Argrave had long been imagining what might actually happen when he came to fight Gerechtigkeit. The last thing that he’d expected to be would be a simple man, dressed to impress. He did look very much like the family that he was a part of—he could see traces of both Sophia and Norman on his features. And staring upon him, Argrave could conjure no half-hearted echoes from his distant past. He was only Argrave, in this moment—an S-rank spellcaster, one who had consumed the Fruit of Being, and most importantly to him the other half of Anneliese.

Griffin’s eyes flashed gold, and a spectral Gilderwatcher bridged the air between them faster than Argrave could blink. It coiled around thought itself, paralyzing him. Griffin threw a spear of flame, then leapt after it. Moments before it reached, Argrave shattered the paralysis, swapping places with a blood echo above. The spear changed directions startlingly accurately, and Argrave conjured the black staff Artur had crafted to channel a blade of blood strong enough to bat it aside. A burst of flame blocked his vision, only for Griffin to erupt forth swinging a red sword.

Argrave barely received the blow, pushed back against the towering golden tree. He brought the back of the staff up, hoping to use the Resonant Pillar’s ability to counter to land a solid hit on Griffin. His foe appeared to try and block it with his sword, but moments before it hit, released the blade. All the force of the impact rebounded on the blade alone, and it shot off into the sky, piercing a cloud with such force a great hole opened in it. Griffin slammed his elbow into Argrave’s face, sending him tumbling down through countless golden branches in a shower of leaves.

“Have you come so far to be stricken dumb? Fight!” Griffin’s voice thundered. “Nothing remains for the one who does not give himself whole to this battle. Time itself flows with every blow we exchange. Have you come unprepared?”

Argrave caught a branch, looking up at Griffin above. They locked eyes again, and that spectral snake lunged out to stun him again. Argrave grabbed out with his hand, catching the snake. It bit at his face, hissing, but he pulled fiercely. Griffin was pulled by his eyes forward with it, and Argrave thrust forth his staff like a spear. Griffin seemed well-prepared to block, yet from behind, Argrave had a blood echo send out a lance of blood. The spell struck him in the back, unbalancing him, and Argrave impaled his foe. Argrave tossed the body aside as it faded, then began climbing furiously. His objective was the two blinding lights far above.

“Griffin!” Argrave called out, scrabbling up branches and teleporting with his echoes intermittently. “This fight, our struggle—we don’t need anyone else to interfere. If we’re ever to have an ending to this cycle, we have to agree to block out the Heralds. Refuse them, totally. No deals, no bargains.”

As Argrave grabbed a branch, he heard a whistle pass just by his ear before a knife pierced through his hand, impaling him to the tree. He grimaced, pulling the knife out in time to avoid four more. Griffin stood on the edge of a distant branch, far above, throwing knives with tremendous force.

“You bargain for me to accept death, willingly, should it come for me,” he said dismissively as his knives sought Argrave’s flesh one after another. He scrambled like a squirrel to avoid them. “Honor is not an anodyne for defeat—in fact, it makes the meal taste all the more bitter. None can find solace in honor as they choke on their blood and bile, knowing their dreams are to be killed and their efforts to be stolen. If you stare perdition in the eyes, and the Heralds offer you a trough of disgusting slop… you will eat, Argrave. Such is your nature as a child of the world.”

“And Sophia?” Argrave pressed, gaining confidence enough to catch a dagger in his hand as he hung from a branch. “Is she just caught in the middle?! Your sister, trapped in that prison with Good King Norman for all eternity. Is that your ‘perdition?’ I don’t intend on bestowing such a fate on Sophia. Because either of us—we can give her a way out, if we cooperate and shut out the Heralds.”

Griffin did pause his relentless assault, narrowing his eyes at Argrave. “We? If you move your limbs, Argrave, only one body responds. When you think, only one soul hears it. You are one body inhabiting one soul. Your world is filled with prevaricators and plunderers, and if the Heralds reach out to those dormant forces, they will break rank and break you. If you should jeopardize the cycle of judgment, the Heralds will ensure today’s allies will be tomorrow’s rapists. If neither of us take their deal, they will find another party. The Heralds will grant another the Elysium they offer you, and as payment, they will ask only that your wife, your sister, and all your friends meet gruesome ends.”

Argrave produced a [Bloodfeud Bow] and shot it at the base of the branch Griffin stood upon. It broke off from the tree, and as it fell, Argrave began to climb up again. “We’ve empowered good people,” he said, despite that much of him knew that Griffin had a point. “Anneliese, Law, Elenore—we’ve made sure that our people—”

“Your world is filled with scum, working together only because of common interests,” Griffin said with total conviction as the branch he stood upon plummeted downward. “If power rested in their hands, they would exercise it to your detriment. Your people remain cowed only because you are strong, and they are weak. Should the tables turn, you will find what your generosity produces in the recipient—envy, greed, and desire. The downtrodden you protect will rise up, tipping the whole world over to receive what the Heralds promise them. Oppression alone does not make one a good person. I stand as testament to that.”

