Vayra unleashed her full arsenal.

She drew her pistol from her belt and fired a beam of light through it. The new pistol conducted the power of her Arcara better, and when it passed the opening, it bulged, surging with even more strength—the rune-ring enhanced it.

The light screamed across the room. Larra jumped to the side, avoiding the beam by inches. Vayra held the technique. She maintained a straight line of power and swept it to the side. It seared through the panels and branches of the wall behind, and it moved faster than Larra.

The woman stomped her foot down, then, with her staff, smashed through the beam of light, scattering it and dispelling the technique. Some of the Arcara that Vayra had used scattered, but she called the rest back to her.

Larra sprinted towards her, head tucked. Water-Arcara swirled around her body in veins, a full-body Bracing technique. Gnasher bounded along behind, and he shared the technique. Larra was enhancing both of them.

Not to mention exerting the power of an Admiral.

When the two arrived, Vayra unleashed the power of the Astral Shroud. She flashed around to the other side of Larra and pummelled her with well-placed, fast Starlight Palms. They burst out seemingly at once, leaving searing white handprints in the air wherever Vayra struck.

They detonated with a boom, sending Larra stumbling. Gnasher opened his jaw, moving to pin her with his claws. Sharing the Bracing technique, he was faster than she remembered. When his claws raced through the air in front of her nose, they snapped together with an enormous boom.

Vayra conjured the scythe. Now that she was a Captain, it appeared faster than she was used to. In a blink, the haft had snapped into existence. She wedged it into Gnasher’s jaw. As the blade formed, she twisted, knocking Gnasher off to the side.

Larra was brushing herself off and turning back to the battle, but Vayra threw the scythe at her. The Moulded, searing Arcara whirled through the air, spinning and whistling, and the blade nearly sliced right through Larra’s stomach.

Larra swatted it down to the ground before it did any damage, but Vayra followed it with another blast of her pistol—the beam blasted her right in the center of her chest. She raised a shield of water to block it. Freshwater evaporated into mist and steam. Larra wrenched the gasses back under her control and used them to refuel the shield.

Vayra cut off the beam before she wasted any more Arcara. She readied herself for a counter attack, but before Larra could leap in, Gnasher charged from the side. He caught Vayra’s right shoulder in his jaw, right at the brink between her mechanical arm and the flesh, and forced her to the ground. His teeth sank into flesh and shattered the outer panels of the upper arm.

Vayra held back a scream. In an instant, Phasoné shared a plan with her through their mental link.

It would have to work.

Phasoné’s ghost slipped out of Vayra’s body, and their hands brushed together. Vayra transferred a pulse of mana, and Phasoné used it to empower her ghostly form. With the little wisp of mana, she punched the wolf in the muzzle. It let go of Vayra’s arm. Phasoné punched it again, and the wolf tumbled across the room.

Jumping to her feet, Vayra prepared herself to face the next onslaught. “So much for getting rid of the scars…” she muttered.

Phasoné had run out of mana, and her physical form disintegrated, rushing back into Vayra. ‘Then stop taking hits.’

Larra unleashed a heavy barrage of staff swipes, and she even mixed in a few blasts of water. Her staff bent and twisted as required—the strand of freshwater flowing through it manipulated the staff’s three sections. Vayra blocked and dodged, but each swipe was fast and powerful. Vayra used every tool she had, from shields to scythes to simple pulses of starlight.

Larra bashed the pistol out of her hand, then struck her mechanical arm. A shard of the wooden outer layer bent inwards, wedging into the elbow joint and stiffening it. Vayra tried to block or deflect with the scythe, but each strike hit too hard. Her elbows threatened to buckle. Even with the Astral Shroud, she couldn’t dodge everything. Even Gnasher, sharing Larra’s full-body Bracing, was strong enough to knock her off her feet or grab onto the half of the scythe and tug her off-balance.

When she found an opening and lashed out—and Larra left plenty of openings—but her scythe wasn’t powerful enough to chew through the shields of water entirely, and she left only light cuts in the Admiral’s Arcara-imbued flesh.

The woman in front of her was too advanced. It was simple.

When will she have to drop back down to Captain? Vayra thought, directing it intently at Phasoné.

‘When her Captain body can’t contain the power anymore,’ Phasoné said, but it radiated a mental sense of guesswork—even if the Goddess’ voice was confident.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

But Larra had taken a break before this fight, too. They still had plenty of time where they would have to deal with her as an Admiral.

‘We have a few more tricks,’ Phasoné said. ‘You need the Mediator Form. It’s the only way you’ll be strong enough to cut her skin. Draw mana from my heavenly reserves, use my Arcara system, and empower yourself with my core.’

With Larra’s shields up, it still wouldn’t be enough.

‘You have a runestone. Use it.’

