The [Viceroy]’s abrupt appearance sends me into a spiral of uncertainty. My jaw clenches and my eyes narrow. My heart palpitates as though a band of iron squeezes me tight. I clutch the edge of my little self made glass boat for support. I’m lost in overwhelming currents, trying and utterly failing to swim through the miasma of weakness and confusion swirling internally.

I’m a fool for taking on this foe.

I’m outmatched. Overwhelmed.

Worst of all, I’ve led my team right into the jaws of the lion.

Adrift in the angry, dark-gray storm clouds that are gathering within my mind and hurling bolts of accusation, I cast about for a path forward in the chaos. An anchor in the storm.

My brother. My friends. Their faces flicker through my mind, reminding me that I’m fighting for more than my own survival or for the glory of the empire. I grit my teeth, growling as my hot anger at the [Viceroy]’s far-reaching meddling clashes against his forcible suppression. My desire to protect my team cuts through the fog of fear, and all at once I recover my courage. Memories of the self-defense training Mbukhe drilled into my head appears in a flash.

Compressing my awareness until it barely covers my boat, but still provides a buffer between us and the hovering form of [Viceroy] Tapirs, I reinforce my Domain with as much mana as I can possibly spare. Rather than conceptualizing my Domain as its usual sphere, I reimagine it as a geodesic dome in multiple layers, and call on my [Sanctuary] to lend aid. I’ve never used my Skill quite like this before, but borrowing on the underlying runic concepts works surprisingly well, much like using axiomatic truths for imbuing techniques.

Hints of a powerful epiphany glimmer at the eyes of my consciousness, but I shove them away. Survive first. Delve into the mysteries of the universe later.

Instantly, the stifling pressure crashing against me becomes more bearable. Breathing is no longer a tribulation. The [Viceroy]’s power no longer sweeps me away. His massive domain pushes and grinds against the outer layers of my own [Arcane Domain], constricting it like a boa with its prey, but I draw on unbreakable and refuse to shatter under the weight of his assault.

Swiftly redirecting the concepts at play, I angle the plates of arcane force that comprise my Sanctuary-infused Domain, taking advantage of my increased control with the condensed range of my influence. With a thin, arrogant smile, he bears down on me, pressing the pieces tighter and tighter until they interlink and become a small but impenetrable fortress, like the shell of a monstrous, mana-empowered tortoise.

“Vedarian! Get us out of here!”

Rakesh’s strangled voice calls out to our Yathawn friend. Our [Researcher] gasps out the words as his breathing returns thanks to the aegis of my Domain.

If I struggled this hard to simply think, then the rest of them are lucky not to have passed out on the spot. They don’t have the benefits of their own Domains to push back.

“This fight is your own,” Vedarian replies, an unexpected bite to his words. He unhooks the hawser from his underwater craft and gives us a hard look as his vessel maneuvers away from us. “Farewell, surface dwellers. Natan will not forget your [Sanctuary], but my part here is done. I wish—I wish things had ended differently.”

“You’re dismissed, creature,” the [Viceroy] says, making a flicking motion with his fingers toward the Yathawn, who’s already navigating away. “Tell your Matriarch I will visit again soon.”

“I knew it! Showing up just when we needed him was too good to be true,” Mikko growls. His simmering anger is visible in my Domain like a pot boiling over.

Lionel hunches down in the stern of the boat. “Betrayal all around. Nowhere safe. Water everywhere. No help. No witnesses. Of course.”

Reeling from Vedarian’s about face, it takes me a moment to realize that the [Viceroy] is placidly hovering in front of us and not attacking. For all my fears of his antagonism, he seems content to let the drama play out. Perhaps he’s simply secure in his position. We aren’t much of a threat to him, not when we’re so far from our allies. We’re at his mercy.

Vulnerable. Alone. Outmatched.

Lionel’s feverish muttering mirrors my own thoughts. I glance around wildly, searching for a lifeline, but nothing manifests. His stability concerns me, but we have to make it through this encounter if we want to help each other. Worrying about my friends will seem like a luxury if we get out of here alive.

“Marvelous. You’ve grown, young man! Resisting me is unheard of these days. And you aren’t even Gold yet! How far you’ve come since you sat at my table and shivered in terror.”

“Nuri, you know this old guy?” Mikko asks in an incredulous tone, his anger melding into confusion—threaded through with terrible suspicion.

I nod reluctantly. “We met at the capital. Everyone, this is [Viceroy] Tapirs, head of the [Mages] guild. He’s the real power behind the throne.”

“So young, so cynical!” Tapirs chuckles.

I cross my arms. “I prefer perceptive.”

