Chapter 167: The Fate of Shadowfall Coast

Angelica’s was always noisy. That was a rule of life—hell, it was a rule of the universe. But Gods-be-damned, it suddenly became extra loud in here. Sitting next to Zephyr, Donovan growled as a ruckus was being stirred up. “Fuck’s going on over there?”

“Donovan!” several adventurers shouted. “Donovan, emergency!”

“Huh?”

He and Zephyr turned around in their swivel stools and looked at one of the adventurers calling out to him, his face having gone pale. He was out of breath. He even had to bend over and hold up a finger while he gasped. Finally, he was able to speak. And when he did, Donovan wasn’t sure he was willing to believe a Gods-damned word of it.

“No fuckin’ way. You’re shitting me.”

“It’s true!” the kid insisted. “I swear it on my momma’s life.”

Donovan stared at him. “If this is a joke, I’m seriously gonna tear you ten different assholes. Maybe even eleven.” He pointed threateningly at the kid. “Because you just told me ten heart attacks’ worth of shit. There’s no damn way all of those things are true at once.”

“I spoke to Zach myself. He said you need to get down there immediately.”

“It’s true!” another adventurer cried. “I spoke to Zach too. It’s true!”

Donovan looked at Zephyr in disbelief—and rage. “Jimmy lost his fuckin’ mind!” he shouted. “I’m gonna kill that kid.”

“Not if I get to him first.”

“That punk!”

Zephyr chuckled. “Why’re you smiling?”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah you are. Admit it.”

“Fuck that. I’m pissed right now.” He grabbed his mug and prepared to down the rest of the beverage, but Zephyr grabbed it and threw it—then apologized profusely to Angelica, whose name stayed red for over ten seconds. “Sorry, Angelica. But this is a real emergency.”

“Throw a mug at one of my freshly cleaned walls again, and you’re gonna have an entirely separate emergency, buster!”

“I know, I know, sorry!” He grabbed Donovan’s wrist. “We really have to go. This is bad.”

Donovan grunted. “Yep. Let’s go.”

******

Fylwen placed her hands on the railing near the bow of the large, human-built aircraft carrier. Though she projected confidence and coldness, there truly was a part of her that did bemoan the actions she was now forced to take. Had it been possible and reasonable, she would have chosen to spare the lives of the citizens—those whom she hesitated to refer to as “innocent,” as she felt that was far too strong and freeing of a word to describe the hateful humans who occupied this city.

The Guild of Gentlemen…they had robbed her and her family of so much. And their citizens, though ignorant of the Elvish suffering at the time, would doubtless have supported the guild’s actions had they discovered or been told of them. Of this, Fylwen was certain. They were cretins who did not believe in the sanctity of non-human life, and for that reason alone, she should not have cared much for their fate.

But she did feel an inkling of sadness. Remorse? Not quite. This was not a decision that she had made but an order from the Gods themselves. It was not her place to feel guilt over a choice that was not hers to make. Unlike far too many other times in her life when she had acted brutally towards others, she would not lose sleep over what was to come, as the Great Lord Adamus himself had personally tasked her with delivering this justice.

“So, you’re really going to do this, huh?” asked the Gnome, his voice coming from somewhere behind her. She did not bother to turn her head or look at him. The fool was lucky her mother had always told her to have a soft spot for the Gnomish or he might very well have ended up among the countless lives that were soon to be extinguished.

“Even if I had chosen otherwise, you would not have been able to stop them from firing their weapon.”

“Yes, we could have,” he insisted, approaching her. Sparing a quick glance over her shoulder, Fylwen noticed he was dragging a stool with him, which he set down so that he could stand beside her and similarly dangle his arms over the railing. “We’ve taken out their research facility. We’re practically halfway there. All they have left is wherever they’re manufacturing the ICBMs. Speaking of which, did your Elves find anything out?”

“No,” she replied truthfully. “And do believe me when I say that my warriors were not gentle in their torture. I am therefore certain that the researchers were not told where the weapons are being made. If they had been able to discover that information, things might be different. But it’s too late now.”

“I just don’t know how you can say that, Fylwen. If we found their researchers, we could’ve found their weapons, too. It would’ve only been a matter of time.”

“Yes. Time that we do not have.”

The Gnome sighed. “Yeah, well…fair enough, I guess. Hey, can I ask you something?”

Becoming suspicious, she frowned at the small man. “If you must.”

Vim shifted as though he were nervous. “I’m not trying to be an asshole here, but my question might piss you off. I really do mean it in good faith, though. It’s about your Gods, but I know you get a bit…heated when anyone talks about them.”

“If you truly intend no harm, I will do my utmost to react with civility.”

He hesitated, and Fylwen waited for him to speak. Yet when he said nothing for nearly half a minute, she became impatient and twirled her finger indicating for him to get on with it. He complied, and with a cautious quality to his voice, he asked, “If your Gods are so just and wise, then why do they care so much about how, specifically, we solve this problem? Why do they put so much stock in formality and semantics? It just sounds petty to me.”

Given his hesitance, Fylwen had been expecting a far, far more offensive question from the Gnome. Not only did she not find this question offensive, but it was exactly the kind of question she expected young Elvish children to ask during schooling for the next thousand years when today’s events would inevitably be discussed. The few Elvish scholars that still remained in the world were no doubt already carefully choosing how to inscribe and explain this day to future generations.

“The Great Lord Adamus is callous,” she began, “and this is written about him and known, and it is such that I witnessed it for myself. However, it is also known that he is not petty, and he is most certainly not superfluous. His decisions are rooted in a much deeper understanding of humanity than you or I possess, but one that becomes clear if you think a little more deeply on it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Fylwen, sensing that he was indeed asking in good faith, decided to reward him with elaboration. “I know you believe what you say. It is actually the same idea that the young scientist boy also tried to impress upon me.”

“Lord Oren?”

“Yes.”

Vim laughed. “So, he also wanted to cover the launch sites?”

“He did. His argument and reasoning were much the same as your own.”

“Good,” Vim said. “That kid’s pretty smart, so if I came up with the same idea as him, it means I must be pretty smart, too.”

“You’re both actually quite intelligent,” Fylwen admitted, “and the logic behind your plan is sound. By capturing any possible sites that could be used to launch their weapon, one would naturally assume that it would make the possession of such a weapon useless, thus removing the need to lose thousands of lives to recklessness as our combined forces rush head-first in to disarm.”

She waited for a gust of warm air to finish gliding over her before she resumed speaking. “But what the Great Lord Adamus understands and what you do not,” she continued, “is that wherever and whenever such a weapon exists, it will find a way to be used. And you yourself have proven this, Gnome.”

“How so?”

“Do you truly not know?” She watched as he shook his head. “It’s obvious. Had that warm-hearted Orc not alerted me to your incredibly foolish idea, you may well have prolonged this nightmare despite your best intentions. Do you see? Simply by its existence, the weapon is destined to continue to exist and to be used. This, I do believe, is why our God has commanded us to prevent such an occurrence.”

Vim nodded, and unless Fylwen was falling for some expert-level manipulation, she believed he was being sincere. “You might be right,” he said to her. “In fact, you probably are.”

The man’s tone had changed. Something was odd with him. He now sounded…resigned. As though he’d accepted her course of action and had given up trying to fight it. Even as he continued to argue with her, there was no longer any heat behind his words. He spoke in a way that was far more conversational than confrontational.

The Gnome tapped his palms idly on the railing. “So, you’re going to watch it happen?”

“Of course,” Fylwen said. “How could I not? I ordered my Elves to carry out such an attack, and I will not turn my head from it. I will witness the destruction with my own two eyes.”

“When’s it going to happen?”

“Any moment now.”

“Well, I’ve already ordered a full retreat, so this boat’s about to get a whole lot more crowded. But for the time being, I guess I’ll stand here and watch the death of Shadowfall Coast with you.”

Fylwen briefly looked away from the sandy shores and stared at the little Gnome. There was something about him that’d been bothering her. It was a sense that she had, one that had only begun to register a short while ago but had grown and continued to grow. She decided to voice it.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” she asked him.

“Huh?” he croaked out, his eyebrows rising and color seemingly draining from his face. Fear was now evident in his shocked expression. “What was me? What’re you talking about?”

“Those…those magnificent lights of destruction that filled the early-morning sky. That was you, was it not?”

The Gnome exhaled with what Fylwen assumed to be relief. “Ah, so that’s what you’re talking about.” His posture shifted, and his fear was seemingly exchanged for surprise and a touch of amusement. “How did you know?”

