Hart Redfletcher pushed himself up off the ground, then helped Alex to his feet.

“That was something.” The Champion cracked his neck. “Felt like when I first got my Mark, but…not as painful.”

“Merzhin and Drestra said something similar,” Alex replied. “I'm glad it didn't hurt much…I mean that fall kinda hurt but—”

“You're breaking our deal, Alex,” Hart grimaced. “There was no fall. Nobody fell.”

“Right, right,” the General said, sheepishly. “Silly me.”

Hart simply nodded and began removing his breastplate, pauldrons, gauntlets and shirt to examine the Mark burning on his left bicep.

The Mark of the Champion—the horned warrior’s head—glowed white, changed from its former golden colour.

“Wow…” Alex muttered, peering at the empowered Mark. “Would you look at that?”

“Feels strange to see it suddenly look different after I’ve had it for such a long time,” Hart said.

“Tell me about it.” Alex glanced at his right shoulder where the Mark of the Fool used to be. “Sometimes I look at my shoulder, and I’m still surprised that there's no jester’s face grinning up at me. So, how’re you feeling? Any different?”

“Yeah, I do, actually.” Hart said, flexing each finger on his right hand. “I feel stronger, like I got a lot more energy, more power. Wanna test it out?”

The Champion turned and strode to a nearby oak tree. He flexed his thick arms, wrapped them around the oak’s broad girth, reached to lock his fingers together, but failed, and with a low grunt, planted his feet firmly at the base of the trunk, bent his knees, and heaved.

His muscles bunched up, veins rose on his bare torso.

There came a groaning sound like the earth itself was moaning in pain.

The tree began rising; slowly, steadily, its roots were exposed before Alex's amazed eyes. Hart turned his torso, rocking the tree trunk from side to side, and—with a surge of force—wrenched the oak free.

Alex noticed the Champion’s fingertips had broken through the tree bark and were digging into the smooth wood beneath.

“Damn!” the young wizard shouted.

“I may not be as strong as Claygon, but this is still pretty good.” Hart threw the tree, hurling it through the forest and over the canopy where it landed with a terrible crash in the distance.

“And guess what? More strength isn't all I got,” Hart said.

He stooped low, took a giant step, and shot across the clearing faster than Alex's eye could follow. He paused and did it again, speeding through the green space, then launching his body through the air while unsheathing his enormous sword.

Flying and striking around himself, his hive-queen blade blurred in a storm of death.

Hart shouted at Alex. “Conjure me some forceballs, then send them at me!”

“You got it!” With a slight gesture while uttering two syllables, the young archwizard conjured a swarm of forceballs modified with added mana to maximise their speed.

He kept conjuring, producing at least a hundred forceballs and lobbing them at Hart from all directions. They sped straight for the hulking warrior like an attacking swarm, but he slipped past them, his sword lashing out, bursting every spell before it could touch him.

“Let’s see that again!” Alex cried, sending two score more glowing spells from all sides.

Hart’s sword blurred again.

Not a single forceball hit him.

When every spell had been ruptured, he took a deep breath and began laughing. “It's too bad that First Apostle isn’t still around. I'd like to see him try the crap he did at Uldar’s Rise!” His laughter turned to a growl.

“There’s something else I’d like to test.”

Hart drew his dagger, stretched out his arm and—before Alex could say a word—ran the blade across his skin.

The skin remained intact.

“My body’s tougher,” he repeatedly slashed at his arm with the dagger, until finally, the blade cut a shallow wound on his forearm. “Not bad, breaking the skin took a lot of tries, which means if I’m wearing Uldar’s armour, I should be protected from most weapons.”

“That’s great!” Alex applauded, then took his notebook out to make a quick note. “So far, each Hero has had their Mark’s specialty greatly enhanced by its evolution. No new powers though.”

“Yeah, it sure looks that way,” Hart said. “What do you think you're gonna get?”

Alex shook his head. “Who knows if I’ll get anything, but even if I do, I have no idea what it might be. I can't imagine how to make my Mark’s power better. Maybe I’ll get more images, quicker, so I can learn faster?”

