Vayra’s scythe still remained. She staggered back up to her feet and whirled it into position.

“Very nice,” Karmion said, then clicked his tongue. “A relic from Talock. But I have a better one.” He reached out and, manipulating the water inside the Namola tree’s trunk, peeled apart the branches to reveal the weapon. It flew to his hand as if drawn by a magnet. “Were you looking for this?”

He held out his weapon. It was a crude scythe, all black from its curved blade to its counterweight, and it was about the same size. “The shape was an accident; I am no smith. But it’ll do its job.”

It was now or never. She was close, and this wasn’t ideal, but she had to try. He’d forced her hand.

Shouting, Vayra ducked under a blast of water, then jumped to the side. Karmion unleashed a fast jab to the side with his scythe, almost catching her in the chest with the tip of the scythe.

“I trained with a spear for a hundred years,” Karmion stated. “It’s far from the same, I know, but it’s enough.”

He whirled around and unleashed another jab. She bent backward to dodge it, but he twisted the scythe, bending its blade down and leaving a light cut along her side. The blade was ice-cold, and it stung more than it should’ve. For a moment, Phasoné’s presence, previously calming, turned sour and weak—almost nonexistent. When Vayra rolled back, moving further away from the scythe, the Goddess’ presence returned.

“What was that?” Vayra whispered.

‘Kalawen’s magic,’ Phasoné said quickly. ‘She did something to the blade. It’s not just a powerful shadowthorn. It’s a soul-severing weapon.’

Vayra swallowed. She stood up to her full height, but Karmion still towered over her. The false Namola tree was right behind her, blocking her retreat.

“Karmion!” she shouted. “I am an Admiral, and just an Admiral! I am beneath a god! Your honour—”

“Here?” Karmion snorted. “Don’t be naïve. You’re out of the tournament, no one will lament your loss, and this moon will die in a matter of hours.” He shook his head. “Besides, you put yourself in the perfect position for my primary plan. Thank you for making this easy.”

A bolt of water surged forward. Karmion pointed his hand outward, mustering water from the edge of the room and guiding it out in a straight jet. She raised her arm, ready to slash through it with her scythe, but her arm wouldn’t move.

Her eyes widened, and she Warded her stomach just in time. The jet of water was strong enough to shatter a ship’s hull; it would hurt her just as well.

But that hadn’t been blood magic. It was her mechanical arm which held the scythe. She flicked her eyes up. A branch of the Namola tree had reached out and wrapped around her wrist.

She reached for her pistol and drew it, but before she could fire, Karmion launched three more bolts of water from the side of the room at her, all from different directions. They took all her attention to shield, and the impacts still jostled her.

When the water faded, the pistol was no longer in her hand. She switched to a standard Starlight Palm, but Karmion dispersed it. Before she could generate another, a second branch of the Namola tree reached out and pulled her flesh-and-blood arm to the side. That, she did feel. At Karmion’s command, the tree hoisted her up off the deck. She flailed her legs and swung her body, dodging incoming branches and twigs.

It didn’t work. Two more caught her legs and held her in place, then pulled tight until it felt like her limbs would pop out of their sockets. She grunted and hissed, trying to pull away, but the branches wouldn’t yield—even when Karmion stopped manipulating their innards. Terror flooded her heart. She breathed faster than ever, and her heart thudded abnormally fast.

“You know, you had me worried for a second,” Karmion said, marching closer. “But alas, you’re just a little girl.” He flicked the bottom of her chin. “Don’t look so sad. This is the natural way of things. The strongest become gods, and they should dominate. They should be loved by the less knowing and less fortunate.” He shifted his grip up on the scythe. “All I want is to be loved. The mortals don’t know any better than to not love me.”

‘Vayra, do something!’ Phasoné screamed.

Vayra was trying. She pulled with her mechanical arm as hard as she could, until a rope tendon snapped and a starsteel wire twanged out of place—and to no avail. She activated the disruption runestone, but there was no magic in the branch anymore. Nothing for her to interfere with.

Karmion marched around behind her, ducking under a branch. “And now, the Mediator will disappear for another lifetime. Oh, but it won’t be a mortal lifetime, since you’ve done a good job reaching Admiral. Five hundred years, at least, though it could be twice that. By the time another Mediator rolls around, I will be too strong to contest.”

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‘Vayra, I don’t want to—’

“Just hold—”

Karmion gripped Vayra’s hair and pulled up, exposing the back of her neck and the base of her skull.

‘Vayr—’

Before Phasoné could finish, Karmion raised his scythe and left a tiny, papercut-thin slash at the top of Vayra’s neck. Phasoné’s voice went silent immediately, and the glowing white scythe disappeared from Vayra’s hand. Gone in a flash, but Vayra hadn’t willed it away.

Her stomach plummeted.