“I take it I am correct, then?”

“Yeah, but…how did you find out?”

She leaned forward a bit into another warm breeze that rolled along the ocean and caused her hair to flutter. “At first, I believed it to be the boy’s doing.”

“So did everyone else—hell, they still do,” he said, a snicker following his words. “What made you change your mind?”

“My daughter.”

“Kalana? She…told you that it was me?”

Fylwen made a slight shaking motion with her head. “No, it’s more the fact that she was there at all. I simply cannot imagine her allowing the young man to have done something like that, nor can I imagine him doing such a thing in front of her. It’s not that I think the boy incapable of carrying out an attack of that magnitude if he came to believe it was necessary, but what I couldn’t envision is him allowing my daughter to witness it.”

Vim made an “ahh” sound and then snapped his fingers. “That’s right. I’m actually impressed. So, that’s how you figured it out. But why bring it up now? It’s a bit strange, no? That of all the things going through your mind, you’re thinking about Calamity of the Stars.”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“Yep.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “The name.”

“Well, if I knew you’d like it so much, I would’ve taken credit for it earlier.” He laughed. “But my question still stands, Fylwen: why is that what’s on your mind?"

The question caused Fylwen to feel her heart turning just a little bit colder. “Because what you are about to see is going to be quite similar in nature albeit less impressive and brilliant to behold. I imagine it has been centuries since anyone on Galterra has seen runic artillery magic.”

Vim seemed to have some familiarity with the term, as the moment she’d spoken it, his face visibly cringed. “My great grandfather told me about that. He was born back when the history books were a bit more honest. Elves used that to control all of Galterra more than a thousand years ago, didn’t they?”

Fylwen smiled. She was glad to see there were still those who knew the truth. “That’s right, little Gnome. Every continent and every region.”

“Runic artillery magic used to brighten the skies quite a bit, I bet.”

“Only to those who deserved to see it.”

“Does that mean I’m deserving?”

Fylwen rolled her eyes. “I was referring to our enemies.”

“I know,” Vim said, releasing a dour chuckle. Now, he too leaned a bit more over the railing. “I won’t lie and say I know what kind of hell the Guild of Gentlemen put you through, and I won’t pretend that what they’ve put me through is even close to the same thing, but…”

In what came as a surprise to Fylwen, his expression now darkened to the point she thought she might be looking into a miniature reflection of herself. “They did some pretty bad things to me over the past few weeks. I’ve seen for myself now how the guild treats those they hate. So, I for one won’t be shedding any tears over this. If anything, I’m just glad it’s all finally going to be over. Ever since the dragon spawned, it’s just been chaos nonstop, you know? One horrible thing after the next. But finally, it’ll all be over.”

“Yes,” Fylwen agreed. “You’re right to take comfort in that. Truly, it’s all about to be over. And then you can rest and rebuild.”

Fylwen meant every word of what she told him. She could feel it deep in her heart. This was all about to be over. Any moment now, the runic magic would rain down upon the city and annihilate it. The ghosts of her ancestors would rise again, as a form of warfare not seen for more than a thousand years was about to make its bold reappearance.

“It’s all about to be over,” she whispered.

******

They had him surrounded. No longer was Alex just dealing with enemies to his front and both sides, but now, a few of his foes had managed to get behind his guard as well. There were four of them in total, and all four must have thought they were being crafty, having slipped to his flank while the Glacial Vortex ability had created a screen of haze and snow. But Alex knew they were there, and what was more: he’d deliberately allowed it to happen. It was what he needed to happen.

If I don’t risk everything, I lose everything!

The five mages, two support, and three healers stayed where they were along with the two archers, the slingshot-wielding woman, and Gentleman Restlocht, and all seemed primed to unleash another round of projectiles at him. Unfortunately, Alex couldn’t even consider the option of going after them. They were well-protected by three tanks who had stayed behind to guard them. Sir Ultdern, who occupied the center of the enemy’s formation, remained where he was as well. But the rest of the Guild of Gentlemen’s forces on 1st and Haven Street were now all closing in on Alex, their net tightening more and more with each step they took.

It was here that he would either turn the tables or die. The next few seconds would be the most critical of all. Things were probably going to happen very, very fast the moment they began attacking. And that moment appeared to be now.

This is it!

The mages, healers, and the support all began to cast as the two archers, the slingshot-wielding woman, and Gentleman Restlocht fired their weapons. All the while, the tall, dark-skinned man wielding two purple-colored swords pressed closer towards him alongside a woman dual-wielding combat staves. Beside those two was the tall woman bearing a sword and shield who resembled Lady Theolina, and to Alex’s left was a man in black robes brandishing a scythe who was approaching him alongside a spear-wielding man with very sharp-looking, spiked boots.

To his right, a wiry, bald-headed man with an eyepatch drew nearer, a sword in his hand, and accompanying this man was a woman in ornate, golden robes wielding a rapier. It was only now that Alex recalled that she was the 10th ranking member of the Guild of Gentlemen, though he failed to remember her name. Finally, along with the four Gentlemen slinking up behind him, there were another four a bit farther back near Sir Ultdern, and these four appeared to be following a small distance behind and waiting to see if they were needed.

Alex held his breath. This was the riskiest gamble he’d ever taken. A brief, coincidental lull in the war gave way to a very short period of quiet, and it was during this period he could hear the snapping thwunk of a crossbow bolt being released as well as two twangs followed by the soft hiss of dual arrows traveling across the air. The mages were sticking to their previous failed attacks, all except for the curly-haired, freckle-faced mage who’d casted Glacial Vortex. He seemed to have learned his lesson, and now, Alex heard him chant, “Val En Icen Comme.”

Ice comet.

A brief flicker of light emanated from above, indicating that another Scorching Bolt II was about to drop down on him, and now three more Firebolts were racing just behind the ranged projectiles. Yet it was what he saw from the support mages that elevated things most of all, providing Alex with the biggest sense of hope—yet also risk.

Unlike earlier, the support mages had given up on attempting to use Daze II, and they likely believed themselves to be intelligent and tactically wise for doing so, as the ability’s radius was large enough that, even if they succeeded in landing their mesmerize on Alex, they would likely also mez a whole bunch of their own people as well. For this reason, they had switched things up; Alex was certain that the woman with the dark, braided hair and the shimmering blue spell sword was casting Stunning Silence, which was a single-target, four-second stun along with a thirty-second silence, and the younger, blond-haired man beside her was casting a root, Earthly Confinement.

And both of them were fools for doing so.

Because while it may have seemed logical to avoid mesmerizing their allies, Alex was now effectively trapped and could not possibly escape. Therefore, what did it matter if they mezzed their own allies? It did no damage on its own and caused no pain or long-term health effects. A successful mez would mean that just one of them could calmly approach Alex and slit his throat while he stared blankly off into the distance, entranced and unaware.

Instead, they were adding even more abilities to the clutter that was heading Alex’s way. And Gods, he could not believe Sir Ultdern was allowing this to happen. As opposed to underestimating Maric’s younger, century-old brother, he’d overestimated him. It was to the extent that Alex worried there was something here he did not see: something vital he was missing. Surely, the guild’s third-in-command could not be so inept. Especially not with the same blood in his veins that ran through his incredibly gifted older brother. It had to be a trap—or part of some grander plan. Because if it was not a trap of his own making, then all these people that now surrounded Alex were about to fall into one of his.

Can this really work?

Alex, in total disbelief, watched as the black-robed man wielding the scythe to his left swung the weapon up and down while calling out, “Reaping Shadow!”

They’re really going to…

A surge of confidence and optimism detonated within Alex as the man leapt forward at him while his body began to spin so fast that he appeared as nothing but a blurry, black shadow, one that moved with tremendous speed towards him, closing the distance immediately.

Equally shocking, at the same time, the eyepatch-wearing man to his right jumped forward and shouted out, “Blade Lunge!” It was the exact same common, three-hit combination sword ability that had gotten a high-ranking member of the Lords of Justice killed. Were the Guild of Gentlemen truly no better? Could it be that their superior performance in battle was solely due to stronger willpower combined with a smattering of dragon equipment? He thought his eyes would pop out of his head as the woman with the sword and shield who looked like Lady Theolina charged forward at him, her shield glowing a bright red. There were many, many different shield slams, and most of them stunned for five seconds. This was for sure one of them. And she was actually going to use it on him now of all times.

This has to be a trap. It can’t be real. I can’t let myself think this is real.

