The gentle susurration of violet surf, lapping against the serene pale sand, was a soothing backdrop to the paradisical painting that was his mentor’s domain. Ben gazed out at the horizon, his brow furrowed in thought, contrasting against his idyllic surroundings. Ainsle, wearing the form of her inner self, reclined on elbows beside him, completely unashamed of her nudity as she radiated bliss and calm.

Ben considered his mentor’s words regarding the Champions of Illephrre and their connections to each other. And with what his Keeper had told him, namely that she couldn’t enter her domain at will, he had a moment of cold clarity.

“Hey, Ainsle,” he said to the petite woman lounging beside him, who replied with a hum of acknowledgment. “When did you figure out Ann was the Champion of Sacrifice?”

“Hmm. Round about the time we were at Shalebeak. Well, if I’m honest —and Ol’ Ain is always honest— I thought the bitch was asking for a walloping… but we talked a bit after your little dance, and the big boy over there felt a certain way about the girl. So, I pressed the stubborn bastard, and that’s that. I guessed she was new to her bond, but after a while, I started to worry that something was fucky.”

“I see. About the two Champions of Sacrifice you met before Ann, did you see their Avatar?”

Ainsle opened one eye, and her brow drew low in recollection. “Hmm. The Martyr? Pretty one that. Why?”

“It’s just… well. I suppose I should give you a bit of context,” Ben stroked his beard. “Back in the mountain pass, you know, when we found that alcove?” Ainsle grinned and nodded for him to continue. “Yeah. Something happened between Ann and me…”

“I always did like a good romp on the forest floor. Gotta be careful about ticks. Always watch out for the ticks.” The Berserker grimaced.

“No. We didn’t have a romp on the forest floor-”

Ben sighed, then chuckled, glad his mentor was alive and her usual self instead of bleeding out alone in the rain. He resolved to spend more time with the old woman, to appreciate her quirks and listen to stories of her adventures. He continued:

“-there was something she did… An Oath. And ever since then, we’ve been connected. Like, she can feel my emotions, and I can do the same with her.” He paused to consider hiding the fact that he could alter her but decided that his mentor deserved honesty. “Yeah, I felt that I could… manipulate her feelings toward me. Change them? I’m not sure, but I know it has something to do with my Avatar.”

Ainsle frowned, and her gaze turned to regard the young man. “You didn’t do what I think you’re saying, did you?”

“Of course not!” Ben exclaimed.

“Good,” Ainsle’s expression relaxed. “Us northern tribe folk are taught from a young age to honor the Keepers, kind of like an old tradition passed down from the first era of conflict. It’s no secret that the girls go through some pretty horrid shit at their temples, but most of the old-fashioned bastards still glorify the abuse.” Ainsle grunted and turned her head to face the soothing sea. “You were saying?”

“She reacted to my… probing? And mentioned that she had felt the same touch at the temple where she was ‘trained.’ I feel… I feel anger. I want to make them suffer for doing this to her.” Ben sighed in frustration.

Ainsle raised a brow. “What’s that got to do with her Avatar?”

He took a deep breath to calm the ember of rage that had ignited in his stomach. “Right. Back in the mountain pass, after the Oath, I saw an image of the Martyr for a moment.” He turned to regard the pair of ancient beings, who were lounging on the sand a few paces away. “Ann’s entity didn’t seem… very mobile.”

The Berserker’s raised brow twisted into a frown. “What do you mean?”

“The Avatar was nailed to a rock of some sort. No. More like a big glassy spike, similar to the ones in my domain.”

The petite woman straightened as she sat up, lips pursed in consideration. She looked at her red giant, who seemed to mirror her expression, as his eyes began to glow an even deeper red than before. A rumble of thunder was heard, and Ben’s attention was drawn to the horizon, where he saw dark black and red angry clouds rolling in toward the serene beach.

“Ah, shit. I’ve been keeping it at bay for so long,” she said, almost absently, as her gaze swept the sky in the distance.

“Keeping what at bay?” Ben asked.

The nude woman stood and kept her eyes fixed on the oncoming storm. Slowly, the skin above her brow began to crack, and two black horns pierced the unmarred flesh from the inside of her head. The sharp obsidian spikes grew to about the length of her arm, much longer than he had seen during their spar; upswept before they curved slightly toward the back of her head. His Attention was drawn to a rumble at his side, and he turned once more to see the Avatar of Vengeance stand; its horns had grown similarly, and between them, a sickly red flame sprouted, hovering in the space above its head.

