There was no break or relief. The Hesperians struck the moment they realized what was happening.. Any that remained on the walls leapt down, unwilling to test their luck against the illusory reinforcements, and the shock troopers began to march towards the surviving Dytifrouráns.

Spectral flame, lightning, and a few gusts of illusory frost came billowing down from up high as the clones began their bloody work. The Hesperians maintained their own protections, but beneath the combined assault of both the Dytifrouráns and the reinforcements woven by Headsman Linus, it was only a matter of time before they broke.

Headsman Linus swung his manifested club with a roar, his enormous strength propelling it through the air in the blink of an eye, although Cyra almost lazily swerved away. Dread pooled in Kosta’s gut.

The Headsman was fading. Exhausted. He fought on, but Cyra was unspoiled by the siege. Yet instead of lingering on to face the weary Headsman, Cyra leapt like a cat to stand atop the walls, her crescent blades blinding as they swept through and reaped the illusory guardsmen that locked shields to slow her down.

Each blade tore the illusions apart, but the shredded pieces simply flicked off, then flooded back in like fog to fill in the wounds. Cyra’s blades flashed, Kosta’s clone hurled a barrier, and the illusory Clymere shot a jet of spectral lavender fire at Cyra, who simply wrenched one of her blades into the shape of an aspis to ward it off while her other weapon continued swinging and slicing.

Although the clones couldn’t hurt Cyra, they did slow her down. Their regeneration ensured Cyra was forced to carve them apart utterly to shatter the bonds adhering them into their shapes and purpose, and as soon as one clone was obliterated another was happy to throw themselves into the fray while the rest rained down whatever attacks they could upon the Hesperian phalanx.

Kosta winced as the Mantis’ curved white blade carved through his illusory clone’s neck as easily as he might carve a block of soft clay. His lavender face blinked as Kosta’s clone found itself without a head, although pale mist yanked it back on, though Cyra followed up immediately with a bilateral slash that severed him at the waist.

There wasn’t any blood or gore, but that just wasn’t right.

While the Mantis tore through Headsman Linus’ last line of defense, the Headsman himself charged into the midst alongside his loyal soldiers. They roared as they crashed upon the remnants of the Hesperian phalanx, broken by the clones’ attacks from the walls above, and forced a wedge into the formation to leave them exposed.

Kosta could soon barely keep track of the action. He guarded Clymere as best he could, intercepting deadly blows with his slate grey barriers while she jabbed and thrust and pierced like a madwoman. Flames billowed from her skin, smoke coiling at the edges, and a dry, scorching heat soon filled the space as she burnt herself away for the hope of victory. Without Eneas’ blessed bread, the soldiers would’ve been exhausted three times over by now.

Whatever organization there was soon vanished as Cyra leapt down from the walls, finished with her work, and turned the odds in the Hesperians’ favor. The battle soon fell into a disorganized brawl, a mass of flashing blades and deadly magic cast without direction, and a cacophony of wind and flame and storm filled Kosta’s ears.

The militia fought with every scrap of power they still possessed, rallying around Headsman Linus as he threw everything he had at the Hesperians. Two Dytifrouráns fell in his service, then three, but were matched by the Hesperian dead…Kosta threw a rock at one sneaking up behind Clymere with an upraised blade, which sent the man staggering back.

It didn’t actually hurt him, but damn did that feel good! Maybe there was something to fighting after all.

“Good throw, sculptor!” Headsman Linus roared as he swung that vast club again and sent the stunned Hesperian flying back into a burning building. He grunted as five Hesperians with interlocked shields approached, warding off his attacks, and slowly drove him away from the other Dytifrouráns. “Fight on!”

Kosta threw brick after brick, cursing his inability to strike back at the Hesperians with something truly deadly, but managed to skulk away from the frontlines. His soaked chiton wouldn’t do much to protect him, and he could only put so much faith in his barriers. If only he had trained more fervently with Clymere…

But he contributed nonetheless. A barrier there, a brick there, a stumbling block there. It sowed confusion, if nothing else, and saved several militiamen from seemingly fatal wounds. Another warder had survived, and their work was far more flashy. Quite a few Hesperians angled for them.