The Guild of Gentlemen were making such unbelievably foolish attacks that Alex knew he could not assume that everything was as it appeared. Though not typically superstitious, with everything that had gone wrong today, it simply did not seem real or possible. Yet with no idea what, if any, deeper tricks were about to be sprung on him, Alex had no choice but to react as though everything was really as simple as it seemed.

He took his eyes off the bald-headed, eyepatch-wearing man with the sword. Even as the man’s blade turned purple and he made a very fast upwards slash, Alex looked away from him, ignoring him completely. After all, he knew the ability by heart: he knew the exact pattern and its timing. It was not an exaggeration to say that he could be soundly asleep and still avoid both sword strikes along with the subsequent lunge. And the same was true for Reaping Shadow, which turned its user into a hollow, misty, ghost-like figure while launching them forward—and through—any obstacles ahead of them before once more becoming corporeal, at which point the user would viciously slash the scythe downwards.

This can’t possibly be as it seems, Alex thought in a state of absolute amazement. The universe would never be so kind to me.

Stunned and baffled, Alex made several minimal motions as he twisted his body away from the eyepatch-wearing man’s first slash, and then from the second one, and he did this without even bothering to look in the direction each came from. And now, as the black-robed man’s hollow, ghost-like form solidified in the air above and to his left, Alex only had to take a small step to his right to avoid the downward slice of the scythe, which cracked straight into the street and cut several inches into it rather than come anywhere near his body. Likewise, he only needed to ever-so-slightly step to the side to avoid the shield bash from the woman charging at him—but he didn’t.

Instead, he dropped his own sword and reached out with both his arms to grab the shoulders of the black-robed man while simultaneously lurching his body violently to the right, causing the man to yelp in surprise as Alex forced both him and the man to move out of the way of the charging woman, who was about to run right past him. But Alex quickly stuck out his opposite foot and tripped her as she darted past, and now she too yelped as she fell forward.

Having been knocked off balance, the woman was on course to face-plant onto the street—but Alex could not allow that to happen. Thus, with a very powerful shove, he launched the black-robed man forward, causing him to stumble away—and right into the path of two arrows, a slingshot slug, and a crossbow bolt while Alex himself whirled his body around, grabbed the woman who had only half fallen over, and tore her back up to her feet, spun her around, and now shoved her body directly in the path of three flaming missiles, Scorching Bolt II, a root, a stun, a silence, and an icy comet that appeared from above and smashed down into her.

“Fuck!” she shrieked in terror as it all struck her at once. The sky flashed as the flaming bolt of electricity crashed down alongside the ice comet. Her body made several jerking motions as the Firebolts blasted her apart. An arm flew off to Alex’s left, a foot flew off to Alex’s right, and the rest of her simply became mush. The black-robed, scythe-wielding man, however, remained mostly intact, though his death was a bit slower and more painful. Alex could actually hear the sound of his flesh being punctured as all four projectiles tore into him. “Ugh!” he said upon taking the first arrow. “Ugh,” he said again.

“Ugh! Ugh!”

And then he fell forward onto his belly, and he did not move again.

Alex, having closed himself off to emotion, took his mind off the two and dashed to the side as the eyepatch-wearing man flew right past where he was standing, his sword extended as his body was lunged uncontrollably to Alex’s rear.

“Stop! Don’t!” cried two of the assassins sneaking up from behind. The man, totally incapable of controlling his own motion, released a horrified, sorrow-filled scream as his blade ripped right through both of his allies, killing one and mortally wounding the other before continuing on. And Alex knew exactly where he’d stop, too. And he decided to make an example of the man. Not for the sake of punishment, but to let his enemies know that they had a lot more to fear than they might’ve realized—heck, than even he realized.

As the man continued to skid along the road with his blade extended, Alex, still unarmed, quickly bent down and picked up his dropped blade with his right hand, enabling him to cast spells, and then with his left, he shot his palm directly backwards behind him and squeezed it shut. Several beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as he activated Black Spiral Blender in the precise location the man would come to a halt.

When he did, the man found himself standing on top of a black, perfectly flat circle while another, identical one loomed above the top of his head. Both were so thin that they were practically two-dimensional in nature. And as both formed, the man was, at least for this very brief moment, still locked into his own attack and unable to control his own body. Yet his eyes rose to the top of his head and then down to his feet, and Alex could tell that he knew he was done for. “H-help!” he cried. “Someone help!”

“The fuck is going on?” the man with the two purple swords screamed. “I’m so confused. Did he just kill Gentlewoman Manalexa and Gentleman Seevor? What…what’s happening!” He turned his head and only seemed to first notice the two dead assassins. Then he howled in fear and confusion. “Sir Ultdern! Sir Ultdern, I don’t understand, what did he just—”

“Help me!” the man screamed as the two-dimensional black circles finally entered the third dimension, with one expanding downwards and the other expanding upwards until both met and formed a solid object: a cylindrical chamber from which there was no escape, nor was there any place to hide from the various cutting instruments that could only slightly be seen within the newly formed chamber; though transparent, it was only slightly so. It was like looking at a film-roll canister. Only the outline of the man could be seen, and only faintly even under the bright morning sun.

Then came the sound of buzzing, shredding, and grinding, which brought about the subsequent sounds of shrieking and agony as the entire tube began to fill with a dark red liquid from the screaming, howling man, whose voice became so high in pitch that it broke while he was blended alive.

“SOMEBODY FUCKING HELP ME! PLEASE! PLEASSSSSEEEEEEE! IT HURRRRRRRTTTTSS!”

The man with the two purple swords wet himself as a moist spot formed on his crotch. He even looked down at it as though ashamed. But wait, this meant…this meant he wasn’t currently paying attention. So Alex took one quick step towards him, whipped his arms from right to left, and cut his entire head off at the point of the neck right then and there during his moment of paralysis. This caused the man next to him to shriek, and that meant Alex could disembowel him with one clean strike and dispose of him as well, since he too was now frozen in terror.

Even as Alex tore apart both men, he was still in a state of absolute bewilderment that any of this was happening. This would never have worked on an adventurer. But somehow, it was working on the Guild of Gentlemen. And it seemed like…wait, were they routing? Gods, they were. They were actually routing.

They’re routing!

The two assassins behind him backed away so suddenly that one bumped into the other and both fell on their backside. The woman holding a combat staff in each hand along with the robed woman bearing a rapier also threw themselves away from him, providing two very easy targets he could not afford to let escape. Every single one of them had, in just a single instant, become broken. He could not let this moment pass. He could not give them a chance to recover their wits and attack him in unison. Right now, despite still having an overwhelming advantage over him, the psychological damage he’d inflicted upon them with Black Spiral Blender had unfathomably turned each and every one of them into a free target.

Alex, raising his weapon high and ready to kill, bolted forward at the two women, both of whom screamed and failed to even raise their guard intelligibly as Alex cut open the scalp of the one wielding the two staffs. The other clumsily attempted to swing her rapier, but Alex parried, knocking it out of her hand, and then he riposted, slashing her across the neck and downing her. One of her allies seemed to find their courage, and he charged in from Alex’s right side. But the terror had made him clumsy and disorganized, and so the man, who attempted to bludgeon him with a great-hammer, actually stumbled over a dead ally he clearly didn’t realize was in front of him, and he ended up tumbling forward and impaling his own self on Alex’s sword as he tripped.

I’m winning this! Alex thought. I’ve got them! I’m going to be able to—

Alex coughed. Something happened. He wasn’t sure what. He didn’t understand. He was confused. There was pain. Or was there? He didn’t even know. He lowered his eyes. What was he seeing? His eyes had suddenly gone out of focus. It looked like there was…

Huh? When did that happen?

“I’m sorry, Alex,” Sir Ultdern said. “But you left yourself open.”

There was a sword—and it was inside of him. But it wasn’t just any sword. It was a flaming, brilliant weapon made of steel and fire. Alex coughed a second time, and blood shot out of his mouth. Even despite this, his mind continued to work in his current state of shock. He realized that Sir Ultdern had activated the ability on his staff, which turned the weapon into a sword and boosted his stats to such a high level that they likely rivaled what Zach’s had been in Phase Level 3 during the battle with Ziragoth’s second phase.

He must’ve moved faster than an Elf, Alex thought, losing sensation in his fingers. His arms went limp and fell down to his sides. He now held his weapon in just his right hand, but his grasp on the blade was tenuous at best. The flames from the blade felt cold on his chest despite causing a burning sensation on his chin as they flickered and danced.