The Avatar of Domination sat eerily still, apart from its smooth tail tipped with angular spikes that droned through the air as its gaze met Ben’s own. A grunt interrupted the young man, who faced a disgruntled Ainsle.

“Fuck. I felt it when those bastards made their way to the orphanage…” she muttered before trailing off.

Ben recalled the field of corpses in front of the building in the port city where he had found the old woman. She frowned with molten red eyes and turned to meet his gaze.

“But this. This is the bloody limit. I thought the girl was just being coy, but it seems those cunts at the temple need a visit. Ol’ Ain won’t get to rest anytime soon.”

The pure-white spear he’d seen her carry back inside his domain materialized in her hands. He felt the familiar intimidating presence waft off her form, yet it was more… intense, Ben thought. He felt the beast stir, and its thoughts brushed his mind.

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He saw an image of the Martyr, clothed in a whimsically long robe that danced in a soft breeze, smiling with closed eyes, almost at peace. And then the stark contrast of the nude, suffering entity he’d seen in the white desolate desert, who bled and wept silently. Ainsle’s concept of Rage echoed within his being, and he felt he understood the ideal's meaning.

“Sorry, Lover boy. I brought you here to help you heal your mind, but our kin is suffering.”

A crash of thunder shook the young man’s chest, and the angry black-red clouds that had crept overhead cried soft tears of blood that gradually stained the pristine white sand, a deep crimson.

“Show me what you’re packing. And make it bloody quick; we’ve got work to do.” The sweet voice made harsh by the words awoke a deep anger within him.

He nodded in understanding and willed his halberd into existence. A long obsidian shaft, adorned with an angry amalgamation of glassy spikes at the butt and a smooth, jagged axe head of violence on the top of the haft. A slender hook protruded from the back of the crescent blade, and a long, deadly spearhead screamed toward the ominous sky. He tightened his grip on the smooth haft and felt the fury of Vengeance’s aura permeate his being.

“You’re going to make a girl blush with a tool like that,” she teased with burning eyes, yet the words felt laced with a genuine lust he had not experienced before. “There’s no holding back here. Just so you know, this isn’t a spar. I want you to sharpen me as I’m gonna sharpen you.” The petite woman’s voice grew impossibly deep.

The words echoed, and he felt the approval of his Avatar brush his mind. It spoke to him in words instead of thoughts for the first time.

“DOMINATE THEM. SUBJUGATE THEM. CONQUER THEM ALL,” it growled in a heavy bass that rattled his bones.

He grinned, and the concept that had echoed indiscernibly in his mind for what felt like a lifetime bloomed within his being. Black flames erupted from the back of his hands, billowing ethereally slowly, mirroring those that wreathed the form of his Avatar. He tried to call the concept, yet it wouldn’t come to him inside the domain.

These flames… this is the image of my inner self now. Same as the horns on Ainsle.

Ben chuckled. “I know you said we’re all a bunch of rejects and misfits, but I understand now. None of us are completely right in the head.”

Ainsle let out a sweet cackle. “Welcome, Benny boy. Now, do try to last,” she said before she launched herself at him.

Ben felt his cheeks grow hot, and the grin on his face threatened to tear his cheek muscles. He sidestepped and thrust the obsidian halberd. The beak of the weapon parried the elegant spear before he twisted the haft and swung it in a circular dip that ended with a vertical sweep; the beard of the crescent blade hooked the white shaft and sent the tip toward the sky. Ainsle anticipated the maneuver and released one hand from the haft, still held above their heads, before stepping into his guard to deliver a devastating kick to his sternum.

Ben had begun a downward slice after the hook and deflection, yet the kick had forcefully expelled the air in his lungs. He stumbled backward at the precise strike and rolled sideways on the sand to avoid the follow-up thrust from the petite woman. He stood and flourished his halberd, teeth bared in a malicious grin, eliciting a cry of pleasure from the young-looking old woman.

“This doesn’t feel like dancing, Miss O’Seighin,” Ben teased.

“Fuck that. I want MORE!” she bellowed before bolting toward the laughing young man.