When Larra struck Vayra in the chest, it knocked her off her feet. Vayra slid along the ground until she bumped up against the glass wall behind. Her mechanical arm, still under Phasoné’s control and holding the scythe, shifted awkwardly. The scythe left a red-hot gash through the ground.

Larra spun her staff, then threw it like a javelin. A watery spearhead formed at its tip, and it blasted through Vayra’s mechanical hand, pinning her to the wall glass wall. A few of the rope tendons had ripped, and one of the wooden bones had been shattered completely, but she felt nothing.

Except now, she couldn’t move.

She dispelled the scythe, then pulled against the staff. It was embedded straight into the normal glass sheet—one of the sheets that sandwiched the Moulded Arcara beneath—but it wouldn’t budge. Short of ripping the mechanical arm off her body, she wouldn’t get out.

Larra laughed, then strolled across the room. Gnasher ran circles around her legs. “I told you: your fight was futile.” She dropped her Bracing technique, but she kept outputting the strength of an Admiral. “Now, are you going to finally hold still?”

‘Vayra, remember your virtues?’

“Of course,” she whispered.

Each step Larra took made the floor shudder. Light seeped out of the hallway on the opposite side, silhouetting her and making her even more imposing.

‘We’re not done yet,’ Phasoné said. ‘You still have an ability to match her scaling.’

Vayra stared directly at Larra. She ran through the virtues as best as she could, and the minor revelations that had triggered the Form before.

Inner strength. She tightened her fists. She wasn’t giving up, and she wasn’t dying here.

I’ve been weak my entire life. There’s always been someone stronger. But now, that doesn’t have to be true.

Trust.

I trust you, Phasoné. I trust you to always be there for me, to hold my hand when I need it, and to lend me your wisdom and power.

Duty.

“Godscourge…” she breathed. “That is my duty.”

Now, after hitting Captain, she knew what that truly meant.

Defend those who can’t defend themselves. Fight the battles they never could. Mortals…animals, like Adair, and even the natural world.

Strands of starlight poured out of her scarf. A detailed outline of Phasoné’s appearance formed atop her collarbones, then climbed up her neck and out to her limbs. It swirled in her veins.

Now, Vayra understood the Form better. It worked because she was drawing on Phasoné’s Emissary reserves and resources. She was temporarily borrowing Emissary-grade Arcara, and Phasoné’s Arcara system, trapped in the heavenly realms, now shared some of its strength with Vayra.

Vayra smiled as her will intertwined with Phasoné’s.

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Glade tumbled back across the courtyard for the last time.

It had to be the last time. He was almost out of mana. His mouth was dry, his throat ached, and a headache ground behind his eyes.

He slid to a halt beside Ameena. The swordwyrm tumbled through the air, then grated along the cobblestones, and came to a rest at his feet.

Ameena mumbled something incoherent, then reached out to the side. Not unconscious anymore. She was probably trying to tell him something. He leaned closer. She whispered, “Order…of Balance…brings hope…”

“What happened?” he hissed. She had said she was looking for a staff here, but he saw no evidence of it.

“Moth,” Ameena groaned. Her head lolled back, and though she was still breathing, she wasn’t going to be any help.

Glade rolled to the side, avoiding a barrage of wooden pellets. A larger stake—the last one Wren had—raced towards the wyrm, but Glade grabbed the giant sword by the hilt and pulled it out of the way before the stake could pin it to the ground—or worse, shatter the blade entirely.

He pushed himself up, leaning on the hilt of his own longsword for strength. “Swordwyrm? Do you hear me? I need one last push…”

“Sword friend,” it uttered.

Glade had a cut along his forehead, and it was bleeding into his eyes. Another gash ran down his leg, and a deep cut ran through his bicep, but Wren wasn’t doing well, either. She bled clear, white blood from a wound on her wingtip—Glade had managed to cut a tip off. The swordwyrm had left a gash along her cheek and carved a few marks down her calf.

Panting, Glade said, “I’ll cover you. She expects you to be the distraction, but I can take a few more hits. Then you take her out.”

The swordwyrm bobbed up and down like it was nodding.

Side-by-side, Glade and wyrm sprinted at their foe. Glade ducked off to the left. Wren was here in the name of chaos. Glade was here for the good of the galaxy. He wanted it more.

Wren ignored the wyrm and launched a spear of sawdust and wood chips at Glade. He hacked it apart down the center, but a second whip of dust raced towards him from the side. It caught him across the shoulder. He spun and sprawled out along the ground…and just in time for the swordwyrm to strike.

It caught her across the back with a heavy blow. She staggered forwards—into Glade’s waiting blade.

He jumped to his feet and rammed the longsword through Wren’s gut. She coughed and sputtered, but her eyes still shone with malice. She raised a hand, as if about to use one last technique.

He ripped the sword out, then slashed through her neck, severing her head before the technique could start.