“It’s through your heart,” Sir Ultdern said. “This is over.”

Alex nodded. He tried to speak and failed several times. He opened his mouth and used every bit of strength he had left to croak out a single sentence. “Let me die on my belly so I can at least be at rest.”

“Very well,” Sir Ultdern said to his nonsensical, ridiculous request. He took a half-step back while yanking the weapon free from Alex’s chest, causing blood to pour out of him and leak all over the road. Alex then fell forward onto his face, his forehead crashing down and cracking a portion of the street. He landed in such a way that his left hand folded and tucked into his belly as he remained seemingly motionless. The blow was fatal. Alex was now on the verge of death.

I…can’t…believe that it…

As Alex continued to die, he very carefully moved his hand upwards, which was tucked underneath his guild coat, until it lay flat over his left breast. And then he applied whatever pressure he could with his last remaining strength. And as the light began to turn dark, he experienced a degree of true relief, because upon that application of pressure, he could feel several objects he’d sewn into the fabric of his guild coat become crushed and shattered.

…worked…

Two Red Rejuvenation Stones.

Two Yellow Rejuvenation Stones.

And two Purple Rejuvenation Stones.

Six remnants from his days spent as an adventurer: six prizes he’d saved and had never spent. All six were now gone. Now, Alex remained perfectly still, kept his eyes closed, and played dead. He was lucky. The weapon had a 45% chance to burn its targets from the inside. Had that activated, Alex would not have lived long enough to use the stones. Keeping quiet and motionless, he listened as Sir Ultdern began to literally whimper as the man seemingly took stock of his losses. It seemed that he was not as cold and dispassionate towards those who had just perished as he’d been towards Daviks and Daviks’ brother, whom Alex had killed upon arrival.

“I’m so sorry,” Sir Ultdern whimpered, crying openly. His voice breaking, Alex could finally hear the man’s advanced age as he spoke. Much like Maric, he did a great job in hiding it. Yet it now came through quite clearly. “Gods, I’m so sorry. This was all my fault. He was so much stronger than I thought he’d be. I never thought…I never thought we’d lose Gentlewoman Manalexa. Daviks and his disgraceful brother…I can live with that. But that sweet woman didn’t deserve this.”

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Another voice, also full-on crying, joined Sir Ultdern in his grief. “She was pregnant,” he said. His voice then became angered, rising in volume. “Why in the fuck was she out here, Sir Ultdern? Tell me!”

“You know why!” he shouted, not even bothering to scold the man for taking such a tone with the 3rd ranking member of his guild. “She died to protect the future of humanity!”

They even began to yell at one another. This was good. It meant Alex could take his time as he lay there and recovered. He was at the point where he could, technically, get up and continue to fight, though he wasn’t back to his full strength yet. But even more importantly, he stood absolutely no chance whatsoever of taking on Sir Ultdern while the active ability on his staff was in play. Even without that ability, the stats provided to him from his full set of dragon armor were such that Alex would need to clear the field just to go toe to toe with him. But with it? It was undoable. And so, Alex waited.

“High Command, this is Sir Wexzel Ultdern,” Sir Ultdern said, misery coming across very strongly in each spoken word. “Yes. The Lords of Justice have been defeated, but…b-but Sir Rikel’s daughter is dead, and so is Gentleman Huntsvel’s son.”

He paused for a moment, likely listening to a reply that Alex could not hear. If so, it was a long reply, which suited Alex quite well. At the moment, with his eyes closed, he relied on his ears to inform him. Specifically, he was listening to the sound of flickering from the man’s staff-turned-blade. He could not make a move until that had come to an end.

In the old days, playing dead was a war crime, he thought. But these are not the old days.

“No,” Sir Ultdern said. His tone became uneven. First, it grew in strength and decisiveness as he said, “Believe me, my old friend, I understand your grief. But your daughter died a hero. You must stay at your post. We do not need any reinforcements here. I’m sending almost everyone down south to repel the Royal Roses. We’re not sure why, but they’ve entered a full retreat. We’re on the verge of winning this war for good. I promise you her death will be paid for in the blood of our enemies.”

But then it broke just as suddenly, and the whimpering and crying returned. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry to make you do this. It’s your daughter and I won’t even let you come here. I’m so sorry my friend. I know how heartless”—he sniffled—“I know how heartless, I’m so sorry.” His voice abruptly returned, again becoming commanding and powerful. “We must be stoic. There will be a time for mourning when this is over. Until then we endure and we finish the job!”

As Alex lay frozen and unmoving, his heart began to pound faster and faster as confusion swirled around in his head. In particular, it was because of one specific thing he’d just overheard: that the Royal Roses were…retreating? It couldn’t be. Vim Alazar wouldn’t. Not after what his guild had endured—what his people had endured. Not when he knew the consequences of failure. Could Sir Ultdern have been mistaken? But how could he be mistaken? He’d specifically stated that the Royal Roses had entered a full retreat. That was not an easy thing to be confused about. All of this…it made Alex restless. It became a challenge for him to remain still. Alex was becoming agitated.

But then the sound of flickering came to an end. Sir Ultdern’s weapon had returned to its normal staff form. It was time.

Now!

Without any warning, without any preamble, and without any opportunity for the enemy to react, Alex exploded back up to his feet so fast that every single nearby member of the Guild of Gentlemen flinched, with several making loud, startled shouts. Alex ignored each and every one of them. He narrowed his eyes, bent his knees slightly, and then with every ounce of willpower and determination it was possible for him to draw upon, he launched himself forward into a desperate sprint, blasting straight by and then beyond them.

A woman, this one also wielding a sword and shield, happened to be in his way, so Alex jumped into the air, sailed right over her head, and then landed upright behind her, where he continued to run straight for—and at—the eight mages and four ranged fighters that had thus far been sheltering behind their allies while trying to blast him to pieces. There were screams of fear and alarm as he approached, his feet stomping down onto the road and then eventually onto the sidewalk, ripping apart numerous sections of it in the process. Nearly upon them, many of their lips twisted into the exact same position, forming the “h” sound as they seemingly attempted to cry for help.

Alex activated Light Volley. Sixteen arrows made of pure light materialized above him, and he sent all sixteen at the eight spell-casters, two per target, causing the air to fill with a high-pitched whistling. Spinning his body to the left, Alex then began wildly swinging his sword with an extreme sense of urgency at Gentleman Restlocht, the woman with the slingshot, and the two archers. He acted with such haste and with such desperation that he became reckless, yet if ever there was a time to do so, it was now. One time after the next, he sliced and sliced and sliced, carving apart all four of them into various pieces, becoming drenched in their blood. He exerted so much effort so quickly that, for the first time in this fight, he began to seriously pant, his mouth opened widely so that he could take larger and larger breaths as he butchered all of them, including Gentleman Restlocht. They screamed as they died.

By the time he was finished, he had ripped apart his enemy with such frenzied ruthlessness that he was mentally unable to distinguish between what was blood and what was perspiration leaking down his face. With body parts scattered all around him, and with his head and hair absolutely soaked in blood, he craned his neck to ensure that the mages and healers were either dead or wounded to the point they couldn’t be healed. They were. None of them were moving.

“You…you dishonorable son of a bitch!” Sir Ultdern roared at him, tears of rage in his eyes. "You’re not the Alex I knew. You’re a Gods-be-damned monster!”

“Dishonorable?” Alex said as thick, crimson-colored liquid fell down the sides of his face just like sweat. “You mean like fighting one man thirty-three against one?”

“You had far more than that at the start of the battle!” Sir Ultdern shouted. “This is a war!”

“You’re right, actually,” Alex said. “That was a terrible example. I’m not quite myself right now. Very well. Here’s a better one.” He inhaled and then released just two words in a vengeful, wrath-filled shout: “Ogre’s Axe!”

Taking his left hand off his blade, he flicked his wrist and activated Light Dart. His hand brightening, a dart made of light appeared between his fingers, and then he threw it, watching as it whisked over the sidewalk, traveled halfway across the street, and then struck the last remaining assassin in the throat, causing him to gurgle and collapse right by Sir Ultdern’s side. He even reached out and grabbed the man’s armor-covered knee as he died, his hand eventually going limp and resting against the concrete as he let go of the old man.

Now, only a few more members of the guild remained with Sir Ultdern, and to Alex’s satisfaction, each one of them at last turned and fled, running right past Alex. They had given up, which meant Alex did not need to kill them. Ethically, it was best to allow them to escape. But he didn’t. He instead activated Light Dart several more times and struck each one of them in the back while they ran for their lives.