Still, there was only so much that they could protect against.

Another Dytifrourán fell, pierced through the chest by a fist encased in stone, and the Hesperians proved their worth. Cyra let the five devoted to Headsman Linus continue to force the exhausted warrior back. She leapt into the Dytifrourán ranks without hesitation, all flashing blades and swift movements that the eye could barely track.

Men and women screamed. Clymere rushed forward, only for a heavyset Hesperian in a bronze cuirass and no helmet to block her charge with a wall of ice. But he tracked the Mantis as the greatest threat in the area. Even as Cyra struck, Kosta couldn’t help but notice something odd.

She did not kill.

Oh, Cyra wasn’t harmless. Her blazing white blades ruined weapons and carved shields to pieces, breaking the Dytifrourán formation and leaving her victims easy prey for the Hesperians. They were the stronger force, and with Cyra here to balance the Headsman, they had quickly proved how deadly they could be.

And then his heart sank as she turned her unfeeling eyes upon Clymere, raised a blade to slash her spear in half, and Kosta flung out his hand, grit his teeth, and collapsed to one knee as he poured his strength into the strongest barrier that he could.

Clang.

He gasped as the impossible might of her blade turned off his barrier. Clymere swung the butt of her spear at the Mantis, who deftly evaded it, but he felt those eyes lock onto him.

“No!” Clymere erupted in an inferno as Cyra leapt toward Kosta’s hiding spot, a little alcove hidden behind a fallen roof. His heart pounded as she appeared before him, face bereft of emotion. His eyes widened as a blade raised—

Kosta groaned as the blade flattened into a wide hammerhead that smashed into him instead. The wind was driven from his lungs as he was sent rolling across the hard cobblestone, leaving him bruised and battered, but his head was still on his shoulders. His vision swam as stars twinkled in his eyes.

The Mantis seemed content to leave him there, and Kosta watched her sprint back into the fray as a mouse would watch a hawk.

He was still alive.

“Kosta!” Clymere knelt before him, face twisted in a rictus of worry. Her face was ashen, still caked with soot. The warmth that bled off of her comforted him, like a campfire after a long day’s journey. “You’re alive. You’re alive!”

Eunike forced a Hesperian back, watchful of Clymere’s flank. “Clymere, hurry! I can’t keep them off for long. We have to help the Headsman!”

“You’re alive,” Clymere whispered one more time. Her hands trembled around her spear as she leaned heavily upon it, battered by the battle.

“I’m alive,” Kosta gasped. Breath had only just begun to fill his lungs again. He wheezed pitifully, but gathered his strength. They couldn’t afford this right now.

How he longed to be in his workshop now, finishing a project. Sculpting his masterwork…

His heart ached as he dimly watched the frenzied melee taking place outside the gap in the walls.

“We’re going to force open a gap,” Clymere whispered frantically as the din of battle rose. More died. Dytifrourán numbers dwindled, though the veteran Hesperian troops had suffered losses as well. “Headsman Linus will guide us through. We just have to go beyond the walls! The Mantis won’t pursue us there.”

Her words were desperate. Hopeful. Blind.

But they were all Kosta had, so he nodded and grasped her hand while she hauled him to his feet.

“Philo!” Eunike wailed. Her cry cut above the roar of battle, and the twins immediately locked onto the huge man, who had smashed in the head of a Hesperian with his enormous hammer, moving it far too swiftly and easily for how large it was.

Perhaps he had been granted a gift of simple strength and fortitude by the Demiurge. Not half as good as Kosta’s gift of creation, but it had its uses.

Yet Philo had placed himself in Cyra’s path as she angled toward Headsman Linus with murderous intent. He growled like a beast, raised his hammer high to stop her, and could only blink as her white blades swept faster than the eye could see.

