The streets of Bastion buzzed with activity, a hive of preparation as the city braced for the trials ahead. The massive forges of Boyle churned tirelessly, sending forth vessels filled with imbued weapons and armor along hastily constructed railways that now crisscrossed the city. Moyo marveled at the efficiency—bridges spanned impossible distances, the tracks extending to every corner of Bastion, a feat of engineering so rapid he barely had time to notice its growth amidst the chaos of their predicament.
His mind, however, was far from settled. As they navigated through Bastion, a message from Martha lit up his HUD, redirecting them away from the inner sanctum and towards a district Moyo had never ventured into before.
The shift was immediate. The air grew dense with mana, humming with latent power. Roads glowed faintly underfoot, pulsing with earth mana, and every shop overflowed with arcane trinkets, scrolls, and mage-crafted tools. The entire district exuded an aura of raw magical potency.
“Ayo’s been carving out a mage’s enclave here,” Annika explained, breaking the silence as she caught the curious look on Moyo’s face.
“And the shops? The books? Where did all this come from?” he asked, wiping the lingering ichor from his hands onto his robes.
“Through the Syndicate,” Josh answered. “Turns out there are mountains of low-level spell books and artifacts out there. But Ayo doesn’t need them—she’s leagues ahead.”
Despite their words, Moyo noted the tension in Josh’s frame. The sentinel’s stoicism had been rattled after their encounter in the yellow zone, and Moyo couldn’t blame him. Durnak’s presence had shaken them all.
The spire that dominated the district was a stark contrast to the bustling streets below. Half-built, its twisting metallic frame shimmered with the touch of magic, a testament to the mages’ handiwork. Two acolyte-level mages stood at its crimson crystal doors, their staves sparking faintly with power. They straightened at the sight of Moyo and his companions, their initial confusion quickly replaced with reverence. They struck their staves against the ground in unison, and the doors swung open with an ominous hum.
Inside, flickering orange braziers cast eerie shadows against the walls of the circular chamber. At its center lay a massive inscribed circle, its markings glowing faintly in a language incomprehensible to Moyo. Ayo stood near the circle, a heavy tome in her hand. Martha, Boyle, and Samantha were in quiet discussion nearby but paused as Moyo entered.
Ayo glanced up, snapping the book shut and tossing it into the air. It burst into flames, disintegrating into sparks that vanished into the ether. The display was seamless, almost casual.
“Taking your role as Grandmage seriously, I see,” Moyo remarked, unable to mask his slight amusement.
“The Arcanum’s rules require proficiency in two rare-ranked skills before I can attempt their Trial of Fire,” Ayo replied, her tone matter-of-fact. “I find it… enlightening to push my boundaries.”
“This is a Tier 3 world,” Moyo said, raising an eyebrow. “Are they aware of that?”
“Better that way,” Martha interjected, her voice carrying an edge of defiance. “We always persevere.”
“Not against this foe,” Moyo muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Boyle spoke up, glancing at the door. “Idris should be here any moment.”
As if summoned, the door creaked open, and the warlord strode in, his presence commanding as always. “Apologies for the delay,” he said. “The last batch of ascenders is being equipped as we speak.”
“Good,” Moyo replied before turning to the others. “So, why the secrecy?”
Ayo glanced at Martha, who nodded and clapped her hands together. A sudden ripple of energy enveloped the room, and Moyo’s senses sharpened as a bubble of power settled over them.
“What’s that?” he asked, his tone cautious.
“A barrier,” Martha explained. “Being Bastion’s steward has its privileges. It ensures no sound leaves this room.”
“That’s not one of your skills,” Moyo noted, suspicion flickering in his gaze.
Martha gave him a sly smile. “I have you to thank for the opportunities your leadership has afforded us.”
Ayo stepped forward; her expression serious. “I called you here because of something I’ve uncovered. Something I technically cannot discuss openly—the system would notice.”
Moyo’s frown deepened. “And you’re sure this is necessary?”
“Absolutely.” Ayo walked to the edge of the room, her fingers brushing the glowing circle. “It’s about that… thing in the yellow zone.”
The tension in the room thickened.
“This ember shard,” Ayo continued, tapping the gem that pulsed faintly with fiery light in the middle of her head. “It came from a phoenix—a being we don’t fully understand. It contained a fragment of her consciousness, though I’ve purged most of it. What’s left… are memories. Fractured ones, but enough to piece together something troubling.”