He wasn’t even sure why he did that. It wasn’t out of hatred. It wasn’t out of justice. It wasn’t out of revenge. It wasn’t even that he wanted to kill or felt some deep desire to drink in more blood. Strangely, it was that it simply felt “incomplete” for him not to do so.

I’ve let myself become pushed too far.

Something of a duality formed in Alex, in which his logical, rational mind continued to operate at its full capacity whereas his actions, emotions, and impulses seemed to be traveling on their own track. It was an incredibly strange sensation, and one he had not before experienced. As a man of science and an avid reader across numerous different fields of study, including those which did not pertain to his own, Alex was able to rationally assess his own irrationality, and he determined that the emotional turmoil beginning with Lady Theolina’s death and leading up to now had brought him into a state of disassociation or perhaps emotional dysregulation. He needed to be careful, as he knew from studies that both, if further intensified, could easily lead to psychosis.

Alex took a deep, slow breath, and then he released it. The level-1 troops, witnessing his actions, had fled along with handful of horribly wounded survivors who probably would not make it much farther. It was now just him and Sir Ultdern here on 1st and Haven Street. That was for the best.

“Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Sir Ultdern said to him, his eyes flicking back and forth between various dead bodies. “Whether you live or die today, they’re going to write poems about what you just did. A thousand years from now, they’ll still be talking about it.” The man’s lips trembled. “Did it feel good?”

“No.”

The man knelt down and placed his arm on the shoulder of one of the slain women, and then he quickly returned to his feet, his eyes dripping tears. Even while still holding his staff, he raised both his hands, held them parallel to one another as though to indicate size, and he released more whimpering as he continued to speak.

“I knew her when she was a baby,” he said, gesturing at Alex. “She was only this big, Alex. She was a tiny thing. Her mother loved her so much.”

“She shouldn’t have let her fight,” Alex said coldly.

“She’s not alive anymore. The demon child killed her weeks ago.”

“Demon child?” Alex asked, frowning. “You mean Zach?”

“Of course I do.” He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Only, everyone has it backwards. They’re all wrong about you and him.”

“Hm?”

“They say that you’re the softhearted nerd, and he’s the ruthless, unfeeling killer. But that’s not what I hear. Gods, they have it so backwards. At least, if you can trust the word of Sir Gaelan Malakor—known as Captain Malakor to some.”

Alex felt his body tense. He’d never met the man, but he was definitely familiar with his reputation. “Zach encountered Captain Malakor?”

“Yes. It wasn’t all that long ago, in fact.”

“No wonder he came so close to death,” Alex said. “I cannot believe he fought the man and lived. He’s one of the few members of your guild that I know for certain can fight on equal footing with an adventurer. Given the level difference, Zach is very lucky to have escaped with his life.”

“He won, actually.”

“Zach did?”

“Yes. And his wounds were due to his selflessness as I hear.”

This really wasn’t the right time to be discussing this, but Alex, still catching his breath, decided to use the time to further recover. “What’s that mean?”

Sir Ultdern answered him, and in the process, he told Alex a brief but detailed story of a boy garbed in black who, like Alex, had challenged impossible odds singlehandedly and had triumphed over a stronger foe. In spite of every horrible thing Alex had seen and heard today, the tale brought him very close to smiling—at least until Sir Ultdern got to the end of it, and Alex became awash with such profound disappointment.

“He used his stones on Sir Malakor instead of himself?”

“That’s right.”

“Because his daughter cried?”

“Yes.”

Alex could hardly believe what he was hearing. That was such an incomprehensibly stupid, foolish, and irresponsible thing to do. If—and that was a very big if—Alex somehow managed to live beyond this day, he would need to have another long chat with the kid. He was learning all the wrong lessons. Alex wanted him to be compassionate and had tried his best to instill a sense of compassion within him, but not to the extent that he became nonsensically soft-hearted and foolish. He gave his only healing stones up to an enemy: an enemy that was likely now fighting the Royal Roses in the south. Their strongest player had been taken off the board, and Zach put him right back on. Alex’s disappointment was immense.

“Tell me one thing, Sir Ultdern. Is it true what you said into the Comm? That the Royal Roses are retreating?”

“It is true.”

Alex felt pain flare in his chest. “So then…”

“You’re all alone here, now. Or at least you will be very soon. Even the Elvish have retreated. We’ve essentially won the day—and the war. You should know that, without the Royal Roses fighting in the south, you have no realistic chance of getting to King Morrison. Even if you somehow get through me, you’re not going to be able to take on him and everyone else in the guild. You’ve lost.”

“No,” Alex whispered, sadly. He dropped his blade, listening as it clacked against the road. And then he took a seat, which seemed to surprise Sir Ultdern. More loudly, he said, “Shadowfall Coast lost.”

Sir Ultdern widened his eyes. “You’re sitting down? In front of an enemy?” he shouted. “Do you think I won’t kill you?”

“It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t,” Alex said softly. “We’re both already dead.”

“Dead?”

He nodded. “I just realized why the Royal Roses retreated. It’s obvious. Especially if the Elves have retreated as well.” Something caught his eye. Something far above. He pointed at it. “It looks like nothing I did here mattered. I could try running, but…it’s too late. It looks like we’re going to die together.”

Sir Ultdern glanced upwards, and then he pulled back his lips, clenched his teeth, and several beads of sweat slid down his right cheek. “So this is the moment I find out,” he said.

“Find out what?” Alex asked.

He briefly turned his head to meet Alex’s eyes. “Whether or not Peter V had any redeeming qualities whatsoever as a king or whether he was indeed a total waste of flesh who weakened and nearly destroyed our guild—and our kingdom.”

Alex wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter anymore, did it? Far up above in the sky, a sight that was both terrible yet beautiful filled his vision. Dozens—and then many dozens—of multi-colored lights were crossing the horizon like streaks, each one bright enough to be easily, readily seen even among the bright morning sunshine.

The streaks were like comets only with a much longer tail and with a very differently shaped head. Rather than something roundish or even misshapen, every single tail connected to a head that was perfectly square in shape, and each of these square-shaped beams had some kind of letter or symbol on it in a language that Alex had never before seen.

Almost every color was represented, though each was uniform and contained just a single one. There was blue, pink, orange, yellow, red—all of it. The color stretched from the tail of these flying magic beams all the way to the square-shaped head, covering it completely except for the letter or symbol, which was white.

So many of them, Alex thought.

Closer and closer, they came. Each one would likely have a power and impact far, far greater than a bomb dropped by one of the Royal Rose’s fighter jets. Alex couldn’t imagine surviving the next few moments. He accepted that this was the end. It was a tragic ending, but at least he would die knowing he’d done his best and…and that there was still hope left in the world, however bleak the future might become.

“Goodbye, Sir Ultdern,” he said, relaxing his muscles and placing his palms on the street as he stared upwards and watched the incoming lights like they were part of a display of fireworks.

“Don’t count us out just yet!” Sir Ultdern shouted, though more sweat was now pouring down his face and he was visibly trembling. The lights came closer and closer and closer, appearing larger and larger. And now, Sir Ultdern began to loudly pray. “Gods, please! Please! We are your children! Spare us! Raurum, see us through this monstrous and wicked assault on our home and families!” He got down to his knees and began to scream. “Please, Raurum! Please spare us, your faithful children of men! PLEASE SPARE US!”

It became difficult to keep his eyes open as the lights now approached so close that the brightness began to cause an ache in his pupils. Alex could no longer see more than just a single of the lights, and in this case, it was the one heading towards their immediate section of the city. It was far, far larger than he’d realized. Maybe even the size of a house. It seemed the color of their death was going to be red. And indeed, a very bright, reddish light filled the entirety of the street to the extent that, a moment before impact, the entire world became bathed in the color to where it was the only thing Alex could now see.

I’m finally going to see you again, Alex thought, visualizing his mother and father, his two brothers, his sister. Each had died in front of him when a boss had spawned outside of the rural town in Whispery Woods where he’d grown up: an event that, like all such boss spawns aside from the dragon, had been covered up and blamed on a natural disaster. If only the OMP had manipulated him into becoming an adventurer before that point, perhaps he would’ve been able to save them.

Like Donovan saved my life, Alex thought. I never really thanked him properly. I was hurting too much at the time.

In his final moments, Alex made peace with himself—and with all that he’d done to bring himself here. He was going to die young, but at least he’d literally go out with a bang. The thought even made him smile, though it was a bitter-tasting smile, as the movement of his lips caused some of the blood on his face to get on his lips and into his mouth, reminding him of the extraordinarily violent way in which he was exiting this world.