The hammer toppled to the ground, his hand with it. Philo could only stare dumbly at the cauterized stump as Cyra swerved by, but had only just begun to grasp desperately for his hammer with his remaining hand before a Hesperian caved his chest in with a glowing red ax that tore through the beaten remains of his armor.

“It can’t be…” Philo blinked, and then toppled forward. The remaining Dytifrouráns cried out as the last vestiges of life fled the large man’s eyes. Headsman Linus roared, cast forth a storm of illusory darts that scattered into the Hesperian ranks, and groaned as a Hesperian spear glanced off his armor.

Kosta stared at the corpse, so quickly tossed aside by a Hesperian’s enormous strength. It fell close. It stared at him with eyes as empty as he had once thought Philo’s head.

“Hammer man…”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Kosta, snap out of it. Get ready!” Clymere hissed, voice ragged with grief, then rushed forward with Eunike. Flame blazed off her as the two women charged into the fray, desperate to break the hold on Headsman Linus, but it was too late.

Cyra had found him. The Mantis crossed thirty feet in the blink of an eye. Headsman Linus’ own great speed had him turning to face her, but she was like quicksilver. Her white blades flashed forward, though Headsman Linus snarled. A great lavender hand overlaid his own, the size of a great giant’s, and Cyra’s eyes widened as it slammed into her and swatted her aside like a fly.

She rolled with the blow, her blades dragging into the stone to catch her, and leapt right back at him, though she appeared winded by the strike. Headsman Linus hurled a storm of swords, but they simply glanced off the glaring white wall which one of the Mantis’ blades shifted into. They were mutable, perfectly adaptable for whatever the deadly woman desired.

The Headsman’s every breath came as a ragged gasp now, although he fought on regardless. But he was slow and sloppy, sapped of strength and terribly fatigued. Every motion came with clear effort, as if the man were swimming through a sea of lead.

Headsman Linus was a mighty warrior. He led the militia in training each day. He slew monsters. He smashed bandit fortresses.

But when was the last time that he’d fought an equal?

Cyra’s other blade shifted from its sickle shape to a simple white spike. Headsman Linus raised his arms up to guard, but it was useless. Cyra’s strength was absolute, and the might of her magic pierced his every defense. His armor hummed, trembling with the power flooding through it, and Kosta felt the shockwave as the great wards invested in the fine-grade apeironic bronze shattered.

“Argh!” Headsman Linus howled to the sky like a beast, though the blade hadn’t pierced his chest. He and Cyra traded blows faster than the eye could see. The Hesperians who had corralled the Headsman returned to reinforce their fellows, who had stalled beneath the ferocity of Clymere and Eunike’s assault.

“Clymere! He needs you!” Kosta shouted, though he took care to sneak closer to the gap which would lead them out of Dytifrourá. They couldn’t linger here for long…

Clymere caught the haft of an ax upon the bronze shaft of her spear, tossed it aside, and roared flame into the face of a Hesperian. It simply rolled off of the woman, unable to pierce the wards embedded into her armor, but the bright stream still sent the shock trooper stumbling back with a shout.

His twin erupted in a conflagration. The steady lick of flames upon her skin redoubled as she threw more and more of herself upon the pyre. Strength filled her limbs. Magic bled off her in a haze.

Two Hesperians charged forth. She spewed another stream of flame into one, hot enough now to sting through the wards, and speared the other through their shield with the white-hot head of her spear. More and more piled upon her, unable to stall her as Clymere became a monster, hurling flames all about to engulf the untouched houses around them.

Thud.

Headsman Linus managed to hurl off the shattered remains of his cuirass. The masterwork of armorsmithing toppled to the ground, wet and ruined and forgotten, sure to become a trophy of some gleeful Hesperian when the battle was done. Illusory armor clad him now, shimmering pale lavender as he traded blow after blow with the untiring Mantis.

