Three figures sat at a circular table, gathered for the first time since they last attempted to kill each other in war. Oswen sat with folded hands, his curved blade of legend sheathed at his side. Across from him were his old friends. And enemies.

Archon Waltz, with his four flintlocks that arced with a different Tide across his waist and chest like a pirate of yore, laughed at the sight of their third. Boundless Nails of Glaniece had her long mane of hair tied up in a knot and her hands covered with gloves of alabaster porcelain. As the other two had their weapons sheathed, so to did she.

They glanced at each other sighed all at once. They had fought many times, and as the two non-Romans met their counterpart, they saw what he had been through. The Great Darkness had changed him.

It had nearly broken him. And yet he remained. He. Did. Not. Break.

Instead, he received a promotion, a new tag added onto his Designation. Vicar himself had sent him a memo. But though he was told to keep it to himself, the swordsman had truly changed from the rigid man of yesteryear.

“A revolution is coming to the Empires. Gather your people. MDs are the future.”

* The meeting of three old rivals.

The wounded human’s body descended into a whole-body seizure, starting from his toes and ending at the rolling whites of his eyes. Eight cursed beside him, dragging himself with an azure dagger, “Fuck. Why couldn’t these things last longer than a few minutes?”

Across the clearing, Centurion Rasa chuckled, the leaking blood squeezed inside his body by his Hydro. The Tianshe grasped onto a tree, hauling himself to his feet as he answered the rhetorical question, “So they can reincarnate. At least, that’s what Praetor Sun believes. Go on. Hide.”

“Pfft. Do you think we’re hiding from this? Hell no,” Eight scoffed as he shook his head, tying the convulsing man onto his back with an icy harness. “I’m Diving into the Inferose when we get back to it. Nowhere is safe on this planet.”

Rasa’s gaze narrowed upon Eight’s form, and understanding dawned. The current belief of Congress was that Anomaly 888, an odd Designation on its own, possessed mere teleportation as his Stigmata. That alone was incredible, especially with how freely he could use it and his ability to include others.

However...

“It’s not teleportation, is it?” A stern voice demanded an answer.

Eight shrugged, shivering as he stole a few syringes from Dante’s pockets. He injected two into each of them before sighing with relief, “Does it matter?”

A firm nod met Eight as the teen relished in Joan’s rejuvenating fluids. His flesh reknitted at a visible pace, sealing the most dire of wounds. He wouldn’t recover to his peak, or even close, but he no longer had to worry about bleeding out.

The boy would, however, fill his mind with the woes of the non-living parts of his body. Nonetheless, with his damaged vision, Rasa thought Eight merely had mechanical augments, not that he was a machine. The Centurion thought only of the Anomaly’s future and that of the past.

Rasa turned and faced the distant battlefield that intensified with each passing moment. Currents of air burst into the atmosphere, visible to all who cared to look up and audible to all with ears. Elize Sunwin’s adopted son let out a mournful gasp of air, “Stigmata have endless potential. Some are unlucky, earning a simple boon to their muscle like me. Praetor Sun turned a simple light into a radiant solar flare. Others... Like Yarnen and yourself, possess dominion over space itself. Do not squander your potential with frivolities, boy.”

The words from the man forced Eight’s callous expression to distort. A light frown fell onto the boy’s lips as Rasa limped away, heading toward his mother.

“You don’t know me. I... I don’t know me,” Eight whispered to himself, with none able to hear him other than his own ears. Rasa had already left, his back a fading silhouette.

With a deepening grimace, Eight twisted his body, dragging the human over a foot taller than his juvenile form across the forest. Each step enunciated itself with a falling tear, splashing upon the scattered leaves below. The droplets evaporated by the searing heat of the forest in mere moments, leaving no trace other than the boy’s solemn footprints.

What am I doing? Here? I...

Eight scoured his memories, wishing for anything to come through and make sense, but nothing did. All he found was that egg, hidden beyond the endless repetitions of death.

One step. One after another, he continued. As Dante’s body swelled with heat, his blood trailing onto Eight, the young man carried on. His eyes pierced outside the forest, locking onto the Inferose.

One of those. Maybe not this one... but I can feel it. One of them has the answer. The Inferose... I still feel the connection.

Eight extended one arm with great difficulty as if holding onto a thread. Then, he tightened his palm.

His vision widened in a fraction of a second. Space split, a kaleidoscope of lights inundating his receptors as he, too, vibrated. Something deep within him burst outward like a blade, severing through space and leaving a rope behind.

The ground beneath the two men vanished, and they escaped the bounds of the planet.