A moment from the end, he stood back up to his feet, extended his arms widely, and he embraced the light. Despite how badly it blinded him, he could still see a faint outline of the strange symbol on the end of it. Now just above him, the light became so intense that it went from red to pure white. The scientist in him mused that it wasn’t a change in color but a change in his eyes’ ability to perceive a color with such blinding brightness. It was the last thought he had time to think before impact.

There was an explosion.

Alex braced himself. So did Sir Ultdern.

The world shook.

There was so much sound. His ears began to ring. He closed his eyes.

He wondered if he was already dead.

It didn’t quite hurt.

He opened his eyes.

And then…

Then all the desperation, misery, and gloom in the world ripped through him in such a violent fashion that Alex fell back down into a seated position, though this time due to losing his footing. His body trembled. Confusion erupted inside of him. He struggled to understand what just happened. He tried so hard to make sense of things. The rational portion of his brain was completely shut off by such a morbid, all-encompassing feeling of utter hopelessness.

Above him, perhaps only twenty feet above the tallest of buildings, there was now a shimmering, rippling, wavy barrier of energy, which looked not all that dissimilar from a DEHV crossing barrier only it hummed and pulsed and even made a slight screech, all of which came to an end a moment later as it disappeared—only to reappear within an instant as a green comet-like beam of magic again slammed down, similarly meeting its end as it crashed into the same kind of invisible force that appeared to surround the entire city.

“It worked!” Sir Ultdern yelled, tears once again in his eyes. “It wasn’t for nothing. Gods, it worked!”

Alex, in a state of total despair, shook his head. “What happened? I don’t understand!”

Sir Ultdern looked at him. “All his life, Peter V neglected us and left us weak. He left us to the predations of the other guilds. He was feeble. He was unlike his father and his grandfather in just about every single way—except for one: his distrust of the other, predatory races of Galterra. It was the only part of him that showed any sign of the true spirit of the Guild of Gentlemen. Except, even in that, he had failed. Because despite the absurdity of it, he spent his life fearing the Elves of all beings. Not the Dwarves, which have driven our economy into the ground and replaced human engineers. Not the Orcs, who have outpaced us in internet technology. No, the Elves. It was unthinkable!”

He wiped his eyes as more tears fell. “But we were wrong about him. He knew this day would come. In secret, he spent more than a decade using a rare form of spell-craft to construct an anti-runic barrier above Tomb of Fire and Shadowfall Coast: a magical forcefield useful only against long-range Elvish attacks. He must have completed it shortly before we…before he passed away.”

Sir Ultdern again wiped his face. “Gods, he was right all along. He spent so much money on crafting materials, buying much of it from adventurers. He demanded his project remain secret. But we viewed it as so ridiculous that there would be no temptation to spill it. Who would want to admit that their leader is wasting the precious treasure of his people on some delusional belief that we would one day face an Elvish attack? But Gods, he was right. He was right!”

Alex didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. He had never found himself in such a state of sordid denial. Yet all around the city, everywhere he looked, the Elvish magic was failing to inflict even a modicum of damage. But that wasn’t even the worst part. No there was something even more terrible…

“The Royal Roses have fled,” he said with a gasp. “The Elvish must’ve told them to flee, and now…”

“Now they won’t be able to come back,” Sir Ultdern said with a boastful yet somehow also grief-filled laugh. “The Lords of Justice have been thrashed, and with all of our forces on the southern coast, the Royal Roses will have no choice but to flee out to sea.”

At once, his words became somber. “You should know what your actions have cost this world, Alex. After the amount of pain, suffering, and terror your guild and the Royal Roses have inflicted, I can promise you there will be retribution.”

“Retribution?” Alex asked, whispering.

“Yes. We are going to have to punish you.”

“I accept,” he said. “Take me and torture me. Do what you will. I will submit myself to any—”

“Stop,” Sir Ultdern said. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Alex, trembling, began shaking his head. “Do not attack another city. Please!”

“It’s not up to me. But even if it was, I wouldn’t disagree. Most likely, it’s going to be the Lords of Justice hit this time, and it won’t be a small city. It might be Slopes of Dal’Zarrah, in fact I would bet on it.”

“You can’t!” Alex shouted. “There are 11 million people who live there!”

“Yes, and when they are gone, the lesson will hopefully be learned.”

“Please, sir Ultdern! Punish me instead. You cannot do this! Please!”

Sir Ultdern glared at him. “You murdered the ones I care about. I promise you that you will be punished just the same. I have a very real desire now to take you alive. I want you to see the toll you’ve inflicted on this world, Alex. And notice, I will no longer call you Lord Oren. The Lords of Justice will be eradicated for what has happened here today.”

Alex swelled with all the misery in the world. This was really happening, wasn’t it? It was. And it was hopeless. They were going to acquire another nuclear weapon, and there was nothing in this world he could do about it. The Elvish had somehow failed. All hope was lost.

This was the end of humanity.

******

The fear Vim felt was showing on Fylwen’s face as well, and that was not a good sign.

“Fylwen! What’s happening?” Vim screamed.

“I don’t know,” she said, covering her mouth. “They…I don’t know what they have done! I don’t understand!”

The few Elvish on the ship with him were weeping, and that was also not a good sign. It really helped sink in how fucked they were. Vim wished he had more hair, as this would be a good time to begin maniacally ripping it out of his head.

“You’ve killed us all!” Vim screamed, losing his mind. “My people will be eradicated like insects! I’ll be tortured again!” His body began to shake. “I trusted you. We all trusted you.”

She grabbed his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

He was shocked—so shocked it temporarily knocked him out of his mania. The remorse in her eyes was genuine. “I failed the Gods. I failed my allies. We will try to make this right. We will storm the city.”

“They will kill every single one of you with their traps.”

“It doesn’t matter. It…”

The look of pain and misery on her face was so intense it managed to further break his hysteria. “We’ll just have to charge together. All of my people and yours.”

“Yes. Yes, indeed.”

Vim knew it was hopeless, though. The enemy’s morale was likely skyrocketing. His own people were now in utter shambles and despair. The Lords of Justice had fled back into the grasslands and were probably still running.

It was done. Vim would be brutally tortured and killed, his guild would be dissolved, and King Morrison would rule humanity.

That was how this was going to go.

It was over.

*****

King Morrison cheered. “We did it!” He pumped his fist in the air. “Those Elvish-loving sons of bitches!”

His top commanders and strategists all celebrated with him. Even though they had lost so much, Alistair knew it was all going to be worth it when they ushered in a new era of human rule. Everyone who had died today would be honored as a hero. Even those who had fled. He was going to pardon every criminal in Shadowfall Coast as well. He was going to heap rewards and praise upon the people of this city.

We did it. We really did it.

“You never lost faith in us,” Colonel Dakrit said. “Even when it seemed like the worst was upon us. You and you alone believed we could beat two guilds and the fucking Elves! Gods, we are amazing.”

“No,” Alistair said, lifting his pointer finger. “Humanity is amazing. And that’s why—wait, one moment.”

He pressed his hand to his ear while making several facial gestures, switching Comm line frequencies. A man’s voice spoke to him. He smiled. “Great, send it down.” His commanders all turned their heads his way.

“What is it?” they asked.

Alistair clapped his hands together. “Champaign. For each and every one of you!”

All of those in the bunker with him cheered. This could quite literally be the greatest moment of victory his guild had experienced in a thousand years, especially when factoring in the odds against them and the sheer number of enemies who wanted them dead. But they triumphed. They won despite all of it. And that was certainly worthy of celebration.

“There’s something I wanted to say almost all my life,” he began. “Something we were never allowed to say. Something society banned us from saying. But those days are over.” He opened his mouth and shouted, “Peter IV was right!”

The applause and cheers gave way to tear-filled eyes as for the first time in so very long, they were finally able to speak those forbidden words. And then he said the most taboo thing of all: a phrase that was so prohibited that merely writing it could invoke a ten-year dungeon sentence in many of the other regions. A phrase that was even illegal here but would no longer be.

“SELF-DEFENSE ISN’T GENOCIDE!” he roared, crying out the final words Peter IV had spoken before his execution.

It felt so liberating to finally say it. And the energy in the room exploded. Men and women slammed their fists down upon tables while crying it out in a beautiful chant.

“SELF-DEFENSE ISN’T GENOCIDE!”

