and a hulking armor, he never penetrated the Chronicler’s tight blade-work.

The Chronicler flowed in harmony. All parries precise. His breath unperturbed by the storm of vibration and force. He batted slashes, cuts and smashes like serene rower navigating a rocking river on his canoe. Hikma De Darwin achieved the Zen in all tapestries of motion.

Orwell edged to the verge of screaming after the sixth cycle of batting at the human monolith.

“What the hell is that fucking stick!” Orwell beat his massive spectral pole on Hikma at every syllable. Alas, Hikma ignored his frustration with utter serenity.

Horizon Dawn sent Hikma De Darwin to bag Orwell Mehest for a reason. Rem Breaker only needed a glance to understand Orwell’s pride in gaining the power over his weakness. Mehest hungered for mighty arsenals to beat his obstacle, so Rem punished him by sending the knight who best represent the opposite — victory not through force but perseverance.

Hikma trained against Horizon’s strongest and fastest, losing countless times because of his passivity, but with each defeat, his defense improved. His shield renovated and his understanding of defensive Arcane progressed. The result was a knight unable to experience victory or defeat in blade. The mere human loathed by the monstrous elf and demon for utter boredom of sparring against him.

Two pillars backed Hikma’s invincible defenses.

The first pillar was Hikma’s Magnum opus of [Conceptual Construct] — [Trinity] — a grand creation of sigils programed with triple Primal Arcane stacked in layers. First-layer — [Entropy] — was an originator of all disruption and counter Arcane meant to weaken spells power. Second-layer — [Paradiso] — was the all-warding father of barriers and defenses; the primordial Heaven Realm. So far Hikma hadn’t mastered [Tempo] — the Primal Arcane he planned for the last layer — but a looping Arcane function as a substitute would do the job.

[Trinity] — even it in incomplete form — was a perpetual anti-physical/anti-magic defense. [Entropy] weakened and destroyed supernatural phenomenon, while [Paradiso] blocked the rest. The looping Arcane stacked with energy battery reduced the shield’s burden while regenerating its protection. A product honed in contest against two heaviest hitters of Hikma’s generation. Yes, the shield wasn’t flawless, but [Trinity] alone agonizingly taught the Knight of Glass and Dragon of Creation the merit of cutting around an obstacle instead of bull-dozing through it.

Hikma’s second foundation enabling him to drive Orwell into the rage-quit alley was his cane — PACIFIST MK1. Designed by Melody (to her utter shame) under Hikma’s specification, PACIFIST combined sophisticate [Conceptual Seal] matrix of [Paradiso] as its core, reinforced kinetic-dampening filler, and energy-reflecting variant of Aria Steel coated surface. It was, by design, the magical stick excelled in force/energy dissipation, nullifying the gap in STR stats at an expense of any offensive function.

These two hints should explain Hikma De Darwin’s battle-style — absolute defense. Melody could tank hits, but Hikma couldn’t be defeated in close-combat. The Chronicler’s tactic was simplifiable as make-opponent-rage-quit-life-via-impenetrable-defense.

In strange ways, Hikma was a living rebuttal of Orwell’s obsession with power. Orwell possessed raw might and knowledge, but he used it like a club to bludgeon his problem. Now, face against defensive techniques that made a certain elf and demon sobs in their sleep, he suddenly found all the might from his Adamakles and shock-wave inadequate.

Orwell dropped his attempt to beat Hikma by punching in favors of spell-slinging.

“[Deathless Amalgam: Cold Circuit]”

Here is a reminder of Hikma De Darwin’s play-style — Azorius.

“[Entropy],” Hikma raised his hand

Orwell’s Amalgam dissipated from existence.

“What?”

“Counter-spell,” Hikma replied. “We already fought once, Orwell. Same trick won’t work twice.”

Orwell dropped a second spell in disbelief.

[Orwell’s Original: Frozen Mist Spector]

“[Entropy],” Hikma’s soft command bluntly crushed the gathering ice-mist.

Orwell gritted his teeth. The direction of the battle finally dawned on him. Samadi — that inhumane monster — sent a fun-hating brick-wall to fight him. Mehest gritted his teeth. He still had one more option left, but Hikma promptly stymied that avenue with his next moves.

[Pyro Gift]+[Nicholas]

With a stomp of his foot, a massive [Conceptual Seal] of [Fire] covered the floor with an ethereal glow. Primal Arcane lording over element split into three: [Genesis]; a phenomenon governing life-form/familiar creation, [Lorde]; a Primal Arcane granting creation and control over element and [Gift]; an Arcane imbuing foreign object with aspects of said element.

The floor of Orwell’s Spiritium tower dyed with warm orange summer glow.

Mehest attempted to spread his Tundra’s frost energy. However, nothing changed. The room didn’t turn into a meat freezer as Orwell expected. No. The temperature was downright chummy.

“How?” Orwell quizzed the culprit.

“I imbue the room with aspect of Summer,” Hikma twirled his blade into a guard stance. “Basically, this room is outright hostile to ice and Winter related art.”

Mehest registered that fact and did a mental check.

He couldn’t shatter Hikma’s defenses.

His spell-craft got off-tabled.

Now, his World Enemy ability became non factor.

“Fine. You seal my toys,” Orwell gritted his teeth. “But I doubt you can penetrate my Adamakles. The only thing you accomplish is impeding my progress. I have the entire Leyline supporting me. You will not last forever, Chronicler!”

“Never plan too,” Hikma readied his cane.

A desolated cry echoed throughout the city.

“Trimegal,” Orwell realized. “Your comrades…”

“Are nearly through with him,” Hikma confirmed. “You think I come to duel you. Allow me to correct that assumption. You are a criminal, Orwell, and I am arresting you. As a person, I dislike aggression, but when I press an attack. I stick with sure shot.”

Orwell gritted his teeth and rushed at Hikma.

[Shock Spector: Severing]

[Trinity]x4

Orwell’s Adamakles combined his four spectral swords into singular claymore and slashed down in a blow that blew the tower’s top to smithereens and shook its foundation. Hikma’s [Trinity] stacked to tanked the full-might of Orwell. The floor cracked and surrounding walls exploded as Orwell’s ritual room collapsed. Dust fell from the obsidian tower as the monolithic structure sank back to earth.

But before we witnessed the start of an era, let peeked at the battle that catalyzed that moment.

Let rewound time and returned to the girls’s throw down with Trimegal.