“Whatever you are, it’s clearly working for you. Your core is restored, and you even have a new hand. I worried that my investment in you was overly optimistic, but you’ve proven quite useful over the last year. I’m glad we let you live after all.”

“What’s he talking about?” Melina whispers. Spattered by sea spray, her wet hair clings in a limp, pale pattern across her brow. She’s trembling under the suppression of the [Viceroy]’s Domain, but her eyes are still blazing with defiance.

I swallow hard, considering how to respond. I don’t want to let slip anything that our adversary can use as leverage against us. Yet his easy confidence gives the lie to my hope of fighting back. Realistically, we’re so far overmatched that it doesn’t matter what I do or say. He can crush us like bugs any time he wants.

“I think he pulled some strings to get me out. He also showed me how things really work. Where power comes from. How much reach he has across the country. Why my parents died to the plague.” That last part slips out almost unbidden, my voice choking up at the admission.

[Viceroy] Tapirs tuts in disapproval. He brushes off his robe. “Yet you still associate with Tem’s friends. You’ve benefited from their quiet rebellion. ‘The Light dawns in darkness’ and all that garbage.”

My teammate’s gazes weigh on me, almost physical with the weight of their disapproval and anger. I feel the unspoken questions, like a great iron yoke around my neck, and drop down to one knee as I struggle to fend off Tapirs’ Domain alongside all the accusations. Everything is against me. My friends are disgusted by my actions. My own mind condemns me.

My shoulders droop as the truth hits me. I dragged them into this. I pushed and prodded, playing with powers I should have left alone, and now they’re going to pay the price. They must hate me for it.

“Hey! Don’t listen to that jerk,” Rakesh shouts. He grabs my arm, digging in his fingers roughly, and shakes me.

Clarity cuts through the clouds of confusion. I blink owlishly, examining myself again, and notice a tendril stretching between me and Tapirs.

Manipulative creep!

I take a breath and shove away his influence. Of course my friends don’t hate me. They’re not stupid or blind. They knew what we were getting into, and they came along willingly. How dare I demean their choices?

Gripping Rakesh’s arm for support, I smile at my stalwart friend in gratitude for waking me back up. I call on [Legacy of the Scalpel], severing the mental sway the [Viceroy] holds over me. The web of his influence is subtle, but now that I know what to look for, the sticky strands binding me to him are unmistakable. All this time I thought he wasn’t attacking, but it turns out that I wasn’t even aware of the true battleground. He’s been toying with me all along, subverting my mind and letting me think I’m putting up a good showing because he hasn’t squashed me yet with his Domain.

Way to play the fool, Nuri.

More and more mental strands reach out for me. Filaments of pure magic, yet I didn’t perceive them at first. They slipped right past my own mana senses. They’re beautiful in a way, shimmering with potency. A vast, intricate web. The longer I look at their spirals and shapes, the more I’m drawn in, seduced by the promise of—

I wield sharpness and slice apart the remaining strands. This time, I get them all, and the difference is stark. My thoughts crystalize with startling swiftness, and I push outward with my Domain as I make my first offensive move, throwing Tapirs back in a blast of power.

He drifts a few dozen feet backward before exerting his own magic and halting in the sky. A patronizing smile stretches across his arrogant face. “Reliable team. Misplaced anger. Have the youth always been so quick to determine they know more than their elders? You don’t see the full picture, Nuri. You’re like a child lashing out because his mother took away a toy too dangerous for him. You’ll learn in time. Once you work for me, you’ll witness firsthand how much better I treat my subordinates than that graceless, rampaging bull Xharrote does.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I roll my eyes. His poisoned barbs no longer bother me. My emotions are stabilizing now that I know where to look for his treacherous touch on my heart and mind. “Not gonna happen. Now hand over Saphora before things get ugly.”

“This is what I like about you, Nuri,” Tapirs replies calmly, utterly unperturbed by the fire blooming above Avelina’s head and the massive glass hammer weaving circles in the air as Mikko twirls it in his powerful hands. “Staring down monsters, conquering Rifts, standing up to the most powerful [Mage] in the land—most people would call that foolishness, but I salute you for your grit.”

Nudging my mental connection to Falcon, I call the glass bird down from the skies. Silent as a shadow, it plunges from the heavens and strikes Tapirs with talons of glass honed to razor sharpness. Blood blossoms along his left shoulder, staining his robes.

“Shatter it all!” I swear, clenching my fists. Falcon flew true, but the [Viceroy] twitched at the last second, avoiding the fatal blow that would have laid open his throat from collarbone to collarbone.

“Ah. We seem to have moved on to the next stage of your pointless little struggle,” Tapirs says blandly. He waves his hand over the robe and it stitches itself back together as quick as a blink. The rust-red stain of spreading blood is gone, and he shows no sign of any pain. Did I even cut him? Or was it all in my mind?