Clymere fought closer and closer, savage as the manticore, spitting flame with every breath. As she inhaled, the flames about her stoked higher and hotter. When she exhaled, they dimmed. The cycle repeated again and again, and some of her opponents began to adapt. They would press forward upon her exhales, then offer space upon her inhales.

A powerfully built man faced Clymere, heavily armored and mighty, and bore down upon her with a cyclone in hand, but Kosta flung out his hand again. His vision swam, then darkened, but a barrier manifested at the man’s knees. He yelped as he tripped, and Eunike slammed her spear into the back of the man’s neck as she and Clymere fought on.

Every motion was vicious and efficient. Clymere was a killer. She had abandoned everything else in pursuit of the Mantis and Headsman Linus.

Vasos joined Clymere, guarding her flank—he howled as a Hesperian maul tore through his leg and crunched it to pulp.

Eunike hefted her shield to guard Clymere as she blasted a hole through a hasty shield wall, only to scream as a shock trooper hurled a bolt of lightning into it. The electricity rushed up her arm, danced across her skin, and she collapsed, twitching. A great hammer, the same that had torn Vasos down, smashed into her chest with a sickening squelch.

He felt ill, the corners of his vision dark, and he wanted nothing more than to turn away.

Kosta had been too slow to help either of them. His power, steady as always, would not be rushed. By the time he’d perceived their doom, it had already arrived. But perhaps he could have helped. Perhaps he could have saved them, or sent the blow away.

While Clymere dueled four, her flames casting them back, the Mantis leapt at the Headsman, blades blinding white, and Kosta saw them coming down on his thick neck—

Kosta gnashed his teeth and wrung his spirit dry.

He would not be too slow this time.

Yet it didn’t matter. The white spike projected from her wrists smashed through his barrier as if it were nothing, then struck through the illusory armor projected by Headsman Linus as well. Wisps burst, baring the simple linen which garbed his broad chest, and Kosta’s breath hitched.

Headsman Linus stared dully at the spike that impaled his gut. The white blade, thick as Kosta’s wrist and long as a javelin’s shaft, jutted through his hard stomach and out his back. It hummed quietly, satisfied, as the Hesperians roared their approval.

“Linus!” Clymere froze, then redoubled her efforts. She tore through like a beast through the remaining Hesperians, though they simply fell back rather than absorb her attacks, and only a few bothered to hold her back as Headsman Linus slumped into the attack, his enormous power finally failing him.

Cyra didn’t hesitate. Her other blade immediately pierced his chest, and Headsman Linus collapsed to his knees. He stared dully at Cyra’s flat expression for a moment, then glanced almost sleepily at the ashen remains of Dytifrourá, his fallen comrades, and Clymere as she fought like a savage beast, his name on her lips.

For a moment, the world flashed lavender as the last dregs of Linus’ power were spent. The Hesperians and Cyra vanished. Townsfolk bustled around. The sky was blue, not black. Evanthe sang in the distance.

And then it was gone. They were returned to cruel reality.

“Oh,” Linus stared down at the blades, struck dumb momentarily. Whatever illusory warriors remained flickered, then faded away like snow beneath the sun’s rays. The phantasmal club in his hand scattered into lavender wisps. “It—it was a good dream, indeed.”

And with that, the Mantis wrenched one of her white blades from his torso and chopped off his head. It toppled to the ground, bloodstained beard and all.

“Another monster slain,” Cyra said. “More souls avenged.”

Clymere’s grief expressed itself in a pillar of flame. She fought on, pushing forward to split the Hesperians from the gap even as the remaining Dytifrouráns were cut down in their moment of shock. Hesperians marched forward as they did their bloody work, circling Clymere, even as Cyra simply turned away from the Headsman without so much as blinking.

Kosta was frozen. For a moment he was overcome with memory. Headsman Linus hauling him and Clymere onto his broad shoulders and laughing with them as they experienced what it felt to be tall, greeting them after their Dòrognosis with his wide smile, commending him on his work…

All gone.

Be stone. Be stone. Be stone.

Ten Hesperians remained. Cyra seemed content to leave them to finish their work.

