“There he is.” Shika nodded toward a dark, steel watchtower. It was on the other side of a vast plaza surrounded by an audience—this one double the size of the last. A parade of a hundred women with red-painted faces swayed from left to right. Their male partners, wearing black masks with red eyes, swept in the opposite direction. The enormous puppet of a snake circled the dance, its ruby eyes glowing with an inner light. The feet of thousands could be seen beneath the metal serpent, each leg moving in fluid coordination as they kept the heretic train moving.

“Wait . . .” Yuè said, standing atop Shika’s wig. “Where is he?”

It was difficult for Shika to peel her eyes from the slithering abomination. Bashe? That was supposed to be Bashe? Didn’t they realize the blasphemy of such an act? If the divine beast were unleashed from his torment, and if he found out about this mocking display of entertainment, his fury would fall upon the Steelfire Province, obliterating it from existence.

“He-llo?” A black arm waved in front of Shika’s eyes. “Shika?”

Shika blinked, focusing again on the dark watch tower. A figure sat upon a metal throne, his scalp flickering with crimson flames. His skin matched the steel of his grand seat, his vesture the iron plate of armor.

“That’s him.”

“Are . . . you sure?” Yuè hopped to Shika’s shoulder, hand over her eyes to block out moonlight. “Looks like a statue to me.”

“It’s him.” She’d seen him from a distance before, and in the books and scrolls Master had her study. “Even if it’s a decoy, we’ll get him to talk.” She clenched her dark fist. The glove was rippling. Hungry for blood. Eager to kill. “But I doubt he’s a fake. Heatfaze is a wáng—only those in the Wisdom Tier are granted that kind of position.” So he’s at least a Sage. One level, and an entire realm, above her own. Only a fool would challenge someone that powerful.

“Which is where I come it!” Yuè clasped her hands. “Pull out the sword now. Let us race forth and crush him with the weight of utter destruction!” She gave a high-pitched laugh.

Shika’s katana was already forming in her cursed hand. Liquid maqi swirled around her black fingers, stretching into a curved blade. When it solidified, dark condensation slid across its length, dripping from the edge.

A deep hunger to kill welled up inside her, driving her forward. Ashen wind buffeted her from one side, smelling of coal. She pivoted her katana, holding it underhanded, the dark blade stretching behind her. There were hundreds of spectators standing in between her and the stage, each one oblivious to the cutting-edge bound to slice them to ribbons.

“Use Netherbringer,” Yuè whispered to her mind. “It’s a technique I created myself.” Maqi cycled through the meridians along Shika’s arm, flowing into the glove of inky darkness. It bubbled like boiling water. As the energy flowed into her weapon, steam drifted from her blade. “Ooh!” Yuè hovered over to the blade, examining it from one angle, then moving to view it from another, until finally, she reached down and poked the handle.

Shika glanced at the spirit, heart slamming against her ribs. Then she noticed the darkness inching up her own forearm. She gasped, stopping in place. No! she thought, clenching the handle of her katana. Stop! The darkness bubbled on her skin. Her hunger to kill waned, but a hint of it remained. She grimaced in disgust, cheeks burning with shame.

“You’ve done it before . . .”

Be quiet! she inwardly shouted. I will not give you any more power than you already have! She forced silver maqi from her dantian and rushed it through her meridians, filling her sword hand. She pushed it into the katana, saturating the weapon, overwhelming Yuè’s energy with her own. The sword puffed to dark mist, which wrapped around her arm, hovering in place. She pulled her sleeve to cover it up.

Yuè floating up to her face, arms folded.

Shika ignored the spirit, starting forward again, sweat sliding down the back of her neck. Yuè hovered in the exact same position, no matter how fast or slow Shika moved.

“You need me if we’re going to kill Heatfaze,” the spirit said.

“I’m not here to kill him. I want to meet with him! If it comes to blows, I’ll call on you, but Heatfaze is a friend to Master Yī. This shouldn’t get violent.” I hope.

She shouldered past men and women, most of them shooting her nasty looks. Several Bronze Scans brushed over her, but she didn’t care. She’d Shrouded herself. Anyone who Scanned her spirit would feel the energy of a Silver soul, not a Greater Gold Core. Most of the civilians were Silver, so they didn’t have the guts to stand up to one of their own . . .

When she broke through the crowd, she marched across the stage, heading straight for the line of dancing men and women. She could feel the gawk of thousands. Although the rhythmic, pattering dance of feet echoed across the plaza, she heard a murmur arise from the crowd.

Heatfaze, a small figure on the other side of the plaza, perked up. Good, she thought. She had his attention.

Time to lock it in place.

Shika scooped up her wig and pulled it from her bald scalp, tossing it aside. The crowd gasped, as did the majority of dancers. They parted for her as she approached. After she unlatched the fold of her kimono, she shook out her arms, and the garment dropped to the ground. Revealing black and white robes. People whistled as ashen wind snagged the folds of her clothes, whipping in this way and that. Dark maqi, like a black worm, coiled around her sword hand, pulsing with what felt like . . . anger?