The [Viceroy] snags my flying golem with his Domain, reeling it in like a [Fisherman] with his latest catch. He pats the once-proud bird on its head, then makes a slashing motion with his hand, severing our connection. “Pretty pet. Coco will love it.”

White-hot fury explodes within me. Snarling, I launch blades of sharpness at him from afar, hoping to dice him apart. I’m pouring mana into the attack at an incredible rate; even with my massive Capacity, a distant voice whispers a warning that I’m burning through my reserves too quickly to sustain the output for an entire fight.

The compressed mana dissipates harmlessly before it even reaches Tapirs. His Domain is simply more advanced than mine, brimming with potent mana. Brushing aside my attacks is as easy as breathing for the wily old [Death Mage].

Wait, what? Alarm bells clang in my head. Isn’t he a [Viceroy]? What is this about death? I knew he was the head of the [Mage] guild. He’s almost certainly folded [Mage] into his ruling Class. But. What? Since when? How did Tapirs hide—?

Dread threatens to overwhelm me at the revelation. Now that we’ve clashed directly, Domain against Domain, I have a clear line of sight toward his soul. I catch a glimpse past his passive shielding and see the truth: [Viceroy] is a much newer Class, still only high Silver. His true Class is far more terrifying, eclipsing gold and glowing with the power of mid platinum. That, combined with his grade, which must be even higher than I realized since it’s still obfuscated, warns me that there’s no winning this battle.

Everything clicks into place for me. His connection to Saphora. Her ability to inflict rot from the inside out, despite dual [Healer] and [Lady] Classes that don’t have anything to do with necrosis. Suddenly, his iron-fisted rule over Densmore makes sense as well. Of course a mere [King] can’t fight back against someone who can drain away all his vitality with a snap of his fingers. That also explains Tapirs’ excellent health despite his incredibly advanced age, and why an entire people group like the Yathawn, full of fierce fighters, are cowed into service. How can they fight death itself?

Tem! Fear for my friend flashes through my mind. Is he even alive? Last I heard, he was imprisoned by Tapirs, but what’s to stop the [Death Mage] from consuming the life from him and leaving his withered husk to rot?

With a deep breath, I master my fear. I turn to my team, keeping one eye on the bored, arrogant, ancient visage of the [Death Mage]. “Leave me. Get back to Gilead if you can. This fight is beyond you. I’ll hold him off for as long as I can.”

“Not a chance,” Mikko bellows, tightening his grip on his hammer until the glass creaks ominously. “We’re in this together. To the end.”

Next to him, Melina is quivering, her eyes wide. “Mikko, he’s right. Trust me when I say I’ve never sensed mana like his before. We have to get out of here.”

Lionel draws his glass rapier. He’s rarely had occasion to use it since we crafted it last year in Silaraon, but it fits perfectly in his hand. Like he was meant to wield it; he’s a [Healer] by choice, but he’s an adventurer at heart. His former fear is gone, now that I’m properly shielding the team from Tapirs’s pressure. “I didn’t come all this way just to turn around. Saphora will pay for her crimes.”

“Troublesome pests,” the [Death Mage] chuckles. He’s smiling like a doting grandfather, his tone mild and his hands folded in front of him, as he floats in the sky, unconcerned.

Avelina lunges forward, unleashing twin jets of roaring flame toward him. They barely travel halfway before fizzling out, undone by the superior suppression of Tapirs’ Domain, and she slumps back in defeat as she realizes the gap in power between them.

Our adversary shakes his head at her, as though disappointed by her attempt. “Buzzing flies. Shoo!”

With a wave of his hand, he flings the glass boat away from his position. Everyone rocks back—except for me, held fast by a far more potent manifestation of his will than his Domain has shown previously. Next thing I know, I’m floating above empty water, held aloft by braided mana that weaves into a platform beneath my feet.

“I’m only half as monstrous as you think I am,” he remarks, still sounding completely unruffled. “Oh, I freely admit that I’m not kind, but I’m not needlessly malicious, either. Your friends are free to go. You, on the other hand, have become stronger than expected.”

“Afraid?” I taunt, hoping to keep his attention on me and not my friends. Who knows if he will keep his word once I’m out of the picture.

“Not yet. Maybe in a decade, if your rage were left unchecked. Your growth is impressive even by my standards,” he admits. “But I’d rather you join me than suffer needlessly.”

I shift my stance in the air, my feet gliding in semi-circles according to the Golden Eagle Martial Style, and glare back at him. Despite my best efforts, it strikes me that my attempt at appearing as casual as he does falls flat. He’s got decades of practice on me. “Join you? After what Saphora did to my friend? No chance. Are you crazy?”

