Night was falling.

Across the Fields of Cormac, pyres were dying. Flame had given way to embers, ash and the blackened remains of Ravener-spawn. The soldiers’ clean-up was done, but they had paused on their journey to Welling for the night, pointing at a gathering in the middle of the field.

They recognised many of the Thameish army’s most powerful allies—Theresa, Thundar, Khalik, Najyah, Isolde, Brutus, Bjorgrund, Birger, and Claygon—surrounding the Heroes of Thameland who had come together beside a single figure bearing the Mark of the General: a glowing sword pointing at a scroll below it, with the pommel extending into a crown.

A Mark that pulsated with a bright, golden light in the deepening gloom.

Alex took a big breath, rolling his right shoulder. “Are we ready?”

“Aye,” Cedric said.

“Yeah,” Hart answered.

“Of course,” Drestra’s voice crackled.

“Indeed.” Merzhin bowed his head.

Their Marks pulsed in time with the General’s.

“Then let’s get started.” Alex presented his shoulder to them.

The Heroes looked at each other, nodded, then stepped forward.

Hart’s large fingers pressed against the Mark of the General’s glowing blade.

Its radiance grew brighter.

Drestra placed her lean fingers against the Mark’s scroll.

Its radiance grew brighter.

Merzhin’s small hand touched the Mark’s crossguard.

Its radiance grew brighter.

Finally, Cedric’s morphic weapon—in gauntlet form—peeled back from the Chosen’s fingers as he touched the Mark’s crown-like pommel.

There was a moment of utter stillness.

Then the Mark of the General blazed like a miniature sun, the other Marks burning with it. White-hot pain washed over Alex’s right shoulder, lancing through his body as though he were being pierced by flaming needles.

But with that pain came a feeling of completion.

And when Alex screamed, it was not in agony.

Power flowed into the General from the other Marks, and the five symbols began to sing in perfect harmony. A silent wind whipped the air around the Heroes, lifting them from the earth.

At last, you are all finally complete, came Uldar’s familiar whisper.

“My Heroes, you have earned my full approval,” the deity said. “The Saint, the Sage, the Champion and Chosen have all grown, learning techniques from the General. Things from other disciplines growing what you all already possess. That is my way. My mighty General, you have guided the rest of my Heroes down the path I wish for them. As such, I grant you my full approval and hereby reward you by empowering you fully. Go. Destroy the Ravener. Bring my will unto the land. Now. And forever.”

Uldar’s voice echoed through Alex’s mind like thunder.

The Mark of the General began to mottle, gold flecking away, revealing the white light beneath. As it did, memories flowed to Alex’s mind.

Images of every time he’d used the Mark of the Fool or the Mark of the General returned in a flood. He saw himself learning how to flick a coin, how to dance, how to read body language, how to memorise information, how to meditate, how to craft alchemical goods and more. So much more.

He didn’t find the volume of information overwhelming; even with the vast number of images his mind was taking in at once, he could organise and understand all of it and still be acutely aware of his surroundings.

The other Heroes shielded their eyes as their Marks burned ever brighter.

###

The petrifier never imagined it would cower.

It was strong—the mightiest of the Ravener-spawn’s forces—and there was nothing that it feared…until now.

Now, the invisible creature grovelled in the dirt in the middle of an empty field. Its Hunters cowered as well.

And above it, the sky burned.

“Where is the General?” three Skyfire Swarms spoke together, their words emerging from thousands of voices as one.

Steam hissed from the grass around the petrifier and its many eyes watered, feeling the pure heat emanating from the swarm.

“The…the Usurpers are to the southeast,” the Petrifier stuttered out. “The General is one of them. He must be there.”

The Skyfire Swarms screamed with elation, blazing even brighter.

Nearby, a lonely tree burst into flames as the Swarms streaked away, racing through the sky with terrible speed.

The petrifier did not move until the Swarm’s light—bright enough to turn the night to daylight—had faded. Several of its eye-stalks rose.

It shuddered.

Then scuttled away, making for the closest dungeon.

It needed to muster the hordes.

The war was entering its final phase.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

###

The last of the gold flaked away.

