Nicos eyed his opponents as he slowly shifted his sword into a high guard. Four men, two of which were inconsequential. The massive gladiator acting as a personal guard would be the biggest problem, but Nicos could feel an odd sense of danger from Vaughn Cardin himself. It didn't matter. These were odds that the boy would take.

The slaver leader had, for some insane reason, taken the time to spruce up his appearance before leaving his wagon. That, or the man slept bejeweled. He wore a silk robe, adorned with rubies and clusters of diamonds, sparkling in the torchlight. Even as Nicos stared at him, the man was strapping a similarly gaudy cape to his shoulders.

Their eyes met, and the slaver's gaze lit up in recognition.

"Nicos!" he cried with enthusiasm. "What an interesting turn of events this is! I hadn't thought the Naru willing, or even capable, of hiring mercenaries."

Nicos ignored him. His eyes flicked to Urz, and he quietly muttered, "Torch the wagons. I'll hold them off."

The tribesman nodded tersely. He snatched up the closest torch, and darted away, keeping Nicos between himself and the remaining slavers.

"Stop him," Cardin called out in a leisurely tone. He flicked his fingers at the two gate guards, and they reluctantly darted forward.

Nicos met them in a fast exchange of blades and spears, while Vaughn Cardin continued to run his mouth.

"I can pay more, you know? I'll beat any offer they make," the slaver offered with a grin. He slapped his bodyguard's shoulder. "You stand no chance against Thing here, and I'm a much more generous employer than the Naru could ever be."

The boy ducked one spear, parried the other, then bulled into the pair of slavers. He moved to quickly disembowel one, but immediately aborted the motion. Thing's javelin whizzed past Nicos head, and he barely maintained the sense of mind to deflect its path. The projectile tore through a wagon behind him, and Urz spat out a string of curses at its passing. Nicos could hear the quiet crackling of flame, suddenly stifled.

"It was the Naru, right?" Cardin continued cheerfully, seemingly amused by the fighting. "It wasn't some sort of desert collective? The tribes banding together, against the vicious Outsiders? I quite like the idea of that, if I'm being completely honest with you."

The two guards quickly found their feet, and reengaged. Nicos grit his teeth, and pulled deeper on Memory. The achievements of his ancestors pounded through his veins, as his strength soared. He slapped aside the probing spear of one opponent, and battered down the defenses of the second. He was faster than them, stronger than them, battle-hardened by the instincts of half-a -dozen dead Heroes. Nicos lunged for his panicking foes, but was forced to parry another hurled javelin. He growled beneath his breath, and pushed onward.

"Vaughn Cardin," the man himself proclaimed, holding his hands out before him to frame the horizon, "the man who united the desert. It's got quite the ring to it, doesn't it? Another feather in my cap. Another achievement, writing itself into Memory."

Nicos could feel heat at his back, and his shadow flickered unsteadily. Urz had finally managed to set something alight. He saw the fires reflected in his enemy's eyes. He kept close to the pair, inside the range of their spears. He lashed out with his fist more than his blade, landing light cuts and bruising impacts. He left no openings for Thing to intercept him. Not without killing his own allies. Urz was a target, but the young tribesman was far enough away that he could dodge any throw. The men were flagging, and Nicos could taste victory.

"You've put yourself on the wrong side of history, my young friend," Cardin continued to monologue, the smile on his face growing larger. "I have seen hundreds of boys like you, dead on the dirt of my arena. Hot-blooded and full of fire. You aren't the first to stand in my way, nor will you be the last. You could have been an asset. You chose poorly."

Why wouldn't he just shut up? Nicos brought his blade down on one man's spear, shearing through it, The man staggered backwards, and it was only his partner's interference that saved his life. A javelin soared past the boy's ear, more a warning than a threat. The giant bodyguard could not harm him without closing the distance. He seemed unwilling to leave his master's side.

"You're just another obstacle now. Another stepping stone on my path to power." His voice grew louder, more manic. "Another corpse to trod over. Another slave to rule over." The slaver paused, and Nicos felt an odd pressure, weighing against his Memory. Then the man threw his arms outwards and cried, "For I am Vaughn Cardin! And I will rule Bastion!"