With a soft exhale, Karmion tossed his black scythe down on the floor below her feet, dropping it like dirty clothes. By now, a troop of bluecoats had gathered in front of the hole in the wall, and were watching. A few pointed their muskets at her, but Karmion waved his hand dismissively. “She gained all her power from her bond. Keep the scythe close by, and she’s nothing. Her soul has no more pushing power, no more goddess enhancements, nothing. Certainly no Mediator Form.”

Vayra gasped, and once more tried to pull her arms free. Nothing. The bark scraped at her real wrist, rubbing the flesh raw. She launched a Starlight Palm outward into the wall—it still worked, though it was markedly weaker than before, even with the impact runestone.

“Yes, yes, keep draining yourself. Wonderful.” Karmion shook his head, then motioned slowly back toward the stern of the ship. The branches of the Namola tree obeyed, pulling her until her back pressed against the tree-trunk. More branches encased her until she could barely breathe. “I don’t need you for anything, except to stay alive and stay useless. Please, kindly, hold still.”

“Or what?” Vayra spat. “You’ll kill me? You can’t.”

Karmion grunted and wheeled around, then in a burst of speed, punched her in the gut. She gasped and choked, and the impact shattered a few of her ribs.

In defiance, she spat on his boot. “You don’t care about them.”

“Don’t care?”

“About the mortals. You’re not protecting them. You’re making them afraid, you’re lording over them. You’re just a petty despot who thinks he’s a king.”

Karmion scoffed. “I’ve never once called myself a king. A king doesn’t earn his place; he’s given it. And look what the kings do with it? Tallerion left you to lose. Me? I took my place with my own strength, crawling up a mountain of bodies.”

“A mountain you created.”

“And so what if I did?” Karmion shouted. “They’re mortals! They’re lesser, by blood—inherently.”

“You didn’t earn your powers, either,” Vayra said. “And those were what let you rise. You had the luck of the draw, a direct descendant of the Streamfather himself. You’re exactly like the kings you despise. Problem is, the king I’m allied with is trying to make something of his power. He’s coming to help.”

Karmion shouted and clenched his fist. A branch sprang up from behind Vayra and speared through her gut—too fast to block. She gasped and choked, then shrieked and screamed as the branch rescinded.

“Heal yourself,” Karmion demanded. He flicked his sleeves out and spun around, then marched back to the open wall. The water he’d summoned in followed him out and washed over the deck and poured out the railings.

In smug defiance, Vayra almost didn’t want to, but she couldn’t just let herself die. This wasn’t over yet. She spat blood out her mouth, then pushed Arcara down to her gut, instructing her enhanced body to repair.

Even without Phasoné, she had her channels—that wasn’t gone. She still had her own soul, her own core. She just didn’t have a voice in her head, whatever Karmion thought it’d do.

And the moment she got away from this weapon, Phasoné could come back. It wasn’t permanent at all.

“That’s a good girl,” Karmion chided. “Now, I have a tournament to overseer. Don’t think about trying anything—I’ve got more Admirals coming to keep you here. Now that I have what I want, I’ll make sure we leave before my Ko-Ganall arrive. I might even send up more gods to deal with it here and now…but I doubt it matters much.”

Vayra hung her head in mock-defeat. “Your people?”

“Plenty more where that comes from. You’ll see.” He brushed his hands together like he was cleaning off the dust, then said, “Came here for my weapon, but that’s all become superfluous. Really, you made this easy.”

But none so close, for him to draw power from immediately. If she was Karmion, she’d have left immediately.

And Vayra still had a few tricks left.

As soon as he leapt up and mustered his cloud of mist beneath him, the bluecoats marched toward her and surrounded her. A mortal officer in a brown coat shouted a command, and they all halted, then cocked their muskets.

All she had left was Adair, who squirmed around in her corespace. She sensed the room within. It had vastly constricted without Phasoné, now only about a few paces across. But if she summoned him out right away, the bluecoats would see. She needed a distraction.

And preferably before Karmion’s Admirals arrived to interrupt her.

She fuelled her disruption rune. It pulsed, but did nothing to the branches.

But when she’d struggled against the branches, the runestones had come loose. It just needed a few more nudges. She kept fuelling and unfuelling it, stressing the starsteel wires. They heated up and glowed red-hot, and finally, the runestone slipped out of its nest. It clacked onto the ground.

“Check it!” the officer yelled. A pair of bluecoats rushed closer and bent down near her hand. The moment they crouched, she summoned Adair into the palm of her mechanical hand.

The young cat was furious and terrified, hissing and screeching, with his claws unsheathed and fangs glistening.

He leapt at the nearest target—a bluecoat. The man yelped and leapt back.

“What is it?” the officer shouted. As soon as he ran past, Vayra swung her head out and Warded her forehead, cracking the guard across the skull. He crumpled. She fired out a Starlight Palm from her flesh hand, catching two bluecoats and flinging them into the wall, but there were at least ten present. They sprinted forward and pressed their bayonets up against her neck.

“Don’t move,” one ordered.

“And call your beast off,” another demanded.

Vayra grinned. “It’s not me you have to worry about.”

A spear of gunpowder blasted through the nearest bluecoat’s head.