Up ahead, the heretic impersonation of Bashe swayed left and right, heading toward her. She bit down hard, glaring at the serpent. As much as she wanted to cut the train apart, she wasn’t here to destroy. She was here to talk.

She cycled maqi to her legs. It pulsed excitedly in her veins. She bolted forward, trailing black and silver mist. The crowd’s cheers burst into excited shouts and applause. They thought she was here to face off with the beast—an actor come to entertain.

How wrong they were.

She shoved off the ground, cracking stone. She front-flipped over the swaying puppet, passing over the fake beast. She landed on the other side in a crouch, then dropped to one knee, bowing before the steel watchtower.

She heard the tromp of hurried feet.

When she glanced up, she found a platoon of soldiers standing in between her and Heatfaze’s throne tower. The wáng was leaning to one side, scratching his metal chin, smirking in amusement. His eyes burned like hot coals, the color matching his flaming hair.

“Wáng Heatfaze,” Shika shouted, enforcing her voice. It echoed across a now silent plaza. “I am Shika Truthsworn, servant of Master Yī of the Kaithist Monastery!” She waited, letting the words resonate. “Our world is dying!” Murmurs from the crowd. She rose to her full height, shoulders square, robes blowing in the warm wind. “You may have something that can prevent this!” she continued, cutting straight to the point. Brevity was her greatest ally. “You know what I speak of . . .” She placed her hands together, bowing at the waist. “Please. Friend of Master Yī, I beg of—”

The tromp, tromp, tromp of marching troops shook the ground. She glanced up. Men wearing what looked like metal scales, and helmets in the shape of serpentine heads, marched toward her. Their fists were covered in white, molten steel. They stretched their arms forward, pressing their fists together, as if pretending to wield swords. Molten axes formed in their grips, edges dripping with liquid steel.

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“I do not wish to fight!” Shika shouted, looking to the wáng. He leaned forward, appearing eager. Why aren’t you talking? Shika trembled with suppressed anticipation. Come on, say something!

“Wedge formation!” one of the soldiers shouted.

Shika turned her attention to the oncoming troops, taking an unconscious step back. Heart pounding. Sword hand shaking, dripping with black chaos.

Time to kill, a voice whispered.

No . . . Horrid memories struck her.

Soulless eyes. Dismembered bodies. Black blood spattered across a forest glade. They flashed across her mind in rapid succession, each one stabbing her with the poisonous blade of regret. She grabbed her chest, wavering to one side, wounded by the sins of her past.

She’d killed innocent lives. People she grew up with. Monks and nuns she loved! She glanced off to one side, toward the horrified spectators. Would her rage kill them too? Innocent people, who didn’t deserve to die? Most of them were already trying to get away, but a portion remained where they were, confusion or morbid amusement nailing them in place.

She couldn’t help but see her loved ones in those faces. Loved ones, she’d killed. Shika squeezed her chest, dropping to her knees, the pain crushing her insides. “Take it away!” she inwardly screamed.

Yuè had already helped dampen the needling guilt. Why, then, had it come back with so much force?

Chaos-maqi cycled to her heart, filling her chest, numbing the crippling anguish.

The flagstones trembled in time with the marching feet of the soldiers, stones bouncing with each coordinated step. “They’re coming,” Yuè whispered, alighting on her shoulder, hands on her hips. “You have to fight back. You have to. If you don’t, they will kill you.” She shrugged. “Which, you know, isn’t what I want. Not for you, at least. Even though you’re hunting for my brother. Who I hate. Kind of.” She shrugged again. “It’s complicated. Anyway, you better—” The first line of soldiers roared, their collected bellows resonating in Shika’s chest. She looked up just in time to see the first line of men throw their axes in an overhanded strike.

Shika snapped into action, darting straight for the spinning line of axes. Condensed maqi flowed from her Golden Core, spreading through her pumping legs. She leapt over the molten wave, dark katana forming in her hand. She shook it from side to side, ridding it of shadows, revealing the metallic sheen of her curved blade.

As she arced toward the soldiers, one of them shouted, “Fire!” A line of men punched, and their fists blasted off like ballista bullets.

She reared her sword far to the left, and activated one of her techniques—Silver Moon’s Crescent. Screaming, she slashed the air, sending out a vast, arching strike of blade-maqi. It cut through the fists, severing them apart before slicing a line of soldiers in half.

Yuè giggled as Shika hit the ground, spinning like a tornado, cycling blade-maqi through her meridians and into her sword, charging up another deadly technique. As more and more maqi cycled into the weapon, the speed of her spin increased, the edge of her blade tearing the very fabric of existence. As men ran at her with raised axes and steaming fists, she activated the technique—Death’s Cyclone.

Condensed blade-maqi exploded from her katana, spinning like thousands of tiny swords. It severed armor, flesh, and bone, spraying blood in a mass of shrieking confusion. Before it reached the frightened spectators, she called it off. Near invisible blades evaporated into silver mist.

