The climb towards Gromsh was excruciating. Or at least it probably was. For the pullers.

Blake didn't help them at all. Instead he focused all his attention on the battle ahead as he walked.

They reached the end of the city and the beginning of the tower floors without challenge, climbing floor after floor with their hired orcs grunting and once or twice asking what the hell was inside the cart.

"A gift. For the king," Blake said with as much haughty attitude as he was capable. Which was a lot. "You should count yourselves lucky just to carry it."

They made it all the way to the top levels before anyone seemed to really care about them. Then the same guards who had stopped him a day before and asked for his writ held out their hands.

"Where are you going?"

"To King Gromsh," Blake said confidently. "Gifts from the Stilek tribe."

The guard sniffed and lifted the tarp, inspecting the constructs and everything else with impassive eyes.

"What are they? Statues? They look...weird."

"Sculptures," Blake said instantly. "Basalt sandstone, very colorful, yes? For the great king's hall."

The guard frowned but clearly didn't want to be the one to interfere with such a thing. Finally he looked to Ilya, nostrils flaring and eyes squinting as he gestured at her clothes.

"What would the king want with this one?"

Blake smiled, and slowly lifted Ilya's tattered coat until her shapely leg was exposed, showing the obvious lacy fabric beneath.

"Couldn't have the riffraff in the city pawing at her, could I?"

The guard grinned, but dropped it quickly.

"On your way, then. Don't stray from the main hall."

"Thank you." Blake nodded with respect and snapped at his pullers. "You heard him, move it, we’re blocking the way."

The orcs growled and pulled, and soon they were rolling through the last few halls and ramps to the top of the tower.

Then they’d reached the final stairway and the two guards standing at attention at the base. One approached the cart without concern, no doubt receiving such things frequently.

“Is the king available?” Blake asked like he expected a greedy, ambitious merchant might.

“Who wants to know?” said the guard, flipping open the tarp to inspect with squinted eyes.

“We come with gifts. I’d hoped I might go and…meet the king myself, introduce myself. Hmm?” He produced a few coins from his pocket and rolled them between his fingers.

The guard looked at the coins and snorted. “No chance. But I’m not carrying these fucking things up those stairs. Your half starved runts here look ready to keel over. So what’s your plan, then?”

Blake felt his gut clench as the moment arrived, his mask dropping. He glanced back to see there was no other orcs anywhere near.

“Oh, it's not going to be a problem,” he muttered, commanding his constructs to rise and gather.

“Eh? How is it…wait, what?” The guard stepped back with wide eyes as the constructs crashed and clattered their way out. Then the guards were shouting in alarm and battle as the constructs ripped them apart.

“You can go back now,” Blake said, turning to meet Ilya’s wide eyes as she looked at the mangled corpses of the guards. She blinked again and again then met Blake’s eyes.

“I'm here to avenge my kin, and to help you,” she said. “To the end.”

Blake nodded, both thrilled and saddened at the expected answer. He smiled, and took her hand.

“Then let's go and meet our destiny.”

* * *

The wagon pullers stared at Blake and the constructs with huge, uncomprehending eyes.

"Off you go," he waved, and after a small delay they turned and bolted so fast they tripped before running again.

"Shouldn't we...stop them?" Ilya said as Blake scrolled through his powers and Partition commands again and again, knowing it was more like a nervous tick now.

"Won't matter," he said. "This will end quickly. One way or another."

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Ilya's fearful eyes suddenly hardened, and she pulled back her hood and collected her staff from the wagon.

"I'm ready," she said, and nothing more. Blake gave her a fierce grin, then started climbing the last steps to his enemy.

The Defender in particular clomped his way to the tower like a clydesdale. These weren't flying constructs with little claws anymore. They were solidly built murder-bots, armored particularly at the front with as much weight as Blake could fit. He felt very strange ascending those stairs with the constructs at his side.

For the second time since he was five, he was going to face something obviously terrible and final without Mason beside him. All his life he had learned to trust in that single rock, to build himself around like the bottom pillars of a fortress. It felt terrible and lonely, but also…exhilarating.

It was only him and the things he'd prepared. There was no authority to appeal to. No great protector to call if he lost.

He reached the top of the stairs, and there across the room stood the giant orc king. He was staring out the window, a cloak around his shoulders, a crude crown upon his head.

"I've been waiting," he said, voice deep and filled with menace. He turned slowly, gaze moving over Blake and Ilya and the constructs with little more than cold assessment.

His eyes were red and held up by bruises. His tower room stank like rotten food and old urine, like he didn't ever bother to leave.

"I sent away so many guards I feared you’d recognize I wanted you to. But sooner or later, I knew you'd come. And I'm very good at waiting. Now take off that disgusting mask."

Blake grit his teeth and dropped his Adaptive Veil, clutching his amulet as if it had been the source.