The young archwizard shrugged. “Who knows?”

“Well, I'm real curious now,” Hart said. “If Merzhin, Drestra and me are so much stronger, I can't wait to see what you’re gonna be able to do.”

“Thanks,” Alex said. “You're a good guy, Hart.”

“I kill things,” Hart said. “I do it for a living. Doesn't mean I gotta be an asshole when I'm not. Anyway, you only got Cedric left to do, right?”

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“Yeah,” Alex said. “He's been getting impatient…well, that's not fair, he’s been extra eager, understandably, but he's been reasonably patient.”

“Well, I guess his patience is gonna be rewarded,” Hart said. “Real soon.”

----------------------------------------

Soon.

Soon the Ravener would have to decide.

The black orb hovered above the water in its murky cave, focused on the body of its creator. All throughout Thameland its spawn were multiplying, some were giving aid to the Thameish, while others were fighting them.

Its Skyfire swarm was nearly complete, and the ancient pathways for producing its most powerful monsters—pathways it had not used in millennia—were nearly ready.

Creating another Skyfire swarm would be faster next time.

After that, even faster.

The time after that, faster still.

Soon, it would be able to produce dungeon cores that could make its oldest—most powerful monsters—independently.

It was almost ready for that.

But, it had come no closer to deciding what to do, and time was passing.

The Heroes were changing: it could feel them reverting to their old forms, one by one. In many ways, this set-back was dire, perhaps an omen of disaster: after the General had been removed millennia ago, the Heroes were not supposed to bear their full power ever again, for good reason.

In other ways, the Ravener was inwardly pleased by this turn.

It was almost…nostalgic to feel the Heroes returning to what they once were. The change reminded it of older, better days. Days when Uldar was strong, and would speak with it.

Without doubt, it understood that to not try to stop them from returning to their former selves, before Uldar had changed them, was illogical. Dangerous. However, nostalgia was overcoming logic, and was yet another new emotion in the storm of fears, rages, and yearnings plaguing the construct.

It desperately needed guidance, though, in watching Uldar’s still form, it knew such guidance would never come.

And time was also short.

Once the Heroes regained their full power, it knew they would seek to destroy it, unless it could make peace with them…if that was what it decided to do. On some days, peace seemed like the right path to take, but on others, it seemed disgraceful to even consider: an abomination to Uldar.

But if it did not make a choice soon, that choice would be made for it.

Perhaps it could seek help from…

…no.

Not yet.

To do so, would mean tying itself to one who was not its creator.

If it sought counsel, it must be secure in its own independent thought. It was not created to have another master, none but Uldar.

Certainly not this General.

And he was what it feared most.

It knew that a General existing should be impossible…but Uldar’s death should also be impossible…yet, he was dead. And should this General be able to craft a means to control it? Uldar’s work would fall into the hands of one who should never have been able to exist again, by its creator’s own divine decree. That would be the ultimate blasphemy.

No, such a thing could not happen.

Even if the other Heroes were permitted to live, the General must die.

And there was a sure way to ensure that he did.

The Ravener reached into its deepest processes, and began crafting another Skyfire swarm. Then another.

These would be ready much faster than the first.

Yes.

Three swarms to overwhelm: to easily kill this General.

The Ravener remembered how, for a brief moment, the General’s mind had touched it.

Violating.

That would not happen again.

Its weapons would soon be ready.

----------------------------------------

“Right, then, Alex!” Cedric shouted. “They say save th' best fer last. Well, I's both best an’ last, so I guess they was right!”

The Chosen of Uldar stood in the clearing where Alex had trained the other Heroes—shirtless, as usual—despite the chilly springtime drizzle.

“Technically, I'll be last.” The General of Thameland pointed out. “My theory is that—if I get a boost in power—it's only going to be after you four have gotten yours.”

“Aye, I suppose that makes sense,” Cedric scowled. “Well then, they’d best change that expression t’save th’ best fer second last!”

The Chosen’s cheery laughter boomed over the forest.