************************

After the sprouts of potential departed, Rasa trudged on, gradually increasing in speed as his prodigious control over his Tide reconstructed his organs. The Milarion had lackluster Stigmata, providing augmentation to his muscles. Still, he made up for it with his diligent practice counted in decades.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

While lacking in talent, he had to find other ways to live up to his mother’s hopes. However, as the man drew nearer to the battlefield, each step grew more labored even when his strength returned.

The winds pushed him away. Yet that was not all. A whirlpool of water surged out, flooding toward him with blinding light. Rasa shielded his eyes by flowing water over his eyes to deflect the radiance.

He pushed through, wading into the water even as Summertime Jolly tore into his flesh. Rasa’s eyes blazed with a dreadful love, one that couldn’t be doused.

Just as Eight walked with a heavy weight upon his heart and back, the Centurion was the same. Seconds passed as his muscles deteriorated and blood entered the whirlpool. Soon, his own Stitching Current would lose form. Such would foretell his death, for he was only alive because of it stalling his wounds.

But he didn’t care. He lost more and more of his life until his communicator beeped, indicating that he was finally close enough for the signal to reach his Praetor.

The noise urged him on, but a voice swiftly followed, “Rasa. Don’t do this. Turn around.”

With tightly clenched eyes, the man ignored his mother’s order and continued. What soldier would leave his commander alone? What commander would fail his own subordinates? What senior would abandon his junior?

What son would abandon his mother?

Rasa’s jaw ground upon itself with such agitation that his gums bled, and a ringing soared through his ears. He said nothing to his mother, the woman who raised him from the orphanage in which he had first opened his eyes. It was unbearable to imagine a world without her.

She never smiled much. Rarely, in fact.

But she smiled when she picked him up the first time.

The words echoed in his mind alongside the roaring Tide, “Aren’t you just the sweetest th—”

“Rasa! This is a direct order! TURN AROUND!” Elize Sunwin’s frenzied scream opened Rasa’s eyes, ripping him from the pleasant memory.

He found himself chest-deep in a whirlpool encompassing every direction as far as he could see. The pressure of Summertime Jolly sank into his flesh, weakening his every action.

Yet he had felt this Domain more than any other. He had trained under it countless times. As a boy, he witnessed it for the first time. Then, as a teen, he slipped and fell endlessly. By his adulthood, he could stand its weight.

Barely.

But that alone placed him amongst the top thousand in the entire Empire. His love and his pride waged a war against his obedience. Through the crashing waves, his right foot raised up, prepared to take another step.

Then she spoke, the noise muffled by the water surrounding the communicator yet still audible, “Rasa. Please. I’m begging you. I can’t fight at my best with you still here. You need to escape. I need you to protect Claudius.”

The unsaid meaning stabbed directly into Rasa’s heart, and his head sank. Even now, nearly forty years after she first found him, Rasa still held her back. He had risen through the ranks, becoming a formidable Centurion, one of few with hopes of future promotion.

He killed a dozen Anathema today. And half a dozen Centurions. He tore apart four Formless from Glaniece, overpowering their mimicked Tides. Two Magisters from Ostacean even fell to his wrath today.

All of them were with the Church, and while Rasa received help with many of them, he had slain over ten, all alone after his men had passed.

Despite his feats, his agony, and his spilled life, he still wasn’t enough. She was always ahead of him, too far to reach.

“Why? Why did you pick me?” Rasa croaked out a simple question, tears falling from his eyes.

The Legates recognized Elize Sunwin for her cunning. And her cruelty was infamous, synonymous with her burning eyes. From the Praetors to the Centurions, no one messed with her people. Even the other Empires and Dirge hesitated when attacking her men.

She was a vicious woman. Fair, but endlessly vindictive. Otherwise, she would never have stood before the Shattered Peak. Her enemies would have long torn her down.

So why? Why did she care for him? Claudius made sense. It was an owed debt. A promise to her late mentor, not to mention the kid’s insane Designation.

But him? Rasa Sunwin?

The feeble Tidewalker?

“Because... I had always wanted a kid. Couldn’t get a husband. Didn’t have time for that. Few good men up here, either. But... a kid? My mother said I’d be an awful mom. Even Gaius agreed. Said I was too prone to my whims. Still... I thought I could do it. Please. I know I wasn’t the best. How could I be? I was gone every other day. Sometimes longer,” Elize’s voice stuttered through the waning connection. “But... please, Ra. Run.”

The heartfelt message dove into Rasa’s chest, and the man stumbled backward. He wanted to follow her, to join his Praetor in death, hoping on the slim chance that he could make a difference. At his dying breath, he wanted to gamble his life for a Domain Collapse.

However, he knew better. He could hold off a Praetor or be a nuisance to a Caesar, but...