She gestured for Aje, who materialized beside her and handed over a crystal tablet. Ayo held it up for all to see.
“This fragment shows an encounter—brief, incomplete, but clear. It’s a meeting between the phoenix and Durnak.” Her gaze swept the room, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “No one speaks its name aloud. No one.”
With a flick of her wrist, she activated the tablet. A pulse of red flames engulfed the room, pulling them into the memory.
*****************
The memory unfolded in a blaze of fiery splendor, the phoenix’s power illuminating a scorched world, her flames licking the sky with restrained ferocity. Even as her wings spread wide, a radiant corona of light and heat cascading around her, this was but a sliver of her true might. Any more, and the planet beneath her feet would crumble into an uninhabitable sphere of ash, a pyre amidst the stars.
This wasn’t her domain, nor her fight alone. She was one of many, an exarch called to this doomed world by the system itself to stop the rampage of the forsaken one. The system’s restrictions choked even her speech—its twisted name forbidden to be spoken aloud, its path an affront to all that ascension was meant to be.
The scene was one of utter devastation. A dozen worlds had fallen before this being’s onslaught, each conquest feeding its strength, its armies swelling like a tide of nightmares. It had been a creature forged by the system, bestowed with a power so immense it should have been tempered with discipline. Instead, it had turned on its creators, snapping its leash like a rabid beast. A feral hound, deranged and insatiable, bent on unmaking everything it touched.
The ground beneath her crackled and burned, molten rivers carving the planet into a broken wasteland. Above her, the sky was alive with glowing stars—a celestial tapestry marred by streaks of flame and smoke. Then, it came: a shadow descending, blotting out the light of the sun.
She turned her gaze skyward. The heavens themselves seemed to bow before the arrival of a massive vessel, its size staggering, its silhouette swallowing the horizon. The forces of Durnak froze, their battle cries faltering in awe as a new, impossible power entered the fray.
The phoenix's eyes burned brighter. Finally, they had arrived—the Vanguards.
Beams of light erupted from the vessel, pillars of brilliance that speared down onto the ravaged landscape. From those beams emerged figures of unyielding might, each one radiating power that dwarfed even her own flames. Their weapons glimmered with intent so potent it made her arcane blades seem ordinary. Aura and mana crackled around them like a living tempest, their very presence making the atmosphere shudder and the earth groan under their combined weight.
This world was not built for such a convergence of power. It was a Tier 3 planet, its essence fragile under the strain of forces meant for cosmic battlefields.
Durnak roared, its voice a monstrous crescendo of rage and defiance. The forsaken titan stood as a grotesque amalgamation of crystal and flesh, its body pulsing with a vile glow of red and purple. Its gaze locked onto the phoenix, hatred burning within its fractured eyes. It was a being of sheer will and madness, a broken reflection of what a titan was meant to be.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The phoenix steeled herself, her flames intensifying as her authority surged in response. The screech of another phoenix echoed across the infernal sky, a symphony of defiance as her kindred took flight, a blazing figure cutting through the smoke.
This wasn’t a war—it was an execution.
The planet quaked as the Vanguards moved, their attacks resonating with a force that split the earth and sundered the sky. Each strike, each clash of their weapons against Durnak’s crystal monstrosity, reverberated through the fabric of the world. The land screamed, a final wail of agony as fractures spread like veins, the planet's death inevitable.
The phoenix moved in tandem with her allies, her flames weaving through the carnage. She fought not just for survival, but to ensure that the forsaken titan would never rise again. This world might be lost, consumed by its own unraveling, but Durnak would fall here, entombed by the ruin it had wrought.
In the end, she thought, as the ground beneath her feet began to give way, it would not be strength alone that ended this. It would be resolve—the collective will of those who refused to let chaos reign. This system of worlds could crumble, but the forsaken one would not escape its judgment.
******************
Moyo staggered out of the memory, his mind reeling from the torrent of emotions and grim visions that coursed through him. The room seemed to darken around him, the air thick with unspoken tension as every pair of eyes turned his way. His breathing, though controlled, carried an undercurrent of heaviness, his fingers tightening around the hilt of Ida as though anchoring himself to the present.
“Moyo…” Annika began softly, concern lacing her voice.