Alex rolled his eyes. “Ugh, don’t make me regret training you already.”

“Oh you're gonna, friend,” Cedric’s cheer faded, somewhat. “I ain’t the quickest when it comes t’learnin’ complicated things. So, by the time you an’ me’s all through, you’re gonna be tearin’ out great tufts o’ yer hair. Believe me.”

“Oh, I’m not worried, you’re no fool, Cedric, no matter what you say,” Alex told him.

“What’cha gonna be teachin’ me anyway?” Cedric asked, smiling, revealing his gold tooth. Despite his concerns, there was a great deal of excitement in his body language. “Dancin’? I hope it's dancin.”

“No and yes,” Alex said. “You're going to learn everything Drestra, Hart and Merzhin did.”

The Chosen’s smile faded.

Dead away.

“What, why?” he demanded, sounding a touch hysterical.

“Because you're supposed to be a fusion of the three of them: some divinity, some magic, and some fighting,” Alex pointed out. “Merzhin gets stronger by mastering his inner peace, his faith and his soul. Drestra gets stronger by learning new spells and techniques to cast them with. Hart gets stronger by…” Alex paused. “…well, by getting stronger. But he also gets stronger through learning new combat techniques, and other techniques that can enhance his fighting styles.”

“An’ I’s gonna be gettin’ stronger by learnin’ all three?” Cedric paled.

Alex shook his head. “You're going to get stronger by combining all three into one perfect fighting style. Different dances will let you dodge and move in new ways in battle: and you’ll also be learning how to convey meaning. A twitch of a muscle can cast a spell: a complex dance can mean more than a single spell being cast at once. While you're dancing, you’ll be fighting at the same time, and by using a breathing and grounding technique, you'll be able to concentrate on everything at once.”

“Oh…” Cedric winced. “So that's it then, I’ll be takin’ everythin’ they learned, an’ mashin’ it all together?”

“Yes,” Alex said. “That's exactly right. And in a way, it's a good thing you went last: you're going to take the longest to train. But when we're finished, you're going to be a nightmare in a fight. You're already a nightmare, but you have one big weakness.”

“Aye? An’ what’s that?” Cedric asked.

“You have access to three different disciplines that allow you to destroy your enemies, but you only use one at a time,” Alex said. “Most of the time, you're fighting with your morphic weapon. Then you pause to cast a spell. Usually, it’s a big spell to blow up a bunch of enemies at once, or it's some sort of enhancement spell that makes you stronger. Then you go back to fighting with your morphic weapon.”

“An’ I only use divinity t’ heal or make m’self a bit stronger.” Cedric nodded. “Aye, I don’ really flow from one thing t’ th’next, do I?”

“No,” Alex said. “And if you think about it, you should. Imagine this. With every strike, you’re casting a spell. With every step, you’re casting a spell. That frees up your mouth to utter prayers. While you're doing all that, you could be grounding yourself in the moment, calming your soul which’ll keep a lot of strain off your soul-gate and allow you to focus on regenerating your mana at the same time.”

Cedric’s jaw dropped. “Y’wants me t’do all that? Me?”

“Sure! You can do it,” Alex pushed. “You're a really coordinated guy, and your Mark enhanced your agility—not as much as Hart’s—but it did. Learning the movement part isn’t going to be a problem. Breathing’s…breathing. It's going to be easier than you think. Casting spells? Well, once we beat casting nonverbally into you, it’ll be second nature in no time. Trust me.”

“Doin’ all that sounds like it'll tak’a long time!” Cedric grumbled.

“I’m thinking it’ll take less time than you think, but longer than the others took,” Alex said. “What we’ll do is start you off with one thing at a time. Something easy first: probably the breathing technique. Once you can ground yourself, you'll be able to concentrate better on the next thing: probably the dances. Then, after that, non-verbal casting and mana regeneration. We’ll probably have to take a bit of a break between lessons, though.”

“An’ why’s that?” Cedric asked.

“I'll be getting my exam results soon,” Alex grinned. “And, if things went well, I’ll be graduating.”