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Argrave could say nothing in response, yet he climbed upward with tremendous ferocity, seeking the two stars burning above. When he looked to his left, a great blaze of fire sought him out, roaring from Griffin’s hands. Though he might drop down, he did something unorthodox—he crossed to Griffin’s boundary, enduring its lesser flames to dodge the roaring inferno coming his way.

“At best, you will become as Lorena did; a slave tortured so harshly that she became a proponent of her own misery,” Griffin said as if it were pitiable. “At worst, those you love will be stolen from you, and you’ll be made to watch for all eternity as they suffer unimaginable hardship. The Heralds are cruel stewards. They already have Lorena as an example of their generosity. Of you, they would make an example of punishment.”

The great inferno roared past Argrave, and he sought refuge atop a large branch, clinging to the trunk of the tree. “You’re describing your life!” He shouted. “Sophia, trapped in Sandelabara—you’re already enduring that punishment. So why do you persist? Why can’t you accept your fate, and give your sister freedom, give us freedom? Is it so terrible to give your sister happiness without you?”

“Because just as it is for you, so is it for me,” Griffin continued. “The Heralds will allow neither of us true freedom. Our stewards envision countless ways to keep us spinning. Your world is endlessly complex, with constituents uncountable to call upon and mastermind. They stab our frailties with heartless calculation. If we empty ourselves of weakness, we empty ourselves of strength. My sister is my weakness, and my strength. You possess many such endowments, too. Anneliese, Elenore, Galamon, Durran… many more, and even Sophia, to my wonderment. They are the frail fuel for your geyser of ambition.”

Argrave stood amidst fire, looking around for Griffin briefly before resuming the climb. “You’ve been fighting the Heralds far longer than I have,” he said. “You have to know some way to cut them out. There’s got to be a way to stop them from interfering. And if there isn’t… damn it, let’s come up with it together! Remove them, excise them, expunge them! You versus me—that’s all this need be!”

Griffin stood crouched on a higher branch, and Argrave flinched away, expecting an attack. He merely crouched there, however, and spoke quietly. “There is a way.”

“What?” Argrave looked at him, questioning if he should even be conversing so much with this man. Perhaps all of this was a trick. “What’s the way?”

“Employ the groundwork I have laid. Make yourself the whole,” Griffin said stoically. “Move to the suns, carrying Lorena’s work on your back. Use the body of the silver knight to do more than free mortals from my influence—use it to exert your own will upon them. Eliminate the possibility of all interference, of all meddling, from forces beyond our ken. Kill the malignant cancers of lust, greed, and envy in men’s heart, unifying them toward the fight against Gerechtigkeit. Me.”

Even in this soulscape, Argrave felt his breath catch in his throat. Griffin suggested not merely protecting mortality… but controlling it.

“Take for yourself the power of your world,” Griffin continued with thunderous enthusiasm. “Claim what you have so vigorously struggled to earn. Muster the resolve I said you must possess, and steal the souls of mortalkind for yourself. When your world stands fully united in opposition to me, we can be both rid of the tumors plaguing our bodies. We can both labor for true freedom.”

Argrave’s heart beat wildly at what he suggested. He and all of his companions had struggled desperately toward such unity, and now, his sworn enemy suggested that he need but reach out and take it.

Griffin rose to his feet on the branch he stood atop. “Should you choose to personally conduct all life yourself, I vow to you I shall fight with my power alone. I shall muster my core, my very being, in staunch opposition to you. I will struggle even unto my death throes to end your world and reclaim my sister. I did not suffer so long to meekly surrender and perish at the final hour—my greed mirrors yours. But should you dominate the souls of mortalkind, I vow the Heralds will never again have a say in the fate of the world. Can I expect the same from you?”

“Why should I trust you? Why should you trust me?” Argrave asked, shaken.

“Let the scars of millennia past prove the conviction of our vows,” Griffin suggested. “And let the love in our hearts seal the pact. I swear on my sister, the Heralds will rule us no more. Can I expect the same from you? Do you swear on your daughter?”

Argrave stared into those red eyes a long, long time, enduring the pain licking from the flames all around them. Finally, he nodded. “I swear. Fuck the Heralds.”

“Then climb, Argrave of Vasquer, Vincenzo Giordano.” Griffin pointed skyward. “Take back what should belong to no other: our fate itself. Rip destiny from the jaws of the presiding swine. You have won that right with might and main. Claim your prize. And when next we meet, we shall fight for true.”

Argrave looked up, toward the suns, then back at Griffin’s solemn face. Then, without further words, he climbed towards the suns, unabated.

He’d said only what he needed to. Lying to a mass-murderer came easy. But at the end of the day… his words had made him think.