Something hit Nicos like wave; immaterial, yet forceful. It staggered him for a moment, as it crashed against the Memory that he channeled. Something haughty and arrogant and looming, gazed down from on high and laughed. An odd pressure pushed against his mind, an anchor on his soul, and he saw—

A man born in poverty on the streets of a city darkened by crime. His mother was a whore and his father was a thief. They each died before he saw his tenth season. Grim and hardened, cold and vicious, the boy refused to lie down and join them. He was scooped up by a gang, one of many. He fought and scraped and clawed his way up the ranks. He befriended the strong, those who would otherwise be rivals. He whispered poison into their ears, wasted their strength against those who threatened him. He rose to the top by standing on the back of others. He broke the surface by drowning those who trusted him. But one could only rise so far.

And so, he left. Took his spoils and what men still trusted him, and moved far away. The very edge of civilization, where any man could become a king. Bastion, where flesh could be bought and blood was entertainment. There, he built his new empire. There, he would rise, until the entire city understood the truth of their existence. All things were meant to serve him. They would know, as he did, with absolute certainty: nobody mattered but Vaughn Cardin.

Narcissism and cruelty, unlike anything Nicos had ever experienced, struck him like a hammer. It washed against his being, drowning his Memory. It had been a mantra; the speech, the constant self-aggrandizing. All of it, as a precursor to using a technique that the boy recognized.

Pressure, he dimly realized. It was exactly as the Keeper had described. He could feel the insignificance of his own life, in his opponent's eyes. The sheer apathy. And his overwhelming need for control. His unrelenting desire for authority. The pain and suffering he had caused to achieve these goals them. Nicos felt the truth draped around him like a cloak.

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Vaughn Cardin wanted to rule his city. He wanted it more than anything Nicos had ever wanted before. He wanted it more than Nicos had wanted to reclaim his family's honor. He wanted it more than Nicos had wanted to make his father proud. He wanted with such burning intensity, that Nicos questioned if his mind was even human at all. But beneath that, beneath these truths forced upon him, cast out into the world by this cold, cruel man, Nicos had one more thought.

That this was a man of small ambition.

He saw a mountain growing out and up, its form scarred by lightning. He saw it crack, and shatter, and a hand the size of Farathun rose from the debris.

"I showed you that battle, not to intimidate you, but to give you a destination towards which you should strive."

Nicos seized the Memory as it appeared in his mind. He gripped it tight, the feeling of helplessness, of hopelessness, of standing in the face of overwhelming, impossible strength. He pulled that horrible Memory close, then pushed it out onto the world.

"I've overcome far worse than you," Nicos snarled, and the world snapped back into focus. Everything had passed in a mere moment, a brief clash of wills. His opponents had moved to capitalize on his loss of focus, and were caught off-guard by the immediate reversal. He dodged past a spear thrust, and buried his sword in one man's throat. Thing's hurled javelin came an instant too late—the man was clearly as surprised as his allies—and Nicos' second slash cut it out of the air. He whirled before the big man could throw another, and disemboweled the second guard.

Cardin was no longer smiling.

"Urz, you alive?" Nicos called, refusing to let his eyes leave Thing. He heard a pained groan coming from somewhere behind him.

Good. And the fire was still burning merrily away. Nicos could see hints of orange at the edge of his vision. All he had to do now, was stall. He could—

"Take him, Thing."

The giant bodyguard roared, then blasted across the desert sand, three-pronged spear in hand. Pure reflex saved Nicos' life, as the big man arrived in front of him in a blur of motion. He barely caught the prong on the edge of his blade, and cast Memory into the ground beneath him. The impact sent him skating backwards, buying precious space, and the big man pursued. Nicos caught a low murmur from Cardin, in between the bodyguard's angry bellows.

"I'll take the savage."

"Urz!" Nicos called out the only warning he could offer, before he was forced to defend himself. Thing was fast and strong, and more cautious than his demeanor suggested. Nicos batted away a dozen probing stabs, as he fought to read his opponents weapon.

The man before him could barely be called a man at all. His Memory was a mess of pain and obedience that infected everything he touched. It was practically casting, the way he pushed suffering into every blow of the spear. Nicos could barely discern any techniques beneath the tidal wave of misery. He simply lacked the experience to delve any further.