His mother was beyond the random Praetor, and her enemy transcended that. As such, the man twisted his body, every muscle resisting the movement.

Then...

He ran.

And the whirlpool pushed him, no longer fighting him but granting the eldest son all its strength. As Rasa left the battlefield, being washed away by the tremendous current, Thanaris stared ahead, the right side of her body vaporized.

In the few seconds of Rasa and Elize’s conversation, Thanaris had to fend off Joseph. The Caesar paid a dire price.

Far above her, the moon of the Sanguine Dream dimmed. From the treading light, a massive surge of energy filled Thanaris, and the woman’s body reconstructed from the ocean of blood around her. Once more, Thanaris demonstrated her Reactive Domain.

She was nearly unkillable while it lasted as long as a part of her remained. Still, Joseph’s electricity was effective in destroying her body to the last molecule. The Caesar coughed, stepping aside from protecting Elize as she asked, “Are you done?”

The Praetor nodded as she strode forward, staring at Joseph dead-on. He bore a slight grin as his lightning swelled, showing no end in sight. His stamina would outlast both of them. His Domain’s primary effect stagnated from the other Domains pressing against it. Even so, the Automatic Domain had a gross targeting effect.

Lightning Wraith’s strikes were nearly impossible to dodge.

Another tendril of azure built from the ocean surrounding the man. If it was just the electricity, it wouldn’t be so bad, but no. The dual nature of a Necto was the problem.

Against the surmounting pressure, Elize Sunwin spoke softly, treading water toward Joseph with each word, “Joseph. You chose the wrong time to fight me.”

The fallen Praetor laughed as his Tide surged forward. Crackling waves met a blinding whirlpool. As usual, the latter was pushed back, but not as far as before.

They met again as the two grew closer, yet oddly, Elize wasn’t suffering as bad as before.

“Hmm? Why do you say that? I don’t see how you can win this. It would be different if you still had all your men and attacked me at once or if you had prepared for this. Already fatigued and without backup... All you have is your Domain Collapse, and that will soon fall,” Joseph’s confidence was undying, proved by his matching footfalls toward Elize.

He sought to reach her just as she did to him.

However, the Praetor’s lips rose as they opened, “Is that so? Do you not recall Gaius’ crowning achievement?”

Finally, Joseph’s eyes lifted in surprise, “What? His Absolute? Pfft. Are you saying you learned it? There are what, five of those techniques in the Empire? One, maybe two in the others? Come on, Elize. Bluffing is beyond you.”

The man called her a liar, but as their Tides met once more, it seemed to Thanaris and Joseph that Elize was no longer losing. They were nearly equal in power.

Elize’s eyes shone brilliantly as she spoke the exact words of her late mentor, “Foolish old men move mountains, so that their grandchildren may see the sunrise. Gaius said that long ago. Before that old man died, only four existed. Other than those four, they were only manifested upon death’s door, unable to be taught. But Gaius... had long been ready to give his life.”

Thanaris retreated, leaving her side of the onslaught to fall to the Praetor, and as if in spite, her whirlpool only grew faster. Summertime Jolly burned more radiantly with every impact. Joseph furrowed his brows, concentrating his electrified water in a hurry as he knew what was coming.

“He taught me it, and I passed it on. But you know something, Joseph... the other Absolutes... they require endless training or a perfect aptitude. This one?” Elize paused for a moment, the light in her eyes fading before reigniting brighter than before. “You must only be willing to die.”

Tides were mighty. All acknowledged that. It was their mastery that led to the magnificent and awe-inspiring Domain Collapse. Most believed it was impossible to match such a phenomenon with anything else.

Such was not the truth.

At the pinnacle, the Absolute Limit, where the mastery of a technique forced the Lightsea to cower, reality bent in response. Only five of these existed in all of the Empire, and this one was thought to be lost. As for this move, it was under the waning of a long life that the Lightsea bowed. One toiled endlessly, day and night, so their kin could prosper, even at the cost of their own lives.

Foolish Old Men Move Mountains.

Unlike a Domain Collapse, none said the move aloud, not Elize or the Lightsea. It was without sound. Unheard but not unfelt. None knew the technique’s name other than precisely three people in history. Gaius. His student. And his student’s son.

The fifth Absolute Limit of the Roman Empire returned with a majestic blaze.

Just as it bloomed for the first time, it did so with a deathly conviction, pledged to protect its only family. Elize Sunwin accepted that her gamble had failed. She bet often, using her life many times. In the past, she had always won.

In this game, however, she would lose.

Despite this, she refused to let anyone else suffer the same fate. Lightning met light, and with each conflict, the sun grew brighter and brighter.

The tenth collision of forces caused the jolly to burn brightly across the region, etching itself into Rasa’s tearful stare.