But even as they pressed in to surround Clymere and cut her down, the burning houses all around groaned and roared with the flame that billowed up and came down to coalesce around her. Clymere was suffused in light to match the sun, smoke raging off like a thick blanket, and all that was visible was her shadow.

The surviving Hesperians closed ranks, pulling their wounded fellows aside, and watched warily as Clymere was engulfed in an inferno. He saw her dark fist rise up within the writhing flames and clench tight enough to break bone.

Kosta could hardly make her out as he watched her, but he felt the enormous press of her power. The light of her soul ignited, blazed, and he felt her toss everything she was upon the pyre.

A rush of summer air, sweet like honey, and dry, scorching heat exploded outward. Clymere shuddered and breathed deep, stoking her flames with a few tiny phaetra flakes that remained, though almost all had been used up in razing the town. For one such as Kosta, the phaetra offered nothing but a stable power source for his crafts and creations. Clymere and the phaetra were both of summer and fire, and in this it would serve her well.

Almost all the power flooded from Clymere herself, but she would not leave any fuel unburned. She threw it all into this desperate attempt to turn fate.

Those phaetra flakes had been intended to garnish some lovely trinket or decorate a fine work. Perhaps they could’ve been inlaid in an amulet, or wreathed a statue’s neck to draw attention to whatever detail Kosta desired. They might have been a gift.

They might have been beautiful. Instead, they were used for slaughter.

What a dreadful world this was!

Wisps of grey magic deflected the hail of bolts and projectiles that the Hesperians hurled at Clymere, but his efforts grew weaker and weaker by the moment. It wasn’t enough! He wasn’t enough!

But the fires burned hot.

Clymere held her spear aloft with both hands, her skin raw and red as the intensity of the flame began to overcome her innate resistance, and she then pounded it again and again upon the stones. The conflagration lashed out, finally unraveled to scorch and devour, and Kosta hid fearfully behind his cover as he did everything in his power to hold the flames back.

They tasted him, yet reared back as if struck. They did not trouble him any more.

But he still saw.

White-hot fire lashed out, greedy, and its tongues swallowed every scrap of bare flesh it could find. The Hesperians were warded, but the fallen were not so lucky. Skin peeled, then crumbled to ash. Bone was scorched black. Eyes burst in their sockets. An awful smell like cooked boar filled the air, followed quickly by the sulfurous scent of burning hair.

Dytifrourán and Hesperian faces alike melted away to reveal the grinning skulls beneath.

Eunike’s pale skin was gone. Philo was rendered unrecognizable besides his enormous stature and the hammer laid down at his side. Vasos, slain by a Hesperian spear, crumbled. Corpse after corpse reduced to pale ash and bone. Cinders flickered within.

Clymere’s power, fueled by the scant phaetra and flame all around them, scorched whatever attacks the Hesperians sent her way. Kosta could only hide, worry pounding in his chest. She was lost in the flame, her skin raw and red despite her inherent resistance to her element, and her voice came out in ragged gasps.

Would there be anything left of her when this was done?

“My fire stokes your ashes. Burn again!” Clymere roared, spitting flame and smoke like a dragon. The corpses, burnt to ash, bone, and memory, shuddered as new flame burst from her spear and launched into each of them. Her fire banished the fog which had settled upon the streets.

“Rise, Rekindled!”

Beneath the black sky, Dytifrouráns and Hesperians alike rose with ashen skin, empty eye sockets full of Clymere’s flame, and a purpose seared into their very being.

The last to rise was Linus, a towering mountain of bones and soot in the shape of a man. Lavender flame filled his ribs, pulsating like a heart.

All was silent as the Hesperians stared, aghast at the sight of their slain foes and fallen comrades returned to some parody of life.

“More reinforcements? This isn’t fair!” One of the Hesperian veterans snarled. “Where were they hiding her this whole time?”

There was no more time for lamentations, as the horde gathered their weapons, glared at their foes, and charged into battle with Clymere at their head.