Probability doesn’t exist. It’s a term for gamblers, and Whitebeard was not a gambler. The strands of what was and what will be formed an hourglass, with the present moment a single point in the middle that formed an illusion of one existence. In many worlds, heroes stood against Metztli, and in this one, he did.
The misconception lingered through the ages that the Ghashantan feared mankind because it was outnumbered, but the great spirits posed the only danger to them. Dunaguard once worshipped the white wolf Qanaarok, but the Duke drove the city and castle from the spirit's protection, and now they have settled here and meant to dominate mankind.
The Field of Dreams loosened the hourglass of reality. Many would remember different timelines, lives they’ve never lived but could have, and worlds where they defeated Ghashantan and survived the End Times.
Whitebeard lowered Genesis Vas, the green flames dying but still illuminating a circle in the falling ash.
Duke Akitomo dismissed Akisane and came forward with the cross-polearm, a weapon no order allowed forged from the pure spirits. A polearm had a clear advantage over a sword and emphasized war. “You accuse me of killing Mochikage?”
“Yes,” Whitebeard said. “You sent Shank, Amat, and Bahram to assassinate the Prince. Shank lost a hand, and Bahram tore his flying carpet. I would have protected him, but Thailoc cast his super-will over the King, who pushed me away. Only now, while I’m at the eye of Thailoc’s storm, can I see all.”
The Duke rushed forward and struck. “Die!”
A standard pure sword couldn’t strike back at the other's reach, but Genesis Vas leaped from Whitebeard’s hand and stopped at the Duke’s throat. “I won’t kill you,” Whitebeard said. “Though I could as easy as crushing a worm under my boot. Bring the necromancer to begin the draining ritual.”
The Duke didn’t need to comply, for Metztli appeared and glided down to the square. She wore a black veil to cover her hideousness since she’d need all her strength to complete the ritual and wouldn’t want to keep up the human facade. “So be it, Sada Lifweard, the man who turned the grasslands of Zarbin into a desert. Oh yes, don’t look surprised; I’ve crossed paths with you out in the world. I know your power, and I am prepared.” She held up a figurine of an earth spirit. “On your knees.”
The downforce she evoked cracked the stone under Whitebeard’s feet, and he knelt. He looked up to see an upward turn to the Duke’s mouth.
The knights crowded back, forming a circle around the ritual. Their faces displayed a mix of emotions, ranging from concern to puzzlement. No one had seen a draining in a generation.
Metztli's hand shot out, her gloved fingers crooked, and her innate and learned magic spewed forth and thickened the air into a syrup.
The knights looked stricken. They’d heard the truth about the assassination and felt the wrongness of concentrated corruption coming from her being.
Marstonic and the Black Order moved across the square with the Duke at their center. The end of the tournament wouldn’t be a game but a reality when this was through.
The magic seized Whitebeard, coiling and squeezing him, only giving him a moment to levitate his blade so it wouldn’t bind against him and cut.
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Eyes behind the veil flashed. “He has no magic.” She’d hoped to drain something that wasn’t there. Her magic searched for rings but only found his physical body.
The Duke chuckled, and so did some who surrounded him. “I thought he hid his rings, but he has none. It was all a bluff.”
Whitebeard couldn’t help but share in their amusement. “I hide nothing.”
The statement stole the Duke’s delight. “Then you didn’t want to be drained because you have nothing to drain.” He spoke now to the knights. “How you cheated the trails doesn’t matter now that we know your a liar.”
Whitebeard struggled as the magic crushed down on him. “I didn’t lie. You had the Prince killed, and your son and my companions will carry out your execution. Further, I want to be drained.”
Metztli's other hand joined the attack, and all her magic crackled in the air. The knights moved back, finding breathing difficult, some choking.
Whitebeard began to stand, lifting what felt like a mountain of her full might. “Duke, do you have the Eyes?” He pointed in the distance. “Look.”
The Duke’s gaze followed, and his jaw dropped. A series of rings, hazed with distance and ash, vaulted over the mountain. He wouldn’t have seen them except that Whitebeard tilted them upward so that they wouldn’t lost in the surroundings, but there they were. “You think too much of yourself, Akitomo. Your power is nothing to me, yet I can recognize my small part in this world.”
The head of Metztli swiveled back and forth, now unsure of herself. Likely, she had assumed the sword and cup had augmented his power, but they had been mere ornaments. Perhaps out of desperation, she began the draining. After only moments, her limbs shook.
“Take as much as you want, Metztli. Here, take more.”
The Ghashantan screamed in pain as the spirit energy rushed into her like the flood from a burst dam. Cracks spiderwebbed her skin, and light seeped from them.
The Duke and his knights staggered back. “How? A knight can only have forty-seven rings.”
Whitebeard locked eyes with the tyrant. “It is a barrier, not the limit. I had to go from forty-seven to forty-nine in one cleansing, and then even those close to my body expanded far outward.”
There were whispers of “Impossible” and “That would kill you.”
The necromancer exploded with a boom that echoed endlessly in the mountain hollow. For a moment, tiny bits of her pelted everyone in the arena.
Pointing at the soloknight, the Duke yelled, “Get him,” but even the Black Order didn’t budge.
The crowd parted for Whitebeard to stand before Akitomo. “Finish the tournament. I will handle the Chaos Lord. He plans to wipe you all out and install a replacement for the people of the realm.”
A rent in the ash cloud parted to reveal an upside-down mountain floating above the Great Divide. On its upward side were sprawled cities, forests, and waterfalls illuminated by the sunbeams that broke through.
The Duke shrank back. “What is this illusion?”
Whitebeard stared at the city above, not looking forward to the confrontation. “Did you think you could bring back a primordial threat, sending Akisane after Thailoc’s sword without the Chaos Lords getting involved? They float their civilization off the spirit energy the knights release during cleansings. Now I have to tell them we can deal with Thaloc alone.”
“Lies!”
Whitebeard grabbed Genisis Vas and tethered it to the sky island. The world fell away under his feet.
Sada Lifweard (Whitebeard)
Level: 137
Focus: Prescience, Conduit to Crann
Secondary focus: Spirit Manipulation, Dimensional Attack, Dream Field, Will of Life
Weapons: pure sword (Genesis Vas) - 99% pure, The Grail