The Mark of the General was now complete.

Its sword, its crown-pommel and the scroll below all burned with a brilliant white light, the pain had long faded, replaced by a subtle elation spreading through the young archwizard’s being.

As his and the other Heroes’ feet touched the earth, the Chosen, Champion, Sage and Saint stepped away from him, taking in his Mark.

“Look at that,” Cedric murmured. “Don’ it look bloody brilliant?”

“Yeah,” Hart agreed.

“How do you feel?” Merzhin asked, concern in his voice.

“What has changed?” Drestra asked. “Do you have any new powers?”

Alex blinked at them like an owl.

He was silent for a long moment, then stumbled back.

“Alex!” Theresa was a blur, reaching him in a blink. She caught him by the arm. “Are you okay? Alex?”

He stared at her as she steadied him, his jaw slightly agape. His eyes were unfocused. His face, pale. His mouth moved slowly.

“What’s wrong with him?” Theresa turned to the others.

“...rght…” Alex muttered.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Alrght…” he said, the word flying from his mouth at speed. “I’mokayeverythingisalrightIthink.”

The words fired out at speed, syllables tumbling over each other.

“What’s the matter?” Khalik asked, stepping forward.

“Father…are you really alright?” Claygon asked. “Father!”

The golem was rushing toward his father.

To Alex though, Claygon seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace.

The world had slowed to a crawl in the perception of the General, with all things—including his body—moving like partly-frozen tree sap. Only his mind seemed to be working at full speed, allowing him to perceive everything around him in the highest detail and clarity.

Even Claygon’s voice in his mind sounded as though his words were coming out at a crawl.

‘Faaaaaaatheeeeeeer…caaaaan…yyyyouuuuuuu heeeaaaar meeee?’ the golem asked.

The words echoed endlessly in Alex’s mind, with each syllable dragging on for an eternity. Meanwhile, the young archwizard’s thoughts were processing at double time. Then triple.

‘Is this it?’ he wondered. ‘Is this what the Mark of the General’s evolution does?’ He scanned every detail of Claygon’s filigree. ‘It’s like a massively powered up haste spell, but only for my mind! The world around me seems to be moving real slow, like every heartbeat is its own eternity.’

He grew excited. ‘This is an awesome ability! I’ll be able to react to enemies a lot faster with this! There’s so much I can take in now, so many plans I could make all in the space of a single heartbeat! But…hold on…’

Something was changing. It was becoming too much.

Every image of every time he’d used the Mark continued flooding his thoughts, adding to vast amounts of detail coming at him from the world around, overloading him, keeping his thoughts unsettled, not able to process everything at once.

‘I’ll have to use this sparingly,’ Alex thought. An odd, almost itching sensation was growing in his mind. ‘There’s no way one brain can sort through so much information at once—’

Suddenly, it felt like something shattered in his mind.

Vertigo took him for a moment, and his belly churned.

He almost lost balance; but Theresa caught him again, her lips moving at a snail’s pace as she spoke to him.

What she was saying, he couldn’t tell.

He was too busy losing his mind.

His thoughts had split into a roiling sea of chaos: emotions, thoughts, memories, and different sensations all tearing apart then twisting together in knots. Dizziness threatened to take him as waves of chaos boiled and—for a dreadful moment—he thought he’d lose himself to it.

But slowly, order touched his mind, calming it.

Emotions settled.

Memories organised.

Sensation calmed.

Thoughts…thoughts…

‘What the?’ Alex wondered, startling himself. His inner voice…didn’t sound like it was alone.

‘What’s happening?’ he wondered, multiples of his own mental voices speaking in his mind. ‘How…what’s going on?’

He breathed deeply, beginning to understand what was happening.

And the true power of the Mark became clear.

His mind…had split into multiple streams of consciousness. One stream monitored past memories from the Mark of the General, organising them with its full attention. Another stream was solely focused on the sensations around him, comprehending every detail filtering through his senses.

Another stream was monitoring the Traveller’s power within him.

Another focused on the sensations in his body.

Another was engaged in cataloguing every spell Alex had ever learned.

