Unity found himself overcome by the shockingly strong urge to kill the sun. It almost seemed the celestial body had taken a particular disliking to him, with how thoroughly it cast its glare for the past quarter hour.

Like so many in Unix, if not its nobility, Unity was of pale skin. Ordinarily it paired with his blue eyes to draw favourable comparisons to the ever-illustrious Menzas. Before the burning bitch above him, it was merely a hindrance.

A drying, papery, burn-sensitive hindrance.

The scorching heat was almost enough to make him grateful for his slate’s incessant alerts, small distraction that they were.

Fucking piece of shit scrying slate. As if I’d gain anything from finding whichever simpletons I’ve been tethered to this time around.

Even as he murmured to himself, Unity’s thoughts turned to the previous stage.

He began to wonder about Crow, imagining where the boy might have found himself. Doubtless they’d been paired together, after his display.

Unity turned his attention again to the vibrating of his slate, wondering whether it was the blonde boy’s approach being conveyed to him through the effect.

No. Much more likely he was trying to cut his own path through the stage, too fearful of wasting time to take such measures as consolidating with his team. It occurred to Unity that he was little different. Stayed by laziness, in place of haste.

A sudden shudder took him, involuntary and mindless. As if his body thought it might shake free the heat racking every inch of it. Unity allowed himself a moment of anger at the idiocy of his flesh.

The emotion faded as more sound reached him from the base of his perch. Water sizzling to steam, scraping and pattering as sand rained down from the air. Grunts of exertion and cries of alarm.

He rolled over, shifting his head to peer over the edge of the drop. A hundred yards separated him from the sight below, but he could still just about make it out.

Five mystics locked in battle with a creature that struck fear into him even from the distance between them.

Twice a horse’s length and three times its bulk, he’d recognised the scaled exterior and bundled muscle of a lusomorph instantly.

Four beady eyes glared outward from all sides of its head, barely visible beneath a great calcic protrusion jutting from the base of the skull. Shaped like a flat hammer and basking its face in shadow.

In the minutes since first seeing the beast, much had changed.

Unity didn’t miss the ugly gashes across its back and sides. Deep wounds that left the area around them glistening in the sun with slick, wet ichor. They were, he knew, only possible through the use of mysticism.

Lusomorphs were magical beasts as much as physical, and the arcane energies within their flesh and bones made them fiercely durable. Seeing the creature still thrash so energetically in spite of its wounds reinforced Unity’s confidence that he’d made the right decision in waiting for it to fight the rival team.

A halberd-wielding girl lunged, or at least Unity thought she did. The motion was so swift he barely caught it in his eye, only seeing her retreat as blood stained the sand.

He wondered where she’d found the weapon, then dismissed the curiosity and focused on drawing out his magic as yet more attacks began to rain on the creature.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Lusomorphs were sturdy, but the one below was clearly weakening. It grew slower, limbs heavier. As if liquefied strength were pouring from its wounds.

Unity’s opportunity would come soon, he didn’t intend to miss it.

Seconds passed in a sickening tension as the struggling monster grew ever more enfeebled. Unity began to fear it would fall before his magic came to him, but the arcane rush banished such thoughts.

He leapt from the plateau, grinning at the sensation of wind sweeping his hair and raking his body. It snagged his clothes, drawing loose fabric to flap in his wake and dragging his shirt up to expose his stomach. After fifteen minutes of being scorched by the sun, it was exquisite.

Sand retreated from his feet as they struck the ground like meteors. With satisfaction, he noticed each of the mystics had paused to stare at him.

Good. Their hesitation was just the weapon he needed.

Before any could overcome it, Unity ran. Slow for a mystic, slower still for one of his talents, yet quick enough to make use of the momentary stupefaction.

The lusomorph shifted to face him, great bony crest turning like a tower shield. Pain and fatigue dragged at the movement like stones on a hanged man’s feet, and in an instant he was on its back. Magic burned in his hands.

He felt the compulsive rush of Atirstam, tempered by the alien apathy of Manamis and the steadfast surety of Utalis. An emotional concoction to rival the intensity of the very magic that mixed it.

Beneath him the lusomorph thrashed with a fury redoubled. As if the dull creature could sense what was about to happen, drawing on untapped strength to stave off the end.

Unity touched his hands to its neck, waiting for his building magic to reach its peak, then releasing.

It took barely a few moments for the red discharge to act; dancing along the creature’s skin like the tentative steps of a thief, erratic and rapid as it kissed one point and then another.

Flesh was peeled back like the skin of a fruit, then charred black and sizzling before breaking down to ash and being snatched away by the wind. Blood boiled, bone split and gristle burst free as shredded pulp. He barely leapt back in time to avoid being drenched in the viscera.

Unable to bear the strain of such terrible wounds, the Lusomorph fell. Craterous carnage steaming hot and visceral in its back.

Unity turned to his slate, grinning as he took in the words crawling across its face.

Current points: One thousand.

Unity had recognised the lusomorph as a fearsome enemy, as well as one that, proportionally, would yield no small reward upon its defeat. That he’d been right to assume the killing blow determined point distribution was worth the sun.

“Excuse me?”

Unity turned to the voice’s source, already feeling the elation burn in him like coals in an engine. He tempered the feeling, barely.

Staring at him were all five of the mystics; four girls and a boy. Muddy, dirty, disheaveled and marked in scores of places by bruises or streaked blood. None seemed to notice their abrasions, the anger sizzling behind their stares swallowing all else.

“Sorry,” Unity answered, “Did I interrupt something?”

The hate in them was almost physical, and Unity didn’t bother fighting the smile it pushed to his lips. It was better than the sight of their sickening cooperation by far.

“Don’t play coy.” One of the girls cut in, stepping forwards and tightening her hands. “You know what you did.”

“Help you out?” Unity asked, almost giggling.

Another girl spoke before the first, clutching a knife tightly in each hand.

“Jump in to land the finishing blow, stealing our points without putting a lick of work in.”

Unity blinked, injecting feigned confusion onto his face. Only a fool would have fallen for the act. Fortunately, most naturals were a dozen paces beyond mere foolishness.

“You think that’s what I did?” He asked, letting a smidge of horror mingle with his uncertainty. It worked well, filling all eyes upon him with doubt.

For a moment he said nothing more, simply waited. Let the emotion simmer.

Then Unity stopped holding his grin back, let amusement warp his face as he sneered.

“Surprisingly astute, for the pack of morons who let me do it so easily in the first place.”

Anger returned in an instant, but by the time the mystics had all taken a step, Unity had already turned and made the first three of his sprint.