“SELF-DEFENSE ISN’T GENOCIDE!”

“SELF-DEFENSE ISN’T GENOCIDE!”

Turning towards the elevator doors, he watched as the red arrow lowered and lowered. He couldn’t wait to have a drink. He bet they all felt the same. The bunker, located quite deep beneath the surface, required nearly a minute’s worth of travel via elevator.

“Who’d they get to haul our champaign down here?” one of his commanders asked.

“Sammie,” another replied with a chuckle.

“That dumb kid?”

King Morrison tsked. “Be nice to your fellow guild member. Especially after how many we lost. In fact, let’s all release a cheer when he walks through the door.”

Laughter and eager nods came and went around the room. Sammie was someone Alistair actually liked a fair bit. The boy was only the 65th in terms of rank, whereas his father—a great friend of Alistair’s who was killed in action during the first invasion, sadly—had been 14th. But the boy had a lot of grit. Still a virgin, though, Alistair was willing to bet. Perhaps it was time Alistair did something about that. There were some very beautiful, widowed women in need of a new husband. The boy was always so depressed since his father’s death. Maybe that would cheer him up.

“Okay, everyone, get ready,” Alistair said as the down arrow on the display indicator was nearly to ground level. “Release a big cheer for the future of humanity on three.”

“One.”

The elevator lowered.

“Two.”

It came to a halt. There was a ding.

“Three!”

The entire bunker released a cheer. Or at least, something that started as a cheer. It began as a happy, loud, good-natured, giggly cheer—and ended as a wild, terrified, utterly confused scream of fear and shock as two forms emerged from the elevator. One was Sammie’s severed head. It rolled out of the elevator all on its own and then came to a halt. The eyes were missing from the skull, and the boy’s tongue was sticking out.

“What the fuck?” someone shouted.

“What the fuck! What the fuck!”

The second form to emerge from the elevator was a small bat, which flew over their heads and disappeared to some other corner of the bunker. Given the horrifying sight of the severed head, Alistair could not spare the mental energy needed to contemplate why a bat had flown in here. There weren’t even bats in this region.

“Sammie!” he shouted in disbelief. “What’s going on? Colonel Dakrit, call up to the surface now!”

“I can’t!” he shouted. “Our Comm lines just went dead!”

“Gods dammit, find out what happened at once!”

“I’m trying!”

Alistair marched his way over to the severed head. He knelt down, still not entirely sure if this was real and not some elaborate prank. It made no sense. How had this happened? What were the idiots near the surface entrance doing? Had something happened?

“Is that really you, Sammie?” he asked. Growling, he shouted, “Colonel Dakrit! I thought I told you to contact the the fucking surface! What is taking so—”

“Aghhhh!” he screamed in reply.

And so did many, many others. A chorus of agonized screams filled the room, each one louder than the previous. “No! Please, no!”

A shiver traveled down Alistair’s spine. Hurriedly, he climbed back to his feet and spun around to see that almost everyone—nearly every single last member of high command—was as dead as Sammie. Horrified, mortified, and so totally perplexed that he wasn’t sure any of this was even real, Alistair realized that there were now two new people in the bunker with him: people he was positive he’d never seen before.

One was a young Elvish woman who looked an awful lot like Kalana Vayra, and the other was a human, immaculately well dressed almost to the point of perfection. He looked to be just a boy, perhaps no older than fourteen or fifteen. And he, much like the Elvish girl beside him, were staring at him with red, glowing eyes.

What…what are they? he screamed in his mind.

Never had Alistair been so frightened. These were monsters. As in, the actual monsters one’s parents might tell them about in the form of a scary story before bed: the kind that wasn’t supposed to exist. The fictional kind. These were actual, literal monsters!

The boy and the Elvish girl had fangs: dual, sharp teeth that protruded from their mouths. Blood was dripping down the chins of both almost as though they’d been drinking it. In fact, in his haze, it was only now that Alistair realized the young boy had his hand gripping the hair atop the scalp of Colonel Dakrit, who was wobbling on his feet but still alive, his fingers twitching as though he were in his death throes.

The boy looked at Alistair, and then, without breaking eye contact even once, he moved his mouth closer to Colonel Dakrit, opened it, and then ripped into his throat, biting deeply and making numerous gulping sounds while…while drinking his blood!

What is this? What kind of horrid monster is this?

“What are you?” he asked fearfully, attempting to back away.

“Vampires,” the girl said. “And we’ve come for your head.”

“You what?” he shouted. “How did you get in here? I am the king, Gods-dammit! Who are you?”

The boy wiped his lips. “Hi there!” he said cheerfully. “Forgive my soul mate’s rudeness. Kolona, you know you’re supposed to introduce yourself first.” He bowed. “I am Count Olivir Rudolph Soloux, and this beautiful woman by my side is Countess Kolona Vayra of the royal Vayra line. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, King Alistair Morrison of the Guild of Gentlemen.”

He released his hold on Colonel Dakrit, whose eyes had already rolled into the back of his head. Blood still oozing out of his throat, he fell face forward on the semi-clean bunker floor. The boy wiped his lips a second time. “Here’s what’s going to happen now,” he said. He raised his pointer finger. “First, you’re going to tell me and my lovely partner where your guild is producing your nuclear weapons. And then, we’re going to eat you.”

“That’s right!” the female said cheerfully. “And it’ll be really, really slow and painful…well, unless you surrender, I guess. But we really hope you don’t. Taking you alive would be so boring.”

“Yes, we love when they don't cooperate. Don’t we, sweetheart?”

“We sure do.”

Astounded and terrified all at once, Alistair stood up straighter. “I’m in full dragon armor. If you value your lives, you’ll leave and pray I don’t come hunting for you!”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work on us, bud.” The boy shrugged. “You’re kind of messing up the entire planet, and I have friends who live on it. So, yeah. Whatever it is you had going, it ends now.”

Alistair reached behind his back and drew his double-bladed battle axe. He couldn’t believe he was actually going to have to fight these two. It seemed the Gods had one last test for him. Surely, he would win. There was no way the Gods had put him on this world to die to a boy and his Elvish whore!

“I don’t know who you are, but you just made the biggest mistake of your lives.”

“I told you who we are,” the boy, Olivir said. “And I’m several times your age, young man. Do not talk to me like a child.”

“Are you mocking me?” he screamed. And then he charged at them.

How could he even possibly lose?

******

Alex sank deeper and deeper into his hopelessness. He wanted to die now. Not later. But perhaps, for his failure, he deserved the torture. Sir Ultdern cracked him across the side of his face. He didn’t defend himself. He’d lost the will to fight.

“I can’t believe what you’ve done!” he shouted. “Taking you alive is not a mercy. If I had any desire to show you such, I’d have already killed you. But I want you to live just long enough to see the consequences of your actions. I want you to live long enough to—”

“No,” he said, suddenly backing away. He began screaming. What was going on? Was someone telling him something over the Comm? “No, he can’t. No!” he screamed even more loudly. “No! How can the king be dead?”

******

Vim gasped. “Wait, so we’re not fucked?” he shouted.

He exchanged an uncertain glance with Fylwen, the two of them still at the bow of the ship. The information was coming in fast—far too fast to follow. He tried to recall the person he was speaking with. He vaguely remembered him from the dragon raid. The boy—no, man—who had brought him back to life after he’d sacrificed himself via E-debt to help Zach pull off one final assault on the dragon. He was also related to Grundor somehow.

“Yeah, well, it was a real pain in the ass,” said the very young voice, almost sounding bored of all things. “I didn’t really want to get involved, but you guys were screwing up left and right. It goes against most of what I believe in, actually. But yeah, we went in and got ‘em. I tried to scare him into surrendering because we wanted to take him alive, but he was a real fanatic so uh…yeah, he’s dead. I got his head right here, actually. Oh, and very important: the terminal down here says the weapons are on 8th and 17th street. They didn’t finish it yet, so the Elves can still—”

The entire Piercing Thorn shook. A rumbling came upon the world, and Vim actually fell over and onto his side. He shouted in terror. What now? What other horror awaited them? As it turned out, it was nothing at all this time. It actually took him a few moments to realize what had happened, but it seemed that Queen Vayra and her little band of Elves had blasted off at full speed, leaving a gigantic series of cracks in the upper deck.

As hundreds of gallons of water now poured over his head—so much that his guild would now have to actually remove it or risk real damage to the ship including sinking—Vim realized that the Elvish had jumped into the water and had made a tremendous splash as they swam to shore as though their lives depended on it. They moved so swiftly and so urgently that Vim didn’t even get to see them in the water at all. By the time he’d actually figured out what they’d done, they were already kicking up a sandstorm and then blasting apart the boardwalk. There was another loud boom as they seemingly took down an entire building.

