Marek backpedaled, keeping his distance from the demon. He commanded Sir Rhinweld to do the same. It wouldn’t do to lose his only ally so early in the fight.

The demon hissed in anger. Stopping at the crest of the bridge, it held out one great hand, summoning a spear forged from darkness.

“Not fair! That thing is huge! Its reach is way too much for me to handle, and all I have is a sword!”

His opponent didn’t seem to care about fairness. Baring its teeth, the demon attacked again. Its spearpoint drove toward Marek’s chest, and the young man barely had time to dodge. The next attack shot high. Marek ducked, but his reaction was too slow. Demonic steel clanged off ghostly armor, and the helm cracked and fell to the ground in chunks.

Head spinning and growing desperate, Marek commanded his champion to attack from the demon’s flank. That would at least buy them both a little time. Yet before Rhinweld finished the sweeping slash, the demon revealed one of its Abilities: A flash of black flame erupted from the demon’s form, and then it disappeared… only to emerge less than a second later by Marek’s side, fist glowing with power. The punch slammed into Marek’s Spirit Armor, and the chest section cracked. Marek flew through the air, too stunned to cry out in pain. Then he crashed into the stone railing of the bridge. Bits of stone peppered the sky, and a small cloud of dust rose around him. Marek’s Spirit Armor shattered like glass before dissipating.

Marek’s vision swam. His ears rang, and he tasted copper on his tongue. He gaped like a fish, mouth working and throat straining. Defend me was the only command he could think of. Sir Rhinweld did his very best. The champion engaged the demon with wide, sweeping slashes. The tactic was common with longsword fighting, its intent not to inflict harm but to create distance. Marek was grateful for his companion. If not for the knight’s skill and power, he might have died before his lungs had recovered. Several seconds later, he gasped as precious air filled his chest at last.

The demon soon tired of giving ground. Resummoning its spear, it made a thrust at Sir Rhinweld’s helm. When the knight blocked, the demon teleported once more, appearing to the side and well behind the champion’s guard. Fist glowing, the bastard was going to throw another of its empowered punches.

Swift Parry! Marek commanded, urging the champion to expend yet more precious ether. Sir Rhinweld’s form shimmered, and then the executioner’s sword blurred in the air. Marek couldn’t believe his eyes. The champion managed to sidestep the punch and throw a counter at the same time. Glowing with ethereal power, the knight’s sword nearly severed the demon’s arm just below the shoulder. The white of the creature’s bone lay exposed when the knight withdrew.

That’s what you get for trying the same trick twice, Marek thought. He swallowed a mouthful of blood and forced himself to stand. Rhinweld had already surpassed his expectations, but the champion couldn’t kill this enemy on his own.

As Marek steadied himself and prepared to reenter the fight, he ordered Rhinweld to attack. He was hopeful the champion might at least inflict a little more harm before the inevitable occurred. The knight came within range, and Marek’s heart dropped. The towering enemy didn’t give way, nor did it attempt to block. Instead, it activated yet another Ability. Clutching its wounded arm, nose wrinkled to bare black teeth and a crimson tongue, the demon unleashed a torrent of purple and black flame. It wrapped around Rhinweld’s form, rapidly eating away at the knight’s armor. His champion couldn’t take the punishment for long.

Pull back! Marek commanded, tapping into his reserves and resummoning Spirit Armor. This time, he invested more energy. As the ether poured from his Spirit Core, he felt the armor’s power increase. Marek also sensed something new—additional strength and dexterity he hadn’t previously possessed filled his limbs. It was intoxicating. His ghostly armor, it would seem, had more than a single purpose.

Sir Rhinweld stumbled back, sword held up to shield against the lingering flames. Large holes pockmarked the knight’s chest and arms. The spirit wouldn’t be hindered by its wounds, but Marek knew his champion was close to death. Even one more blow would destroy his only remaining ally.

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Stubbornly, Marek threw himself back into the fight. Moving faster, he attacked from the demon’s flank. Swinging the greatsword high in a feint, Marek withdrew as his foe moved to block. Then he activated Dreadful Cut for the first time. Similar to the Officer’s thrust, his sword flashed red with power, slashing at an impossible speed. His blade cleaved straight through the demon’s thigh. The creature wobbled and threw back its head in a roar.