He would have to rely on his family's style for this fight. The Advancing Strike was best used when it would kill the opponent. Surprise was its greatest advantage, shearing through a guard and scoring a kill before the enemy even realized it had happened. Naturally, as Nicos' ancestors grew in strength and recognition, the strike lost much of this element. It was still an astonishingly powerful tool, as few warriors were capable of adapting their defense to deal with it, but, at least in the Kingdom's of Athun and their neighbors, it no longer carried the devastating potential that it once did.

Nicos was not in Athun. His opponent knew nothing of his family, nor of their abilities.

He waited for his moment.

The man's odd spear—trident, whispered its Memory—thrust for Nicos, and he danced backwards and away. He led the man across the camp, ducking in and out of tents and behind cover. Nicos read the sand like the Naru had taught him, barely managing to keep track of his surroundings, alongside the man mere feet away from himself. It saved his life every time he lost sight of his opponent.

Eventually, Nicos found himself beside a barracks. He stood with his back against one of the supports, a wooden beam on the inside, propping up the leather canvas. Thing stabbed out with his trident, and Nicos limboed beneath it. The weapon sheared clear through the material, and the solid wood behind it. Nicos yanked, hard, on the outside of the barracks, and the entire structure collapsed. He lashed out with his sword, swinging for Thing's knees, and the giant leapt backwards.

The leather canvas came with him, wrapped around the hilt of the spear. For a brief moment, the material settled over Thing's body. Nicos charged forward, as the man spent precious moments tearing his way free. He closed the distance, too close to be attacked, and Thing was forced to parry.

Nicos' blade cut through the haft of the trident, tore into Thing's side, and carved its way towards the giant's heart.

A massive fist wrapped around Nicos' wrist, straining with effort. The giant bodyguard had managed to catch him before he could finish his blow. The damage was ruinous, a gaping chasm in the man's side, but he was not yet dead. He had maybe a minute to live, before his lifeblood spilled out onto the sand in its entirety, but that was long enough. His second hand latched on to Nicos' throat, and squeezed.

The man's grip was steel, and Nicos' vision quickly began to fade. He kicked at the man's side, weak, flailing impacts, that nevertheless caused immense pain. But Thing was used to pain. He had bore pain for his entire life. The dying man squeezed, even as he fell to his knees, devoting the last of his strength to this final task.

Nicos could feel his life falling away. His vision blurred, his consciousness fled. Darkness pooled in the corners, and even the fire's glow began to fade. Before he could fall completely, the boy caught movement at the edge of his vision, a blur of white, piercing through the creeping darkness. Urz's bone spear sheared through Thing's forearm, and Nicos heard a sickening crunch from somewhere beyond his sight. Thing's grip went slack around his throat, and Nicos slammed his fist into the big man's side. The man groaned, a gurgling, bloody noise, and the strength left his other limb. Nicos ripped his blade free, and took off the dying man's head.

He spun to where the spear had come, anxiety clutching at his heart in a way that he hadn't felt since he'd lost his father.

The camp was well on its way to becoming ash. The fire had spread to an almost complete encirclement. The light was plentiful, which allowed Nicos to clearly see the state of his friend.

Vaughn Cardin had acquired a morning-star from somewhere. The spiked ball was covered in blood, and Urz's chest was caved in. Blood leaked through his clothes, staining the sand copper. He was no longer breathing. And his only weapon was buried in the arm of Nicos' opponent.

The choice the young Naru had made was obvious.

Fury. He'd scarcely imagined the depths that he could feel. Nicos burned like the Twins above. His rage eclipsed the gods. It was all he knew, all he could feel. He had one, single-minded goal: to kill this man, as fast as possible.

He stepped across the sand, pulling on his teacher's Memory. He ignored the danger, ignored the risk, ignored every good, sensible reason that he had created to avoid this technique. He felt the looming presence of Eurya's shadow, cold curiosity brushing against his senses. The vast, overwhelming ocean of presence, seeking to swallow him whole. Testing him, always testing him. Anger kept him focused, kept him clear. His stride did not even break, and he felt vicious approval from the Memory of his teacher.

On his next step, he moved without conscious control. The distance between him and his enemy vanished. Nicos registered surprise on Cardin's face, an instant before his sword plunged into the man's chest. The slaver's weapon dropped from numb fingers, and his hand scrabbled at Nicos' face.

The boy twisted his sword, and his enemy died. He stared at the corpse, fighting to maintain control. His emotions churned, anger shifting to something else, and he released his master's Memory.

Then he collapsed on the sand, beside his friend's body, and wept.