Shika dropped to one knee, jabbing the point of her sword into the cobblestones. Refusing to look at the carnage surrounding her. Yuè, on the other hand, was squealing with joy, skating across pools of blood and bouncing off severed limbs.

Why must I kill? Sweat dripped from her nose as she panted, emotions numb. Isn’t there a better way? A peaceful way? A—

No, her master had said, a look of pain flashing across his face. After composing himself, he continued. Shika. The greatest things in life, those of eternal significance, can only come through blood and sacrifice.

“Shika Truthsworn,” Heatfaze rumbled, his deep melodious words booming across the plaza. “Servant of Master Yī.” Shika glanced up at him, meeting his fiery eyes with a fierce gaze. His flaming coals burned bright, the hair of his head a raging bonfire. He chuckled as he rose from his throne. “Congratulations. You cured me of my boredom, nun. Truly, you’ve earned the honor of addressing me!” He placed a foot on the railing of his tower, then leaned against his knee. “Tell me. Is it true that Yī has forfeited his position to another?”

Shika’s heart skipped. “That is only a rumor, Wáng. Abbot Channarong is Master Yī’s steward, standing in for him until he returns.”

“From?”

“He did not say.”

Heatfaze placed his foot back on the floor, then folded his massive arms behind his back, black armor shifting with his movements. Light radiated from the chinks in his plate, glowing as if from a burning oven. After regarding Shika with a thoughtful gaze, he jumped from his tower, arcing through the air. Shika scrambled to her feet, holding her katana in a ready stance. He landed in front of her with a boom, cracking stone.

He was thrice her height, and four times her width, with metal spikes jutting from his shoulders. “The one you seek,” he whispered, smoke trailing from his mouth, “is not here.” He clenched his massive, gauntleted hands. The air warped around the thick metal bracelets along his arms. The holes drilled into their sides belched smoke.

“Where is he?” She spoke of Tài, Yuè’s brother: together, they formed the Harmonized One—a key to the Torment Gates.

“The Stillwater Province.” Fire flickered in the back of his throat. “The Emperor has a couple of them, too.” He chuckled, sparks popping from his mouth. “But I’m sure you already knew that.” And only an idiot would go after those ones.

Shika inclined her head. “My gratitude, Wáng.”

He regarded her with what looked to her like pity. “Do you know what you're doing, nun?”

Shika’s brow quirked.

“Why does your master want to open one of the Torment Gates?" He leaned in, radiating heat. “Have you asked him?”

“Do you think me ignorant?” She took a step back.

“I think you deceived.”

Her grip on the hilt of her weapon tightened.

“Master Yī is a man of good intentions, but he can be easily swayed.” Heatfaze rose to his full height, looming over her like a metal giant. “He used to worship the Divine Beasts. Now he wants them dead?”

“He still worships them!” She growled, holding her blade out to the side, cycling maqi into the weapon. “But the world is coming undone. Their suffering is only prolonging the inevitable! Sacrificing just one of them will resurrect the God this world needs!”

“This world needs no God!” Heatfaze stomped his iron boot, cracking stone, sending up a spray of molten steel.

Shika slid back, arms extended in front of her, katana held in ichi no kamae—a sword stance with the blade pointing at the enemy.

“Tsk,” he whispered, shaking his head, lips curling in a frown. “Your mind is polluted.” He sighed, smoke puffing from his mouth. “But . . . I can kill you in peace, knowing what I now know.” His expression hardened into a stoic mask. “Farewell, Truthsworn.” He lifted his massive fist.

It caught fire, flickering with what looked like white liquid flame. He rose it high, then hammered the cobblestone. An invisible spray of aura rushed passed Shika, leaving a warm tingle on her skin. A wide ring of molten steel burst from the flagstones, rising to the sky, blocking them in.

Yuè landed on the tip of Shika’s sword, staring at her expectantly. Shika’s eyes darted to Heatfaze. He was stomping toward her, fire flickering from the holes in his arms. His grin was sinister, the flames of his head wild and sporadic.

Shika focused on her Golden Core.

Those two techniques, especially the last one she used, left her wanting for maqi. But even if she was in top condition, there was no way she could beat a wáng! To fight someone an entire realm above your own was a death wish. She quickly Scanned his spirit, finding the dantian in his head—which was still so strange to her. All her life, she believed that one could only develop a dantian behind one’s naval. As she focused on the dantian in his skull, she narrowed her eyes in concentration. It wasn’t big, so she assumed he was a Sage. Maybe a Saint.

In short, he was swelling with power.

“Yuè,” Shika whispered, biting her lip. I’m going to regret this. “Help me.”

The little girl snickered, sinking into Shika’s blade, covering it in what looked like pitch-black ink. The black glove on Shika’s right hand shivered, and chaos-maqi spread from the glove, moving through her meridians and surrounding her dantian.

Shika inhaled deeply, then exhaled black mist. The destructive energy stormed inside of her, raging through her meridians. Her arms trembled with anticipation, her sword eager to taste the blood of Wáng Heatfaze.