He raised a hand, silencing her, his haunted gaze locking with hers. The weight of what he had seen hung over him like a shroud.
“That being was, and is, not you,” Martha said gently, her voice steady and soothing.
Moyo shook his head, the truth warring with his doubts. “Ayo,” he said quietly, his tone almost pleading, “was that all there is to it?”
The Grandmage nodded solemnly. “Yes, that’s all the fragment revealed about this… Durnak,” she replied, her words carrying a sense of finality.
Moyo clenched his jaw, staring at the floor. “Idris,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper, “you said the forces are ready?”
Idris nodded. “They are, my lord.”
“Good,” Moyo murmured, his eyes distant. “Assemble them in an hour. I will speak to them… before I send them to their deaths.” His voice broke slightly on the last word, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
“We don’t know that,” Boyle interjected, trying to rally optimism.
Moyo laughed bitterly. “You watched what it could do,” he said, his tone sharp. “You saw how much power it took to bring it down—a Tier 3 world destroyed in the process. Do you really think…” His voice trailed off, frustration and despair swirling in his gaze.
“The real question,” Martha interrupted, her voice firm, “is whether you are ready.”
Moyo turned to her, confusion creasing his brow. “What?”
“Are you strong enough to face your fears, Titan Blade?” she continued, stepping closer. Her tone was unrelenting, her eyes searching his. “Because what I saw in that memory wasn’t just power—it was loss, emptiness, and rage. Durnak had nothing left to lose. You do. Bastion is a testament to what you’ve built, to the people who believe in you. So tell me, Moyo, would you sacrifice all of us on the altar of power as the Forsaken did?”
Moyo opened his mouth, but Josh’s question cut through the room before he could answer. “Why can we say his name when those in the memory couldn’t?”
A pause hung in the air before Idris offered, “Because of Martha’s silence bubble?”
“No,” Moyo said, shaking his head. “I said his name in the Yellow Zone. Something is different now.”
Annika’s hand slipped into his, her fingers intertwining with his. She smiled at the others, her expression calm yet resolute. “Give us a moment,” she said. “Idris, go assemble the forces. We’ll meet you shortly.” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled Moyo out of the chamber, past the guards, and into the bustling streets of Bastion.
They walked in silence through the city, the hum of life around them contrasting sharply with the storm in Moyo’s mind. The streets were alive with activity—ascenders moving with purpose, children laughing and playing, vendors hawking their wares. Yet, for once, Moyo’s presence didn’t draw the usual fanfare.
“Finding out you’re not always the center of attention must be humbling,” Annika said lightly, breaking the silence.
“It’s… refreshing,” Moyo muttered, his gaze scanning the streets.
“You do tend to stand out,” she teased. “Tall, brooding, muscles in all the right places. You’re practically asking for attention.”
He gave her a faint smile. “Are you flirting with me, Lady Annika?”
She laughed, the sound light and melodic. “If I were, you’d be too dense to notice.”
They passed through the residential districts, where parents kept watchful eyes on their children, their faces no longer shadowed with fear. Vendors called out to them, offering food and trinkets on credit, simply asking for their signatures to carve into the walls of their shops as tokens of honor.
Moyo, ever generous, handed out Aurum coins to the children until Annika swatted his arm. “You’re going to crash the economy at this rate,” she scolded.
“We have an economy?” he asked, genuinely baffled.
She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder how you’ve kept Bastion standing.”
Finally, they emerged from the city into an open field, its grassy expanse stretching far and wide. Annika dropped onto the grass with a satisfied sigh, unwrapping a honeyed pastry she’d grabbed along the way. Moyo joined her, his expression softer now, the weight on his shoulders easing slightly.
“So, Mr. ‘I Bring Doom and Death,’ what do you think of your city?” she asked, biting into her pastry.
He looked out over the fields; his gaze distant yet warm. “I see what you wanted to show me,” he said softly.
“For someone with the title ‘Titan,’ you can be quite the softie,” she teased. “You survived hell, Moyo. And what was the first thing you did when you came out of it?”
“I wanted to help,” he admitted. “I couldn’t face what was coming alone.”
“Exactly,” she said, leaning closer. “You, with all your strength, wanted to protect. Does that sound like a bloodthirsty monster to you?”
“Durnak might have started with good intentions, too,” he countered.