Champion, attack! Marek swung again, hoping to hold the demon’s attention while his knight landed another hit.

The summoned monster disappeared in a cloud of black flame, then reappeared twenty feet down the bridge. The monster panted as it clutched the railing to support its bulk. Dark blood poured from its severed leg.

Must be the limit of the Skill’s distance, Marek thought. Or it’s running out of power. Either way, best finish this quick.

Leering, the demon looked between Marek and Rhinweld’s advancing forms. Its whole body shuddered briefly, and then the flesh of its thigh began to glow. For the second time in the battle, Marek cursed the unfairness of the match. They’d thrown everything they had at the Rift-born monster, and now it was healing itself.

Marek swallowed his frustration and charged. He outpaced his champion and reached their foe first, slashing at the creature’s opposite leg. Predictably, the demon teleported again and reappeared ten feet away, clutching the opposite railing. Marek held up his right hand and drew a massive portion of his remaining ether. Ravening Flare erupted from his palm and splashed across the monster’s chest and face. Marek’s fire was the color of light cast through a ruby, like living blood. It lacked true heat, but damn, if it wasn’t beautiful. And more than that, it was deadly. Marek fought the urge to reel back from his own conjured flames. His body feared its power.

When the fire winked out, Marek was struck dumb. The demon seemed mostly unharmed, only a few blisters marring its gray skin. Worse yet, its mouth was open wide, and Marek watched as a plume of its own magical fire came forth. Tit for tat, he thought as he dashed right to evade. A terrible heat seeped through his armor, and he could hear his only protection creaking like a ship at sea. Thin cracks formed along his left side, where the demon fire burned the hottest.

The attack finally abated, yet Marek’s relief died when the demon smashed the bridge with an enormous foot—the one it had apparently finished regrowing. Then it charged Marek, fist wreathed in dark fire. Marek didn’t have time to evade, so he commanded Rhinweld to use another Skill. Honorable Rebuff had a limited function, yet it proved invaluable. The knight’s blade slashed in an arc, leaving behind the afterimage of a shield hovering above the ground. The demon’s punch bounced off the shield, and the creature staggered back a pace.

Marek gritted his teeth. Now, he thought. We end it now.

Tapping into the last of his reserves, he threw a Dreadful Cut at the demon’s neck. His sword slashed deep into the creature’s flesh. Cold steel grated against the bone of an enormous spine. Black blood misted the air. The demon roared silently, no longer able to produce sound with a severed windpipe.

Marek gave his final command. Execute! he screamed, activating the champion’s newly acquired Skill. Sir Rhinweld’s blade hummed with power. The executioner moved in a blur, sword slashing at the demon’s neck. A wet crack rang out. An ugly head tumbled to the ground. It smacked the stone bridge wetly and rolled to a stop at Marek’s feet.

He’d done it. He could hardly believe his eyes, but he’d killed the damn thing. Chest heaving, Marek sighed in relief. Then the body, the decapitated head, and the pool of black blood vanished into thin air.

The young man stared blankly as the scene grew yet more confusing. Rhinweld disappeared next, Marek’s greatest minion lingering only long enough to give a salute with the flat of his blade to his forehead. The courtyard, the chapel, the stone arches, and finally the bridge itself burned away into a white fog. Marek soon found himself floating in a sea of whiteness. His body disintegrated last of all. Unable to move or speak, only his awareness remained.

Then a voice trembled in that eerie place, both wise and ancient. Well done, Marek Kaiteras. You have survived the Crucible and become the next Remnant Mage. The world cannot wait any longer. Seek the Monk and the Hero who will fight with you at the End. It is time one of my progeny finishes the work I started so very long ago.

Marek’s mind spun, trying desperately to decipher the words he was hearing. No explanations were given. Serin didn’t make another appearance, nor was Marek returned to the grand hall with three statues. He waited long moments, perhaps hours, until the voice spoke again.

Wake, Soul Knight, heir of Logaine Kaiteras, the first of three lines of succession. Wake and seize your power as the first Soul Knight in existence. Wake and claim your destiny. Save the Coherent Realm and save this world.