“Don’t destroy the city!” he shouted despite knowing they couldn’t hear him and wouldn’t listen to him even if they could. Really, he was still trying to catch up with whatever the hell was happening, as it was all too much for him. “Does nothing ever fucking let up?”

He didn’t know what to feel. He didn’t know what to expect. Never had a series of events hit him so hard that he got whiplash from it. But was it safe to say that now, finally it was over? Maybe it was. Maybe it finally was.

He was going to do it. Mentally, he needed to do it. Yes, there were still a ton of questions he wanted answered, especially about what had just happened and why. One moment, the world was ending, and in the blink of an eye, it was saved maybe—hopefully. He needed to know all these things. But for the sake of his mental state, he needed, needed to just say it. The lack of catharsis was killing him.

I’m going to say it. I have to.

“It’s finally over,” he said. “It’s finally—”

An urgent, panicked, and gruff voice shouted in his ear over the Comm. Vim was taken by such surprise he almost fell over the railing and into the water. He didn’t even realize who was speaking at first. And when he did, he wondered just why in the name of the Gods a fucking adventurer would dare have the audacity to waste his time. Even someone as important to that community as Donovan had no business bothering him right now.

“Who the hell is Jimmy?” he shouted. “And why should I care?” Vim resisted the urge to whimper as he found out. “Oh, Gods, no. Not again. Not again! And what do you mean when you say he’s ‘soloing’ it? What does that term mean?”

Donovan angrily barked more things at him, and Vim held out his palm despite the man being unable to see it. “He fucking what?” Vim shouted. “Wait, you mean he’s doing this on purpose? Is he suicidal? Gods dammit!”

******

“…and that’s why you’re at fault for everything!” Sir Ultdern screamed. “You are the reason humanity—”

Alex’s heart came close to stopping as his phone made a loud, siren-like noise in his pocket, and in that moment, everything changed.

His mood.

His sense of reality

His purpose.

He’d made an oath. One that could not be broken even after leaving the adventuring community. There was only one way that his phone could possibly ring in the middle of a warzone. There was only one single, lone circumstance by which it could actually go off during a moment like this. And that was if something even more serious than a war was going on. For this reason, a whole different kind of terror exploded within him as he answered immediately.

“Please don’t tell me what I think you’re going to say, Donovan.”

Donovan shouted loudly at him. He was in a ferocious mood—but not with him. With that kid who Zach had been hanging around with lately. But why? What could possibly be so important the he—

“He what?” Alex shouted at the top of his lungs.

“He won’t tell us where it is!” Donovan screamed. “And the fucking auto censorship from the political guilds is making us have to search everywhere!”

So completely confounded, Alex actually pulled on his own hair. “But…but why?”

“Fucking maniac says he’s solo’ing it!” Donovan screamed. “This is the craziest, dumbest shit I ever seen in my life. Get over here NOW!”

“…and when my father passed away, I swore to him that—”

“I have to go,” Alex said, picking up his blade and taking off at a run. “Something came up, sorry.”

“W-what?” Sir Ultdern shouted. “Wait, seriously? You’re leaving?”

Alex ignored him. “Donovan, get in contact with Vim again. Maybe he can access the censored social media information to find out where it is.”

“Alex! You can’t seriously be leaving!”

Alex left.

*****

“Did we not just have this conversation?” Vim said into the Comm, irritated. He had a billion things he had to do right now. He still didn’t even fully understand what the hell had happened here and how it was possible that they’d “won” practically all of a sudden. He had a thousand-and-one questions he needed answers to. He just could not deal with this right now.

Yet Donovan’s voice continued to bark at him.

Vim gestured for his men to continue readying a boat to take him to shore. Though they might have “won”—and that in itself was something he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to believe until he saw proof with his own two eyes—there would still be about two-to-three months of fighting to fully take over the city and oust the entrenched resistance. Only, if they truly had disarmed the enemy, it could be done slowly, methodically, sensibly, and without any kind of city-wide destruction. But to even begin thinking of these things, he needed Donovan to stop harassing him.

“Okay, I hear you,” Vim said. “But I can’t help you. Like I said, Abram Gespon is in charge of that. You’ll need to speak with him. So I—” Vim scowled. “What did you just say about my mother you five-IQ-having bitch!”

Did he seriously just call me that?

“Oh, you would, would you? Well my mother wouldn’t even feel that limp-dick of yours.”

“Sir Alazar!” Haisel Ragora said, his words coming in almost as background noise. “Just disconnect. You don’t always have to engage with childish insults.”

“Yes I do!” he snapped at his second-in-command. To Donovan, he said, “Your face looks like an overcooked baked potato. And have you ever smelled yourself? Honestly, standing next to you for thirty seconds traumatized me more than the entire dragon raid. You smell like you bathe in commercially sold pig shit that’s specifically sold to enhance the stench.” He cringed as the man barked even more loudly into his ear. “Go ahead and scream, animal. You’re only making a fool of yourself. Why don’t you just—all right!” he shouted at Haisel and now Norc as both were actually trying to snatch the Comm out of his ear. “I have things to do. Go fuck yourself, Donovan!”

I won anyway. I made him angrier than he made me.

He climbed down the side ladder and into the speedboat. “Let’s go.”

*****

Abram Gespon did not expect this. He’d been monitoring the war from his office in Varda’s Lair when such an unexpected call had come in. “Firstly, who is Jimmy?” he asked Donovan. “And secondly, please tell me: what can I do for you, Donovan?”

******

(One hour earlier)

Jimmy had done enough damage to the bar—and probably to his liver as well. He could tell they wanted him out of here but were too afraid to ask. He couldn’t blame them. He’d been here all night and into the morning, and he’d made a total mess of the place. Still, he needed to grab something to go, so he bought a nice big bottle of wine, left everybody a real generous tip, and then he stumbled out the front door and left to go sulk somewhere else.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered as he learned how hard walking could be sometimes. He was feeling really tipsy and had to try his best not to fall over. He giggled even though he wanted to cry.

I humiliated myself. In front of everyone. I’m no fucking good, man. I’m no fucking good.

His phone was going off nonstop. Most of it was from Zach. What did he want now? The kid had been texting him about wanting to talk, and wanting to “be there for him.” Kalana too. Even Tena. Well, especially Tena. Jimmy was way too ashamed to look her in the eyes right now. Honestly, Jimmy didn’t feel like talking to nobody. He decided to take a walk and see some sights, nearly falling over a second time as he stepped onto the sidewalk and into the hot morning sun. Giggling for no conceivable reason, he lifted the bottle of wine to his lips and took another gulp.

“Beautiful day in the fantasy world!” he shouted, laughing. “Oh, wait, I’m sorry. Did I scare you, ma’am? Nah, it’s cool you don’t gotta…pfft, fine, whatever.”

Some mean old bitch was screaming at him and waving her hands around frantically while running away. Honestly, that was going overboard. Actually, it wasn’t just her, either. There was like fifty dudes running down the block. And they weren’t just screaming but like they were really screaming. Like full-on “ahhh ahhh” shit. Was this because of him?

It turned out that the answer to that question was no.

“Someone save us!” a person cried. It was a man—someone Jimmy actually recognized from the bar earlier in the night. He stopped short, grabbed Jimmy’s shoulders, and actually began to weep as he started to beg Jimmy for some reason. Jimmy hiccupped in his face by accident.

“Please. Please help us, please.”

“Help you?” Jimmy hiccupped again. “I don’t know what your…oh, shit. Yo, is that giant-ass horse demon supposed to be there?”

“No!”

“Oh. Ohhh! Okay. I got you.” He took another swig. “I almost understand what’s going on here. Almost. Sir, I had a lot to drink tonight—I mean this morning. That’s right. It’s day now. Haha.”

The man merely took off crying and hysterical. Jimmy was so drunk that he stood there for nearly twenty seconds before it finally clicked in his head what was actually happening. And when it did, it sobered him up—but only slightly. Because as a horse taller than most buildings began stomping down on cars—or DEHVs, whatever—while shooting lasers out of its eyes and exploding parts of the sidewalk, Jimmy realized he was looking at the one thing he wanted more than anything right now. Even more than going home.

Redemption.

Maybe this could work. Maybe he could actually restore the dignity he’d lost.

“I’m gonna solo it!”