"You're clever,” said the orc king. “But then I expected no less of a human targeted by the gods. I will kill you cleanly as a worthy foe." The orc's tired eyes moved to Ilya, and his mouth curled in contempt. "You, though—you will die badly, traitor. You will beg for death before the end, and piss on the banner of your kin."

Blake felt the orc girl practically vibrating at his side, and decided that was probably enough talking.

"No, Gromsh," Blake said with no pleasure or malice. "You're just one piece of my story. I'll forget you existed before the dawn."

He activated Mind Rend, and sent his Defender charging.

Gromsh threw back his cloak to reveal a body armored in leather, and a pair of glowing knives in his hands.

Well. 'Knives'. They were about the length of human longswords, just curved like scimitars and jagged at the back.

He roared as Blake's amulet flared with dark, red light. The moment he used it the metal necklace seemed to clamp and squeeze around his neck, but he had no time for distractions.

His defender struck with a massive, two-fisted blow to Gromsh's chest, knocking him sliding back as he ignored it and held his head in pain.

Two Arcanes moved to either flank, stabbing with their spears and poking holes in the king's leather armor. They struck once, twice, the defender bashing again before the giant orc finally roared and opened his eyes, face curled in fury.

He slammed his blades into Blake's defender, pushed straight into its shoulders to the hilt. If it was a man, it would have been exceptionally dead right there. But it wasn't.

The Defender grabbed Gromsh by the wrists and held on as the Arcanes moved in stabbing and swinging their picks. Gromsh wrestled with the defender, roaring and twisting before he side kicked it and yanked, ripping off one of its arms.

Blake lifted the first of his bundle of constructed spears, and launched it with Telekinesis.

It sunk into Gromsh's leg, but he flicked it out with the barest movement, twisting and slashing at the Arcane's spears with his free blade, still kicking and pulling at the Defender.

Then his eyes glowed with arcane power. He muttered words too soft to hear before the room shook and a sound like thunder deafened Blake except for a high pitched ring.

His Arcanes lifted off the ground, flung several feet back. But his Psionic Defender hadn't budged. Gromsh fought on, obviously surprised and even more enraged as Blake started tossing spear after spear with Telekinesis.

Blake sent the other untouched Arcane just as Gromsh spun and cleaved his Defender's head from its shoulders. The giant construct crumpled and fell before exploding into dust.

Gromsh stared at Blake with victorious eyes, and charged.

* * *

The Arcane constructs were up and attacking, but Gromsh smashed them away and ignored them. He was covered in blood, his armor pierced and ripped to tatters. But he was still coming.

Ilya growled and seemed to grow as she chanted and held out her staff, then lifted one of Blake's spears and intercepted the orc king.

She thrust well and skewered his side just above his hip, and Gromsh roared in rage. He swiped a blade at her face, and Blake almost called out in panic before a green shield appeared and stopped it.

Blake launched spear after spear with Telekinesis, draining every scrap of mana from his bar and most of his gem. Gromsh's chest was like a porcupine's back, javelins sticking out and oozing with blood. But the bastard just wouldn't die.

Gromsh tossed his weapon, pushing his hand forward slowly through the shield until he managed to seize Ilya's neck.

Blake grabbed his amulet, and forced it to Mind Rend again.

It tightened further, seeming to press into his flesh a searing him with agony, and he knew he'd have to figure how what to do about it later. But he needed it now.

Gromsh's head lolled as the magic hit him. He released his grip on Ilya, who fell to the floor gasping and pale. The orc king backed away, only one Arcane construct healthy enough to follow and stab before the giant creature smashed it away almost instinctively.

He wavered on his feet, finally dropping to his knees. He sneered before he opened his eyes, which now dripped with blood.

"Now I know why the gods want you dead." He spat more blood and showed his teeth. "That's demon magic. You are the servant of the Kazikdra."

“No!" Ilya managed to growl from the floor. "He saved me from them. To kill you!"

Gromsh laughed, another spurt of blood dripping down his chest. "Who do you think enslaved our people, daughter of the Stoneblood? It wasn’t the demons. It was their slayer, the great hero, corrupted by their magic."

Ilya glared. "A lie."

The orc king laughed again, then twitched, as if the magic of the amulet was still attacking his mind.

"Shut your mouth, betrayer,” he growled. “Ignorant whore. Who turns against her own people for a human, a mind mage, a servant of the enemy?"

Gromsh roared and stood with what seemed an incredible feat of pure will, stepping over a puddle of his own blood to stagger forward towards Blake, one blade still in his hand.

Blake used every last scrap of mana in his gem, lifted his Arcane construct built as a spear, and launched it into Gromsh's gut. It skewered straight through to the other side.

His Mental Partition flared, and the moment his minion made contact it activated its Burning Touch, smoke rising from the horrific wound.

Gromsh staggered, pulling briefly at the construct before realizing it was completely through his body.

He lurched further and further away, gave one last malevolent stare, then turned and leapt from the tower through one of the large windows. He fell in silence into the dark.