“Then go find out,” she said fiercely. “Face him, learn the truth—but don’t assume you’ll fall just because you have power. You’re better than that.”
“‘With great power comes—’”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she interrupted, smirking. “I’ve read enough of my brothers’ comics to know where you’re going.”
He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that lifted some of the weight from his heart. Without thinking, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude.
She grinned, holding out her hand. “You can thank me by handing over another one of those pastries you’ve been hoarding in your voidkeep.”
He laughed again, reaching into the voidkeep to oblige. For the first time in days, he felt a flicker of hope.
*****************
The heart of Bastion had always been its people, and as Moyo stood on the raised platform of concrete and metal in the city’s central square, he realized he was staring at its very soul. The square, which he had passed countless times without a second thought, now brimmed with purpose. Nearly a thousand ascenders stood before him, a tide of strength and resolve that represented the lifeblood of Bastion.
Each face was different, yet united in purpose. Some were young, barely past their initiation, while others bore scars of battles hard-won. Their eyes burned with resolve, each ascender ready to answer the call. Standing at his side were Bastion’s leaders—Idris, Annika, Ayo, Martha, and the others—and before him stood the Decagon, the ten commanders who embodied the might of Bastion’s forces:
Hajin, the Lightning Eater: Leader of the Storm Riders, commanding the First Company with unmatched agility and power.
Romulus, the Beast Walker: A towering, hairy figure, commanding the Second Company, exuding the raw ferocity of the wild.
Wutan, Piercing Spear: Master of precise, deadly strikes, leading the Third Company with unerring accuracy.
Tomasa, Golden staff known for his speed and ferocity in battle.
Yemi, Rune Brawler: The Fifth Company’s embodiment of strength and tactical brilliance.
Vaughn, Assault Piercer: The Sixth Company’s relentless storm, a marksman of lethal accuracy.
Marcel, Devil Touch: The Seventh Company’s enigma, a scorching wrath on the battlefield.
Amiya, Sound Screamer: The Eighth Company’s voice of chaos, her power resonating in every tone.
Lucina, Blade Rain: The Ninth Company’s whirlwind of steel, known for her deadliness.
Fern, Steel Champion: The indomitable shield of the Tenth Company, unyielding in the face of any foe.
Each of them had earned their place not through words but through action, proving themselves worthy to lead under the banner of the Titan.
Moyo stepped forward, the wind stirring his cloak as he stood tall and resolute. His voice, steady and clear, carried over the assembled crowd.
“Nearly a year ago, Bastion was nothing more than an idea,” he began, his tone solemn yet strong. “We fought, we bled, and we toiled day and night to create this—our home. A sanctuary carved out of chaos, stolen back from the system that sought to break us. And yet, the system isn’t done. It will always try to take from us, to push us to the brink, to see if we will falter.”
He turned, pointing toward the ominous horizon where the Yellow Zone loomed, its aura of dread palpable even from this distance.
“And now it tries again. I’ll admit—this time, it’s because of me.” He allowed himself a wry smile, earning a ripple of laughter from the crowd, lightening the tension momentarily. “But whether by my actions or by its design, this is another challenge. And I say—let it come!”
The crowd stirred, a low murmur of agreement rippling through the ranks.
“The necromancer, the countless hordes of aberrants, the endless dungeons—it doesn’t matter. Time and again, we have stood our ground. Time and again, we have defied those who seek to see us fall. We have neither yielded nor broken. This will be no different.”
The air thickened, charged with the aether and raw determination emanating from the crowd. Moyo could feel their anger, their courage, their readiness to fight.
“Blade and fist,” he continued, his voice rising, “we will drive them from their cursed dungeons. We will tear apart the hordes and shatter the very walls of the Yellow Zone. We will take what the system tries to deny us, and we will reap the rewards.
“But I do not ask you to follow me as the Titan. I ask you as a fellow ascender, as someone who has stood where you now stand, who has seen firsthand the horrors that await us. I ask you, not as your leader, but as your comrade.”
His gaze swept over the crowd, his eyes locking with as many as he could, drawing them into his conviction.
“Will you follow me into hell and back?”
The response was immediate and deafening. A roar tore through the square, a sound that shook the very walls of Bastion and echoed across the skies. It was a roar of defiance, of unity, of courage. It was the sound of Bastion going to war.
And for the first time since the shadow of Durnak had loomed over them, Moyo felt hope.