“So be it,” he replies with a shrug. “Better deal with you now, before you become a true threat like Tem once was.”

“What did you do to Tem?”

He shakes his head, his lips pursed. “Pity. I thought you were better informed than that. He is as well as can be expected, given his treason. No executioner’s blade for our decorated war hero. Not yet.”

Still imprisoned. I’ll take it.

“Very well. Let’s end this,” Tapirs says with a sigh. This time, his age seems to seep into his actions. He’s worn down, world-weary, but still far stronger than I can ever hope to become.

I tense, marshaling my Domain and preparing to counteract his flashy elemental magic, but his opening move catches me off guard. He steps forward and appears next to me, his form blurring thanks to dimensional shenanigans, and a wizard's staff appears in his hands.

He smashes it across my face, knocking me into the water and sending white-hot bursts of light across my sight.

I swim upward, making for the surface, and splutter as I break back into the air. Waves smack me sideways, and it’s only thanks to my mana senses that I fling myself to the left just in time to avoid another blow from his staff. All the while, rot eats at the edges of my flesh, spreading from the point of impact where he struck me like cancerous ripples.

Tapirs cackles with laughter. He spins his staff, wielding it like a bludgeon, and dives back down to crack me across the ribs.

My body folds in half from the force of the blow, and I fly up out of the water with a yell. My vision goes fuzzy around the edges. Fiery pain erupts across my chest where he hit me. I splash back down, still screaming, and swallow a mouthful of cold water.

Coughing, I spin in circles, my arms wind-milling and feet kicking as I try to reorient to the sunlight above me. I break the surface again, spitting water and gasping. Agony blossoms in my shoulder, and I roan in pain. He stabs me again, with the staff, digging it into the joint and dislocating my shoulder.

My left arm hangs limp at my side. Useless.

Pain and wild anger clash within me. Mad laughter burbles up out of my chest. “Tapirs!” I shout at the [Death Mage] hovering in the sky above me. “I’ve been here before, missing my left hand. Nothing new. I survived that, and I’ll survive you, too!”

“I think not. You’ve witnessed first-hand how the jump to bronze increased your strength and speed. You’re shockingly close to the next Threshold at gold already. Now imagine if you’ve broken through the Third? I can bat you around like a ball in a children’s game all day and not tire in the least.”

I take advantage of the lull in his assault, calling on [Adjuration of the Phoenix] to boost my affinity for fire. My [Greater Heat Manipulation] sparks to life, and I punch a hole through the protective barrier of Tapirs’ Domain by compressing my own Domain to a needlepoint instead of contesting his strength directly, relying on the trick I learned in our fight against the Oletheros last year.

His eyes widen in alarm. An inferno engulfs him.

For the first time since our fight began, his pressure disappears. I still sense him in the sky, but his Domain withdraws. A feral grin stretches across my face as I howl my defiance to the heavens. Firestorm raging overhead, icy water covering endless depths below my feet, a Third Threshold threat battering my bones—yet I’ve never felt so alive.

Shaking in terror and agony as my body falls apart, I pour more pour into the attack. Nearby, I sense Lionel's mana stirring. He pumps healing into me, combatting the rot. We teeter in precarious limbo, like [Acrobats] on a high wire, before the constant flood of [Runic Restoration] overwhelms the rot and refreshes my spirit.

From deep within the white-hot, miniature sun, a skeletal figure emerges. Wreathed in flames and grinning with a skull’s unsettling, hollow stare, Tapirs is very much alive. His robes are burnt off, but he doesn’t seem to care. My heart palpitates in my chest as I stare at the gruesome sight. Flesh and skin have melted under the ferocious heat, revealing smoking bones. Only his death magic still animates him. Somehow, words rasp forth from his mangled face as he finally invokes a Skill that seems to reverberate in my ears and mind long after they're spoken:

“[My Throat is an Open Grave].”

Vitality surges upward, torn from my body despite my efforts to resist. I watch in horror as his muscles and tendons are reknit in front of my eyes, restoring his body to its original condition while my own health plummets.

I fight back, struggling to hold on to my health, but his authority is insurmountable. His long, rattling inhale completes, and he stands before me largely restored. Thankfully, he pulled a robe from some spatial storage and covered himself back up, sparing me at least one horror.

“Well, well. That was unexpected,” he rasps. “Shame to waste such potential, but I’m done playing games. This ends. Now.”

With a dismissive flick of his wrist, the [Death Mage] Tapirs rips open a tear in space. Beyond, a terrifying emptiness seems to drink in the light—it’s not darkness, but something far more compelling. A void. A portal to the abyssal energies between the planes. A Rift that leads nowhere.

And I’m drawn straight toward it.