Finally, there was a central stream of consciousness, making decisions in full communication with every other stream. That stream would make decisions the others would instantly carry out.

Simultaneously.

‘No wonder the ancient Generals were able to figure out Uldar’s scheme,’ Alex thought in awe as every stream of consciousness worked in tandem. ‘I can process information like never before! I can control each of my limbs individually, like they have their own brain. Hells, if I had multiple bodies, I’d be able to easily control all of them! Every detail, every passing moment will be like an endless library for my mind now. This is incredible!’

He basked in the mass of information moving through his streams of consciousness and he couldn’t wait to test what this power could do.

But, at the moment, he knew his companions were worried about him.

Focusing one of his streams of consciousness, he concentrated on slowing his thoughts.

Instantly, the world snapped back to its full speed and he could hear concerned voices asking if he was alright.

“I’m back,” he said, blinking rapidly, feeling his other consciousnesses still dedicated to their own specific tasks, feeding each other information. He was processing everything.

“Back?” Theresa frowned. “Where’d you go?”

“Wha’s happenin’, mate?” Cedric asked. “It was like you was ‘ere, but not.”

“Your…I couldn’t…father…were you not speaking? Or was there something else…” Claygon asked.

“Hold on, hold on, everyone. I’ll try to explain,” Alex said. “Just…give me a moment, this is going be a bit difficult to put into words.”

Everyone fell silent, looking at him with a mix of trepidation and anticipation.

Alex glanced at the white Mark of the General. “Well, first of all, my mind’s in pieces.”

“We already knew that,” Thundar grunted.

“No, I mean, in a good way! And wait, what’s that supposed to mean, you bastard?” Alex glowered. “Anyway…”

He explained what he’d experienced: the multiple streams of consciousness, the vast acceleration of his thoughts and his ability to process information like never before.

Some of his friends—his cabal-mates specifically—gaped at the implications.

Others, however…

“Do you understand what he’s talking about?” Bjorgrund loudly whispered to Cedric.

“Not a bloody clue.” The Chosen crossed his arms over his chest.

“Okay, okay. It’s like…I can take in all kinds of information at once, understand it and…well... Imagine that you’re reading a dozen books at the same time,” Alex explained.

Cedric, Theresa, Hart and Bjorgrund shuddered.

“Hold on, don’t grimace yet, I’m going somewhere with this: imagine you’re reading a dozen books at once, but you’re able to understand all twelve of them at the same time.”

“Like having twenty-four pairs of eyes?” Bjorgrund asked.

“Closer to having twelve brains to process them all, I think,” Khalik suggested.

Alex clapped, pointing at the prince. “This guy gets it! It’s like twelve—well, twelve’s just an arbitrary number—brains, but they’re all still me and they’re in constant communication! Then, add in the fact that my mind can speed up…”

“You can learn things and react really quickly,” Birger said.

“Wait, couldn’t you do all that stuff before?” Bjorgrund asked.

“Yeah,” Alex said. “But this is better. It’s like with the other Marks: their evolution didn’t really grant them new powers, it just made what was already there a lot better.”

“Makes sense,” Hart said. “But, all this talking’s boring me. Why don’t we get to some demonstrations?”

He looked at Cedric and Alex. “I’d like to see what you two can…” The Champion paused. “That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” Merzhin asked him.

Hart’s large eyes narrowed. “Looks like it’s getting brighter.”

Suddenly, a crack of thunder split the air, echoing from Welling.

“What in hells was that?” Bjorgrund demanded, hefting his axe.

“Asmaldestre’s weapon,” Alex said. “I’ll go check. Be right back.”

He teleported to the town.

In the middle of Welling’s main square, a commotion had started.

Soldiers and knights were scrambling away from the Unmaker, who stood beside the fountain. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed the air, a line of smoke rose from the barrel of her weapon.

“Asmaldestre? What is it?” he asked.

She slowly looked down at him, her three eyes burning, her voice was a low growl, its tone striking him like a serrated blade.

“Violence is coming.” The war-spirit’s lips pulled back in a half-snarl, half-smile. “Great violence. Real violence. It will be here soon.”