The Champions of Illephrre fought passionately for what felt like an eternity or several days. Ben couldn’t tell which. Their infinite wells of stamina and resolve allowed the pair to clash, chase, and counter in an unceasing riot of pure violence. Wounds they inflicted upon each other didn’t bleed, yet as was the same in Ben’s domain, missing appendages didn’t grow back either. After days of dueling on the shore of an ocean of blood, the War Dancer and the Berserker collapsed on the red sand. Ben’s right hand had been completely sheared off, and his right eye and ear were missing; Ainsle was missing a foot and several fingers, yet her movements had only been compromised slightly.

The petite woman lay sprawled out on the red sand, her chest heaved, and her grin appeared permanently plastered to her face. “Fuck me. I wasn’t lying when I said you know how to show a girl a good time. But this…” she said sweetly before light laughter escaped her lips.

Ben chuckled and rolled to his side; his left eye regarded the nude woman and chuckled. “Likewise. Though I’m afraid I can only do this in here,” he paused, smile shifting to a line. “Out there… I’m weak. Without my concept, I’m just a weak guy with an axe and a spear on a stick.”

Ainsle’s laughing died down, and her grin faded. “Same with me, Benny boy. Seems we’re on opposite ends of the game. You’re getting stronger and closer to your potential, while Ol’ Ain is getting weaker as the days go by.”

Ben frowned. “I can’t believe that. I mean, I saw how you fight, how you handle that… ridiculous thing with ease. I saw Ann try to move it once during our trip down the mountain pass while you were sleeping. She gave up after the first attempt!”

Ainsle chuckled, and her familiar mocking grin surfaced for a heartbeat. “Lover boy, the Ain you know isn’t the Red Maiden of old. I can only walk because of this big boy over here,” she nodded to the red giant lounging on the sand a few paces away. “After the shit I put my body through over the years, I should be ash by now, but…” she sighed, “there’s always another poor bugger who needs unaliving by the Champion of Vengeance.”

“Ainsle…” Ben spoke softly. “I don’t think ‘unaliving’ is a word.”

The Berserker frowned and turned to see the young man’s mocking grin. Her composure shattered, and the pair broke out in deep laughter. A ray of light pierced through the angry clouds of weeping blood, and Ainsle turned to Ben.

“Shit. Looks like time is up,” she sighed as she sat up, and Ben mirrored the action. “Before we go back, you asked about those bastards showing up in the city.”

“Yeah, you said you had an idea as to why?” he asked, lifting the stump of his arm to caress his beard before realizing he needed a hand.

“Yup. It has to do with what the little ones told me. You know, the albino twins?” she said, and Ben nodded. “Well, they said some shit about some of the Generals from the Battle of the Pale Lady —over a thousand fucking years ago, mind you— were reported seen near the Tear in Karrilia.”

“Those three armored creatures were Generals?” he asked, mouth agape.

“Those buggers? Fuck no. They’re just Revenants,” Ainsle sighed. “See, Benny boy, the Red Maiden once smeared a dozen of those cunts in a crypt one time. But Ol’ Ain can’t even manage three of them.”

Ben’s jaw slackened as the realization of how outmatched he was, slammed into him.

Ainsle continued. “The Generals are bad news if the stories are anything to go by. Anyways, with those cunts showing up, the bastards at the Capital have reason to believe that a real Convergence is happening. Not like the bloody massive hole in the sky was a good enough warning or anything… Little Gian said the Convergence should start in earnest about three years from now.”

“Three years? So, why did that migrating horde attack the port city then?”

“That could’ve been our fault, you see? We had a little rough and tumble in the morning. It was like standing on a rooftop and shouting out to the whole town that you shagged someone’s wife.”

“I see… And that is a terrible analogy, by the way.”

“Yeah, true. But yeah… I was gonna tell you, Sunshine, and little Kieran in the morning that I was gonna bugger off to the Capital for a few weeks. I may still go if the city is still in one piece… and if the little ones at the orphanage survived.”

Ben considered the implications of the Berserker’s words for a few heartbeats. He realized that he might have to go to the temple of Illephrre without her. Another thought struck him, and he turned again to the young-old woman with wide eyes.

“Ainsle. I don’t have any bloody legs.”